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lostintransist · 24 hours ago

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Seamstress | Part 7

Check out part 1 here.

CW: Momma drama. If you have a bad mom relationship like I do please read with caution. Also John comes home a bit broken. He gets better but not in this part.

John appears behind you as you are stepping into your shop. When his hand pushes the door open wider from behind you startle.

“Jesus fuck me!” You jump and spin, eyes wide and chest heaving as you confirm who stood behind you.

The slightly worried look on John’s face tells you he didn’t mean to startle you.

“Sorry dove thought you heard me.”

“Apparently my thoughts were too loud,” sheepishly you push the door shut behind him and begin to flick on lights.

Waiting for you at the counter with John is your jewelry box. It looks better than before if that is possible.

“I didn’t stain it,” John runs a finger down the side and you wish that digit dragged down your side instead.

Fuck, bitch you can’t be this horny yet, he just arrived. Apparently, the earth-shattering orgasm from your vibrator last night with the taste of him on your lips wasn’t enough. When did you get so greedy?

“Why not?” You ask as you fold your arms, not one hundred percent sure your bra would be able to trap your steel-tipped nipples.

Glancing from the box to John you see a soft smile. When he looks up at you it grows.

“I noticed how much you seemed to like the grain of the wood and seemed sad at the idea of it being covered up. A few coats of clear lacquer to protect it and it was done.”

“I love it. I’m so glad you chose lacquer. I would have been happy with any choice you made but this? It’s wonderful.” Leaving the box at the counter you waved John to follow you.

“I made you something as well.” Putting a hand on the nob of the door to the back room you spun. “I know it’s not really a problem, but you have complained about going into what you call “power meetings” with only your slacks or your fancy uniforms so I made you something that should hold up against scrutiny.”

John’s arms are folded, head tilted ever so slightly to watch you with the smile tucked under his mustache.

Taking a deep breath you twist the handle and step back into the room. You hung the suit on the wall directly in front of the door so you could watch his face as he saw it. You had paid a pretty penny for the fabric, thread, and buttons. They all came together so seamlessly that even your friend who was a tailor wouldn’t have been able to know a suitmaker hadn’t put it together unless he started to pull it apart at the seams. You had also purchased the silk for his shirt and made that by hand as well.

The smile falls from his face as he steps up to the suit and runs a hand lightly over it.

“Holy fuck.”

Glancing from side to side you bite your lip.

“So what do you think?”

When he turns you know why people like blue eyes so much. John’s blue eyes are enchanting with the tears rimming his lashes. They remind you of the ocean in the photos you’ve seen of tropical places.

“I can’t think of a gift that has ever meant more to me,” he chokes out around the tears in his throat.

“Do you want to try it on?” You suggest, heart fluttering in your chest.

“I want-”

His desires were cut off by the sound of the bell.

Turning you call out.

“Sorry, we are closed today,” when you catch sight of your mom.

The warmth that had settled over you like sunlight as spring breaks chilled to the harshest of winter breezes. Shutting the door to the back room, and your joy from your sorrow you face your mother.

“You didn’t come to Christmas,” she starts.

“I told Pop I would be going to Nana’s this year.”

“You’re still mad at me,” she pouts with her eyebrows.

Your mother had skills in expressing herself without making a scene about it.

“I am not mad, I’m done.”

Your mother stepped up to the counter, slowly opening each drawer of your gift. Snatching it off the counter you placed it on your working desk next to your sewing machine.

“What does being done have to do with not coming to Christmas?”

She’s pulling that mom tone again, trying to force you into a child role whether she knows it or not.

“I do not enjoy the way I feel while spending time with you. I do not like the comments you make or the fact that even when my brother is being rude I am still in the wrong. And I am done putting myself in situations to be hurt because you happened to get knocked up and produce me.”

She had told you once that you were a birth control failure baby. She had been drinking, you had been ten.

“I did not happen to get knocked up,” she sputtered.

Taking a deep breath you point your eyes at the ceiling and pray for patience.

“That is not the point of this conversation and I apologize for bringing it up. What I am saying is that I won’t be spending more time with you until we can go to family therapy. I’ve told this to Pop several times. I will send you a few options between us and will set up the appointment as well.”

“But I am your mother!” She is getting shrill, a sure sign she is losing control of the conversation in her mind.

“And I am grown. Now I have a private appointment I need to get back to.”

“Is this because of the comment about no one paying to see you naked? I’m sorry that you were offended by what I said.”

Your jaw works as your fingers curl into talons and your shoulders stiffen.

“I am not having that discussion here and now. Pick a therapist from the list I send you or leave me alone.”

Mom looks shocked, scared even, at the tone you use. She turns leaving in a huff and you open the door to the back to see John, shirt unbuttoned and eyes blown wide as if someone dosed him with drugs.

“That’s an option? I can pay to see you naked? Is a hundred enough?”

“A hundred?” You ask, confused but slightly hurt that he thought you were so cheap.

“No? Okay, a hundred and fifty thousand?” He looks desperate and hopeful and lost and like he might combust all at once.

You choke on your spit. Did that man just offer a hundred and fifty thousand dollar bucks to see you naked!?

All it would have taken is a glass of wine, a smokey look, and an invitation to bed and your clothes would have disappeared from your body like they never existed. Like damn you had high self-confidence, forged out of hate comments online and in real life, but you weren’t worth that much. Maybe John did like you like you liked him?

He stepped forward, mouth opening to form words when his phone went off. The instant change told you it was work.

“Dammit all to hell and may it never return,” he snatched up his pants from the cot and answered the phone as he moved it to his ear, snarling. “What?”

You watched as the soldier overtook the man. His back straightened as he tucked the phone between his shoulder and his ear beginning to work at the buttons at his wrists. Stepping into his space you took over the task freeing him faster than he would have managed. Helping him out of the shirt you fold it over one arm, watching as he disappears below his shirt to reappear through the head hole. You don’t offer to help him remove the pants but take them when offered without comment.

John doesn’t spare you a glance as he pulls his cargo pants up, sheathing the deliciously thick thighs he hides. When he sits to tie his boots you toss the clothes from your arms to the cot and kneel to take over that task for him. Tying them tight you stand and offer him a hand. He takes it, holding on as he stands.

Still on the phone he pulls your knuckles to his lips and turns the phone away from his mouth.

“When I get back, we are talking about this.”

It’s all you can do to nod before he dons his coat and slips into the precipitation of January.

🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡

The last of the snowdrops are blooming when John makes it back home. Between the knocks at the front door and the vibrating of your phone from under your pillow, you wake enough to stumble to the front door. The door opens fully before your eyes do.

John looks haggard, as if he aged ten years in the three months he was gone. A full beard had grown in, the ends ragged and uneven. His eyes flick over you. No expression crosses his face.

“John? You’re home,” the sigh in your last word pulls him through the door and into your arms.

It’s too late for your mind to come up with reasons why dragging him into your room after locking the front door would be a bad idea. Stripping him of his boots and his pants you invite him to lay under the blankets with you by laying them atop him and letting him settle into the mattress. Crossing around the bed you join him between the sheets. Laying on your side you stare at him.

Something about him felt broken and you didn’t dare hold him and make it worse.

“What can I do John?” You ask the darkness between you.

The words settle on him like the ice blown around in the wind of the gulag.

“Tell me what happened while I was gone. I don’t feel real.”

You scoot closer to him in the bed, less than a handswidth between you.

“I brought your suit home. I missed you a few weeks after you left and had nothing but the photo from the party and your gift. My mom started going to individual therapy. We tried a couple of family sessions but the therapist recommended that she do some personal work before we attempt to do much more work on fixing our relationship. My brother called me on my birthday, which was unexpected. I bet my po-”

“I missed your birthday?” John’s broken whisper cut you off.

“Yeah,” you reach out and touch his pinky. He flinches so you shift your hand back, but before it can go too far his hand chases you locking your fingers together.

“When is your birthday?”

“Valentine’s Day.”

“You must hate that.”

The accurate observation surprises you. You’ve talked with other people who have birthdays on holidays, most Christmas and New Year’s babies hate it, birthdays on big celebration days that aren’t the big big ones tend to go either way but for you, it always felt required to have a date on your birthday. Were you out because your date wanted to celebrate you or show off for the table around you?

“I do,” you let out a small chuckle. “My brother was born on May Day, he doesn’t seem to mind it. When is your birthday John?”

“July second.” He pulls in a deep breath, “Will you hold me?”

Small and scared his voice pierces into your chest.

“However you want to be held,” you answer in earnest.

“Lay back?”

You adjust to settle on your back, fixing the pillow below your head. John follows you, as cautious as an alley cat. Once his head is resting against your chest, chin tipped between your breasts you curl your arm around his shoulder next to your ribs and rest your hand on his back. The shuddering breaths that start from him prompt you to keep telling him about what happened while he was away.

“Did you know your muppets came to visit me? They all brought in their own fixes and asked to use your cot. Every one of them woke looking like they had no clue where they were and agreed that they understood why you kept coming back for naps.”

You talk until you drift into sleep, but your dreams are full of stories so maybe you talk to John until you wake.

Seamstress Masterlist | Masterlist

#lostintransit #lostintransit writing #cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #price x reader #john soap mactavish #soap cod #john price x reader #captain john price #simon ghost riley #gary roach sanderson #kyle gaz garrick #fluff #a hint of angst

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foodtruckery · 2 days ago

Note

I've been having crazy Stancest brain rot thinking about an AU where they don't have the portal incident and instead have crazy marathon hate sex instead (Inspired by some amazing art by @CoreArde on Twitter) and I thought it'd be fun to share that with you.

