#i've had a very bad day and am struggling to catch up

[flimsy-roost]

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

[inbabylontheywept]

So: You have depression.

I'm 27 now. The last time I had a major depressive episode was when I was 16. I still have depressive episodes every now and then, but the worst tend to be a month, and most I can generally get through them in about a week. It took me a while to kind of figure out how to handle depression as a recurring thing, and so I thought I'd make a little welp-I-got-diagnosed-now-what guide.

So, first part of the guide: When I first got depressed, I thought that depression was the terrible, sad hopeless feeling that I had. It isn't. That terrible sad hopeless feeling is a symptom of prolonged depression. By the time I get to that point, I'm pretty well cooked and it takes a lot longer to bounce back. Avoiding getting to that point is a vital part of living with depression.

So what does depression feel like?

I am going to hammer this point home a lot of times while writing this: Depression is an anesthetic. It is not felt as a presence, but as an absence. The first absence, for me at least, is when life stops being fun. Every movie feels boring, I can't get more than a few pages into any book, and everything just seems... bland.

This is the best point to catch it at. I have found that consumptive patterns of entertainment do not do anything to help depression. Some people have told me that producing art at this time really helps them, but personally, I can't imagine trying. Instead, I just do tasks that I know inspire physical satisfaction. Which sounds like jerking off (I don't actually reccomend that route) but really means things like: Going for a walk in the sunshine. Working out. Cleaning the house in a fairly exhaustive way. Scrub the baseboards, wash the sink, clear the fridge, etc.

I recognize that doing those is really, really hard while depressed because depression causes physical weakness and exhaustion. The best I can do is, unfortunately, encourage vigillance. If you suspect you're getting into a funk, start on this before you get really deep into the mire. People that get into the mire can get out, but it's not self-help read-a-book type shit, it takes therapy and medication and patience and it is so much easier and cheaper and faster to just avoid letting it get that bad then crawling out once it's sunk its teeth into you.

I have found that for things that work almost by exposure alone, spending time in the sun and talking to people are borderline magical, with the caveat that talking to people about being depressed tends to make things worse instead of better. Talking about anything that cuts through the anesthetic of depression is ideal, or if it's sunk in deep enough that you're having trouble finding anything, talking to someone else about what they're passionate about. Ideally, you'd find someone passionate about a thing you know you're passionate about but are struggling to enjoy right then, and then you'd just let your mirror neurons run amok. Bonus Points

So, you're already depressed. Like, pretty fucking depressed, and you fucked up, and you let it slide. What then?

This is my I-Fucked-Up-And-Got-Big-Sad, Salvage-My-Weekend, depression routine. You'll need to make one for yourself at some point, and yours will work better for you, but this is mine and I think it'll work okay-ish for you. Until you get your own, at least.

I have to get up before 10 am. Staying in bed later than that gives the depression such a huge head start on my day that I just basically can't catch up. If I can't just brute force get myself out of bed, I will throw my blankets and sit cold on my sheets until that gives me the motivation I need. If I cannot work up the guts to throw my blankets, I will actually roll off the bed, flop gracelessly onto the floor, and then stare wistfully up until I can will myself to stand. It helps that every bedroom I've had either had freezing cold tile, or itchy coarse carpet. If you have a comfy floor, maybe buy a very scratchy rug? I cannot emphasize how important this step is. It's like, half of the whole thing.

After getting up, immediately go outside and sit in the sunshine. This provides free executive function, and getting it ASAP will make everything go much smoother.

Talk to someone while outside. If you have a roommate, they work great. Face to face conversations tend to be the best, but phone calls with loved ones are like at least 80% as effective. Calls to family members tend to be better than in face conversations with acquaintances or people you're mostly ambivalent about. Don't do chat messages. Worse than nothing.

This should have scrounged up enough free energy that you can clean something. I always start by trying to clear a part of my counter off. If that's all I got, that's all I got, and I still feel good about it. If that inspires me to do more, I'll run with it until a whole room is up to snuff. I don't do more than one room while I'm this crispy: The goal is not really to clean the house, but to work through a series of tasks that require some initial level of executive function but provide a larger amount back once completed. Life has a lot of these deals that are like, give me $10 and I'll give you $12, give me $12 and I'll give you $20, on and on, and the hard part is really just getting the $10. Some people wake up with $10. Most days, you will wake up with $10. But not when you're like this. You're gonna have to earn it. I'm sorry.

I am going to reiterate: This is what I do when I feel a funk coming on. My life and my schedule are not always this regimented. Living with depression doesn't mean never sleeping until 10, or having a weekend where you don't talk to someone, or take a break from cleaning. Living with depression just means never, ever, leaning into the depression when you feel it coming on. Even when it starts out feeling cozy. Even when you want to just snuggle into it and sleep and sleep and sleep. The first day or two will feel luxurious, and the next week will feel terrible, and the longer you wait the harder it will be to get out. You are always going to have to worry about that. Again, I'm really, truly sorry.

Bonus Bonus Points

I am not a psychologist, but I do have a theory about why depression exists. Remember how I said it's anesthetizing? I think that's what it's there for - getting rid of emotional pain when it isn't being helpful. People often get depressed after a major injury. Boredom is normally nature's way of punishing you for just curling up and doing nothing, but depression can be the emergency override on boredom. It makes sense for you to sit still and do nothing while your body is healing, so maybe nature temporarily removes all your motivation with depression and then just lets you be a limp noodle until you're healthy again. Maybe?

Back to the emotional level, though, depression might also be a way to muffle pains that would otherwise be so intense that people might not remain in control of the faculties. The pain of losing a parent is notorious for driving people so mad with pain that they ruin their lives, but depression is there to at least try and keep us sedated until the nadir has passed.

It is helpful to know what the purpose of depression is, because you will eventually get it from an "intended" cause, and reflexively fighting it then probably isn't good for you. And at the very least, knowing why this stupid thing exists makes the world feel like less of a cruel place.

There are a lot of interesting studies on the physical effects of depression - things like muscle weakness, increased pain tolerance, muscle relaxation, etc. that I won't go into, but it does so many things at once that it almost doesn't feel like a fuck up, but a feature that we just kind of lost the plot on. Not gonna deep dive on it, but it is something that probably shouldn't be confined to just a mental disorder.

[soaps-mohawk]

I'm so sorry to everyone that I freaked out with the last post, I was trying so hard not to 😭 I have that like instant fear as soon as I see "we need to talk" or something in the same vein. I always think it's something bad.

This isn't bad, at least depending on how your perspective I guess.

So...I'm having thoughts about CRCB in October. I planned out posting schedules for Kyletober and CRCB and my Patreon stuff and it's going to basically be a post every day, sometimes multiple in multiple places.

That's a lot.

So, I am set on doing Kyletober since all of the fics are already written, but I was planning on continuing CRCB during October as well. But...I think I need a little break from CRCB. It's been about eight months of posting almost every single week and it's been a lot. I'm struggling with chapters right now and with work it's vastly limiting the time I have to write and focus on things and I'm kind of burning out right now.

So, what I wanted to discuss was potentially putting CRCB on hold for October while I focus on Kyletober and everything involved with that. Trying to do both is a lot and I'm not sure I can handle all of it, plus life, plus work.

I was planning on not necessarily putting CRCB on hold, but doing more of a "whenever I can/am inspired" random posting chapters kind of like I did in the beginning when I first started writing the fic, in November/December because those are very busy months and I will be dead tired from work and just general life.

I think I might still do that for November/December and possibly into the new year since there's no way the fic will be finished even if I posted every week until the end of December.

BUT

That's something I'll think about and make a decision on later.

Right now, my thought is...would you hate me if I put CRCB on pause in October? IF I do, I promise I won't end Chapter 39 on a cliffhanger. I wasn't planning on it anyway, but I promise I won't end it on a cliffhanger if I decide not to post any chapters in October.

That way if I do put it on pause, then I can not focus on it for a bit and give my brain a refresh, and I can also focus all my energy on Kyletober.

So yeah, it's going to be a lot doing both at the same time, and honestly I'm ready for a little break from CRCB. It's been going for a long time and it's a lot of words to get out in a week. I've been super stressed lately and I'm just struggling a lot trying to get through chapters.

So yeah. That's basically the dilemma here and the discussion to be had. I know y'all will tell me it's my blog and I can do whatever I want, but I would like opinions on it. Are y'all okay with me putting CRCB on hold to focus on Kyletober? Then pick it back up for probably just whenever I can chapter updates for the rest of the year? In January things will calm down and I'll have more time to relax and write and maybe get close to finishing the story. Plus I know a lot of my readers will be busy the next three months with the holidays and vacations and family and school and all of that, so you won't have to worry about getting behind and having to catch up with a bunch of chapters.

So...let me know...

[charlesslut16]

-Ugly christmas sweaters-

summary : lando and you go to a christmas party, which had the theme 'ugly christmas sweaters' but lando does not like his sweater....

PAIRING : lando norris x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : i hope you like this imagines! Request some more, as we have not every day in the dezember masterlist!

december masterlist ; masterlist 

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One week before your friend's Christmas party, you bought Christmas sweaters, ugly ones, as the theme had been 'ugly Christmas sweaters'. You knew that Lando didn't like the theme, but for you and your friends' sake, he would do it.

So two days before the party, you confronted and showed Lando the Christmas sweaters. Obviously you knew that Lando wouldn't be as happy, but if you were being honest, you could not care less.

“You’re telling me that we—no, I am going to be wearing that?” Lando softly lifted one of the sweaters, holding it as if it was a bag of 2 weeks old garbage. As if he was going to be infected with something dangerous.

“For our friend’s Christmas party?”

The splash of colors and patterns really confused him; it seems like the designer operated on a whim. Every thing looked out of order and nothing fit together. Like someone had destroyed it and then.

"Come on, it’s not even that bad! The theme was ugly Christmas sweaters, and I picked out the best ones the market had on the hanger, I think they're cute," you stated, defending the sweaters you had bought a week ago.

"This is far from cute! It is horrendous. Your taste in fashion must be very questionable," he scoffed, nonchalantly returning the sweaters to their initial resting place on the chair, so that he did not have to look at them anymore.

"I've practically styled your entire wardrobe, and you've received so many compliments because of me!" you argued back. Now he had gone too far, to question your fashion taste, although you had styled most of his clothes combinations.

"Alright, but your sweater choices are still terrible!" Lando countered.

Ignoring his protests, you insistently hold the sweater in front of him, trying to picture the look despite his puzzled expression. You knew that even if they did not look so good, Lando could pull them off nonetheless.

“Not in a million years will you catch me wearing that. In will never live this outfit down.” Lando declared, hands up in protest.

But, you didn’t care whatsoever, as your determination knew no bounds.

“Stop moving, you're making this harder.”

“What—” he started, but you were already on a mission, determined to make him at least consider the sweater. Even if Lando was a grown man, you needed to put it on him, so that he could see how it looked on him.

“It does suit you.”

“Thanks for the compliment, but you can't just say that by imagining how I'd look in it!”

“Why don't you try it on?” You extended your hand, catching him off guard. His reaction was too slow, and you ended up tossing it at him.

“I'll wait for you.”

Lando sighed loudly, unfolding the sweater and eyeing it with skepticism. He wasn't convinced, but just trying it on wouldn't bee that bad.

“Fine, but don't get your hopes up. It still looks absolutely horrendous.”

As he struggled to put it on, you couldn't help but laugh at the sight. The vibrant colors clashed with his usual style, making it even more amusing. The orange colour he normally would was bright and colourful but this. Absolutely vibrant.

“Ta-da! Happy now?” Lando struck a pose, a mockingly exaggerated smile on his face. You knew that he hated every second of it. Like when he drove and became second and not first, or when his brother hated the last donut that he wanted.

