#it is better to have love & lost than to have never loved at a

[collectivelysillysoup]

Thank you for sharing this, op. It's clear that Lyra was well loved and cared for. 💕

Losing a pet is hard, it hurts for a long time and for some people it doesn't feel like it will stop hurting for a while. Hope you are doing well and taking care of yourself, I'm sure she would be so proud.

Things get a little personal up ahead, just a warning!

Soon it will be a year since we lost our own baby girl. Her name was Gia and she was a ragamese mix with a big personality; we had her for nearly her entire life and she was here for us for somewhere around half of ours. She was vocal, purred so loud, and she had a lot of little quirks about her. We loved her so much.

We unfortunately learned about her having cancer on valentines day, which has possibly ruined that day for us. We stayed up late that night and I remember so vividly just laying on the floor with her and petting her. I said I would see her tomorrow, that she would be okay.

When I woke up in the afternoon on the 15th, she was gone. She was 10 years old and the youngest of our two cats. She went into surgery and they found cancer everywhere, so she just... stayed asleep. She didn't have to hurt anymore.

I love you so much Gia, you were the sweetest little baby when you wanted to be and I still miss you to this day. Seeing your toy sitting in the living room still hurts, because I know you loved that thing and you never got to come back home to play with it again. I still wish I would have stayed up until you left, that I had just been with you as long as I could.

(I'm sorry the only images of her I have available to post at the moment are low quality ones I took while in school on a chromebook, but low quality and a few years old is better than nothing)

My sweet little kitten, I will never forget the impact you made on my life... 💞

Lyra, my beloved cat of 13 years, passed away this year on Father's Day. She's been by my side through very difficult times and was my little rock of steady and unrelenting love. I struggled a lot drawing this, and struggled a lot posting it, but I know I would've wanted to read a comic like this that validated my grief for her when I lost her.

Wherever you are, Lyra my little summer star, I love you always! Thank you for being the best thing in my life.

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

My favorite one | Salesman x Fem!Recruiter!Reader

Summary: Usually recruiters does not meet with each other. But with you its different.

Warnings: Spoilers from Salesman's past - Dub/con - Possessive!Salesman - Obsess!Salesman - Walking red flag - You are his favorite -

The Salesman walked down the stairs of a centrain station, the sound of the last train leaving but what could still be hear were the slaps and grunts. He stopped and watched, delighted.

There you stood with a fake kind smile looking at a guy with a very red cheeck, not joke you had used more Force than necesary.

"Again"

"Of course Sir" Your sweet voice filled his ears as you stepped aside to leave space for the young Man to do his play.

And lost. Like other times you slapped him and The Salesman felt the rush of adrenaline go down his spine having to hold himself back from whistle at it.

"I- I cant continue"

"Sir, your attempts have been incredible" no they were not "I believe this time will be yours. Besides a few wones...and a hot meal"

There it was, his little snake letting out her poison to make that loser go again.

And finally (because you were getting bored) the Man won. He jumped and even hugged you (something that made The Salesman's body tense and wish for him to die in the main games. That worm should not touch you).

"Good work Sir. Here your money. And if you want to win more money here" The Card, the Devil's Card there it was. But with you, your smile and kind eyes offering it was like an Angel was giving him a chance.

He saw how you changed once the man left. Smile off, eyes sharp and body tense. You moved your neck and adjusted your tie as you took your own briefcase.

"Enjoying the show" Your voice called at him and he had to hide his smile. Of course you will notice him, even if he never made a noise.

"Very much. Your act was....a delight to see" He said standing by your side body not touching yet.

"It better be. It must be so they bite the hoock" You responded looking up at him, feeling the weight of his eyes on you.

It was like that every time he looked at you. Like he was studying you, like he owned you, like you were his.

And maybe in a sense you were. You knew who he was but after years, your body stills feels itself disgust when you remember how close he has always been.

He smiled, he knew your brain was working now. He knew you felt like a small prey when he was close. Like you had no control. And in a way it was like that. He loved it, you could be so ruthless but with him your facade was lost and only the most primal feelings were left.

"Shall we get ourselfs some dinner then?" He tilted his head to the side knowing you wont say no.

"Alright, I still need to mark down some names, but these wont appear tonight it seems" You responded getting your brief case looking at him then as his hand and back at him.