They start off arguing in the lab and then oops they're fucking on the lab floor, and they really should be thinking this through but nope now they're upstairs fucking on the kitchen table and okay maybe now they'll finally talk about it nah, they're fucking in Ford's bed now.

It starts off as rough hate sex getting out years of frustration, but by the time they make it to the kitchen its become insanely desperate and cloying because they missed each other, and their bodies fit so well together, and GOD how could they have not been doing this all time? They're going at it so long that they basically end up passed out in Ford's bed by the end, and Stan's not going to be sitting down for a while after this. He's probably just happy to be sleeping in a bed, but Ford is trying to figure out how he got so far from the initial plan.

Even better if the two of them have been harboring feelings for years and never acted on it, because they get the one-two punch of all the weight of their time apart and processing the fact that OH GOD I JUST FUCKED MY BROTHER (which of course they both wanted to do but still).

I have no idea what would happen after that, but both of them waking up sore, sweat soaked, sticky with cum (some still inside Stan because of course Ford didn't use a condom this wasn't supposed to happen) after having gone at each other like rabbits in heat despite never having expressed their attraction to each other before is a hilarious and hot idea to me. What do you think?

HI THERE ANON. i am so fucking sorry that i left you waiting for so long about this, but i need you to know it's because i was FUCKING OBSESSED with this. like just absolutely beside myself over it, and i refused to respond until i had a chance to sit down and respond PROPERLY.

cause uh YEAH FRIEND i know the exact fucking piece of art (explicit) you're talking about, because it's INCREDIBLE. and in case you didn't know, the artist is over here too and shares some fucking fantastic writing and headcanons also! (seriously, go check out @/cartoonsinthemorning if you haven't. and cart, i hope you don't mind that anon and i both kinda lost our minds about your art over here! i genuinely have no idea what tag etiquette is on this site and didn't wanna bombard you, but you did this. again.)

i'll be honest, anon, this kinda got away from me (fucking shocker) and i am too tired to do any legit editing of it right now, so please forgive any typos or weirdness! i'll try and clean it up before it eventually goes up on ao3. but thank you for such a LOVELY ask because this was so hot, and so inspiring, and i hope i did a little justice to your idea and cart's gorgeous art!

--- Ford isn't entirely sure how it had started. His memory, his perception of time, his ability to follow a linear order of events -- all if it is less than reliable at the moment, so he can't entirely blame himself for losing track of things here and there. But the jump between trying to wrestle his journal out of Stan's hands to trying to wrestle Stan out of his dingey jeans is a jarring transition to lose in the dull static that's been edging around his awareness for weeks now.

Not jarring enough to stop him, though.

He thinks, vaguely, while he's blindly tugging at Stan's denim, that there's a concerningly high likelihood that he's hallucinating. His head is swimming in so much caffeine and adrenaline that he doesn't even feel the rough concrete of the lab floor under his knees -- maybe that isn't where he is? Maybe he'd nodded off without realizing. Maybe he's going to come to with another lapful of polaroids and a new humiliating tattoo.

Maybe, maybe, maybe -- he can reckon with a probability model later. For the first time in what feels like months, the stability of his perceived reality is not actually at the forefront of Ford's mind.

Pressing in on him harder than the doubt, harder than the disassociation from his physical body, and harder than the threat of the creature lingering in the depths of his subconscious is anger. It feels like a beacon in the muddled, fuzzy mess inside his head, something bright and real and his. It's searing through him, slicing away all the frayed edges of his paranoia and doubt like a hot blade through so much butter.

Ford clings to the sharp edges of that anger and feels more alert than he has in weeks.

He can't remember how their bickering had taken this particular turn, but if he's liable to lose his eyes and his life in the next few days, Ford will be fucking damned if he squanders the opportunity. He knows he's made a mess of things, that he's made the sorts of mistakes that can't and frankly shouldn't be forgiven.

But he also knows with blinding, white hot certainty that he's only here, now, because of Stan's mistakes.

Ford may not deserve absolution, but he does deserves this.

Laughter cuts through the lab, rough and mocking, and Ford's attention finally falls, properly, on Stan. He has a bruise blooming on his cheek and a snide smirk twisting his lips. He's also on his back, his jeans and a threadbare pair of boxers bunched in Ford's fists and pulled so low he can see the tight curls of his pubic hair and the root of his cock.

"What's wrong, Poindexter?" Stan asks, mocking, and it's only then that Ford realizes he's paused halfway through stripping his twin's lower half. The bite of the cold concrete under his knees still feels far away, but the rough material in his palms, and the heat of Stan's body so close to him are sharp, clear details. "No hands on experience with a dick that ain't your own? Afraid you might actually be bad at somethin' for once?"

Ford narrows his eyes, feeling the hot point of anger cutting through him, steadying him, and he jerks Stan's clothes hard enough that he gets the material past his knees in one tug. Stan laughs at him again, but it stutters into a little 'oof!' when Ford flips him onto his stomach.

He doesn't care that Stan's pants are still caught around his calves and his boots. He doesn't care that Stan hisses something that sounds like pain when he's yanked onto his knees and dragged backwards several inches across the concrete. He doesn't even care that, once upon a time, he'd dreamed of this, of crossing this line with the only person he'd ever really loved in any way that mattered, and it's nothing like the softer, sweeter picture he used to imagine.

Stan's hips are soft, and the skin gives easily under the iron grip Ford has on them, holding him in place as he grinds against his ass. Even through his slacks, the heat of Stan's body is intense, addictive, and he grinds forward again, harder, watching the friction rub a pink patch against his skin.

Stan, shameless and selfish as always, pushes eagerly back against him. Ford has barely done anything beyond rocking the outline of his cock against his hole, but he can hear Stan panting against the ground, can see his hands curling into fists. He remembers how many times Stan had called Carla McCorkle "easy" in high school and thinks, now, that the easy one had been his brother.

"You gonna keep humpin' me, or are you gonna fuck me?" Stan demands, rocking as firmly back as he can with the bruising grip Ford has on him.

"What makes you think you deserve that?" Ford bites out. It would serve Stan right, he thinks, if he got himself off exactly like this, no different than grinding against a particularly firm couch pillow. Just a conveniently warm object for Ford to release some tension with.

Stan looks back over his shoulder and flashes teeth at him. It isn't a smile. "Oh, I get it. Cold feet? Well, we can just chalk it up to one more thing ya promised and then backed out of as soon as you actually had to make a choice. Good to know some things never change, Stanford."

He's being goaded, and Ford knows that. But the anger boils in his chest, and he thinks, why should he care about what Stan does or doesn't deserve from him? This is about what Ford deserves.

And what Ford deserves is to have his dick so far up Stan's ass he'll be able to feel it in the back of his throat.

"Do you ever shut up?" he snaps while he releases one of Stan's hips to yank his slacks open. The bruise of his fingerprints already forming against Stan's skin thrills him, almost to distraction, if it weren't for Stan laughing again.

"'Course not," he says, shifting his center of balance to dig into the pocket of his dirty red coat. The little packet he tosses over his shoulder bounces off his own ass to land by Ford's knee, the word LUBE printed in large, bold letters across the front. He should be surprised to see it, and part of him is. The word "easy" comes to mind again.

Ford rips the packet open with his teeth.

"F-Fuck!" Stan curses, turning his forehead against the ground when Ford presses his slick cock into him a moment later without warning.

Ford grabs him roughly by the waist when he twitches forward and yanks Stan back until his ass hits the open fly of his slacks. He makes a choked sound at that and turns his face into the crook of his own arm when Ford pulls back and rocks hard back into him.

"What's wrong, Stanley?" he parrots. He pistons his hips at a punishing pace, watching his cock pumping in and out of the greedy, grasping ring of Stan's hole. "Nothing to say?"

Stan makes a noise that's too muffled by the sleeve of his coat to understand, so Ford reaches down to take a fistful of his stupid mullet instead. The hitching gasp that escapes his twin when his head is forcefully jerked up makes him groan. "What was that? Come on, Stanley, use your words."

"F-Fuck off," Stan says, his voice strained, almost whining.

"I see you haven't gotten anymore eloquent since you left," Ford scoffs around the breathlessness in his own voice, feeling the anger and pleasure coiling harder in his gut. "What was it you said? Good to know some things never change."

When he pulls Stan's hair again, just because he can, Stan moans. And when he shifts his hips, driving in just as hard at the new angle, Stan shouts. With his own knees bracketed on either side of his, Ford can feel the way his thighs tremble when he clenches around his cock, and he can feel the sweat beading up under his palm where he's digging darker bruises into Stan's side.

Ford feels like he's on the edge of delirium again, consumed by every sound Stan makes, every twitch of his hips, every ounce of his heat. He thinks, a bit wildly, that Stan may have been made for this, made to take his cock, for how well he does.

It isn't until Stan jerks under him, going hot and tight around his cock and making a strangled noise in the back of his throat, that Ford realizes he may have said part of that out loud. That Stan came over it.

He groans low in his throat and thrusts half a dozen more times into Stan's clenching hole before he comes as well.

It's quiet for a few minutes other than their ragged panting, but it's Stan who eventually reaches back and swats at Ford's hand until he lets go of his hair. He takes the hint and pulls out, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as his come trickles down Stan's thighs. It strikes him suddenly that he wants to follow the wet trail back up with his tongue. It's enough to make his cock give a feeble, appreciative twitch.