You chuckled, "Look! It doesn't even look that bad! You can totally pull it off. I mean, you can totally pull off everything that somebody gives."

Rolling his eyes, Lando played along with your answers and exclamations.

"Sure, sure. It looks fantastic on me. Just a bunch of silly trees and tiny elves on this sweater with squiggly lines—seriously, what were you thinking when you added this to the cart? It ruined everything good on me."

You shrugged lightly, unfazed by his words. Lando often exaggerated things, and you were accustomed to it. It was nothing unusual for Lando to overreact and overdramatic, things as they were or had been.

“I expect you to stick with this—we've got just two days until the party.”

“But can we not switch—”

In the middle of his sentence, you stood up and walked away into the kitchen to make you a hot cocoa and to go back to your shared bedroom, so you stopped hearing his complaints and overdramatic nature.

Two days later, the day of the Christmas party, you had the exact same conversation, but you knew that Lando could do nothing about it, as he knew that he would do almost everything for you in a heartbeat.

His complaining tone faded as you rushed down the stairs with the matching sweater in your hand. Quickly draping it over your white shirt and white skirt, you settled on the couch in the living room. As you scrolled on your phone to pass the time, you later heard shuffling in the background.

“Ready to go, my handsome man?” you looked up, seeing your boyfriend in the sweater you bought—he hadn’t changed it. You gave him a big smile, rising from your seat, as you wanted to hug him and tell him how good he looked.

“Looking good there, Norris.”

“Keep it up, and I’ll run up the stairs to change,” he teased, soon linking arms with you as you headed towards the door. But you knew that he was just teasing, he would not change as the time was at a limit.

“Honestly, though, I don’t think I look too shabby in this,” he asserted, eliciting a giggle from you.

“What can I say? I have an eye for what works.”

“Maybe you're onto something.”

"Maybe I need to trust you more, with clothes."

"You should."

He opened the door, so he could let you both out and locked the door after you both, but before you could walk to the car, he pulled you into his chest and gave you a romantic long kiss and then pulled away to look into your eyes.

"I love you, angel"

"I love you, handsome."

[sirfrogsworth]

I posted the below on my Facebook. I am secretly trying to head things off at the pass. Every time people see pictures of me out and about, they think I have been magically cured or my health status has improved. And I know going to Florida is going to give people that impression.

But also, I just wish a few of my relatives could understand my situation better. And why I didn't come to Christmas. And why I might try to come to Christmas now.

I guess I'll see how this goes.

-----------------------------------

One of the biggest struggles I've had my entire adult life is explaining why I appear fine whenever people see me. I say I am very sick and bed-bound and then they see me and I am out of bed and talking and joking and... a normal healthy person.

What many don't realize is I am making a choice.

A choice to get sick.

I can use up all my energy in a short time frame to accomplish a difficult chore or entertain a friend or go to a doctor, but that is going to have a consequence.

The more I do, the more severe the consequence.

In the ME/CFS world this is called "post-exertional malaise." (for those interested, you can read more about it here: https://rthm.com/art.../what-is-post-exertional-malaise-pem/ )

Imagine every time you wanted to do something, you were *choosing* to get the flu.

Take a walk, get the flu.

Exercise, get the flu.

Spend a night out with friends, get the flu.

And you might be thinking, "Okay, it can't be as bad as the flu. I've had the flu and the flu sucks. No one would choose that."

I may not get the nasty respiratory symptoms, but everything else is pretty much the same. Crippling fatigue, horrible aches, and the loss of the will to do much of anything. Sometimes it is much worse than the flu. Some people don't know how much being this exhausted can hurt. They have never used up enough energy that their body is unable to power itself properly. I usually say it is like every cell in my body is starving and screaming for energy. I feel it in every inch of my body—and not just on the surface... through and through. So, like... cubic inches.

Sometimes I don't even have the energy to power my legs. Trying to stand feels exactly the same as trying to lift a barbell with way more weight than you can lift. I can't get upstairs or even walk to the kitchen. It's a concentrated misery that defies description, despite my constant attempts to try.

Sometimes I get lucky and this flu lasts for a day or two. But the more active I am, the longer it can last. And the severity increases as well. There is also a cumulative version of this—where if I do a bunch of little things over a longer period of time, eventually it will catch up to me and I may be stuck in bed for a few weeks.

And when I say "stuck in bed" I mean stuck in bed.

Short trips to the bathroom and a few minutes in the kitchen to make food. If I spend too much time upright, my legs will literally give out and I will be stuck on the floor until I recharge enough energy to get up again. It would be like every time you needed to get up, you had to hold your breath. Not to mention, the more I do, the longer the recovery will take.

For a long time I chose to never get the flu. I stayed in bed and did just enough to avoid the worst of PEM. I skipped family get-togethers. I didn't see my friends. And I lived my life inside the computer. Some may find that sad, but I actually found a way to make this work. I ran a successful blog that was seen by millions of people and I met my two best friends who I now consider my new family.

One thing that allowed me to choose not to get the flu was my parents. I fear some thought they were spoiling me. They did my laundry. They helped clean my room. They got my groceries. They cooked my food. They took on any chore they could so I could avoid the flu and live some semblance of a life on my computer. There is a lot of guilt wrapped up in that. I didn't ask them to do that. They just sort of... did. And I am so grateful to them.

To be fair, they would have to do these chores for themselves anyway, and tacking on my stuff wasn't a huge deal. But I know it caused them a little extra pain and a few post exertional consequences of their own. So I appreciated that sacrifice more than I can put into words.

But then they both got very sick. And not only could they not help me with my stuff, I had to help them with their stuff. And this was a difficult transition. I had to choose to get the flu to take care of my parents, but then if I got the flu, and I couldn't take care of my parents. I believe this is called a catch-22.

My initial solution was to just not take care of myself. At all. My health and mental well-being was set aside and I just gave all of my energy to them. I didn't shower. I forgot to take important medicines. I didn't do a single thing that brought me joy. And I'm reminded of that analogy of the airplane emergency where the oxygen masks drop. You put on your mask first before you put one on your child. Your instinct is to save them first at all costs. But if you pass out, they are screwed.

So I kept getting that cumulative version of the flu. I'd help them as much as I could for a week or a month and then I'd be useless to them for just as long. Living in the basement did not help. Stairs were very hard for me and constantly going up and down was a huge waste of energy.

And I'm sad to say, the level of care I gave to my mom was not great. I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't understand how to balance my needs with hers. And it led to costly mistakes. She had several preventable falls that caused injuries. At one point she spent hours on the floor because I fell asleep and did not check on her. When you know someone needs regular supervision, you need to synchronize sleepy time.

Thankfully I learned from all of these lessons. Maybe not as quickly as I would have liked, but I did figure it out. I just wish I had learned them before my mom passed. I just wasn't able to give her the help she needed.

And you can tell me "you did your best" all you like, but this isn't a guilt I am choosing. It's just there and I feel it no matter what anyone says. In time I am hoping it will get lighter, but I'm afraid it cannot be wiped away with a well-intentioned platitude.

But with my dad, I decided to move upstairs. That was something I should have done much sooner. But I liked having my personal space and that was hard to give up. When he slept, I slept. When he spent 4 hours at dialysis 3x per week, I would make sure to take care of any personal needs. I would do chores a tiny bit at a time. 5 minutes here, 5 minutes there. And then I would lay on the couch in between and regain my strength. I did everything possible to not get the flu. And I got my flu shots so I wouldn't get the actual flu. (Get your flu shot! 50K die from it every year!) The only hitch in my plan was when I got a kidney stone at the same time my dad was in rehab. I have no idea how I got us through that.

I was very proud of the care I was able to give my dad. And I'm so grateful I was able to pay back just a tiny bit of what my parents did to help me. And the care I gave my father is the only thing that helps me feel better about my failures with my mom.

But now I am entering a new chapter of my life. And I find myself choosing to get the flu more often. I have decided sometimes it is worth the consequences. Part of that is because I am more used to it after dealing with it for 20 years. I have coping mechanisms and procedures and techniques to manage the symptoms. It doesn't make them suck any less, but it definitely makes it more manageable. It's akin to people with chronic pain who still feel the pain just as profoundly as when it was new, but they get so used to it that they forget that isn't how they are supposed to feel.

I approached this scientifically. I did tests. I went to the movies. I tried once a week and that was too much. Then I scaled it back and that was more manageable. Then I realized I had movies at home and decided to end that experiment.

I started to put my energy into something I enjoyed more. My photography. So I have been finding new ways to take pictures again. More experiments. I'm designing a simpler studio that requires much less energy. I'm creating a little product photography workstation where I don't have to set up everything each time I want to take a cool picture of an object. It will just be "turn on the lights" and "take the pictures."

Figuring all of this out made me realize how much I missed photography. And since I have been shooting test pictures here and there, my mental health has been noticeably better. And once I get this all figured out and set up, I am hoping some of you will let me take your photo. Or a photo of your kid. Or a pet. Whatever you have that needs photographing, I'm game.

I'm not going to charge. It's not going to be a business. I do not have the energy to "hustle." And asking people for money just sucked all of the fun out of my beloved art form. It corrupted it. I just love taking pictures and if you need a photo, I'd like to do that for you. I also restore old photos for fun. I'll talk about all of this more in another post when I am ready to start.

And then my grand experiment is coming next week.

I am going to travel.

I am going to see my best friend in Florida for two days. Two days of travel and two days of visiting. This is a scary choice. I know the aftermath is going to be difficult. But I need to get out of this house. I need to see my chosen family in person. And I have never been on a plane and I love the perspective from high places. I know people hate air travel, but for me, looking out that viewport is stunning television that cannot be matched.

Purposely making myself sick sounds like a bad idea. But it isn't life threatening. I have the free time to recover as long as I need to. And I can always choose not to get sick for a while if it gets too hard.

I just ask that people not see this as going from a worse life to a better one. I was really proud of the life I was able to create for myself while staying in bed. That took a long time to figure out. I met some of my favorite people. And I accomplished things I couldn't imagine in my wildest dreams. Please do not shit on that life and think it was sad or meaningless. I was given that life as a gift from my parents and it kept me alive. It has always been a huge insult when people pitied that precious gift they gave me.

This is not a better life that I am trying to figure out. It is just better for me right now. My needs have changed. I have changed. So I am trying to adapt. I just ask that people understand when I go out and do something, please remember the choice I am making.

You may be tempted to say, "You are doing so much better!" I am not any better than I was 10 years ago. Actually, my health has degraded. It's just that before I didn't think getting the flu every time I did something was worth it. And I would hope everyone would understand that was a valid choice.

And now I am inviting those consequences.

On purpose.

Give me the flu, I guess.

[balkanradfem]

Okay so I know I just hit you all with the controversial chestnut poll, but I have some new development in life that I want to complain about, and in order for me to complain about it, I need to give you the context.

I don't particularly want to give you the context. You're going to diagnose me with female socialization, and some of you will feel the urge to click the anonymous ask button and tell me off. Today I need you to fight that urge! I am feeling insecure, I am feeling lost, I'm not certain in my choices, I've acted without thinking, and got myself into a situation I can't control. So please don't be mean to me. I deserve to complain on the internet and not be called out, alright?

So this is the story of how I accidentally became a live-in caretaker for an injured, elderly woman. It's temporary! She'll get better, hopefully.

I worked for her occasionally, and she's always been kind to me. She would give me a little jar of jam sometimes, and I love little jars of jam, it's a way to win my heart. A few days ago, she called me in a panic, telling me she fell, and she needs my help. I came over, and found out she broke her arm in two places, and one of her rib is broken. She fell unconscious, after being dizzy all day, and fell on a big metal lantern, breaking it. She was now in so much pain she couldn't get up by herself, dress herself, or do any kind of household tasks. She went to the ER, got her arm wrapped up, and was trying to get a pain injection. I helped her get trough the day, and promised to come early next morning, to help her up from the bed.