This must be a joke.

You took it much to his own ego that seemed to get bigger everytime he got you to do something he wanted, following his order was almost your second nature.

Almost. And he knew it. He just needed to keep working for it to be a second nature that you would always follow.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

122 That was his number back when he was a mere Circle Guard, burning bodies for the little pay of food and a bed. 121 was yours, always working at his side. You two were together for so much time He learned your body language, being able to tell it was you without having to look at your number.

It was so unfair, how much you plagued his mind. From your work, perfect and on time, to the small little details. Moving your hands when you did not like what a higher rank said or the order. How your shoulders tensed when other Circle Guards talked about a female player and how they wanted to have their fun with her.

He had decided that you were his. One number under him, it was logical that you would be his and only his. He shilded you from these comments and guards. Was at every work besides you. If he needed to exchange turns or do more hours just to be with you then so be it.

What drove him mad was how you seemed to not...care or the little attention you gave. At first he passed it as you being too focus in surviving and does your tasks to impress the higher ranks.

But it was more than that. He discovered it when he was moved to Triangle Guard and his number change to 233, while he did see you less and less he still could tell who you were. Just from seeing the way you walk.

But you ? You never noticed him. And like that he decided to give you a reason to never forget him.

It was not strange for Guards to seek out pleasure with each other. While it was never openely spooken it was something that happened.

Like that he got you on your knees, still fully dressed aside from your mask. Him only letting his hard dick out as you sucked him with vigour while he tangled his hand on your hair to guide your mouth forcing himself deeper.

"You are so good number 121, how havent you got a promotion" He mocked as his hips went faster. "Do I need to put a good word for you?" He asked again pushing deeper till your nose hit his skin.

"Oh it seems your mouth is full now" He said feeling his balls get thighter with his cum, almost cumming when he felt your troath close around him.

He did with a groan, he filled your mouth forcing you to swallow all of it. To not waste a single drop.

"Thats my good 121" He said pulling himself together and leaving first so you would collect yourself.

Not a week later you were given a gun and a new mask. You forced yourself to think it was because of your work and not becuase of him. What you hated the most ? 121 was still your number.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Taking down players was easier than burning their bodies. You had to be honest with yourself. Time to time you thought these were just experiments that have failed a test and were now paying the consequences.

Please please I-

But the game rules were clear, you either made it or not. And this was did not pass. One single bullet took his life and was by your hand.

The game was complete. You saw the circle guards preparing to clean the place something that used to be your job. You moved from the area following the rest of the guards when a gloved hand stopped you.

A Square Guard, the highest rank. But somehow you knew it was the same Guard. The Triangle one, even if his number was now other one it was still him.

You had to admit he was good as a Triangle guard, no suprise he was so quick to get on the Square rank. The only unsetting thing was how he always worked on your turns. You never had another Square guard watching your work, everytime it felt like he was proving you.

Oh and he was. He knew you knew it was him. It made him feel special, being able to have an eye on you all the time. Watching you pull your gun out and kill the players aroused him to no end.

He felt pride from it, like he had been the one who made you that way. The one who made you so cold heart but could destroy you at the same time.

He guided the Triangle Guards away from the game arena, leaving the cleaning to the Circle Guards. Once all of them had left their guns he called your number making you follow him to a completly different part of the usual maze.

Black doors opened revealing the figure of the Front Man himself and for a moment you thought you had fucked up badly.

"Take off your mask. All of it"

It was the first time you got to see his face, and fuck was he handsome indeed, dark messy hair and deep brown eyes. He side glanced at you and smirked knowing fully well you were watching him.

To him this was not the first time seeing your face, well it was the first time in the flesh. He had to control his urge not to push you against the near wall and kiss you right there. But his Boss was present and while he did not mind if someone watched he did want to keep a good impression.

The Front Man said both your names as he talked. You two would now be out of the island and work as "Recruiters", first there would be training and a final test. If you failed then you would go back to being a Circle Guard. If not you would become a Recruiter.

For you it was a door to get away from him. You never had any particular feeling for the games, your morals were left behind long time ago. But him, you were tired of him. How could you tell you were being stalked when being on the same dan place ? And worse ? He was your superior.

And so both took the necesary training. And (saddly) both ended becoming Recruiters. The good thing was, Recruiters were not supossed to cross each other, at least their designated places were never mean to cross.