He isn't sure if he's just terribly distracted or if he loses time again, because when Ford next lifts his head, Stan is on his feet, pants pulled up around his waist but still open, and he has his journal in hand. This might be more jarring than the last transition he'd lost.

"What are you doing?" he demands, shoving himself back onto his own feet. He doesn't bother to tuck his cock back in, and he spots the moment Stan's eyes flick down. It's brief, but he'd seen it.

"What does it fucking look like I'm doing? I'm taking your stupid diary and disappearing like you begged me to," Stan says. His voice is still a little raw, and Ford has a moment to realize how much he likes that, before the words catch up.

He scoffs. "Oh! So now you want to actually help?! Is it always this easy to fuck the sense into you?"

Stan's expression does a few things Ford doesn't understand before his brows ultimately slam down and he turns his back, storming towards the door with Ford's journal still in hand, and Ford himself hot on his heels. "You're fucking unbelievable, Stanford, you know that?!"

"Me?! You're the one who came all over my lab floor and then decided he was ready to be reasonable!"

Stan jams his thumb against the call button for the elevator several times in quick succession, despite the car already being on their floor and the gate sliding open. "Most people would just say thank you when someone agreed to help them out, but not you! What does Stanford Pines have to be grateful for? We're all just fucking lucky to get a task from ya, huh?"

Ford crowds into the elevator with him before Stan can try to pull the gate or call the doors shut behind him. He punches the button to take them up himself, before making a grab for the journal, snarling when Stan leans back and holds it up above his head.

"You're the one who threatened to destroy my work twenty minutes ago, Stanley! Why would I trust you with it now? Hell, I can't figure out why I trusted you enough to bring you here in the first place!"

"Oh really? You can't?" Stan sneers, leaning in close. And when Ford takes a step back, Stan follows, backing him into a corner of the car. "I don't think you fuckin' trusted me to do shit, Stanford. I think you were all outta options cause nobody else could stand to put up with you anymore."

Stan doesn't so much as hit a nerve as he takes a sledgehammer to it, and as soon as the elevator dings, Ford shoves him as hard as he can out into the study. Stan yelps when he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet, and it's only knocking into a cluttered desk that keeps him from falling on his ass.

Ford doesn't give him any time to right himself, storming in after him and grabbing him by the front of his jacket. Stan flinches, like he'ex expecting a punch, but Ford yanks him in and crushes his mouth against his instead.

There's a dull thump that Ford only realizes was the journal being dropped when he feels both of Stan's hands on his shoulders. They curl briefly, grasping at him, and Ford feels his mouth starting to go soft and slack. But as soon as he presses in, runs his tongue along that loosening seam, he's suddenly being shoved backwards.

If he weren't so damn confused, Ford would probably appreciate the picture Stan makes, lips slick and pants open, leaning back against one of Ford's desks.

"What are you doing?!" Stan demands, like he's the one who doesn't know what day it is, and keeps losing track of events.

"I would think even you could figure that out after what happened downstairs, Stanley."

Stan flushes, visible even in the low light of the study, though Ford isn't sure if it's embarrassment or anger. The scowl on his face doesn't help clear things up, either, though the fact that he isn't actually looking at Ford is...telling.

"That ain't happening again," Stan states, and there isn't anything convincing about the way he says it at all. But when Ford steps forward, Stan sidesteps him and the desk. He makes a wrong turn in the dark, in a house he isn't familiar with, and flinches when Ford flips on the light in the kitchen he's walked into.

"I don't know how you expect to leave and hide my journal after leaving it in the study," he points out, frowning at the back of Stan's head.

He isn't surprised when Stan whirls on him. He is, however, stunned still when he realizes Stan's eyes are wet.

"What the fuck do you want from me, Stanford?!" Stan shouts, his voice cracking over his name, and it makes something feel like it's cracking inside his chest.

Ford has to wet his lips when he finds them and his throat dry. "...I told you what I wanted," he says.

"Yeah, you did! And when I finally agreed to do it, you threw a fucking fit about it! And now you're pissy because I'm not?! What do you want?"

The anger sparks sharply inside him again, and Ford grasps at it like a lifeline, willing to bloody his hands for that bite of stability.

"You tried to burn it! My life's work! And you only decided you would help me after we--"

Stan cuts him off, looking towards the cabinets while he raises his voice and waves his hands. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry about the fucking lighter, all right?!"

Ford frowns. He takes a step forward and, still without looking at him, Stan takes a step back. It's the elevator all over again, but this time Ford is pressing in, backing Stan into the cabinets. He grabs the counter on either side of his hips when he tries to side step him again.

"Stanley, look at me," he demands, frowning harder when Stan sets his jaw and stars determinedly at his shoulder. "Stanley--"

"What do you want, Ford? Just...just fucking tell me and I'll leave, all right?" Stan says, his voice tired and soft as he reaches up to rub a hand over his own face.

He wants a lot, honestly. And hasn't that always been the problem? He's always wanted -- to be normal, to be respected, to be the best, to be special.

To be wanted.

To be enough.

To fix things.

"You," he realizes, watching Stan jerk his head up. His lashes are still wet, and Ford can't stop himself from reaching up and pressing his palm to Stan's cheek, skimming his thumb gently under one of his eyes.

When he leans in to kiss him again, Stan makes a small, wounded little noise under his mouth, but he parts his lips for Ford's tongue this time. Stan's lips are chapped and he tastes vaguely of stale cigarettes, but Ford is still struck by how soft and sweet he is.

More than anything else that had happened that evening, this is the moment that Ford knows he should suspect most of all. The way Stan relaxes between him and the counter, the almost tentative way he lifts his tongue to meet his, the careful fingertips touching the edge of Ford's coat and brushing against his loose tie. It's tender in a way Ford didn't think either of them were capable of, and it should be setting off warning bells and red flags in every part of his mind.

It isn't.

Ford is more certain of the reality of this single moment, the gentle slip of Stan's lips against his own, than he's been of anything in a long time.

And then Stan sighs between them and murmurs, warm and hopeful, "Ford," against his lips, and he's done for.

It doesn't matter that they just fucked, that Ford's come is probably still drying between Stan's thighs -- he can't keep his hands off of him. Ford is suddenly frantic and desperate in a way that he hadn't been downstairs. He needs to relearn the new, wider shape of Stan's shoulders and pecs. He needs to feel out every new scar and take stock of all the old ones he remembers Stan collecting for him as kids. He needs to be surrounded by him again, soaking in the warmth of him.

Ford doesn't deserve absolution, but he thinks he may be able to find something close to it in the low, shaky way Stan moans his name.

And there's familiarity in the way Stan grabs at him in turn, tugging at his jacket and tie and surging into another, harder kiss. Ford thinks he may not be the only one looking for expiation.

Then Stan drops to his knees between him and the cabinet, and Ford stops thinking so much. His cock is still out, and Stan wastes no time in getting his fist around the shaft and his lips around the head. He suckles and swirls his tongue, and Ford shoves the beanie off of his head to get his hands in his hair.

"Stanley," he gasps, stroking his fingers along his scalp and fisting the strands between them.

Stan moans around him and shuffles closer, sliding the seal of his lips further down the length of Ford's cock. All he can do is groan and try to keep from rocking his hips as more of him is greeted by the warmth of his mouth and the wickedness of his tongue.

He keeps waiting for Stan to reach his limit, to back off and give himself room to breathe. He doesn't. He keeps leaning in, keeps taking him, and then Ford feels his cockhead slip into Stan's throat, sees his lashes are wet again, and he has to put one hand on the counter to keep himself steady. "Fuck, Stanley, you're so good at this."

Stan makes a horribly sweet sound around the girth of Ford's cock and reaches up to hold his hips as he swallows, and Ford is suddenly afraid he's going to embarass himself. His hips twitch despite his best efforts to keep them still, but Stan simply relaxes his jaw and his throat and tugs a little to encourage him to do it again. He does, of course, how could he not?

Despite the heat clawing its way through him and the pleasure mounting dangerously high, Ford almost feels outside of himself again. The picture Stan makes, with his eyes damp and heavy lidded, his lips wet and stretched around Ford's cock, his hair fisted in Ford's fingers and his own clinging to Ford's hips -- it's lewd, debauched, and so horribly sweet that it makes Ford's chest hurt.

Stan gasps raggedly when Ford pulls him off. "I was go-gonna...I mean you can--"

Ford kneels down to kiss him, tasting stale cigarettes and himself, cock throbbing over the rough state of Stan's voice. "Not done yet," he manages, before tugging Stan onto his feet.

They lose clothes and time on the journey upstairs, tripping over the steps and Ford's discarded pants, and stumbling into his wreck of a room. If Stan notices the state of things, he doesn't comment, mouth latched onto Ford's shoulder and hands all over his back and hips.

The back of Ford's legs hit the bed and he sits hard on the mattress. Stan doesn't hesitate to crawl up into his lap. He'd lost his boots in the kitchen and his jeans and boxers somewhere on the way to the stairs, giving him ample opportunity to rub his bare cock against Ford's.

Cursing, Ford rolls his hips and only belatedly remembers to reach up and tug the hideous red coat off of Stan's shoulders.

"Oh, fuck, hold on. I think I have another one," Stan says, panting softly as he digs into the pockets of his coat. Ford takes the opportunity to run his hands across Stan's thighs and ass, squeezing whatever skin he can until Stan makes a triumphant sound and pulls another little packet of lube free.