Next day I found her in tears in her bed, unable to get up, desperate to go to the bathroom. It became clear she needed 24/7 assistance, and she asked me if I would move in until she got better. I said yes without thinking, because I was at this point, severely concerned, and wanted to do anything to help her out.

So this is all not so bad, right, I'm being normal, it's normal to offer help to an injured elderly woman who is nice, but there's a catch. She doesn't live alone. She lives with her older husband. Who is also disabled and can't help her at all. So in order to help her out.. I had to move into a place where a male lives. That is the worst part of this.

I'm still in the first few days of living like this, and my own life had to fall to the background. I can't go foraging for chestnuts every day, I can't go to my garden as much, I'm still going to work, just from her place. I'm overwhelmed and struggling to get used to the new situation. I'm not used to being around people at all, and now I'm forced to socialize almost all day. Caring for someone comes fairly natural! I'm already so in sync with her, she can just look in the certain direction and I know what she wants me to do. I've figured out where everything is in her kitchen, closet, and basement. She's pleased that I know how to do basic household tasks, and am willing to do it in her way. And she's nice, she's telling me things like 'thank you' and 'what would I do without you', which feels good. But I am very exhausted and sleep deprived, she wakes me up at 1am, and then 5am again, and I'm unable to fall back asleep in a room I lack familiarity with. I miss my room.

She and her husband said they were going to pay me, and in my natural ways, I said something like 'no you don't need to' which I feel like everyone will get mad at me for, but they did insist they would pay me anyway. I as usual lack the sense to care about money – someone's arm is broken, that's way more serious issue to me!

Alright so now to the part of the post I wanted to write, a fun poll where you guess, what has her awful husband done by this point :) go ahead and guess!

You have one day to guess! Which one of these scenarios happened in the first few days of his wife breaking three bones in her body. I'll tell you the correct option tomorrow!

[nekomacheercaptain]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Welcome to Cheer's Kinktober 2024! ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Hi!! I am so excited for this year’s Kinktober and hope I’ll be able to follow through! (This is pure self-indulgence, as you can see by the characters I've chosen lol) I hope you enjoy it as well! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Day 1 - October 1st

Voyeurism - Donquixote “Corazon” Rosinante x fem! plus sized reader

To recruit a new business partner with a curious kink, Doflamingo allows his brother to have you for the night. His brother that's been trying to get rid of you since he first laid eyes on you.

Day 2 - October 5th

Shower sex - Koganegawa Kanji x fem! reader

Koganegawa is a player loved by many, yet has never experienced the love of a groupie. Until you catch his eye.

Day 3 - X (postponed)

Lazy sex - Trafalgar Law x fem! reader

After meeting again on Zou, your relationship is different. On your journey to Wano, Law has to learn how to let you into his heart properly.

Day 4 - October X (postponed)

Body worship - Jean Kirstein x fem! reader

For all you know, it's your very last night alive together - and you make the best of that.

Day 5 - October 19th

Forced proximity - Roronoa Zoro x fem! reader

Zoro thought it would be fun to go on a hike in the snowy mountains, saying something about "needing firewood". You, for some reason, didn't question him when he took the lead?? Oh no... what are two people supposed to do to keep warm when they are lost in the cold?

Day 6 - X (postponed)

Cockwarming - Halsin x fem! reader

Terrible focus and a brain that never shuts the hell up can lead to... some frustration. Luckily Halsin is patient... but he also likes to tease ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Day 7 - X (postponed)

Praise kink - Reiner Braun x fem! plus sized reader

We all know how poor mental health can affect our bodies, so it's no shock Reiner, in particular, struggles. But as bad as he feels about his body not cooperating with him, it's important to have a partner that knows sex isn't just about penetration. In other words, Reiner learns what real intimacy is.

Day 8 - X (postponed)

Threesome - Kuroo Tetsurou x fem! reader x Bokuto Koutarou

Being sandwiched between them would be so amazing, so I had to write about it. That's it, that's the summary.

[sorensolsikke]

recently as i discovered that i am an alterhuman, i came to the realization that i have SO MANY SHIFTS, day by day. okay i admit, i knew that not everyone "feels like an animal", because if they did, it would be discussed a lot more. but knowing the term 'shifting' and 'otherkin' would have helped me like. not feeling like an outcast for so many years. i genuienly hope that the times when alterhumanity will be at least a wildly known - if not accepted - phenomenon are coming.

like how could i have known i am not the only one, when i was nine, threatened and bullied by my classmates, getting startled easily and feeling like some animal, long neck, eyes wide open, smells and vision getting neater. i thought i was broken, therefore worthy of the bullying, the beatings, the loneliness, because i was something less than a 'sophisticated human'.

after i've got hurt, i imagined/saw myself as a big blue firebreathing dragon, landing on the middle of the school's backyard, catching and scaring my bullies, roaring very very loud. afterwards, i felt bad, guilty, sinful for imagining that i hurt people like an animal.

while on car rides, i imagined a dragon looking like the real me running outside the car, jumping around obstacles, sometimes getting off. sometimes, i felt the wind on my face and under my wings and i felt the soil under my paws and the grass touching my sides. i thought i was getting obsessed and i am abnormal.

my phantom thorns and wings had weight, even when i was twelve. i was afraid i've been sensing that someone is watching me behind my back, the way the characters of books can sense it. when i realized i can feel the shape of the things i am sensing, i was shocked.

i've been disliking my body for so long, without knowing what's wrong with it. it wasn't at all about my genderfluidity, as i thought for years, no. i've been passing for both a girl and a boy since i was very very small. no, i hated how the muscles wrap around my arms and how my legs are formed and i couldn't raise my ankle high, like it is with dogs. i hated my teeth not being pointy enough and my skin not growing scales. i had so many phantom shifts through all my life that it made me self conscious. the understanding that i am a pretty human AND a miserable dragon came to me so late, that i had already been struggling with ed for years.

my point is. no matter if alterhumanity is formed by delusions, coping mechanisms or other psychological reasons. up until it ceases to be a taboo to talk about for a literal CHILD, my case can happen over and over. alterhuman communities are needed and are comforting and supportive for people with similar experience. i deeply hope we will get at least as known as furries, so to provide answers for people in need of it.

[lewkwoodnco]

Now That We Don't Talk - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: very very brief suicidal mention, sooooo much writer's block hhhh (the seasonal depression is depressing), (angst but diluted if that makes sense) add/remove yourself from my taglist in the link beloooow ALSO

🎄Special Announcement! I'll be doing a twelve days of Christmas fic series (1 songfic fic a day leading up to Christmas) BUT I will also be accepting extra holiday-themed requests (if any)!🎄

(speaking of the holidays, thinking of switching to a santa-themed george icon soon hmmm), wc 3.1k

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 3.5 | Ch 4 | Ch 5

TAGLIST | MATERLIST

Moving had been a surprisingly smooth process that she remembered little of. She had to take care to not think too much about the ornaments she was packing or the boxes she was taping shut or the lonely town she was numbly driving towards, lest the rest of her catch up to the grief weighing her down. Her supervisor had looked plenty confused when she explained where she was transferring to, and muttered something about not knowing if there were any visitors there.

As steep as the change was from working in central London to a significantly sleepier town, she seemed to be adjusting fine. In fact, she was liking the peace and quiet. Or at least, she would, soon enough. She'd learn the right habits, like finding contentment in the stagnant void that descended on her windows far too quickly every evening, the same way she'd unlearn bad habits, like him. So no, her biggest problem was hardly the early sunsets here, but was actually what everyone wanted to talk to her about when she called. The one thing everyone - her old teammates, colleagues, friends - wanted to make sure she knew.

"The gala was fantastic this year - though not as fun without you, of course -"

"You'll never believe who showed up."

"He looked very sharp in his suit. He cleans up nice, I suppose - Anthony Lockwood, I mean."

"They've become quite the celebrities, that Lockwood & Co., though the other two don't seem to tolerate the cameras like he does."

"Oh, you should have seen it. Say what you will about Lockwood but does he know how to make an entrance!"

"Were you at the gala this year?"

She sighed for what must have been the fifth time that day. "No, Ted, I was not. You were at my farewell party, remember?"

"Tha' was for you?"

"Goodbye, Ted."

"Wait! You've seen the pictures, haven't you?"

"No, I haven't, because contrary to popular belief, I am not obsessed with evrything that goes on at Fittes."

"Well, we had a tiptop chocolate fountain this year. Didn't get clogged once and looked absolutely gorgeous. Anywho, I've recently stumbled upon this smashing business opportunity involving chocolate fountains - they're selling like hot cakes, I tell you! - and I'd love to spread the wealth."

"Theodore, you haven't joined another MLM, have you?"

"What is an MLM, other than an opportunity to invest in yourself?"

"Don't make me phone your mother."

The call ended rather abruptly after that. Only Lucy, as always, was an angel.

"I take it you've heard plenty about him?"

"Who? Oh, him. Yes, more than plenty."

"I thought you might. He has...quite the presence, so the papers wanted to interview him, and he agreed - "

" - obviously - "

"And I think they asked him about you at some point."

Her mouth dried. She struggled to find her voice, forcing it to stay casually disinterested. "Hm? What did he say?"

"Absolutely nothing. First and probably last time I've seen him stunned speechless. Naturally, it's all anyone can talk about."

"Mhm."

"He hasn't talked about you, if you're wondering. Sees it coming from a mile away every time George and I try to bring it up. It's so stupid; we know it, he knows it, and he's always in a foul mood. He keeps thinking, these days...Y/N?"

"I don't care."

"No one would blame you if you did."

"I don't."

"So how are you holding up?"

"Well, Luce, I felt happiness outside of external validation for the first time in...ever, then three months later I'm crying in my bathtub wishing I would die, and now I'm miles away from everyone I ever knew and it's always dark outside and I'm always miserable. I'm doing great."

She could hear the exhaustion in the crackling static of the telephone. It occurred to her that she wasn't much acting all that cheerful either.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think he half-expected to see you there."

She inhaled sharply and sat up in her armchair so fast she could feel a cramp curling in her neck. She didn't dare believe Lucy's words. "Really?" she wanted to breathe into the telephone, and revel in dormant delusions, if only for a moment. Instead, she gingerly sank back into the chair, continuing in a flat voice.

"Well, I don't care about any of that now. Oh, I'm sick of it. All of it. If I never hear his name again for as long as I live, it'll be still be too soon. How's George doing?"

After she hung up, she laid in her chair, watching the shadows from her shutters stretch and fold over her furniture as the sun set. She was thinking about the last party she had been to, a yacht party where some of Fittes' and Rotwell's biggest investors were in attendance. How Lockwood had managed to score an invite was beyond her, but what intrigued her more was the cab ride they shared back to Portland Row.

She had been half-dozing off when she felt a hand cover hers. As she blinked at him blearily, she noticed the rigid tension in his spine, as if poised and waiting for an attack. He was clutching her hand purposefully, as if holding off on warning her about something malevolent that was consuming him. She couldn't see his face, which began to feel no different from the cold, hard window pane it was peering out of.

She stirred, distantly unnerved by his impersonality. He glanced at her, apologetically retracting his hand with a sheepish smile. But that look of consternation remained on his face as he turned back to the window with a furrowed brow, with the air of waiting for something. He visibly relaxed as they approached Portland Row, but she couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling even by the time they reached the doorstep.

"You all right?" she was asking, while Lockwood fumbled with their keys.

"'Course. Why wouldn't I be?"

She didn't respond, and the two of them watched him wrench at the key in the lock, trying to steady his mildly trembling fingers.

"Key turns the other way."