But He knew better. He had waited for too long for a chance like this one. He followed the rules and became the best Recruiter. Which gave him some favoritism among the rest. And he was able to get your route and even the names of the ones you were supossed to recruit.

He had watched you multiple times. And when someone did not take the money but slap you instead, well that same person found his end not too soon after it. He would never let anyone (but himself) lay a hand on you or make you cry.

Your tears were mean to be caused by him. From the intense pleasure he would push you throw, from the sadistic ways he would make you scream and beg on his bed, while you told him it was too much. But the feeling of your hands on his back as he pressed deeper letting his cum fill you up, his dick pulsating with each thrust. These were the only tears that were mean to come from you.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

"Whats on your mind?" Your voice made him came back from his little travel in memory.

He smiled taking your hand in his as he drank a bit of water. You two needed to work tomorrow and had a thight schendelure. He could invite you (or make you, it depended on you) to drink on saturday night.

"Nothing important, just...thinking on how long we have know each other" He said, his smile having a hint of possession and maybe something more, something soft.

"Im never getting rid of you, im wrong?"

"Oh Dear, no." He said his grip on your hand hardering "You wont ever ger rid of me. Not even for a second. Its best if you start to get used to it. We are in for a long ride together"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

[entitled-fangirl]

Little Doe (P2).

Cregan Stark x Velaryon!reader

Warnings: making out, dom!Cregan, talks of death and ptsd, etc

A/n: This is short and sweet and a cliffhanger but- there will be a part 3, don't you fret

Part 1

Masterlist

..............................................

Cregan entered his solar. And the moment the door closed, his hands rubbed over his face and into his hair. His fingers tugged at the long strands as he forced himself to take a deep breath.

"Is everything alright?" Her soft voice called.

He'd almost forgotten about the small settee he had moved in here specifically for her. After doing so, she hardly ever left it. Especially on days she knew he'd be here. 

He stretched his shoulders back as his eyes took her in. He loved her in this relaxed state. It had taken a few weeks to get her there, but this was bliss. She was blissful. No need to keep up with the royal looks of tight dresses and intricate hair- not when she was with him. She was comfortable with him, trading it all for more relaxed dresses and hair loose from braids. He loved her just like this.

But the current concerned wrinkle in her brow as she looked at him ruined it. "'M fine. Just a disagreement at petitions today."

She abandoned the Stark History book to give him her full attention. "A disagreement?"

He sighed again at the thought of it, interlocking his fingers over his head. "There is a lord that simply does not know his place."

She hummed, choosing to say nothing to make him fill the space.

"He's j-" Cregan bit back his words, the anger turning into crude amusement. "He's both vial and vain and… much too blunt for my standards." He aimed his words at her, "I appreciate a disagreement. I will not tolerate disrespect." He wanted to make a point. But more than that, he just wanted her to agree with him.

"You do not deserve disrespect," she breathed. She was beginning to find her voice with him. Though, it was still soft.

"No, I do not."

"Nor should you have to tolerate it-"

"-I shouldn't!" He huffed, throwing his hands up. "I shouldn't. Perhaps a public example must be made of him." His voice quieted as he thought. "What would your mother do, hm? What did she do with disrespect? Or your father?"

They didn't speak much of her parents. Rhaenyra was long gone, her remains stuck in King's Landing. It loomed over the silver-headed few that survived like a dark storm cloud.

What would Rhaenyra have done?

"I'm unsure," she finally answered. "I was… kept from those parts of the kingdom."

A small chuckle left Cregan as his angered gaze turned admiring. "I know that, doe. But surely your brother talked."

Jace did. He was the finest gossiper she knew. That's how she always got her information during the war.

And Cregan knew that. He knew the two eldest Velaryons better than he knew himself at this point.

She dared to think that Cregan missed Jace.

As for her father dealing with disrespect? Which one?

Harwin would fulfill his name of 'Breakbones'. Laenor would have a strong talking to. Daemon… well. He fought a war for his wife's name, didn't he? 

"Perhaps he spoke a few times," she spoke, deeply in thought, seemingly lost in the memories of Dragonstone. Those warm days in the sun. Jace letting her ride with him on Vermax. Teaching Joffrey how to swim. 

The death of Luke. 