Only then does he let Ford toss his jacket aside and tug him further up the bed with him. He doesn't protest when Ford takes the packet from him, lowering his head to work open mouth kisses up Ford's throat instead, and he rolls his hips distractingly while Ford fights to get the damnable thing open. He ignores the snickering against his skin in the process.

It stops anyway, hitching into something warm and startled when Ford sinks two slick fingers into him.

"Oh, fuck," Stan breaths, reaching up to grab Ford by the shoulder, holding himself steady. "Y-You know you don't have to do that, right? Pretty loosened up already."

He is, to be fair. His hole is still soft and loose and fucked open. But Ford enjoys petting his fingers against the tender muscle and stroking them inside anyway. He likes watching Stan bite his lip and push himself back onto his hand. When he slides a third in after the first two, Stan's thighs tremble on either side of his own, and he makes a low, throaty sound.

When Ford curls his fingers just right, Stan yells and grips his shoulder hard enough to hurt, and it makes warm satisfaction curl in his middle. So he does it a few more times, alternating between spreading his fingers and rubbing the tips against Stan's prostate until he's squirming in his lap.

"I-I'm gonna come if you don't knock that sh-shit off," he gasps, slumping a bit when Ford chuckles and slides his fingers out.

"I think I'd like that," Ford says, squeezing his slick fingers against Stan's thigh.

He snorts and straightens back up, finding the discarded lube packet to squirt the remainder onto Ford's cock. "Yeah, I bet you fucking would," Stan agrees, but there's no malice in his voice, just warm amusement.

His fist is warm and wonderful when it curls around Ford's cock, spreading lube, and then Ford is being held steady, Stan adjusts himself on his scuffed knees, and there's nothing else to do but hold on as Stan lowers himself into his lap.

It feels as good as it had earlier to be inside of him, and Ford squeezes the thigh under his hand tightly, fighting against the need to buck his hips. Stan is panting softly, his head tilted back and a pretty, pink color is crawling up from under his t-shirt to flood his neck and face.

Ford groans and leans forward, finding a nipple through his thin shirt to get his teeth and tongue against.

"F-Ford!" Stan gasps, fumbling the hand not clawing at his shoulder up into his hair, and Ford sucks hard on the firm nub, rubbing spit-soaked cotton against it with his tongue until Stan rocks in his lap.

Fuck, he likes that, the way his name sounds in Stan's voice, especially warm and rough after fucking his throat earlier.

He squeezes Stan's thigh and his hip, giving him a little tug, and that's all the encouragement Stan needs before he's bouncing on his cock. Ford has that thought again -- that Stan was meant to be filled by him, that they're a perfectly matched set. But it isn't just feeling good and hot while Stan fucks himself in his lap. It's feeling like he's been missing something and he finally has it, like he's finally complete again.

He's missed this, Ford realizes.

Not the fucking his brother part. He'd fantasized about that for years but it still feels like a dream that it's happening, like something that's too good to be true.

But being able to put his arms around him? To be this close to him again?

Ford rocks his hips up, hard, and Stan says his name. He wraps his fingers around Stan's cock, and he gasps his name. He bites the same swollen, pink nipple through his shirt, and Stan shouts his name.

He snaps his hips up to meet him a few more times and rubs the sensitive glans under the head of Stan's cock, and then there are teeth digging into his other shoulder and his fist and stomach are being striped in Stan's come while he shudders and jerks overtop of him.

Stan goes easily when Ford rolls them over and pins one of his wrists to the bed. And despite the way he squirms and how his spent cock twitches and leaks, blatantly overstimulated, he hooks his ankles behind Ford's back and urges him on.

"C-C'mon, give it to me. Fuck, just like that, Sixer!"

The nickname hits him with all the subtlety of a truck and all the heat of a volcanic eruption.

He doesn't even remember coming so much as he remembers every synapses in his brain trying to fire at once. Coming back down to reality is a little clearer, with his head spinning and pulse racing as he flops onto his back, but it still takes several long minutes before he feels fully cognizant again.

Something makes the bed shift, and he looks over to see that Stan has rolled onto his stomach. Ford wonders if he looks half as fucked out as Stan does, with bruises blossoming across his body, his shirt rucked halfway up his stomach, and come staining his ass and thighs. Ford realizes Stan still has his socks on, and he can't figure out why that makes something twinge, hot but exhausted and halfhearted, in his gut.

"Gonna...gonna get up in a minute," Stan says, his voice slurring and his eyes already closed. Ford watches him rub his cheek against one of Ford's pillows, and the soft sound of snoring follows soon after.

The reality of the situation starts to settle in shortly after that, and Ford stares wide eyed up at the ceiling as if he'll find some sort of answers there. Unsurprisingly, there are no secrets etched overhead for how to reckon with the fact that he had just fucked his brother, twice, while the fate of the world was still very much hanging in the balance between his fraying sanity and Bill's looming threat.

".....Fuck," Ford murmurs.

When the adrenaline finishes seeping out of his system, Ford expects to crash. The exhaustion certainly climbs back into his bones, but he's surprised to find himself still clear headed. Focused.

The sound of Stan sleeping soundly beside him is as soothing as it is mocking, but he doesn't want to separate himself from it even though he knows he needs to get up. There's soft, gray light starting to creep in through the windows, and distant birdsong calling for the start of the day. He needs to readjust, to come up with a new plan, find some way to explain to Stan what's going on so they can buy themselves a little more time.

Against all odds and his better judgment, there's a tiny, optimistic voice in the back of his head reminding him that there's strength in numbers. He isn't surprised that it sounds like Stan.

#¯\_ (ツ)_/¯#stancest #nsft #i have been DYING to write this for 2 weeks #and i just haven't had the time to actually sit with it #so i hope it balances out the wait anon!#foodtruck’s snack packs #pretend my ask tag is cute

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katyspersonal · 3 days ago

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Lrb dear god, this reminded me of that time when Alfred-chan got sooooo mad at my post explaining why fans should respect bisexual headcanons for Maria and Malenia instead of pretending like they're canonically lesbians and that they get oppressed and erased by mxf ships with them. They kept vagueing that post for like a MONTH in their blog including in tags under reblogs of Maria fanart, passively-aggressively changed their url to character+sexuality to "spite" me and then even made a sockpuppet account to start shit with me in the comments.

They deactivated when me and Val completely obliterated their "you cultivate lesbiphobic following by telling people why they should respect all sexuality headcanons instead of acting cultish or assuming their experiences and stereotypes equal canon confirmation" garbage with actual facts and logic tho but I screenshotted everything fjthfgfj (I learned to document everything the hard way after they've changed the she/they pronouns to they/they pronouns ONLY to accuse me of misgendering, so thank you for making me wiser I guess 😎). Even more vile, as they, a white person, larped as an Arab in that sockpuppet to hold even MORE "privilege" against me in discussion gjtjfh Because for them race, gender or sexuality are just badges of honor and dishonor, they don't see these as traits of actual human beings. And Dr Eugene X, who worked with them and weaponized her race to accuse everyone who disagreed with her of racism, didn't bat an eye at such a terrible act too?? As usual, rules are not for their friends, lol

It is not even the worst thing Alfred did, and yet all of this just, just, JUST because I wrote a point on why bisexual headcanon people did nothing wrong and there is no ground to claim something is canon when it isn't. 🤦‍♂️ Like, they were soooo convinced that I hated lesbian headcanons and that I'd feel angry if they called Lady Maria a lesbian, when what I was angry at is this exact toxic behavior in the fandom. No matter how much you like a headcanon, don't be a bitch about it. Maria doesn't """belong""" to any gender or sexuality, she belongs to anyone who likes her and is invested in her complexity as a character!!!

Yet, apparently, common Malenia simps / Finlay shippers are no better than common Maria simps / Mariadeline shippers. Just, wild how after shit like this, many people have the guts to claim that it is "sexist redditbros" who are the biggest problem of creators in the fandom. 🤦‍♂️ They'd actually blush if they encountered what such self-proclaimed "feminists" do to their own (!!!) over headcanons. 🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️

#also fuck anna for thinking shit like this and way worse things alfred did is not as evil and toxic as #as me snapping at her for DEFENDING alfred #wiki: I can excuse stalking harassment cultish shunning bullying fantomette lying slander weaponizing identity but-#-I draw the line at katy getting too emotional when I admit as much uwu #granted she did admit that the reason for this is because alfred didnt concern her personally #she is probably the person I'll forgive last in this situation if ever #as much as I hate alfred they clearly have no empathy and compassion and lie for medical reasons #it isn't my assumptions they often reblogged this shit #I know mental illness is not an excuse for so much harassment for variety of reasons but-#-why would someone want to change if they medically can't feel guilt for their actions?#I feel bad for them and they hopefully will get help #as for Eugene idk... they seem to be a typical brainwashed youth #such people either change with age or get strongly bitten in the ass and get reality check #granted people who still follow her did admit she goes head hunting and then plays victim #as well as they only keep in touch because they worry they'll be dragged down if they are not at her good side #rather than because they like her posts (which are so untrue to BB that she can just make OCs anyways)#choir boy is literally just mindless sheep that didnt even have dignity to make it personal #hence is the name #I am sure he is lovely in his own circle it just doesn't concern me or my friend #but anna?#she knew what she was doing and has no excuse #fandomry rambles #it is also funny how they are four cringe failures and us are four based people #best AND worst groups come in four lol #also I know you all are dying to know how I can still hold grudges year later right?#it is hard to explain #I live normally and recover and not think of it but then scar starts to hurt #like you know how physical scars can react to weather or shit? mental can too

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thisismeracing · 3 days ago

Note

Hey, can I pleade request Mick dating a journalism major!reader in uni, (and she has to write a paper about something like 'a thing you find beautiful in everday life' or something like that and she writes about Mick, he reads it and realises she has feelings for him)? Please

P.S.: feel free ignore the part in the brackets

Beautiful things | MS47

⸺ the one where it's no secret you're in love with him, but he finally realizes it. ✓ mentions of food; friends to lovers; not proofread; fem!reader (she/her). 0.8k words

▸ my masterlist | my taglist | patreon guide ▸ support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

Mick had a rushed routine as a driver and a famous one. You also had a rushed routine, though you were neither famous nor a driver. Quite the opposite and your friendship surprised a few people because you were a journalism major who just like in the cliches spilled your coffee on him on your first day at the paddock.