He paused his efforts, and after a second or two turned the key the other way. The door slid open smoothly with a click. He held it open, but she just looked at him expectantly. He sighed.

"I'm fine, I promise. I just...get a little nervous around some parts of London."

"Which parts?"

"Some."

"Scared of what?"

"A few things."

"Why?"

"For fun. Look, I'm freezing out here. Can we just drop this?"

That was more than a mild exaggeration; the sun had only just set and the air was still pleasantly balmy. But he looked so beseechingly, and it didn't take much for her to relent when it came to Lockwood, so they stepped inside and shrugged their coats off in silence.

"I'll tell you some day. I'm sure I will."

That was some day too far away. Now she'll never know if, or why he ever felt like that. Or rather, she wouldn't know when he would feel like that. But it was no matter. It was none of her business then, and it was even less of her business now.

She had mostly forgotten about her conversation with Lucy by the following week, which was why her parcel came as a bit of a surprise, especially since she'd mentioned being swamped by a mountain of upcoming cases.

Y/N -

I was thinking about our call the other day. On a completely unrelated note, here's about every gossip rag from the past month I could find at Arif's.

Love, Lucy.

She was beginning to see what was so appealing about these magazines. As ruthless as they could be, they sure knew how to sell a pipe dream to common folk with less exciting lives. The gala was clearly as glitzy and glamorous as it was every year, and the articles held an air of intrigue now that she was quite separate from Fittes. But that quivering excitement became somewhat muffled as she flipped through the glossy pages.

The Anthony Lockwood she saw now looked worlds apart from the Lockwood she left behind. His well-fitting suit, megawatt smile and carefully styled hair made him look expensive in a way that destabilised her. She flipped through photograph after photograph of him looking jarringly luxurious besides walls of text effusing about the success of their latest case, and what an honour it must have been to be personally invited by Marissa Fittes herself. It weighed at the pit in her stomach to see this unfamiliar silhouette of a friend who was become increasingly unattainable, speeding along roads to prosperity faster than she could ever keep up with.

She sifted through the other rags. The most extensive feature was a few pages long, and was centered more on the exciting, up-and-coming agency that was Lockwood & Co. rather than a specific case. There were pictures from their most recent cases, and in each one he looked unnaturally distinct from the last, but in every single one he oozed an appealingly languid charisma. It was good to see him doing so well. She was happy for him. Or she would be, tomorrow, when she had the strength for it. Lockwood was unbearable in a way that made him perfect for a life in the public eye, a life for which she was somehow always deficient. She traced a too-long strand of hair flopped on his forehead in one of the photographs, as if she could magically straighten it out.

She could see him now, thumbing through the pages with an approving tilt to his head, limbs folded uncomfortably in the armchair he always insisted on sharing with her. "No such thing as bad press," he'd claim absent-mindedly, his too-long hair flopping impractically. And she'd watch him with bruised eyes like she always did, wishing for nothing more in that moment shared with him. In other words, wishing for nothing short of what she could never have.

Maybe it was some lingering wish to break herself before he beat her to it. Because that was all it was; dodging blows, lying through pretty teeth, racing ahead to pull one over on him, cursing the feel of his breath on her. There was simply no calm, no respite, only the all-consuming experience of becoming wrapped up in him and losing bits and pieces of herself which would never again be truly hers.

She picked up the telephone again. It felt too heavy in her hand. Numbly, she spun the dial as if on autopilot, keying in her mother's phone number. The dial tone comforted her in some twisted yet cathartic acknowledgement of the emptiness inside of her.

Looking at it now she could see the distinct air of mystery that engulfed Lockwood and clouded her vision. He was never quite fully present; a part of him was always tucked away to be kept secret in some dark corner, and her mind was only too happy to extrapolate, to construct this most desirable yet entirely mythical figment. She felt ragged, winded and worn from battling reality day after day, all alone. And most of all, she felt so very stupid.

Her mother was saying that she had made the right decision. Not that she needed any reminding. Of course her life had taken an upward swing ever since; she'd be a fool to think otherwise. She was positively paralysed with liberty, bedridden with joy, simply immobile with ecstasy!

She was slowly but surely going very insane. Now making eyes at each other, now disconnect, now love, now heartache, now this, now that, but never any peace. Maybe it was some lingering wish to shatter and let the pent up misery dissipate.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Months passed. The holiday season arrived, and she choked through the November blues with shivering bones and clammy hands. Even with the slight uptick in visitors, as was expected in the colder months, her life provided little to distract her from her own ghosts under the floorboards. So when she received a consultancy request from Fittes one morning, she had written back and mailed her response all while still holding the jam knife.

The train was crowded and noisy with the bustle of the holidays, but as it chugged along through the fields of snow, she couldn't help but perk up ever so slightly at every sigh and creak of its wheels. There was a spring in her step all the way to Fittes headquarters, where she was supposed to collect her apartment key.

A tall, indistinct figure was walking out of the revolving doors as she approached. She flinched when she realised who it was - Lockwood, who didn't seem much happier to see her either. He looked mostly well, though the corners of his mouth were a little strained, his face flushed in the cold.

"...Y/N?"

"Lockwood."

"You're...home?"

"Yeah. Um, how have you been?"

"Good...good. Busy. As busy as winter gets."

He was wearing a different coat. It was quite similar to his old one, but this one was thicker and more structured, and looked like it was at least somewhat effective in keeping the brisk winter wind out. He looked foreign and unfamiliar in a way he hadn't since...since the Investors Party.

It had taken her a while to pick his face out of the pretentious crowd, given how preoccupied she was with weaving through the thicket of people. It had taken her a eyes minute to adjust to the almost nauseatingly charismatic silhouette of an especially-chuffed Lockwood in a newly tailored but otherwise identical suit. She tried to give him a reproaching look, but there was something infectious in his smooth ease as he larked about in his prime which made her lips twitch despite herself as he waded through the crowds.

"You really shouldn't be here."

"You're clearly not drunk enough yet."

"How did you even get in? This is invitation-only."

"Had an invite, didn't I?"

She pursed her lips, shaking her head slightly. He was hopelessly incorrigible in an oddly fascinating way. Her voice dropped to a murmur as she felt herself begin to relent.

"I ought to...tell someone about you."

"That you're secretly in love with me?"

"That we have an illegal stowaway."

"You're not going to rat me out, are you?"

The pleading look on his face was enough to give her pause. She was already beginning to regret her decision, but he looked so vivacious it was difficult to stay disapproving for long.

"Excellent. Now, would you be so good as to point me in the direction of the bigger spenders?"

They spend the next few hours laughing and entertaining the many important men on the boat and their great deal of important thoughts. She'd excuse herself towards the end of every conversation to leave Lockwood and the glimmer in his eye to close a deal. For someone so adept at climbing the corporate ladder, she was surprisingly poor at fulfilling these adjacent duties.

She hated every second of it, and she drank as much as she could without raising eyebrows to make it all halfway palatable, but it was all worth it then. He had wanted to stay for as long as it would have been polite, so when they finally left, long after the media had made their rounds at the event, his jacket was folded over his left arm and his hand was delicately holding hers.

When she was stuck in her drafty cottage on the edge of nowhere, she'd think about the feel of his fingers curling around her palm more than it was appropriate, and wonder how she ever thought she was somehow better off here.

But that evening's sense of camraderie was long gone. Now, she regarded him coolly, holding him at arm's length. They may have had a rough falling out, but that didn't mean they couldn't still be friends. Just friends. Nothing more. But the vaguely intimate look in Lockwood's eye told her he was in no mood to entertain any kind of platonic notions.

"I didn't know you were back."

She relented. It was the season of giving, after all.

"Only for a while. Fittes hired me as a consultant for a few months."

He blinked at her. "You could have called."

"I didn't think you'd be interested."

"Of course I'd be interested. I'm always interested when it comes to you."

She sighed sharply. It was so easy to get swept up and believe him when he said things like that, that she wondered how she found the strength to leave. He was a bastard, a ne'er-do-well who only knew how to break her heart after promising sweet, simple luxuries in whispers over expanses of skin. She made her lips tremble, her pulse quicken, her heart shake in all the worst ways.

But underneath all that, love was there. Love was there...still.

"Ready to go?"

They turned in unison towards a strikingly beautiful girl with glossy raven curls walking out of the revolving doors. The girl's smile only slipped a fraction as she shook her hand, and she was distantly aware of making some kind of clumsy introduction. They stuttered through some stunted small talk, during which all she was aware of was the blood roaring in her ears that gave the whole scene a distantly muffled feel. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Well, this was...lovely. Shall we go, then?"

The girl turned to leave, but some semblance of hesitation prevented her from pulling Lockwood along with her.. His face still had that same confused look.

"You could have called," he repeated tonelessly, like a broken record. The girl's presence made the back of her neck smart and prickle uncomfortably.

"I might, later."

"Bye. Nice meeting you."

"Nice meeting you too."

"We're home all day."

The last one was from Lockwood.

"Just...if you want to drop by. So that Luce and George don't have my head on a platter by supper."

"Goodbye, Lockwood."

He was captivating in a way that made her want to keep him all to herself. No one needed to intrude on this tantalising secret they shared. It was at that moment that she made the very unfortunate realisation that she didn't need to say it out loud to make what she had been screaming from the rooftops of her heart any more real - him and her would forever be unfinished business.

And nothing she could do could make the palpitations of her heart any less real either.

As the life she once dreamed of walked away from her, all she was acutely aware of was that it was a lingering wish, some half-thought dream, to sit opposite him in a chilly kitchen on blustery mornings, watching him drink his tea while she got drunk on him.

TAGLIST: @novelizt @avdiobliss @dangelnleif @mischivana @mitskiswift99 @houseoftwistedspirits

[nahoney22]

Heyyyyy love, I absolutely love everything you write. I have an itty bitty request!

Would you be able to write a cute fluffy fic with a plus sized female reader with tech with just a touch of spice to it?

You could also make it fun and do one for all the batch members?

Please and thank you if you can!! 🥰🥰

*fun fact - I made that tech edit many moons ago so I’m happy to see it still be used! 🥰🥹*

Embracing the Curves***

All Bad Batch Boys X F!Reader

warnings: Mild NSFW, suggestive themes, plus sized female reader, confident reader (we’re all beautiful plus size or not!), mentions of a busty reader in some parts. Tech and Hunters parts are with an established relationship, others are not.

Authors note: decided to do small one shots for each of them in this post, write more for Tech and Echo because… it’s them ♥️ hope that’s okay with you @clonehoe- sorry for the wait !!!

Masterlist

Tech

Tech was watching you work with great interest, proud of the progress you had made in learning all the tips and tricks necessary for ship repairs. As he observed you beneath the control panel, clad in a snug tank top and form-fitting black pants that accentuated your every curve, he couldn't help but feel his heart rate skyrocket.

"Has the light come on yet?" you asked, your voice slightly muffled by the spanner between your teeth as you glanced up at him for assistance. The ship was scorching hot and it didn’t help that you were settled on a planet that had two suns to add to the heat. The heat system has always been faulty and despite you telling Tech you wanted to focus on fixing that, he was set in you fixing the hyperdrive first.

"Not yet. Try rotating the wiring counterclockwise. That should do the trick," he replied, his voice strained as he watched you work under his guidance. "There it is..." he murmured, his gaze darting to the lights above the control panel as you worked to fix the hyperdrive. "Good girl," he added, his endearment causing a flurry of excitement in your stomach.

Despite the nickname making you momentarily lose your concentration and hit your head against the side of the panel, you managed to remain focused on the task at hand. "Is it working now?" you asked, seeking confirmation with a smile as you wiped sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

"Yes, I have to say, I'm very impressed with your skills," he said, helping you out from under the control panel until you plopped down in a nearby seat to catch your breath.

"Yeah?" you asked, seeking reassurance.