The death of Jace.

She physically blinked as the thoughts turned more and more sinister. "I try not to think of those things anymore."

He watched her face turn more convoluted and lost. He wanted to hit himself with how easily he'd brought back the horrid remembrance. She had been so comfortable and he had to come in and ruin the little peace she had.

"Don't tire yourself over it, sweet girl. Was only curious." He sat next to her on the settee, almost comedically with how large Cregan's body was on the small sofa. His shoulders slumped as the weight of his life set it- like it did every time he was comfortable. "I never quite know what to do," he admitted softly, keeping his eyes glued to his hands. "When your actions affect all of the North, they have to be right."

She shimmied into his side, resting her head against his shoulder. "What does a Stark wolf do?"

His lips quirked up. His sweet doe is telling him to give into his wolfish instincts. "Suppose I should banish him then?"

She wrapped her hand around his bicep, heaving a soft sigh and shrugging.

"Can I kiss you, doe?" He asked softly. 

He'd asked it before. That first time. And he'd been denied.

He said he could be patient. But that was proving itself to be a lot harder than he originally thought. 

He was her husband already. A man of his stature wouldn't have waited this long. He didn't care. It just made the rewards sweeter.

So he looked at her to gauge her reaction.

She had set her chin against his bicep now, looking through her lashes. Her big does eyes gaze up at him.

She slowly nods.

He has take a deep breath. He can't get too carried away with the small liberty she's given him.

His hand slowly reaches into her hair, pulling her away from his arm so he can turn and lean down to her level. "Your words," he reminds her, but his eyes are only on her lips. He wants to capture her voice perfectly for what she'll say now.

She hesitates, the words capturing in her throat. Until finally, a small plea makes its way through in a hoarse whisper. "Please, kiss me."

Cregan closes the gap with no hesitation, cupping her face in his large paw of a hand. 

His kiss was heavy. It felt weighted with both intensity and words unspoken. But he made it feel light.

With careful movements, he trails his other hand from her hair to her lower back and begins to lay her down on the settee. His lips never disconnect from hers, slipping his tongue past her lips with an expertise that made her gasp.

Her mother had once had a brief talk about sex with her. It was broad and strange. Something about feeling something bolden within your lower stomach- like adrenaline shooting up your spine.

She thought she was beginning to feel it.

She braved bringing a hand up his chest and back down again. It was frightening to not know exactly what to do. But exhilarating all the same.

He groaned and began to tug up her thin dress as he climbed comfortably over her. He swears he's not felt more beautiful skin in his life as his fingers brush over her legs.

But as his calloused hand runs up her thigh, she lets out a small sound of surprise that breaks his train of thought. He pulls his face from hers worriedly, though he's still holding back the feeling of ravaging her.

He takes in the sight of the small pants that break through her parted, swollen lips. She's a sight to behold.

He pulls her dress back down, relishing in the fact that his wife truly is beautiful. Even if he has yet to see all of her.

She pushes herself up to try to catch his lips again. But as their lips brush, he turns his head. And when she tried again, he muttered, "Don't."

Her face fell a bit. "Cregan-"

"Don't ask what a Stark wolf would do. Ever again," he warned lowly. "Don't encourage it."

She realized just how much he was holding back. Like he was hungry and had yet to eat in days.

But he tried to lighten his sudden harshness, tucking his face into her neck and nipping. "Might bite you, doe."

She gasped at the surprise of it, but flushed when it came out as a small groan.

"Oh," he muttered against her skin. "You liked that? You want me to give in? Mark you?" He traded his nipping for soft kisses, trailing them up her jaw until he hit a spot that pulled a noise out of her. He kissed and left kitten licks against it until her hands pulled at his hair. He admired the way she was putty in his hands. "Let all of the North know how the doe controls the wolf, hm? How he worships her? You want that?"

Cregan pulled away to get a look at her. Her glazed eyes set on him. Words tried to come from her lips but failed to make it through. Her mouth opened and shut with hazy intention. If that's how she responded to a kiss, he couldn't help but let his mind wander.

He grinned, gripping her chin. "Hm?" He asked again. "Cause I promised not to touch you until you let me, little doe."

.............................................................