One of your college friends who happened to have a rich mom invited you to a weekend in the paddock, and though every catastrophic scenario went through your head you said yes. As it turned out, you did make a fool of yourself, but it earned you a new friend, and just like everyone once told you, nobody is paying that much attention to the point of remembering the comic situation you got pulled into.

You and Mick clicked and had been friends for around two years now. You made it work even with the hectic schedule and the traveling. He would take you with him whenever it was near enough for a quick plane ride and you didn't have classes. That's how it became a thing for him to know about your assignments and help you with them. He would tell you that it was relaxing to read your writing, and then proceed to do it every small free second he got (there were shots of him in the garage with a sandwich in one hand and your laptop in the other).

Coming to think about it, you suppose that maybe that's how you fell for him. Mick was always there for you even when he was on the other side of the world. He would call, and text, and get you small souvenirs. He would help proofread your assignments, and ask about your day. And don't get things wrong, you have tons of friends, but none of them felt like what you had with Mick. None of them slept with their phone by their pillow waiting for you to sleep and waking you up if they heard you having a nightmare. You kept telling yourself that he was just extra friendly. That he was the golden retriever guy everyone talked about, but that didn't mean he loved you. That, though, wasn't enough to convince your heart and you saw yourself slowly and surely fall for him.

That's how you ended up writing about him in your last assignment. One he wasn't supposed to read, but you forgot you shared the online folder with him and that he opened it every weekend to check for new stuff.

There are many beautiful things in everyday life, but some don't seem captivating to us every day. I love the sky, love the way the blue can turn into orange, and somehow get mixed into a light purple. How at night you get to see different glimmers of stars, and travel imagining cloud forms just like when it's daylight. But I don't see the sky as lovely when it's winter and there's no sun or white clouds, just a dark shade of grey. [...] I also find the rush of people in the city captivating, each going on about their lives, taking the subway, strolling with friends, walking the dogs, and buying groceries. Still, there are days when I hate the rush, and I hate how the dogs will stand in the way on the sidewalk, how the subway is full, and how loud a group of strangers can be. [...] But then there are the people. A person. He drives just as effortlessly as he walks. And the days when he walks with me, the dark sky is beautiful, the dogs barking in the way are music to my ears, and the packed subway is full of bursting dreams and hopeful people. I'm one of them. I'm hopeful he'll notice me one day. I'm hopeful he'll love me the way I love him. I'm hopeful he'll see me just as beautiful as I see him. To me, he's the everyday beauty, not because of his sparkly blue eyes, or soft blond hair, but because of who he is. I never get tired of him. I never will because he's this kind of beauty to me.

"Wow," he breathed after finishing your paper just as you were walking into his driver's room.

His big ocean orbs found your frame by the door, and by the way he was looking at you, surprise etched on his face, you knew he read the piece and connected the dots.

"Mick...I-...I'm so sorry- I-" Truth be told, you were on the verge of tears, what was supposed to be a beautiful day started to feel like a nightmare. You thought so many things, thought he would hate you, thought he wouldn't wanna be friends anymore, that he would laugh at you, but he smiled.

He gave you that overwhelmingly gorgeous smile.

Your heart skipped a beat, and suddenly, he was in front of you, still smiling, he reached for your cheekbones and connected your foreheads, taking a deep breath - something you weren't able to do because of your nerves.

"Schatzi, you're the most beautiful thing in the world," he whispered, and that small sentence was everything you needed to hear.

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: This was so fun to write hihihi I hope you guys like it! - don't forget to reblog and comment if you do *mwah*

If you liked this piece and want early access to new ones and exclusive access to others, subscribe to my patreon!💘 ▸ check my main masterlist | patreon guide and my taglist.

©thisismeracing ― do not copy, steal, or translate my work; do not repost on a different media platform.

#mick schumacher #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x you #f1 fandom #f1 x reader #ms47 #millie writes #op: blurbs #f1 imagines #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher fanfic #f1 2024 #requests #anon #wec #formula 1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 fluff

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chanranghaeys · 24 hours ago

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👼 a regular korean citizen

pairing: idol!active duty!jeonghan x gn!reader word count: 817 genre: fluff, slice of life rating: pg tags: sleepy couple, morning musings, mainly an imagine of sorts, reader is tired bc of work, mentions of active korean military duty are NOT accurate and i do not claim their accuracy so please bear with my descriptions i rly did just make them up as i went warnings: none request from my love, tara (@diamonddaze01)! “one waking up before the other, so they make up their side of the bed and can’t help but tuck in their sleeping lover as they do so” with jeonghan pls and thank u i miss my husband a/n: thank u lovely tara! i indeed got out of the dreaded writing slump. and it’s my first time writing jeonghan so i hope i did him justice for u!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Jeonghan distinctly remembers going to sleep on his own with no one else on the bed. It was a pleasant surprise for him to see you on the other side when he rolled over.

If there was anything he enjoyed most about being an active member of the Korean military, it was that he was not subject to the grueling demands of an idol’s schedule. He could just be a regular Korean citizen—something he hasn’t had the luxury to experience in about a decade.

He couldn’t say the same for you, though, who also worked in the entertainment industry with hours just as long as his used to be. It was evident in the way you were sprawled over the bed, caring less about how you looked and how you ended up sleeping. Your neck was in such an awkward position compared to your body that Jeonghan was so sure you’d wake up with a stiff neck, and he would not allow that.

He knew you were as much of a light sleeper as he was. And as much as he wanted to caress your face or smooth down your hair, he shouldn’t for fear of waking you up from a much-deserved slumber.

But he wasn’t Yoon Jeonghan, part-time troublemaker, for nothing. And he missed you, as he did every day, so what other reason could there be to justify him not holding the love of his life as dearly as he wanted to?

You must’ve been absolutely drained because you didn’t even react at the gentlest of his touches. Jeonghan smiled and continued his soft strokes on your head. A forehead kiss did merit the slightest reaction from you—an automatic one where you seemed to involuntarily lean into the touch of his lips making contact on your skin.

He smirked. If only you could see it and how much it gave away how smug he felt to see you still craving for his touch. He checked the time from the standard military watch on his hand—5:37 am. It was time for him to get up.

He checked his phone, tapping into your work calendar to see your schedule. You still had a few hours of sleep left before your shoot scheduled for 1 pm. That was good, he thought, you need all the rest before another chaotic variety show shoot until whatever ungodly hour of the night.

The military discipline easily merged with Jeonghan’s idol discipline. It may not be the same for all fellow idols on active duty, but others have mentioned how similar both were. It was the implicit and discrete need for order and organization that both disciplines shared. It made sure everything was clean-cut and picture-perfect for idols on screen, and that everyone followed uniform standards with a code of conduct for active soldiers to learn.

Jeonghan was used to it. And such disciplines included even the simplest task of making the bed. He fluffed his pillow, he fixed the sheets he messed up on his side with a military tuck—and you didn’t even budge. You were out cold.

Jeonghan huffed a sigh, running his hands through his short-cropped hair—something he was still getting used to. “Aigoo-yaaaaa” was all he said with all the endearment in his heart.

He shuffled over to your side and, as gently as he could, fixed your sleeping position to avoid that impending stiff neck of yours. He also fixed the clothes already riding up in places because of how haphazardly you put them on. Thankfully, you remembered to remove your makeup before going to sleep this time. He was almost late for duty the last time he stayed to carefully remove it for you while you slept.

Carefully, he fluffed up your pillow and fixed the sheets as much as possible. He opened up the blanket and let it rest on your sleeping figure. He so badly wanted to engulf you in a warm embrace, but he loved tucking you in and seeing your relaxed expression just as much.

He left one final parting gift: a kiss on your cheek. Okay, maybe more than one gift—another kiss, a light brush of his lips on yours.

Jeonghan’s military enlistment allowed him to be a regular Korean citizen. That just gave him more opportunities to spend time with you and treat you the way a regular Korean citizen would. It was a welcome break for your relationship if it meant he could love you without all of the lights and cameras and judgmental eyes in the way.

Walking from the bedroom to the kitchen, he checked his phone once again and opened the calendar app. Peering at the time block for 7 pm later, he made sure his schedule and yours was a free time block. He couldn’t wait to share the wild stories about him and his fellow military men that would have to wait until tonight.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

post a/n: still accepting requests for my little drabble request game! all you gotta do is shoot an ask <3

post post a/n: svt won TWO daesangs at mama 2024 today!! HUHU i am proud of my bois (∩˃o˂∩)♡

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lov3-from-loserlane · 2 days ago

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Qiu Lin character/enneagram analysis

@onelastskip thank you so much for the request!