"Absolutely," he replied, though his eyes were preoccupied with the alluring contours of your physique. "Perfect," he added, struggling to meet your gaze.

You couldn't help but smirk as you watched Tech struggle to keep his composure under your teasing gaze. Folding your arms over your chest, you subtly pushed your bust up to enhance your assets, causing Tech to wipe the steam that had suddenly formed on his goggles.

"Anything in particular that you're impressed with?" you asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

"W-well, it's hard not to be entranced by you looking the way you do while working under my command," he stammered, sitting up straight and tucking away his data pad. "I've adored your appearance since the first day we met, and seeing you all - forgive me - sweaty and wearing tight clothes is quite a fever dream," he added, his words causing a blush to rise on his cheeks.

You stood up slowly and took a couple of steps towards Tech, tilting his chin up to meet your gaze. "That's very sweet of you to say, Tech," you replied, your voice dripping with false innocence and a hint of teasing. "I am feeling a little sweaty though. Perhaps a shower would cool me down," you hinted, hoping he would pick up on your not-so-subtle suggestion.

Tech stood up abruptly, his hands flying to your waist and his fingers digging into your fleshy skin. "Perhaps since you helped me repair my ship, I could help you get freshened up," he offered, his lips trailing down your neck and over your chest despite the sweat that covered your skin.

"Eager, are we?" you asked, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and suppressing a sweet sigh.

"Very much so," Tech groaned, holding you as close as possible. The two of you were rarely alone on the overcrowded ship, and with his brothers gone on a mission, Tech wasn't about to waste the opportunity to map out your whole body with his tongue.

Echo

"Trooper, what appears to be the issue?" Your entrance into the medbay had Echo stunned, his eyes locked onto your stunning, curvaceous figure and beautiful eyes.

He found himself gaping, struggling to find his words as he wished he had accepted help from the medical droid instead of being left in this state of awe.

"Trooper?"

Apologising for his silence, Echo managed to inform you of his injury to his femur that he sustained during a mission that had left him more grumpy than usual but your soft smile and calm presence helped to ease his nerves. Though, he was a little preoccupied on how your uniform was snug but not to the point it looked bad. It look really good.

He always took himself for a gentleman but as he gapes at you with hungry eyes, it was hard not to get enthralled by you.

You sat down next to him with a datapad, ready to take notes. "Can you tell me how this happened?" you asked with a soft smile.

Echo explained that he sustained the injury during a mission when heavy debris fell on him. You expressed sympathy and asked, "Are you in any pain, sweetie?" You were surprised by the endearment that slipped out of your mouth, although neither of you mentioned it. Then again, you did think he was much cuter than any other clone he had seen.

"Just a little, not as much as before," Echo replies steadily, hoping his blushing cheeks aren't too noticeable.

"I see. Have you been taking any medication for it?"

“No ma’am,”

You nod in understanding and stand to your feet again, placing your device to the side and slide on a pair of gloves. “Do I have permission to touch your leg to feel for any breaks?”

“Yes please.”

You both blink at one another and the quick realisation of what Echo just said sunk in fast but, you were blushing which was a good sign… wasn’t it?

“I mean, uh, do what you have to do ma’am.” He clears his throat, keeping his eyes diverted away from you but you could only smile at him in return and proceed to gently caress his thigh.

“Does it hurt here?” You ask, adding gentle pressure.

“No,” He says through gritted teeth, absolutely loving the touch of your hands on him - even if you were a stranger and even if it was simply your job.

“And here?” You ask again, applying pressure to a different area and as he winced in pain, your question was answered.

After a few more assessments, you highlighted that his femur isn’t fractured, only bruised and should heal naturally on its own. As you give the diagnosis, it went through one ear and out the other because again, his eyes being to wander and land on your hips as you turn away but caught him looking as you turn back to him.

You place your hands to your hips and smirk, “See something you like, Trooper?”

Echo’s eyes widened and he mumbled a thousand apologies at once, stumbling off the bed and thanking you for the help. You had a inkling that you may be seeing him again sometime. Well, you hoped so.

Hunter

Watching you work out was one of Hunter's favourite pastimes. The day was sweltering, and you naturally dressed in less clothing than usual for your workouts.

"Can I join you?" Hunter approaches you with a grin, sporting nothing but shorts that accentuated his tanned and toned body in the sunlight.

Finding yourself gaping in awe at his body too, you can only smirk back, slipping into a fighting stance and recalling every technique that Hunter had taught you. "How could I say no to you?" You ask and as you move, sweat drips from your body, enhancing your already alluring figure and heightening Hunter's senses.

"Good form," he compliments, stepping closer to you. His tone hints at his admiration for not only your workout performance but also your physique.

"Oh really?" You turn your head to glance at him, your eyes twinkling with amusement. "Why don't you demonstrate some other stances for me?"

Hunter relishes in the playful tone of your voice and steps up behind you, placing his hands tenderly on your hips, which he always yearns to touch. "Angle your body to the left and add a bounce to your knees," he instructs, guiding you through the movement. Though he knows you are capable of executing the exercise on your own, he can't resist the opportunity to have his hands on you.

You follow his directions but find yourself a little distracted by his touch. Even with his heightened senses, it feels as though Hunter is transferring his energy to you as his fingers caress the curves of your hips, trailing down to your thighs and back up to your arse, sending shivers down your spine. “Hunter…” you find yourself moaning his name, earning a low chuckle.

“Don’t get distracted by me,” he breathes down the nape of your neck but with his bare torso against your back and his hands roaming your body, it was so hard not to.

Wrecker

Wrecker had always admired your body, but it was your thighs that truly captivated him. At first, he was drawn in by your beauty, and it took some time for him to realize the full extent of his fascination. It wasn't until he saw you wearing shorts to bed one night that he truly understood the power of your curvy legs.

Now, as you lay on your cot reading a holobook, legs propped up in the air, Wrecker found himself once again unable to tear his gaze away from your thighs. He was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he didn't notice you watching him until you decide to speak up.

"May I make you an offer, Wrecker?" You asked, and he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of your voice. He cleared his throat and tried to act casual as he responded.

"Sure, what is it?"

"If you promise to stop staring at my legs all the time, I'll let you come over and give them a massage," you smirk, lowering your holobook to look him in the eye. Wrecker felt his face flush with embarrassment. Had it been so obvious that he couldn't take his eyes off you?

He started to stammer out an apology, but you cut him off with a wave of her hand and a soft smile.

"I don't mind," you say, sitting up until you’re sitting on your legs and teasingly entice him over by beckoning him with your finger. “I like to think they’re my best assets,” you comment, patting your legs that made them subtly jiggle which almost made him drop his helmet he was cleaning.

“Well, they are pretty.” He stands and comes closer until he sits on the edge of your bed watching you shift from your current position to you sat with them laid out. “Did ya mean your offer?” He asks, fingers twitching to reach out and touch your skin.

“I did,” you smirk, “go ahead.”

His hands come down to your thighs, large and rough yet gentle as he caresses your skin. He watches you for your reaction and as you tilt your head back and sigh in satisfaction, he knew he made the right choice in accepting your offer.

Crosshair

Crosshair watched as you struggled to hit the bottles he had set up as targets. He shook his head in disapproval and clicked his tongue, his new found admiration for you mingling with his frustration at your poor performance. But, he couldn’t help but also admire the view of you.

"You're doing it all wrong," he chided from the sidelines. To which, you let out a heavy sigh and nearly threw the rifle to the ground in frustration.

"I'm standing exactly where you told me to," you huffed, earning an eye roll from Crosshair. He approaches you, a small smirk on his lips as he positioned himself behind you.

"No, you're not," he teased, but he softened his tone as he sensed your frustration growing. "Stand here," he instructed, pointing to a spot next to him.

Reluctantly, you obeyed, standing close to him as he instructed you to raise the rifle and relax your shoulders. Crosshair watched you with his sharp eyes, feeling a sense of power as he towered over you.

"Okay, now what?" You asked, breath steady as you glanced back at him. You couldn't help but feel weak in the knees whenever he looked at you like that. He always had a hold over you, and him being so close to you now didn't help.

"Don't look at me, look at the target," he commanded. His voice, which usually dripped with venom, was surprisingly soft and alluring.

Turning away, you let out a small and surprised gasp as his hands come to your waist but to your surprise, he let out a small gasp himself.

“Wow princess,” he cooed, his fingers melting against the curve of your body, “I always knew you had a beautiful body but to touch it… stunning.” He breathes down your neck.

Your eyes widened at his words but you succumbed quickly to his touch, your back pressed against his chest as his hands begin to roam your body. “Y-you like my body?” You question with a hint of insecurity but your question is answered as he finally places his lips to your neck.

“I love,” he sighs, caressing your body from over your clothes, “every inch.”

You end up dropping his weapon eventually, it clanging to the floor with a thud and as you go to apologise, he spins you to face him, close and dominant. “Screw it,” he grunts, devouring your lips with his own.

That was enough teaching for one day…

Masterlist

My Kofi

Tags: @nunanuggets @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @cwarssimp @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @megafrost4 @theroguesully @equalityforcats @mustluvecho @misogirl828 @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @chxpsi @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @agenteliix @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @imalovernotahater @swiftiexstarwarssimp @the-good-shittt @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @erellenora

[majorproblems77]

I sent you part of this already but I decided it needed a bit more. 🫂❤️

“Please, Sir. I’ll keep up, or you can leave me behind. Just… go back to your boys.” Sky yanked himself out of Time’s grip and wrapped his arms around himself.  “Please.” His voice threatened to break and he looked away. Why wouldn’t the eldest just… go?

“Sky…” Time caught his arm. No, not in front of Time. Not when he was holding on to…everything by a thread. “I am with one of my boys.What’s wrong?” And the kindness in Time’s voice was the final straw. 

“I haven’t slept more than a half watch in two weeks.” He admitted. “I’m exhausted and Surface Sick but…” here he stopped as his voice choked. “I just need…” Another sob he fought to stifle. He needed the nightmares to let him sleep. He needed his head and body to quit aching. He was already a burden to the other heroes. He pushed through this on his adventure. He’d do it again…

There was a clatter as a golden gauntlet dropped to the ground and a cool wrist was lightly pressed against his forehead, then the eldest hero carefully pulled him into a hug and it was at that point that Sky fully lost his grip on everything and sobbed into Time’s chest. 

--

Sky collapsed into him, sobbing and Time caught the Chosen hero and fought to contain the panic. The boy had a fever. He wasn’t sure what Surface Sick meant other than Sky seemed familiar with it, some sort of illness obviously. Then there was their current situation. They’d hoped to reach a town soon. It would be better to stock up on supplies and catch news of their quarry but could they even move if Sky was very bad off? He knew the Chosen would feel awful about disrupting the group’s travel but he couldn’t imagine forcing pace when the boy was sick and clearly exhausted. All this was currently being frantically pushed to a back burner as the urgent issue was a teenager breaking down with a simple hug. 

“It’ll be ok, Sky.” He assured, shifting to take more of the Chosen’s weight. "I've got you, it'll be ok."

--

Time was saved from trying to come up with more than reassurances by the noise of rustling in the bushes and the emergence of Wolfie from the undergrowth. For a wolf, the expression was clear concern. It required shifting the Chosen in his arms to sign. So he ended up making an executive decision then and there.

"Go tell everyone to settle in for a bit. We're overdue for a rest day anyway." His pup nodded and trotted off towards camp. He turned his attention to Sky, whose cries had subsidided into exhausted shudders. He needed to get the Chosen somewhere he could rest.

"Let's get you back to bed, Sky." He shifted to pick the Skyloftian knight up, only getting a miserable whine in response. "It'll be ok, Kid." He hummed the Goron Lullaby as he walked. It wasn't on his ocarina and it had none of the magic the song would have if played on the proper instrument, but it was soothing enough he felt Sky start to properly drift off.