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@dashcrashbash @rekis-doll

[zeizeizeizei]

Unpopular Alucard Headcanons 🦇

🦇 His heartbeat is unnaturally slow

Being a dhampir, his body doesn’t function like a human’s. His heart beats maybe once every few minutes, and when he meditates or sleeps deeply, it slows to an almost undetectable level. This makes it easy for people to mistake him for dead if they don’t know better.

🦇 Despite his regal demeanor, he can be incredibly stubborn

He gets this from both of his parents. While he is generally composed, he can be surprisingly headstrong when he believes he is right.

🦇 He secretly enjoys being around people but isolates himself out of guilt

While many see him as a lone figure, he actually enjoys companionship but feels unworthy of it due to his lineage and the weight of his past.

🦇 He sometimes forgets what his own voice sounds like

Spending long periods alone in the castle means Alucard can go days, weeks, or even months without speaking. Sometimes, when he finally does, his voice comes out quieter than expected, or he startles himself by how deep it is.

🦇 He has never truly celebrated his birthday

While he knows the day he was born, it has never been a day of joy for him. His mother may have marked the occasion with warmth, but after her death, he stopped acknowledging it altogether. He wonders if Dracula ever remembered.

🦇 He used to sing as a child but no longer does

Lisa encouraged him to sing when he was young, and his voice was light and pure. However, after losing his mother, he never found the heart to sing again. He still hums absentmindedly when lost in thought, though he never realizes he’s doing it.

🦇 His laugh is rare, but it's hauntingly beautiful

Alucard rarely laughs, but when he does, it’s light and musical, almost as if he’s forgotten how to express joy. It has an eerie, mesmerizing quality, as if for just a moment, the weight of centuries is lifted from his shoulders.

🦇 He doesn’t need to breathe, but he does anyway

His body doesn’t require oxygen in the same way humans do, but he still breathes out of habit. If he concentrates, he can go completely still, like a statue, for days without any movement.

🦇 His presence subtly affects the environment

When he walks into a room, candles flicker. The air gets cooler when he’s deep in thought. Even when he’s not using magic, something about him bends the space around him slightly, like reality itself acknowledges his unnatural nature.

🦇 His eyes glow in the dark

In dim lighting, his golden eyes reflect ambient light like a predator’s, making them glow faintly. In absolute darkness, they shimmer unnaturally, giving him an almost spectral appearance. It’s one of the reasons he avoids letting people see him at night.

🦇 He sleeps curled up, like a child

When he sleeps, especially during moments of vulnerability, he instinctively curls in on himself, as if trying to protect himself from something unseen.

🦇 He doesn’t hate his father—but he cannot forgive him either

Despite everything, Alucard still loves his father in a complicated, painful way. He understands Dracula’s grief, but he cannot forgive the destruction he caused.

🦇 He doesn’t like killing, but he is terrifying when he does

Unlike his father, Alucard does not take joy in battle. He fights with precision and restraint, but when truly enraged, he unleashes a level of destruction that unsettles even himself.

🦇 He is both afraid of and drawn to the idea of companionship

He craves connection but fears what it could mean. He has lost everyone he has ever cared for—what if he loses them again? What if he is meant to be alone forever?

🦇 He has considered letting himself die

The thought has crossed his mind more than once. The idea of fading away, of ending the lonely existence he has been trapped in. But something, some tiny ember of his mother’s voice, always tells him to keep going.

🦇 His hands shake when he’s deeply emotional

Whether it’s anger, grief, or overwhelming sorrow, his body betrays him in subtle ways. His fingers tremble, his breath hitches, and for a brief moment, the composed prince looks like a lost boy.

🦇 He can smell emotions

His sense of smell isn’t just sharp—it’s supernatural. He can pick up traces of emotions like fear, anger, or sorrow as subtle shifts in scent, which is why he’s eerily good at reading people even when they try to hide their true feelings.

🦇 He wonders what his mother would think of him now

More than anything, he wishes Lisa could see him—not just as the boy she raised, but as the man he has become. Would she be proud? Would she be sad? He will never know, and that is perhaps the greatest tragedy of all.

Source: my 🍑

Enjoy.

[lohotine]

``What it means to be forever``

Shadow Milk Cookie x GN! Reader

Cw: angst, lowkey a really messed up SMC. Like, it's kinda weird- (don't mind him, he's just grieving. Haha)

Sometimes, people act in ways

not because it's how they'd usually act

but simply because

it's how others expect them to

And as Shadow Milk stands here, holding your face in his hands, he's tempted fall into that way of thinking.