I did have every intention of making this write up, sorry it took so long!! Unfortunately a lot of my hard ““evidence”” comes from beta and other patreon exclusive content, but I can absolutely write a more generalized and theoretical response about Qiu’s enneagram. And I literally just replayed the prologue yesterday so it is freshhh.

(I also love the enneagram, I prefer it over MBTI. Great minds think alike ;) )

And if you’re a newbie to the enneagram, don’t worry! I’ll be thorough with my explanations, so you should be able to follow along. Verrrrrry thorough hahahhaah. This post is literally over 2k words.

But! Just think about this as a general character analysis through the lense of the enneagram. It’ll be at least kind of interesting and fun, I promiseeee 😉🤞

So, anyway, let’s get started then.

I typed Qiu as a 3w2 sx/so

So what does this mean?

I believe that Qiu is an enneagram 3 with a 2 wing. The instinctual variants for their enneagram being sx and so. I’ll explain what that all means later on, but we’ll start with just about the basic description of the enneagram.

Enneagram 3 Description

The Enneagram is a personality theory that aims to describe the most vulnerable parts of ourselves, our hopes, our fears, our motivations, and potentially our trauma. It’s how we see the world and make sense of our emotions.

So then, what does it mean to be an enneagram 3?

Well, 3s in their most basic form, can be understood this way:

The enneagram 3 is defined by their need to differentiate themselves from other people through their accomplishments and can appear incredibly ambitious and goal oriented. 3s like to keep themselves busy, and their schedules are usually jam-packed with things to do. They’re very charismatic and acutely aware of the correct polite conduct. They make it a point to make good first impressions. 3s do not believe that they are inherently worthy of being loved, however, and that being loved comes as a result of what they can achieve. 3s fear their own irrelevancy, and are driven by a need for attention and admiration.

I’m sure you noticed that some of that description does fit Qiu! However, there’s a lot that *doesn’t* which probably stood out, and needs to addressed.

Like, what’s this about being super goal-oriented, ambitious, and needing to be successful? Nothing about Qiu, from what we’ve seen, proves that to be true about them.

Those of you who know the enneagram may even be thinking, “well, what about enneagram 2? They’re also people oriented, want to be liked and appreciated, and then we don’t have to worry about the fact that Qiu doesn’t seem necessarily ambitious or goal-oriented on being successful.”

Well, I kinda mislead you there. Because I think Qiu is very ambitious and goal-oriented, just not in the way we traditionally think about these concepts. Usually we think a person with these traits aims to someday have a high paying job, invent something new, do something genius that’ll get them celebrated worldwide or accumulate a comfortable amount of wealth. Which doesn’t sound like Qiu at all. But that’s not the only way this desire can be exhibited.

Instinctual Variants:

Thats where the instinctual variants of the enneagram come in. Instinctual variants are basically just subtypes of the enneagram, different ways in which the same enneagram can be presented. And it’s a part of enneagram that is relatively more unknown, but can actually be a huge help in figuring out which enneagram applies to you/a character. (So if you’re into enneagram at all, I recommend checking them out! Fair warning: the instinctual variants can really delve into the worst possible version of your psyche in a lot of cases, so be prepared for that. Be honest with yourself.)

Anyway, the instinctual variants are abbreviated as “sx”, “so”, and “sp”. These stand for “sexual”, “social”, and “self-preserving”, respectively.

I typed Qiu as a sexual 3. NOW CHILL cause before you come at me “sexual” doesn’t LITERALLY mean sexual, sexuality, sex, etc. I mean in some cases it can definitely be related, but it does not mean that inherently. And that’s not what I’m gonna be talking about with Qiu like at all. I don’t know why they called it that, I didn’t make it up. I just read about it and then apply it to fictional characters in my tumblr posts 😪

But anyway, the sx 3 can often times not look like a traditional 3, which would make Qiu a little difficult to type as a 3 initially. But once you get into the description of the sx 3, it starts to become more clear.

Sx 3s aren’t so much focused on making achievements in the real world so much as they are on pleasing others and creating an appealing image around themselves. They extract feelings of accomplishment from the happiness and success of the people around themselves. Unlike other 3s, sx 3s aim to connect to others mentally through supporting them. They expend much of their energy for the sake of other people, and they’re hardworking and ambitious in this way. They don’t necessarily feel the need for tangible achievement like other 3s. They love, admiration, and desire of others is enough for them. They are unconventional achievers in this way. Sexual 3s have a very community driven mentality, where they’re always looking out for the greater good of the whole team.

They can also often times feel the need to play into the role of an easily digestible feminine or masculine image, depending on how they were assigned at birth 😳 Whichhhh I want to yank a quote from the beta moment “fancy fun” for this so bad. But you’re just gonna have to guess what I’m talking about if you played it. And if you haven’t, I’m sorry 😔‼️ but I do feel like this point can be somewhat inferred from the demo, if only abstract based on how Qiu conducts themself.

Now, the enneagram 2’s flavor of wanting to be “likeable” isn’t necessarily rooted in being admired and looked up to. In a lot of ways, it’s the opposite. The enneagram 2 wants to be useful and needed by others. Qiu may feel like they are useful and that they are needed, but that’s not necessarily what they’re looking for. Qiu at the end of the day just wants for people think they’re cool and kind and the best friend ever. Which is why I don’t think they are a 2, they simply have a 2 wing. (The wing just being another thing that indicates what way the enneagram presents itself).

So yeah, I think sx 3 is the perfect fit for Qiu. Because while they don’t necessarily need to be revered for any personal accomplishments, (only rarely taking the opportunity to brag, and if they do it’s played off more or less as a joke) they do however have this intense need to be liked as a person and looked up to for that reason.

Childhood Wound:

Another way we can infer somebody’s enneagram would be based on their “childhood wound.” In enneagram, this would be the root of where this person’s enneagram would come from. Meaning yes, a person’s enneagram is established during their childhood years and does not change.

The childhood wound of the enneagram 3 is as follows:

(Screenshotted from a deleted user on Reddit)

Based on some information given in the QnAs on patreon, we can infer that this is true of Qiu’s childhood. But I also believe it can be inferred by public content as well.

Based on how Qiu conducts themself, I don’t think kids in Golden Grove ever really appreciated Qiu for being Qiu. People liked them because they were expending themselves for the sake of others, trying their best to include everybody and putting on this “act” of being cool about everything. They actively minimize their own needs/boundaries while being hyper aware of everyone else’s. This made them likable, which made them popular, which made them a high commodity to their classmates.

We also kind of get this in the explanation for Baxter’s crush on Qiu. Baxter could have liked Qiu genuinely, I’m not discounting that at all, after all he was one of their closest friends in childhood. However, the way he goes about rationalizing it to himself is this:

(Screenshotted from the GBPatch tumblr)

“You’re popular, so why shouldn’t I like you.” And it’s safe to assume a lot of other people felt the same way about Qiu, whether it be related to a crush or completely platonically. It was this sort of self fulfilling prophecy where Qiu tried their best to live up to the expectations of others, which made them even more desirable to people, which made them feel they had to become subservient to these expectations, which made people want them all the more. And in a way, they themselves kinda wanted that. They actively seek out that kind of attention and feel fulfilled when it’s received. But not to this extreme of a point, as we can see in Step 2.

What about Step 2?!:

That brings us to one glaring problem some may already be considering. Qiu’s personality in Step 2. It seems to have taken a complete 180 from how they were in Step 1.

In Step 2, the last thing Qiu wants is attention or to be around people at all. They could seemingly care less if they’re liked which can be observed in how they treat Tamarack’s concerns about their litter in the current Step 2 preview. They straight up disregard her feelings completely, and not politely. Qiu really just wants to hide away from it all and not be bothered. And if the enneagram is developed during childhood and then never changes, wouldn’t it be better to find something that also encompasses that side of them? Maybe they’re not a 3, or even a 2!

Weeeeeell ackshually ☝️🤓, I think enneagram 3 is still very applicable to Step 2 Qiu, but there’s not much I can say about that *definitively* at the moment.

However, we do have this description of Step 3 Qiu to work off of:

(Screenshotted from the GBPatch tumblr)

So obviously, Qiu’s presentation in Step 2 isn’t all that it seems. Qiu is actively *going against* their true nature during Step 2 for one reason or another. My best guess would have to be that they feel they previously let their identity rely too heavily on the needs of the people around them, and that notion freaks them out. So even if, in a way, their true identity DOES revolve around what they can be for others, they also want to make sure there’s a real, individual, person in there somewhere. Maybe in a twisted and fucked up way you can suggest that it is in fact because our culture heavily celebrates and looks up to that kind of individuality. Like, we as a society can consider it an admirable quality to be an outcast for the things that make us unique. That could potentially be added motivation. But thatssssssss really pushing it kind of and I’m talking out of my ass a little bit. So I’ll leave it there. 🥱

Either way, we can conclude that in Step 2 Qiu is not at all a “completely different person,” I don’t really think that’s even possible, and tbh I hope people don’t believe that about them. But I do think that they are actively *trying* to be. Which is sooooo 3, in a way (I sound like an astrology girl heheh >:3) But yeah, as a young teen, you think you know you want a lot of things. And then when you grow up, you realize that’s not what you actually wanted in the first place.

Side tangent, this is also why I loveee the idea of playing the game with jealousy/envy turned on for Qiu. I just feel like it’s so natural to their arc, but that’s just my own personal interpretation/preference.

But anyway, that’s how I came to my conclusion, Qiu is an enneagram 3w2!