--

Twilight was human once more as Time approached the edge of camp. Now came the hard part, convincing the boys to not ask too many questions yet. He needn't have worried. Warriors had most of the others occupied with sword work or sparring. Twilight helped him get Sky wrapped up in his bedroll so he could rest. Wild broke from the group long enough to hand over a potion meant to keep a hylian from overheating in desert sun, hopefully it would help against a fever.

--

"How's he doing?" Wars asked quietly as he dropped to a crouch beside them. Sky was sleeping once more, albeit fitfully. Wild’s exilir plus a damp cloth had done wonders for Sky’s fever. But it was clear the young knight was still struggling.

"Better, a little..." Time turned his attention to Sky as the Chosen’s breath hitched and he began showing signs of distress. The cloth had lost its cooling properties anyway so Time carded a hand through Sky’s hair as he resolved the cloth. It seemed to soothe him.

"Anything you need?" Wars asked once Sky had settled once more.

These kids to stop breaking my heart. Was his immediate thought, but he shook his head. "Unless you know how to fix what's kept him from sleeping and made him ill..."

Warriors smiled ruefully. "We'll just have to keep an eye out. I'll switch you out when you need a break or in two more hours, whichever comes first. Ok, Sprite?"

Time nodded with a small chuckle. The Captain knew him too well to not set deadlines. He'd stay as long as it took to take care of his boys otherwise.

Oh my heart, this is adorable.

Thank you for sharing this with me :)

[raindrop-on-a-spiderweb]

Sending love to one of the best writers on ao3 😘💕 I check your page frequently and wanted to ask about the things that you enjoy doing or aspire to do

Hi Anon, it's so sweet of you to send this ask to ask after me. Rest assured your words are appreciated on this end; thank you from the bottom of my heart and top of my soul 🫂 I'm very glad you think highly of my work even after so long, and I'm so so sorry I haven't had any new content in such a long time. But I am hard at work on a oneshot that will definitely be published before the next chapter of Samarra, so the well won't stay dry for long! The summary is “A jaded prison nurse must come to rely on a man she hates and fears in the midst of a deadly prison riot.” I started writing it in the ward; it's based off of the Moundsville Penitentiary which is an especially spooky place I've been to–an old 19th century prison made of towering stone turrets, eerie high ceilings, and rusted iron cells packed together like pigsties. I'm hoping to get that atmosphere across; it's about ⅔ of the way finished so good progress is being made!

Well I enjoy writing, most of all, but I've already talked about that in detail a thousand times so I'll spare you. I love reading, of course (I just finished “The Five”, about the victims of Jack the Ripper, and it's a fascinating bit of history and an incredible and horrifying look at Victorian-era industrial Britain). I love exploring the mountains with my cats trotting along beside me and photographing what I find. In all honesty I'm a bit of a trappist–I rarely see people except hunters and cashiers, and most of my time is spent alone with myself or my dad. But each day is an adventure when you're in nature and each season brings primordial and beautiful changes– I collected watercress the other day and found the downy remains of a fawn. 

I love watching old movies. My dad and I were watching Laurel and Hardy last night and I swear it holds up a century later. Before that we watched King Rat, which is one of his–and my–favorite movie; about two men stuck in a Japanese prison camp and the Machiavellian and underhanded ways they survive there. The book is particularly good too, and the epilogue about rats devouring each other has haunted my dreams for a long time. 

On the same subject, a series that I highly recommend is called Tenko, which is very similar to King Rat, except the prisoners are women. It's so grueling, realistic and enrapturing; I've never seen anything that so squarely focuses on women's experiences, relationships with each other, the hardships they face, and how they struggle to survive together in a thankless, deprived environment. The backstabbing and despair that comes in their darkest moments, the love and support in which they uplift each other with, their mistrustful and uneven relationships with their captors that occasionally erupt in friendships and affairs–and all the episodes are on dailymotion, too!

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x74u4fi

I like dreaming most of all. So many of my story ideas come from my dreams. The worst thing in the world is waking up and trying to catch the stray strands of the dream slipping through your fingers. It's amazing to live so many lives–good or bad–inside your head. Sometimes when I wake up, I feel a sweeping, palpable sense of relief that I don't live in the world I conjured last night, and sometimes I wish I could just claw myself back into my brain and live in that little pocket world for the rest of my life.

I do not aspire to much. I don't really have any base wishes but to keep writing and live til 70. We all have our hopeful fantasies, of course, and when I finally do get Ragnatela on Amazon Kindle (Microsoft Word is trying to swindle me out of one hundred and fifty American dollars to use their dogshit platform, and since the manuscript is half-edited, I'm afraid to lose my formatting if I switched to a free program like Libreoffice) maybe it will get some attention. 

I still intend on writing on Ao3 until the day I die, though. Even with its unsavory content I have such a soft spot for its unrestricted freedom of speech and prose. Plus I don't want to give up talking to you guys and goofing off in the comments ☹️ I also aspire to stop drinking. I'm sure I've already shaved a few years off my lifespan with my tippling habit. But when one day is much like the other, is there much point in extending it?

I aspire to travel around the United States more. I took a trip through the Deep South to visit Savannah and it was enrapturing; something I will remember for the rest of my life. Rusted-out cars felted in green moss, skinny, grazing horses in windswept fields, peeling roadside signs advertising tent revivals, clownish golliwogs behind still windows of cafes, forgotten tugboats half-sunken into lagoons, highway strip hotels where craggy hookers peered at you suspiciously from their fold-up chairs, and derelict cemeteries separated between Union and Confederate. It was just post-Irma and we were often the only tourists at any of these places. The effects of the hurricane were stark and obvious, with the land in a state of shock before any official agencies came to clean them up. I remember boats crashed into the harbor and grandfather trees felled in front of opulent antebellum homes, and the sea churned brown and murky when we trekked to the beach. The sense of desolation, and not only from the hurricane, was chilling–but I loved being there and loved being swathed by the kudzu and history. My mother is very ill and before she dies we might make up briefly and take a trip to New Orleans together and explore rural Louisiana; I'd always wanted to write a story set in New Orleans. Louisiana is a fascinating state with its mixture of Napoleonic and Creole influences; and I've always been drawn to the grand, decaying tombs of New Orleans as much as I have been to the odd Francophone swamps and their hidden dialects and traditions. And one day I would like to go way, way out west and explore the Gold Rush ghost towns. All the mines where I am are filled-in, so I would like to venture underneath the earth just once. 

Most of all, I aspire to be alone, and live by myself for the rest of my life, far away from town, somewhere in the mountains like where I am now. I wish I didn't have to see another person for the rest of my life. Being alone with myself is bad enough, being with others is intolerable.

Anyways, I apologize for my undue pleonasm, you caught me in a chatty mood 😀 Here's an excerpt from the newest prison one-shot:

Rhoda had met Jesse Fitzner her first day on the job. It was midway through her shift, and she was taking a lunch break and grading her sister Sherise's homework in her office. The day had started with a white-knuckle ride in early morning mist so thick she couldn't see the taillights of the car in front of her. Midway through her preliminary tour of the prison, an inmate had stuffed his toilet full of socks, which promptly overflowed and leaked sewage out of the cell onto her high heels. The hoots and jeers had made her speed up, trying to avoid the leering eyes of her future patients. And her introduction to the mental ward, by a younger but just as pessimistic Fawna, had not lifted her mood any either.

So there she sat in her office, snatching a moment of calmness and frantically scribbling corrections over Sherise's homework before her sister turned it in tomorrow. And then the door swung open.

A blond man poked his head in and briefly raised his eyebrows. He was wearing the omnipresent, drab gray prison uniform, pants and a sweatshirt rolled up to his elbows. "What are you up to?"

She flipped the cover of the notebook over.

"Going over my sister's homework. Is there something you need?"

"Passing on a message to Nurse Judson. One of the inmates wants to switch his blood pressure medication."

"Oh, she'll be back soon. I think she's–doing something with the prisoners. Just give her a few minutes."

"No hurry." He pulled the chair opposite her and sat down in it. "So you're grading your kid sister's homework? Shouldn't she be doing that herself?"

The man had thick blond hair that stuck up in back like a duck's tail, and very rosy cheeks. He looked like he had just shaven, by the nicks on his neck. 

"It's a long story. I should be–"

"I've got time. If this is your first day, you need to take some time to yourself to relax--else you'll end up in the infirmary."

Rhoda laughed. He had a nice smile and a nice manner about him–very jovial and friendly. It was refreshing to see a man who didn't stare at her like she was a piece of meat. "Well, my parents died when my brother and I were still young. Seth was seventeen, I was fifteen. He went to work so we didn't have to break up the family, and I stayed home to care for my little siblings, all three of them. It wasn't fun. I always wanted to do more for them than what I was stuck with, so I'm making sure they get good grades and go to good colleges. That's why I got this job in the first place, to put some back for their college funds."

"That's real decent of you. I don't know a single woman who would go so far for their family. You'd best be proud of yourself. Where's your brother now?"

"He's working out of state in Pennsylvania. He found a good woman and has a concrete contracting business now."

"You got yourself a man?"

"Never saw the need. Someday, maybe, when I'm lonelier."

"Working here for a few years will train that loneliness for a man right outta of you." 

They both laughed at that, and Rhoda felt her tensed muscles begin to relax. "I didn't catch your name."

"Jesse Lee Fitzner." He reached across the desk to grip her hand. For being such a small-built man, he had a crushing handshake.

"Rhoda Ames. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"I knew a few Ameses when I was on the outside. Where your folks from?"

"Beckworth, west of here."

"Oh, you're bullshitting me. I have folks from there too. You don't know a Harry Fitzner, do you?"

"Harry who used to run the car repair shop?"

"That's him! My uncle. He retired a few years ago. His lungs got to him. Too much time in the mines."

The door slammed open again. An elderly prison guard, who had greeted her rather abruptly upon her hiring and who had a hard and wrinkled face, was standing in the doorway. When he saw Jesse, his face grew harder. "What are you doing here, inmate?"

Jesse raised his hands, still not moving from where he was leaning back on the chair. "Just dropping off a message for Nurse Judson."

"Next time, leave the message with Nurse Ames and promptly return to your cell. There's no reason for you to be here actin' so friendly."

To Rhoda's mild disappointment, the guard grabbed Jesse by his arm and yanked him out, harder than he needed to. Before he was escorted out, Jesse tossed a glance over her shoulder and winked at her. "Rhoda, you're a young lady, and I'm a bit of a spring chicken myself. I think we would get along real well outside these walls."

Rhoda couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up from her throat. She felt lightheaded. She was a rangy and abrupt woman with a working tan, and hadn't much experience with men flirting with her.

When Jesse was marched out, Rhoda stood up and grabbed her peaked nurse's cap, girding her loins for the next shift on the ward. While she was counting medications, the elderly guard–Miles–came in again and shut the door behind him. She flinched, expecting a dressing-down on her first day of work. I wasn't fraternizing with the prisoner, was I? Am I… am I gonna lose my job?

He sat down opposite her. "You ever hear that tale 'bout the lady and the snake?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to–"

"Old story; old, old story. One of them Aesop stories they wrote when people was still in togas and carved words in stone. A woman was walking home one day when she saw a frozen snake lying on the side of the road. It begged her to save its poor little self, this little creature of God. So taking pity on it, the woman brought it home and warmed it by the fire between her breasts. And as it thawed, it bit her breast. 'Oh, why would you do such a thing? Your poison will kill me,’ she wailed. And the snake smiled and said, 'You knew I was a snake before you brought me into your house.'"

Rhoda stared at him, puzzled. "I don't understand."