How fragile mortals are.

Like porcelain

Your life is in his hands.

Yet he doesn't want to destroy it. Perhaps you're just too entertaining.

Yes, he'll just go with that.

Out of all of his puppets, you are by far his favorite.

Yet in the end, a puppet is still a puppet.

Is that really enough?

For him, it is.

Or at least, that's what he'll tell himself.

Or, whoever he really is.

Who exactly is Shadow Milk Cookie?

An unforgivable beast?

The fount of knowledge?

Just some jester looking for fun?

He wishes you'd tell him.

He would cling to your words, desperately and fully.

Because they are yours.

But he knows better than to get attached.

And to a mortal, no less.

He isn't stupid; but sometimes, when he loves you, he really wishes he was.

That way, he could love you.

Really love you.

Without hiding, and without thinking;

Just loving you.

And you'd love him too, he knows this.

And for some reason, that makes him angry. He hates how you'd love him unconditionally.

But oh,

how much he loves it!

Please love him!

Please hate him!

Please adore him!

Please destroy him!

Sweetly, brutally, any way is fine by him!

And perhaps he'd return the favor.

Slowly destroying you as well.

Or even himself.

Because falling in love with a mortal really is the greatest form of self-destruction for beings like him.

Their lives are so short, yet the mark they leave is just as, if not deeper.

And it'll bleed for so much longer.

Onto the ground and floor beneath him;

Eventually reaching the pages he writes in, becoming words as he writes with the blood.

And he'll write every word that came out of your mouth.

He'll write the sentences you spoke:

About how you'd be with him; now and until forever.

And he thinks you are the biggest liar.

Even bigger than him.

He wishes, so desperately, that he killed you that night.

Because then he could blame your death on somebody.

He could blame himself.

Now. He can't blame anyone.

Because time took you; and how can you blame time?

And once again, he wishes he killed you that night.

So that maybe he could store your blood in a bottle and have it sit on his desk.

And maybe he'd drink from it, to try and remember what it felt like.

What you felt like.

But all he has now are his memories of you.

And he despises replaying those memories in his mind.

Simply because in them, you are mute.

He's forgotten what your voice sounds like.

Is it not enough that he's already lost you? Must the world punish him so by also forcing him to forget you? Not fully, but just enough that it leaves him longing to meet you once more?

Just one single time more?

Maybe then, he'd finally tell you how much he loved you.

Because he never did back then.

Because he thought, if he never told you how much he loved you; then maybe he'd stop feeling it.

But of course, that's not really how it works.

Love never really fades, it just gets beaten down until it's a small, broken shard that's forced to prick at your heart.

And it also stabs into your lungs so that no matter how much you breathe, you'll always be left gasping for air.

Drowning.

Drowning in the emotions you never showed.

And suddenly, it hits him.

This.

This is what you meant when you said you'd always be with him.

You'd be the ache that eats at his heart.

You'd be the ring made from thorns that he's forced to wear around his finger.

You'd be the snake wrapping around his neck so that he dies. Slowly, yet surely, dying.

You'd be the arrow jabbed into his leg so that no matter if he's standing or sitting, it would still hurt.

But.

You'd also be the lantern that guides him through the night, even if the handle still burns his hands.

You'd be the bird that sings the sweetest songs, even if you never ever stop.

You'd be the mirror to help him see exactly who he is, even if he hates who stares back at him.

And that's what it means to be forever.

[stoneexo]

hey my babes, so i've been super overwhelmed with school and work lately (literally spent 3hrs trying to get home yesterday in what is normally a 45min drive, love canadian winter), so i'm a little late on this for y'all and i'm so sorry :') so here is the little sevika blurb that i promised to keep you occupied while i try to wrap up the vi x reader fic & proof read it! unless you guys don't want it proof read? (lmk)

anyways, enjoy!!

sevika was used to fucking, and she was used to giving a good strap-down treatment. after all, she had always preferred to touch than be touched. but there was something completely different when it came to you, underneath her like this, bent over so pretty while she pounded you stupid. she was used to being rough, the drooling, the scratching at her partner's hips as she forced herself impossibly deeper into whoever's cunt she happened to be fucking that night. she was used to the control. the power. but with you, it all went out the window.