Conclusion:

Let me once again reiterate that this is literally pseudoscience, so there isn’t an end all be all. You could totally think I was wrong and have your own ideas, and we could all totally be wrong and right and the same time together. I just do this stuff for fun, cause I think it’s cool and interesting and helps me better understand both my favorite characters in fiction and the viewpoints of people completely different from me ^_^

If you read this, I honestly CANNOT thank you enough, seriously. Because wow this post was crazy and long and insane and insanely crazy long. And I feel like I’m really bad and disorganized when it comes to explaining things. But I appreciate it if you did take an interest! I hope you were entertained and learned something new.

Qiu was specifically requested, and this post is long enough as it is. And that’s without all the beta and patreon stuff, which then we could be here for hours getting into the nitty gritty details. But anyway, I would love to do a separate analysis on Tamarack’s enneagram next. Though spoiler alert, her’s will be a lot moreeeee theoretical and hard to explain T~T I’m sure that would be super fun for me to attempt though HAHA. So if you’d be interested in that, let me know! And if you wouldn’t, too bad because I’ll probably do it anyway!

(PS. I tried to make sure not to give away anything directly related to content only included in the patreon. But, if I made a mistake, please let me know and I will edit it out of the post immediately!)

My references:

#Ame rants about shit only she cares about #Ame is Nuts #typology #enneagram #Qiu Lin #olnf #our life now and forever

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evanbuckleyrecs · 1 day ago

Note

Any recommendations on hurt-comfort Buddie that will make you cry? HEA please!

I started to answer this but accidentally clicked on a Tumblr link so I gotta start over 😂

I haven't read Buddie fics in a while so these are a bit older. (I'm going to catch up soon! I've just been in a phase where I'm either reading Teen Wolf fics or physical books)

Also haven't updated my bookmarks yet. Sadly a lot of great authors I'd normally recommend have turned anti-Buddie since April and I'd rather not promote them in Buddie posts if they're not safe to follow anymore as a Buddie fan.

Please check the tags of a fic before reading in case something is triggering for you!

the things that haunt me in the middle of the night by justhockey

2,4k, rated G

He gasps for breath and it feels like a reflex - like coming up for air after being sucked under. Like a desperate, manic thing.

He’s safe, he knows that. Knows he was never really in much danger anyway. But the sound of it all - the waves, the rain, the crashing and the thundering - it echoes in his head, ricochets through his bones. It lives inside of him, he guesses, even after all these years. That fear, the exhaustion, the crippling terror of finding the surface only to realise that Christopher was gone.

He rubs at his sternum, tries to breathe deeply, tries to blink away the memories of the day the water nearly took everything from him.

I let my guard down by bucksclipboard

6,5k, rated M

"It didn’t stop. Buck went from hoping the packages were from someone special to suspecting someone was toying with him. The hopeless romantic in him was slowly wilting. When he opened the latest letter, suddenly he was not so sure his secret admirer was of the good-natured kind. "

or: who needs police protection when you have eddie diaz by your side?

Cut me slack (I've watched your heart stop) by kat_atthewisco

Rated G, 5,4k

“Well, unfortunately I am calling you specifically for your role as Mr. Buckley’s power of attorney. He does need a couple of decisions made about his care that he’s not fit for at the moment. If you’re able to get here soon that would be best, I can’t tell you much over the phone.” To her credit, Deirdre does sound apologetic, and Eddie’s panic has begun to ratchet back up.

“I’ll be there as fast as I can, is he- please, how bad?” Eddie repeats.

In which Eddie gets The Call from Cedars-Sinai while he's off work thanks to a healing injury. Being Buck's emergency contact is suddenly a very real thing.

Never More To Leave Here by devirnis

Rated T, 10,2k

"Can you remind my brother that we were supposed to get lunch?” Maddie asks.

“Uh sure,” Eddie says slowly, confused. “But why don’t you just call him yourself?”

“I did, a couple times, but he didn’t answer. I assumed he was still with you?”

Eddie thinks back to last night, to Buck specifically making plans to go back to his own place so he wouldn’t be late for lunch with Maddie. Buck had texted him when he got home, just a simple night :) that still made Eddie’s heart flutter, so obviously Buck had made it back to the loft… But there haven’t been any texts from Buck all morning. Not that that is necessarily unheard of, but especially over the last few weeks it’s become rarer and rarer for even a few hours to go by without Eddie’s phone dinging with a message notification from Buck.

A small tendril of worry curls around Eddie’s ribs.

BTHB: locked up & left behind

Diagnosis: Dumbass by snarkymuch

Rated T, 2,7K

Christopher scrunched his face, then stopped rummaging through his pack to grab something from the ground—something that turned out to be his phone.

“No, nope—who do you think you’re calling?” he asked, trying to reach for it, but Christopher had already hit the button, dialing someone—whom he’d bet anything was his father.

Christopher pulled away, out of reach, phone to his ear, then a moment later saying, “Yeah, I’m okay, dad—yeah, I know—no, but he fell out of a tree—”

“He is fine, though!” Buck yelled, hoping to stop the inevitable freakout from Eddie. “Eddie, do you hear me? I’m fine!”

--or--

Buck takes Chris out for a light hike, somehow ends up falling out of a tree, and Chris patches him up while waiting for his dad to arrive.

Presumed Dead by inkonmyheartandonthepage

Rated G, 4,4K

The fresh air was supposed to have been good for Buck. A small hike that he had done a million times. A nice hike that gave him a workout and at the same time allowed him to sift through his thoughts and feelings and to focus on what he really wanted.

Instead, he’s stuck in the middle of nowhere at a rest stop watching some asshole drive away in his jeep.

The 118 crew arrive a fender bender only to find it's Buck's jeep on fire and the body inside dead and burning.

The monsters turned out to be just trees by Ink_Dancer

Rated T, 8,4k

Buck and Eddie are searching for a missing person, and they're already lost in the woods when Buck gets injured and makes their situation a lot more complicated. With the sun going down, they're forced to spend the night outside, with only each other for warmth and shelter.

(set post-buck's recovery from the firetruck, but no other specific time markers. nebulously within the show's canon.)

It's what my rotting bones will sing when the rest of me is dead by heartbeatdiaz

Rated T, 12,4k

"Eddie? Eds, can you hear me?” Buck rubs his knuckles against Eddie's sternum, a little too harsh, a little too desperate. "Eddie!"

Eddie croaks out a weak, barely there, whine as Buck's knuckles do the trick and his eyes open in slits.

"Evan?" He chokes out, his voice so hoarse and raspy that it must have been hurting his throat. "You're real?" He whispers in awe, his hand twitching as his side like he wants to reach up to Buck— touch his face— but he's too weak to do that. Eddie's brow furrowed but a small smile graces his lips, barely there. "I didn't give up. I made it home to you."

or;

the one where a call goes wrong and leaves everyone thinking eddie was dead, buck finds about the will through a letter and comes to some other revelations in the process.

and in which eddie finds his way back home and finally gets to be happy with the love of his life.

BTHB Prompt: Missing and Presumed Dead

Let me go by tawaifeddiediaz

Rated T, 8,1K

For the first time since he met him, he wasn’t sure where Buck was, and it was driving him insane. His shift ended three hours later than Eddie on Tuesdays, and today, he had texted saying that he was going to pick up groceries.

After that, he hadn’t returned back home.

Kindness: What Connects Us by FandomLife54

Rated T, 9,6k

Still off balance, Buck slams his left heel onto the roof, heaving forward to catch the collar of that yellow shirt. And there’s no conscious decision making here. It’s all instinct, and he’s grateful for it. If he’d given his overzealous mind the chance to consider another way, he would have missed his shot. Instead, his arms hurl the boy into the hands of another survivor...

And his right foot misses the edge.

Buck catches Chris before he rolls off the firetruck, and it's him who falls back into the retreating waters of the tsunami. Unconscious and seriously injured, he's unaware that his team has been searching for him, never giving up as the days pass.

A leaf falls on loneliness by iimpossible_things

Not rated, 11,1k

Buck doesn’t think that if he were to say, “I’m in a bad place”, that anyone would turn him away. Really, he doesn’t. The 118 has too many good, kind people for that.

But every time he wants to open his mouth, to say something, to reach out to Eddie or Bobby or Hen or Chim, he hears Eddie yelling, “you’re exhausting.”

—you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting—

So each day he does his job and he laughs and he jokes and he pretends he’s the care-free goofball he’s always been. And each day he packs away his bruises and his worries, takes them home to his empty loft with its quiet rooms, and licks his wounds in silence.

And I watched a part of myself die 'cause no amount of freedom gets you clean by himbobuckley

WARNING: rape/non-con. Rated T, 10,2K

Buck goes out drinking after a particularly tragic call and the night takes a turn for the worse when he's targeted and assaulted. Struggling in the aftermath and unsure how to handle it, Buck tries to distance himself from his friends and family, believing that with time he can simply move past it on his own. Eddie notices something is wrong with Buck and desperately tries to get through to his friend, fearing the worst.

or:

Buck goes through the fucking ringer. eddie notices something's horribly wrong. you can contact my lawyer for emotional damages.

or:

“I heard about what happened yesterday,” Eddie says softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. And that I didn’t know. I should’ve gone out with you, or made you come over, or-”

“Eddie,” Buck interrupts. “It’s- it’s okay. I just went out drinking. It’s fine.”

“Drinking alone?”

“Yeah,” he stammers. “Yeah, alone.”

“Hey listen, why don’t you come over tonight? We can do a movie night. And… I have something to tell you.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” Buck murmurs, feeling the tears welling up again. “I don’t think I can tonight.”