"You know what that fellow did to get in here? Fitzner was top dog in a motorcycle gang outside of prison. A real nasty one. He ordered a contract killing on a rival gang member. They snatched the poor fellow when he was leaving a bar. Hung him from a tree, broke his legs with doublejack hammers, used him as target practice with their sawed-offs, cut his dick off and shoved it in his mouth, then left and let him choke on it and bleed to death for the rest of the night. He was out, too, far out in the mountains, and they only found him weeks later when a hunter stumbled on him. One of the killers snitched on Fitzner in exchange for dropping a drug felony sentence he was staring at. That snitch went into hiding and changed his name. Two days after Fitzner was taken to this good penitentiary, he was found with his head beaten in, in a dry creek bed."

Rhoda's head began to spin in slow whirls. Her hand where Jesse had shaken it grew very clammy. She remembered his bright smile across the desk, his dark eyes, and felt bile and vomit churn in her throat.

"You both were talking for a while, I noticed. He's good at prising information out of people, Fitzner is. A boyish smile and a few good words and he can make both men and women melt like butter on yer tongue. See? Now he knows who you are, and where your folks live. Now he can get to you."

Rhoda tried to talk, but her tongue was paralyzed. She looked down and wiped her sweaty hands on her knees.

Miles got up and went over to the door. He looked out of the window set on top, and his hard face relaxed. He seemed much older in that moment, more wrinkled and exhausted.

"You'd best be careful of him, Nurse Ames. He's a bad 'un. I'll be glad to see the back of him."

As it turned out, Miles retired later that year and it was Jesse who saw the back of him. 

And Rhoda became very wary of him from then on. Whenever he saw her in the hall, in the chow line, in the infirmary, he smiled at her and tried to make small talk. She ignored him, or was curt with him.

Unfortunately, he seemed to take that as an invitation.

[merlatealeaf72]

Imagine your OTP, British TV Show Edition

Celebrity Hunted

"I think you're the most annoying fugitive we've ever had on the show but I hate to admit you're kind of funny, so when I catch you I'm gonna ask you out"

"I have no idea what I'm doing, I only applied to spend more time with my partner and they've already been caught, can you please help?"

"I don’t care if the Hunters are on the way to your house, you're kinda cute and I want to spend more time with you"

"I bring tea and coffee to the Hunters at HQ who are struggling to find the last fugitive, and to you, the last fugitive who has somehow managed to hide in HQ the entire time"

Strictly Come Dancing

"Hey, I know you're not my partner but we get along so much better, do you think anyone will notice if we swap?"

"I am in a fierce competition with you over who can make the weirdest faces when Claudia is talking to the camera"

"We started dating after our series on Strictly and I was planning on proposing to you when we won the Christmas special, but then we didn't so this is awkward"

"I have very bad stage fright and I honestly don't know why I signed up for this in the first place and oh my god our bodies are so close together ahhhhhhhh"

Taskmaster

"I'm in the team of three with you two and I think you're both cute, but you both hate each other so I'm guessing you don’t want to be a throuple?"

"You thought it would be funny to steal me from my boyfriend for a prize task but to be honest I kinda like you better than him"

"You've been stealing my stuff for prize tasks all series so for the final prize task I wanted to steal some of your stuff and I thought you weren't going to be home so this is awkward"

"So apparently Taskmaster shipping exsists and we're the second most shipped pairing after Greg and Alex"

The Great British Bake Off

"Its the first day and I've already accidentally dumped all of my meringue on my head, you're the only other baker who's giving me a hand, I appreciate it but I swear to god if you don't finished your bake because of me-"

"You've beaten me to Star Baker three weeks in a row, WHAT'S YOUR WEAKNESS?????"

"It feels like you're naming your bakes innuendos on purpose to spite me, the host that has to call it out"

"We've somehow managed to bake the exact same type of cake with the exact same decoration theme, we must be soulmates but I definitely think mine is better"

[moodymisty]

Sorry for this 5am longpost. I just got jolted awake by a really intense nightmare and while waiting for my heartrate to chill, I had a daydream vaguely based on your tag about Sanguinius being down bad for Horus lover. I hope this doesn't get cut off by tumblr due to length.

Mortarion is my favorite right now, and of course the fungus took over. I am a sucker for a cynical bastard falling for someone who secretly has a heart of gold despite appearances.

I was thinking of Horus' lover being a princess for her foreign planet, but she's unknowingly a low level psyker or something. Somehow, someway, she can always without fail tell when a person lies. This sort of thing plagues her life terribly, everyone from the lowest servant to the most noble lord constantly lying straight to her face and she has to try and not show that she knows.

Horus is the one to conquer her planet, and a situation like Fulgrim and his wives happens where she is offered to him for marriage, as is typical on her world. She is silently a bit miserable, she is now a prop to a man's ambition(as having a wife would probably make Horus seem more human, more relatable, making him less 'other' to baseline humans and he would be very aware of that) and watching him lie to so many people's faces at big events, or even political talks, is just soul-crushing to her.

At some big Terran event different primarchs are taking turns meeting Horus' new wife, and telling plenty of fibs about how excited they are to meet her, how lovely she looks, so on. And then she meets Mortarion.

I am new to the books so far, but Mortarion seems so blunt. Like he doesn't waste the effort to lie. And I feel like that may be one of the (many) things that made him difficult to get along with, even for his brothers.

I am autistic, not entirely high functioning, and lying is difficult to me. I can't do it well at all. So I don't bother. And boy do I know that people hate when you're truthful with them. So maybe I am projecting onto him lol.

So Mortarion bluntly says some rude but truthful comment to her, like "This is a waste of time." the room gets quiet, and instead of being angry she SMILES. She thinks it is genuinely impressive he just said exactly what was on his mind despite the expectations placed on him. And in front of such a crowd, too.

At some point, a serving person does an oopsie and drops a drink, some of it getting on her, and Mortarion is just stanking it up in the corner waiting to see her berate the poor soul. Typical entitled nobility.

But she gently reassures them, and even goes so far as to help them wipe up the little mess. He's surprised, but his cynical side wins out and he just files it away as her pretending to be kind.

In the future, at another event she is sitting alone and brooding in the gardens a bit tipsy from wine. Morty has the same idea to escape the banquet and notices her. They have a heart-to-heart about how fake their lives feel, having to put on little shows and shows of force for social gatherings and parades. How the upper classes are all snakes lying to each other, and ruining the lives of regular people in their little games.

After seeing she isn't just a spoiled little girl with her head in the clouds putting on airs, that she laments the suffering of the "lower" classes, maybe he starts catching feelings.

This is as far as I got lol. My brain skipped ahead to Mortarion being uncharacteristically deferential with her at some other big gathering, like getting down on one knee to gently take her hand and greet her and his brothers all being flabbergasted. The drama would be hilarious. It'd be like an extra middle finger to Horus especially. Fulgrim would have a field day.

The extra angst of Morty finding out she is a low level psyker would also be interesting! He'd be struggling to reconcile the monstrous image he has of psykers with the gentle nature of his lover.

ANYWAY I got strangely inspired!! I've never written anything just for fun before, so I know I wouldn't be good at it, but maybe I'll try? It's like I've got this thing in my brain screeching at me to at least attempt it lol.

(By the way, I hope the crazy weather yesterday missed you! That shit was scary.)

This is fantastic, I fucking love this. I've been wanting to write more for Mortarion but I struggle to find a good idea sometimes, this is really really good. I also think that Morty wouldn't have the energy or care to lie, and that seeing someone who doesn't flaunt their stature, and even treats him kindly would make him catch feelings.

I've already gone so off the rails doing random writings that I held myself back from doing this one, but once i get a few more requests done I hope you don't mind if I come back and write this. Unless you wish to keep it only to yourself ;3

the worst of the weather missed me, but it was still pretty intense, the wind was like 60mph. i hope you were safe as well!

[108garys]

Workaholic

For Hector's birthday I am again returning to "the perfect shot" au, in which Hector remains with the FBI long enough to be given a new task, watching Charlie in the aftermath of his involvement in hoa after his move to America. File this under me writing Hector in a way that makes me want to hit him with a news paper, Charlie too but he has a better excuse so yeah, Heclie but Hector literally trips over the finish line, straight up "it's not stalking if I get paid for it" and a lot of poor Charlie, I forgive your life choices because the way you are in this polished up wip is certainly not as bad as you are in writings I've done while this was on a shelf

Hope y'all enjoy 💕

May 31st, 2004

Special Agent Hector Munday had always been a bit of a workaholic. Diligently he examines every seemingly insignificant detail of a given case. His therapist claimed it was obsessive but how can it be a flaw when doing so took dangerous criminals off the street? Hector's work was very important and it deserved nothing less than his full attention…

In mid 03' he was assigned a very different task, something a little more low stress than he was used to but the stakes were no less important… He would not be tracking down a dangerous criminal and bringing them to justice, in fact the tracking was less seeking and more stalking for he'd know the man's location since day one- Not that Hector was stalking him! …it was his job to keep tabs on the aspiring director, lest he reveal classified information.

Charlie Lonnit, 30, was his assignment, the London born documentarian had been in the states for just under a year now, pursuing his dreams of make a name for himself in the industry but struggling to make necessary connections in a new place… The Brit was a workaholic too, Hector observed. It was the anniversary of Lonnit's highly classified time in Iraq. He had been coming to this bar more frequently in the lead up and Munday couldn't risk a drunken error changing the nature of his task. Charlie wasn't a dangerous man by any means but he carried dangerous secrets that must stay buried…Even if he must also be put in the ground in the process…

Hector found himself slowly sipping what had now become a regular order in his quiet corner of an unremarkable bar as he discreetly kept an eye on Charlie, not Charles, he hated being called that, over at the bar… Some may argue that his research went beyond what was strictly necessary but as far as Agent Munday was concerned the more he knew the easier it would be to catch subtle changes in behavior.

Hector was on edge watching some random sleeze getting a little too invasive for his liking, usually he wouldn't think Charlie was the type to go for that but these are unusual times… he'd be lying if he denied a level of possessiveness over the idea of him going home with the guy but for all he knows the combined factors could prompt Lonnit into committing a serious crime. Special Agent Munday was a professional after all.

So when the man's unwelcome touch travels a little too far his liking, Hector did something very stupid… He found himself approaching, "Is this guy bothering you?" He said with the casual air of an uninformed bystander, having convinced himself of the other man's threat, "What the fuck do you want?" The other man looked up, in disbelief at his audacity until Hector, against his better judgement, handed off just enough cash to turn the man's head. "I'm sure you have better places to be." he confidently asserts and the man complies with an air of confusion. Hector takes the now empty seat and Charlie stares at him having seen this stranger pay off the other guy. Taking a moment to consider his next move…

Hector had heard Charlie's voice uncountable times… on tapes, audio of secret things where he's trying to maintain his composure, trying to explain himself near tears as he's given an ultimatum… warmth as he calls his mother at a specific time that works for the difference in timezone, at least twice a week, his current tone was somewhere in the middle, a certain level of polite caution. "You're a regular here aren't you?" as far as Charlie knew, Hector had been in here everytime he's visited the less than stellar establishment. "It's a stone's throw from my place, it's as good as any." it wasn't an out right lie but Hector wouldn't come here willingly without a reason.

Charlie adjusted his glasses looking him over and Hector's skin felt like static under the unexpected attention, suddenly regretful now that he was no longer fixated on the possibility of the other man… he should excuse himself and continue doing his job at the appropriate distance, but… Hector was diligent about his work and looking into his eyes… The way his own face looked reflected across the younger man's glasses.

He had Charlie's full attention.