she wanted to touch you so badly. no, she needed to. her flesh hand wanders around your body, exploring every mountain and valley on your body while she gets drunk on the sounds you make under her. she wasn't used to this, to having a need like this. to not being in control. even though you were the one pinned beneath her, back arched and body on full display. everything about you was intoxicating, the way you bounced back on her, the pretty mewls and moans that left your lips in between the cries of her name. and when you reached back to hold her warm hand that was now gripping a fistful of your ass, practically sobbing on her dick, she knew damn well that you were calling the shots now. as she hunched over you, pressing even deeper, drool dripping down your back as she rutted mindlessly into you, sevika knew she would do anything you asked of her now.

something about you like this just did something to her; it was better than drinking, better than smoking, better than shimmer, better than anything else this world had to offer, she was sure of it. she bit down into your shoulder in an effort to contain herself, her hips snapping into yours violently as you struggled to speak in your fucked out state. "d—don't fu—ckin' stop 'vika!" you stammered out, voice pitchy and breathless as the words struggled to come out. sevika only bit down harder into your shoulder in response, causing you to moan yet again.

sevika had experienced phantom limbs before with her arm, but never like this. she swore she could feel you clenching around her cock, impossibly wet, pussy fluttering with each stroke. and it felt like heaven on earth. whatever she had done to deserve this, she would do it a million times over if it meant spending one second longer in your perfect pussy. "ha—i'm gonna c—cum!" you squeaked out, grabbing onto the sheets desperately as sevika ravished your body, squeezing all over as you approached the edge.

"come on doll, give it to me." she murmured— no, demanded, laying a kiss where she had been biting previously, before licking it, her voice breathy and sultry. and you did just that, cumming nearly on command to her desprate rutting.

and that's what did her in, you were sure, as you heard a desperate whimper escape the stoic copper-skinned woman's lips as you clenched around her strap. the nails of her metal claw dug into your hips as her thrusting stuttered. but as quick as the pause came, it went, and she was pounding you even harder than before, leading to your explosive end as you sobbed out underneath her. sevika had never needed someone like this before; so bad that she lost all control of her body, that she made pathetic sounds like this. and she was mortified by the noises she was making, to say the least.

sevika bit her lip and tried to fight back another whine but she couldn't help it as you squeezed her hand and her cock yet again— and she found herself wishing she could be inside you like this for real as she struggled not to cum herself just from your body and pleasure. she tried to stifle the noises, biting her lip so hard she knew it was bleeding, but that fell apart the moment your begging began. "p—please baby w—anna hear yo—u!" you pleaded, body shaking from the overstimulation as she ravaged your body.

and sevika did let go, a flurry of whines and whimpers escaping her lips as she destroyed your cunt till you couldn't take it anymore, making sure you were good and fucked out before she began to slow. you were in a daze of euphoria beneath her as she pulled out and you collapsed on the bed. sevika only left you to retrieve a towel and a glass of water, fully intent on cleaning you up and showering you with kisses as she finds you passed out on your bed.

(you make sure to let her know the next morning, however, that you'll need to hear her like that more often...)

[spread-the-influence]

I know its never gonna happen ever not ever, and that you only got the ragatha brainworms, but its been stuck in my brain since the jax murder.

if ragatha hadn’t been virus’ed, yet somehow still got to the point where jax says “to have a friend” (unlikely), would jax have actually opened up, or just shuttered himself as soon as the concept of being open sets back in? Could he have improved had he not been ganked?

forgive me for the essay below . ragatha may be rotting my brain but i still have elaborate thoughts on the other characters , even if i don't go to the levels of insanity i go for ragatha .

jax , to me , is a deeply lonely and miserable person , and i will say here that the line was kind of more ' a person that'll see and understand me ' . my interpretation of jax is not as charitable as most interpretations of him i've seen , though — he's not a jerk with a heart of gold or is secretly protecting everybody . he's just someone with a very destructive coping mechanism that harms everybody and himself .

he doesn't really see the cast as People , he sees them as Characters . a Cast in the big theater stage that is the circus . he prefers to do what's not boring by going off-script . this means making a mess out of the stage set , bothering the characters , and doing what he's Not supposed to do . it's entertaining ! it distracts him from how ... he's stuck in this stage forever . if he goes with the script , that fact would weigh on him . it's better that he does Not think about that . everyone would be surprised by how quickly that would make him lose his mind .