“Hey, wait Buck-”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Blue skies by spaceprincessem

36,7k, rated T

“Most babies are born as accidents,” She says suddenly, like she’s decided that Buck has passed, that she can trust him with this.

Buck doesn’t really have an answer because that question hits way to fucking close to home. A year or so ago he would have said, yes, I was an accident, so I know how that goes, but Buck knows better now. Knows that he would almost give anything for that answer to still be yes. Evie’s finger works under the seal to rip it open, a stack of important looking papers dumping out onto the table in front of her.

“Not me,” she says without looking up as she organizes them into a neat stack, “I was engineered.”

And.

And Buck’s pretty fucking sure a giant, cataclysmic hole has ripped right open, dragging him down to the earth’s core where he vaporizes into dust.

{or Buck meets another savior baby and everything comes crashing down}

Leave The Light On (I'll Be Coming Home) by HMSLusitania

Rated M, 44,4k, fandom classic

“We’re here for our grandson,” Helena says.

“Chris is still sleeping,” Buck says.

“I meant, we’re here to take him back to Texas,” Helena clarifies.

“Yeah,” Buck says. He’s too tired, way too tired to be tactful. “Over my dead body.”

An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is... missing presumed.

While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home.

Over The Age, Over Again by mintedwitcher

Rated E, 16,5k

EXCERPT:

He would’ve fallen down the cliffside if it hadn’t been for Bobby on the winch. Because that… that’s Buck’s jeep. There’s no denying it, no mistaking it. That is Buck’s jeep. Hanging almost sideways off a ledge, the driver’s side doors flung open with the force of the fall. And further down… no. No it can’t be… a man, smashed against the rocks. A massive pool of blood. But Eddie can see the familiar white sneakers against the dirt.

No Sight For Heart Eyes by znks

Rated E, 20,5k

“Buck, Karen, and Eddie stayed on the couch and talked while the kids settled on the floor to draw. It all felt so wonderfully normal that Eddie found himself forgetting that he hadn’t just closed his eyes in serenity as he leaned against Buck.

That’s what made the spell breaking so painful.

“Dad! Look! I drew the firetru- Oh, wait, it’s okay you can see it when you’re all better!” Christopher said it so cheerfully, not even hesitating before going back to swapping out pens with Denny.

But Eddie felt it like a shot to the chest.

He couldn’t see his son’s drawings.

Buck and Karen had barely paused in the conversation, but Eddie could hear how strained it became, both of them obviously knowing exactly how heartbreaking the moment had been. Buck’s arm wrapped more tightly around Eddie’s waist, chin resting on his shoulder.”

losing your sight for a week sucks but at least eddie has buck to guide him through his healing or at least through his own house

This has inspired me to go read more recent hurt/comfort Buddie fics! I haven't been super active on this account but hopefully I can update this soon :)

#911 #buddie #911 on abc #buddie fanfiction #911 buddie #911 fanfiction #911 abc #buddie fanfic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #hurt/comfort #buddie fic rec #buddie fanfic rec

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moonbeamastrology · 21 hours ago

Text

Dream Messages

Hello everyone, it’s been a hot minute since i posted a pick a card but uhhhhhh here u go lol. this pick a card is all about the messages your dreams have been trying to tell you. Center yourself, take a few deep breaths and chose the buggy image that calls to you. Take what resonates and leave the rest. I hope that this pick a card serves you well <3 love u

Pile 1- Caterpillar

Dream Oracle: Dog, Baby, Falling, Elevator

Tarot: 6 of cups, 7 of swords, 8 of swords, 9 of swords, 10 of pentacles, Temperance

(The dream oracle cards could have some themes that have been showing up in your dreams lately so check for some extra confirmation <3)

Hey pile 1 <3. You’re going through a period of growth right now (whether you resonate with ascensions, elevations, level ups, glow ups, etc) we have an ascending tarot number order ending with temperance. You may be super in your head and overthinking a lot right now or dealing with a lot of regret over the past or anxiety for a new experience (job, class, relationship, or creative project) but your dreams are trying to show you that everything is working out in a very aligned way for your best interest (*incredibly* stable, harmonious, and abundant). You’re being asked to follow your instincts during this new period and that it may not be exactly what you had envisioned or hoped for but it will be just as good or even better so be open to what the universe is trying to deliver to you. Everything will work out possibly even overnight (I’m seeing this build up of anxiety like “omg this is all going to blow up and explode” and then the situation is resolved in like the chillest manner ever). You’re undergoing *a lot* of healing while you sleep (possibly past life healing as well or having dreams of past lives) if you’ve been waking up exhausted or waking up multiple times during the night this is why (maybe check the time you wake up for some it could be a really opportune manifesting time). If there’s healing work you have been avoiding then your dreams are showing you what needs to be healed. I don’t get the feeling that it’s anything major, it’s something smaller that you’re just not really processing (character development/plot?? lol). Avoiding the work could cause a bigger problem in the long run. Your dreams have been reflecting your own reality so if you’ve been having stressful dreams, take a look at what the stressors are and how they could relate to your current experiences. Also so many cards came out so some of you could be feeling really overwhelmed at this time, make sure to delegate and to ask for help where you need it. At this time your dreams are trying to show you that you need to connect with what’s really important to you. Follow your instincts/intuition, do what you need to do but stay focused. I love you!!! <3

These mantras/affirmations come from the dream oracle deck, utilize them if you feel called to.

Dog: I pat myself on the back for expressing my instincts for love and loyalty.

Baby: With complete trust I allow the universe to midwife me into this new chapter of my life.

Falling: I am grounded in the bedrock of the here and now, rooted to the heart of unconditional love.

Elevator: I am moving up in the world, and I grow and glow from glory to greater glory.

Pile 2- Moth

Dream Oracle: Bridge, Dance, Chase

Tarot: 7 of cups, The Hanged Man R, 4 of pentacles

(The dream oracle cards could have some themes that have been showing up in your dreams lately so check for some extra confirmation <3)

Heyyyyy pile 2 are you guys into reality shifting or quantum leaping? If not, maybe there’s something you’re trying to manifest right now. Bridging that gap between where you are and where you want to be (what you want is already aligned). Maybe you’re literally dreaming of your dream life. You could also be experiencing some choice paralysis or you have a lot that you want to manifest in this life. Your dreams are telling you which manifestation is the most important to you right now. If there’s no indication then sit with yourself and really listen to what your heart and soul are calling you to. I feel that your dreams are trying to show you that you have subconscious blockage that’s preventing the manifestation. Or they’re showing you that you’re holding onto something that maybe you consciously don’t realize that you are. Subconscious programming/subliminals while you sleep would be really beneficial to you at this time (if you already listen to them then this is confirmation that it’s working). Drink more water. Change your perspective on how you can achieve your goals, maybe try something new (like spoiling yourself). I feel the key would be to really tap into your sensuality and luxury (big Taurus energy). Sacral chakra healing. Look into masturbation manifestation. Treat yourself how your dream self would treat you. Find out what self care really means to you. I do feel like you’re taking steps to achieve your goals so be proud of yourself for that. You are really powerful at this time, there’s just some illusion/blockage that needs to shatter before what you want manifests. Your energy felt really good pile 2 and your manifestations feel so close. Keep up the good work! I love you!!!! <3

These mantras/affirmations come from the dream oracle deck, utilize them if you feel called to.

Bridge: With my heart wide open, I realize that I am the energetic bridge that connects me from where I am to where I want to be.

Dance: Life is my dance partner, and I let it lead each step, each groove, and each move I make.

Chase: I can run but I can’t hide from my power.

Pile 3- Grasshopper

Dream Oracle: Ceremony, Elevator, Fire

Tarot: 2 of pentacles, The Devil R, The Lovers S

(The dream oracle cards could have some themes that have been showing up in your dreams lately so check for some extra confirmation <3)

Hey pile 3 I’m seeing that you guys are going through a major ascension/upgrade/level up right now. You could be going through a flame initiation or a kundalini awakening (iykyk). It feels like you have rediscovered your fire/passion recently. This fire is one of your greatest untapped gifts for real, use it wisely and intentionally because I feel it could burn people in your life if it’s not expressed. You could have just become aware of this potential and Spirit is congratulating you on that. You have come a really long way, healed, and taken accountability, it shows in your energy levels. Getting clear on what you want. There’s lots of good to come soon. You’ve released a bad habit/addiction/relationship/karmic (Spirit applauds you). If you haven’t released this yet then your dreams are showing you what it is and telling you to let go. Some situation is giving you a headache. I feel there are some distractions around and that’s what your dreams are showing you (most likely a person, unfortunately). “Glitter” by Tyler, The Creator except not all that glitters is gold. You have a really beautiful passion and fire within you, take care of it. I feel like telling you that Spirit is really really proud of you for this. I know this reading was really short but you just achieved something really awesome so I feel like some pressure has just been released so give yourself a little grace at this time. Pile 1 is also going through a level up but their energy was much more overwhelmed and worried but maybe there’s a message for you there as well. I love you!! I’m so proud of you!!! <3

These mantras/affirmations come from the dream oracle deck, utilize them if you feel called to.

Ceremony: I honor the changes through which I am going, growing, and glowing!

Elevator: I am moving up in the world, and I grow and glow from glory to greater glory.

Fire: I marvel at the miracle of alchemy as I transform and awaken to the full radiance of my destiny.

#tarot #tarot reading #pick a card #dream messages #messages

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