He not so reluctantly stayed put, he couldn't help it… listening to him speak like he had for the past year. He tried to listen more than he spoke, the more he speaks the more he'd risk mentioning something he shouldn't… Eventually Charlie got onto the subject of his documentarian dreams and his fascination with serial killers and what makes them tic, he said he wasn't sure why he felt drawn to true crime. It was a coping mechanism after what he faced in Iraq, he needed to rationalize the darker parts of the world to feel safe, it made sense to Hector even if Charlie didn't do it consciously…

He couldn't turn his brain off, trying to analyse every little detail, Charlie leaned closer to him, Hector's dark eyes looked predatory reflected in Charlie's soft blue ones… His focus so singular that he'd barely noticed that he'd allowed his hand to wonder, far past the boundaries of what a complete stranger should dare. he quickly withdrew it not wanting to make Charlie uncomfortable but-

Charlie grabbed his hand, Hector felt like the young man just didn't want to be alone, everyone else who knew what he'd been through was far away… Everyone he could confide in was involved in a conspiracy to keep that hurt buried… They sat in silence for beat, before Charlie kissed him. Hector pulled back in surprise before he could process the sudden contact, Charlie's face flushed bright with embarrassment. His eyes wide, likely wondering how he had misread the previous touch. "I- I'm so-" sorry? Hector opened his mouth to explain but Charlie rushed out before he could. What was he thinking!? Hector payed for both their drinks before following, his stupidity is getting expensive.

He found him out front, trying to light a smoke, becoming visibly upset as his lighter refused to cooperate. Charlie turned with the cigarette between his lips, the redness in his face betraying him. Hector fishes his lighter out of his pocket stepping closer, he lit up his own before sharing the flame with the younger man. Charlie looked away, relaxing slightly as smoke escaped into the night…

Hector ignored that it was entirely inappropriate to know that although it wasn't when he started smoking, his trauma related to his time as a military journalist had solidified his habit into something he depended on…

The silence stretches awkwardly, it begins to rain…

He felt like he should explain but his own reaction was much more of a mystery than Charlie's, all neat and categorized through careful observation. He felt words would fail him, that even if Charlie really did just want a distraction he could do that… He approaches again, much more deliberately, with clarity of purpose…

He was passionate about his work.

-- June 1st, 2004

Hector's therapist had advised against taking his work home, it was unhealthy she said, but as Charlie's form rose and fell in soft sleep he knew she was wrong… Charlie had slept with a light on every night since his trip to hell, as had all the survivors, Hector left his bedside lamp on hoping Charlie wouldn't think too much about it.

This was uncharted territory, learning so much that had previously been beyond his reach… The way Charlie's skin felt, how he clung to him like he's the only thing between him and that place Hector only knew through reports… Very many other things… New information, mentally filed away. It was… educational.

Hector's hand ran over long inhuman claw marks that scarred Charlie's hip, imaging what it must have been like, how terrifying those creatures must have been… He refrains from sliding any further as Charlie began to stir, slowly rolling over to look at him. He smiles sleepily, accepting as Hector offers to make him coffee.

A shortly after Hector is again in his head, wondering if things will go back the way they were now that his… Now that Lonnit had gotten through the anniversary, they should. It could never work. He distracted himself with the task at hand, listening to the sound of the shower down the hall, he turns on the radio to the classical station to distract himself. He wouldn't bring it up first, that would make him look like an ass… What the hell is wrong with him!?-

"I hope you don't mind, my stuffs still in the dryer." Hector turns to Charlie, wearing one of his shirts… He absentmindedly handed over a cup of coffee… It was far too large, hanging off him in a way that- Hector looked away, grabbing his own mug and drinking, before he turned back with a smile. "No no, it's fine, it was my fault you got wet in the first place." Charlie smirks, Hector clears his throat, trying not to blow his cover… Or look like an actual idiot. "So, what's with the scar?" he sees Charlie's expression fall, clearly blindsighted despite the obvious likelihood that it would come up, Hector quickly spoke up again. "I understand if it's too sensitive a subject." Charlie nods, relived, looking away. "Yeah." he says drinking his coffee, still greatly affected by what he'd been through.

He was supposed to say he'd had a close call on a hiking trail a few years back… That was the 'official' story given to him but this was the first time he's actually been in a situation where it'd come up.

Hector retroactively decided this was a test… He couldn't have Charlie floundering and potentially slipping up with other men, it was a matter of confidentiality… He looks at him, at the way the morning sun hits his face just right, his glasses framing his features perfectly… He wanted to see him wearing more of his clothes, wanted to be in on the secret irony that the man who had survived vampires loved the feeling of his teeth… Wanted to feel his warmth and leave more marks on him…

He moved to grab things from his pantry, barely thinking about it as he begins to make breakfast to prolong the time Charlie stayed in his presence, thinking of the right words to convince him to do this again. It would be much more efficient to keep tabs on him this way…

After all, Hector Munday was a workaholic and Charlie Lonnit was his job.

__

@kassiekole22 @delurkr @ctrvpani @tinynightmarewoman

@eframschweigersskincells @aydeenchan @mybrainrotforreal @unhingedlesbear

@kindheartedgummybears @blubary

I thought it was fun to cross out Information hector definitely shouldn't know, like its a denial of his actual behaviour, I hope it's as fun to read lol

[imwall-e]

W&TWS || Doubts

Summary : He is a super-soldier of more than 100 year old, struggling to find a place in this new world. She is a young student of 23, struggling with life. But they know they can find comfort and help in each other.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings : a bit of angst and anxiety, also fluff and always Bucky being the best

A/N : I am back to writing this fanfiction. It is more a journal to me, but it feels good to write like that and to share the story of Bucky and Willow. I hope you love it !

Series Masterlist

May 10th 2021

The exams had started the week of her birthday. Willow had barely revised, but was still doing her best to answer the questions and write good essays. She had a feeling, however, that it wouldn't be enough, but she was at peace with that. After all, this degree no longer suited her. All she had to do was make a decision: try her luck at the catch-up exams (because yes, she would definitely have to go), or give up altogether.

Strangely enough, her reflections led her to William. They had only been dating a few months, and she had taken just as long to get over what he had done to her. The wound still hadn't completely healed. A new question came to mind: was it a good idea to start a relationship with Bucky?

True, they had only exchanged a kiss, but perhaps everything was still moving too fast? Perhaps she needed to take her time? She wrote down all her anxieties on the paper she'd used for drafts, and promised herself she'd tell Bucky about them the next time they called.

He had gone back to New York a few weeks earlier, and it was difficult for them to communicate. She knew that a long-distance relationship wouldn't work in the long term. Especially in two different time zones.

She didn't want to get too attached like in her previous relationships. But Bucky seemed so kind. So thoughtful. However, bad times in the past forced her to be wary of many things, and many people. Even Bucky.

The teacher supervising the exam indicated that there was still an hour to go before the end of the exam. She glanced at her paper: barely four pages... She sighed, gathered her things, handed in her paper and went home.

The journey seemed long. Longer than usual. When she arrived, she was greeted only by her dog Dino. Her mother must still be at work. She took the opportunity to relax a little: take Dino for a walk, have something to eat, continue reading a book. Around 6pm, she took a shower and fell asleep a few minutes after getting into bed.

May 11th 2021

When she woke up, it was past midnight. The house was quiet. Her bedroom door was closed, probably by her mother who had preferred to let her sleep in. She reached for her phone and was blinded for several seconds by the brightness.

A few notifications from her group of friends told her that she wasn't the only one who had failed the exam. Dysariel's plan was holding up, which surprised none of them, after all he always got the best marks.

However, it was two other notifications that caught his attention. They were from Bucky:

Bucky Bear At 10.30pm: Hello Sunflower, I hope your day went well and that you managed to pass your mid-term. Give me your availability for tomorrow, I want to call you for your birthday. At 00:00: If my clock in New York is telling the right time for you, it's time for me to wish you a very happy birthday, my Sunflower. I haven't heard from you, so I assume you've fallen asleep. Thinking of you. PS: I also have a surprise for you that should arrive later today.   Sunflower At 00:15: Thank you, Bucky Bear! I'll be available from midday. I don't have any exams in the afternoon. Do I get a hint about my surprise? I'm thinking of you too. Bucky Bear  At 12:16am: Sorry, but if I tell you, it won't be a surprise! I've got to go to one last meeting. Go back to sleep, you need your rest. I can't wait to see you again.

His messages made her smile. He hadn't forgotten her birthday. He was going to surprise her. She had to concentrate on the positives. She wished she could go back to sleep now, but she knew she wouldn't be able to. So she grabbed her computer, plugged in her headphones and started watching videos. 

She was woken up by her seven o'clock alarm, just two hours after going back to sleep. She nearly fell asleep on the train journey to university. 

This morning she had an English grammar exam from nine to noon. However, she already knew that she would get out early because it was the subject she had mastered the most. Two or three exercises were more complicated and she could guess that she wouldn't get all the points. The most important thing was that she would at least pass the subject.

Zephyr, Dysariel, Axel and Ophélia went out more or less at the same time as her. They stayed another hour to eat together at one of the local fast-food restaurants. They talked about everything and anything. And Bucky.

"So," asked Dysariel, "how are things going with your handsome soldier?"

"Fine," replied Willow, blushing. I'm just a bit scared..."

"Of what?"

"That it's going too fast. Besides, the age difference is great, I mean he's over a century old."

They laughed together and all advised her the same thing: they were sure that what was between her and Bucky was special, but she had to take her time and think about her well-being.

Then came the time to go home. Zephyr went first, his parents being stricter about his going-out times. Then it was Ophélia's turn, as she had almost two hours by train to get home. Dysariel had things to do and wanted to revise for the hardest exam on Thursday: US history. Axel and Willow were the last to leave.

They had barely taken a few steps out of the main building when Axel remarked to Willow, "Look who's here." Indeed, Bucky was coming towards them, in a superb black suit. "I've got a train to catch and I think you deserve some time with him. Happy birthday again and see you on Thursday!" Before Willow could reply, Axel had already crossed the pedestrian crossing. When she turned her head towards Bucky, he was standing next to her, a bouquet of sunflowers in his hands.

"Happy birthday, Willow. I hope you don't mind that I came unannounced, I definitely wanted to surprise you." He looked tired but happy to see her again. As for her, she couldn't say a word because she was so surprised. She could only throw herself into his arms.

He held her close. Her long blonde hair smelt of monoi, the scent they both associated with summer. Bucky could already see himself taking her on holiday to the beach, or to New York to meet the people he considered to be his family.

Together they got into the car. "I was thinking we could go for lunch somewhere?" Bucky suggested.

"We've already eaten with the others. Maybe tonight?"

"Yes, of course. Say, I've booked a hotel room for the week, at the park where we spent our first date. We can also spend the day there tomorrow. Are you interested?

"Why not."

Bucky noticed that Willow didn't seem as cheerful as usual. He gently stopped the car at the side of the road, and turned to her, "Is everything all right?" Worry showed on his face and Willow couldn't help crying. There was the stress of the exams, the happiness of seeing Bucky again, the fears that were interfering with her thoughts.

So she told him about all the doubts she had about their relationship. She apologised several times. Bucky took her face in his hands: "Willow, look at me. It's all right, I'm not angry with you. Unless you never want to see me again, we'll take our time. We'll go at your pace. I promise you that. Now, I just want to know if we spend the afternoon and tomorrow together, or if I drop you off at your place?"

"I think I'm scared because of what happened with my old boyfriends."

"Willow, you don't have to tell me about it. Only do it if you want to or if you're ready."

"I am."

"Then we'll talk about it, but let me take you out for dessert. I know when you get really anxious and it calms down, you get hungry right after."

The fact that he remembered little details like this warmed her heart, and a big smile lit up her face. Bucky started the car again, one hand resting on Willow's thigh. Willow put her hand on his. She was already feeling a little lighter.

I hope you love this chapter, I'm writing the next one ! Do not hesitate to like, comment and reblog if you feel comfortable to do so !