but it isn't fulfilling . it's a Distraction , an Avoidance . it's something that he does to Not confront his issues . my interpretation of jax at least puts up an emotional wall not Just because he doesn't want people to see his vulnerable side ( i like to think that the one thing he hates is being Wronged , and there's a certain level of suspicion that someone in the cast would do it if he lowers his guard ) but because he thinks there's No reason to put it down .

jax , like a lot of people , craves a community . he wants to be Wanted and Loved . but it's hard for him to get both of those things when these people are just ... Not real to him . what he wants most is That realness . he wants to know that in this big stage he's stuck in , there's someone else who is just as lost as him . someone that also isn't playing by the script . someone that's not a Character .

... and ragatha really doesn't fit those , as much as i'd hate to admit it . she is a Character . she plays the role of the optimistic and caring ragdoll . she is Far from fitting the image of a real person in jax's eyes . that conversation would naturally end in jax realizing he's opening up and shutting himself off — most likely Even more than he already does . basically he wouldn't improve ... with ragatha .

if there's someone that might fit the above paragraph , it's either pomni or zooble . i feel like these two would have better chances of making jax slowly open up with that kind of conversation , since they're both the most grounded and Real people in the circus .

i do not think that it would make jax instantly accept into the community of the circus — years of bad habits are Not easy to drop — but it'll be like a hand being extended to him . he sees that there's a world beyond the stage , and he takes it . and that's a lot more fulfilling than distracting himself .

lord i feel like this post is a contender enough to warrant a second ESSAY WARNING tag but yeah , jaxxle thoughts ! he's not in my top three favorites ( those respectively go to caine and zooble ) but i still find him interesting to think about .

[ballerinarina]

naruto is actually a very bad written story that wants to show us that war isn't good only by creating characters with very sad stories sticks in this cycle of violence.

and i don't say bad written because of any technical aspect, no. it's because it's a purely political story with shallow views of politics. centric ones in the middle of such a radical context of governmental genocides and children being the military force.

the main character bases one of his main will of lifes about being a political leader, a politician, but he — which has always been in some way an opposition to the government, really being the only one supporting the pain of victims by truly listening and validating then — doesn't really mature his point of view.

it's childish. they want us to believe that simply choosing a better anti-war leader will solve the problems of a fascist system when it won't ever. a system revolution will.

(because, yes, that's what konoha is: a state which has been founded above the exclusion of a people, pruning their social powers accusing and pressing to a boiling social situation to the point where they erase every living drop of their blood. that's fascism.)

but we all know that's not what we have in naruto. they created very well the extreme product of their own fascism: sasuke. a child so broke he ends up a violent revolutionary.

and don't tell me that sasuke is not a revolutionary: he is. he makes it very clear in the end valley that his goal became to completely modify how the hokage system works, sacrificing his own happiness so that the rotten way the system worked would change.

i'm not saying he had a brilliant plan or was totally right. again, he was a kid, a very messed one who went down bad paths of terrorism before. but again, this is the consequence of actions and if anyone has to be held accountable it is konoha. fascism has consequences like this.

but what i'm saying is: naruto, who was slightly more sane, who questioned his whole life about konoha and being a hokage, ends up not learning that the problem was the system. the feudal military system remains even after danzou's death and the cleanse of the conseul seniors, the tobirama's ones.

sasuke ends up being “excused”, but never received real excuses or change. he was destroyed to the point where he was so mentally bad and suicidal that he gave up his revolution, even if he always had strong morals.

what changes has konoha had? a statue of itachi? big thing. what has improved in sasuke's life? sasuke spent his adult life working for redemption for a village that destroyed everyone he loved, everything he had and everything he was. he lost his babybirl growing up because of this.

besides, when i watched that robin hood boruto arch i was even more disappointed. in a unfair system, a discussion about taking from richs to give to the poors begins. everything socially indicates it's the most moral thing to do in this unmoral situation, when we literally have this multimilionaire company of a bad guy in konoha. until suddenly they reveal the leaders of the robbers were wicked.

when we have a too complex political trama in the hands of a poorly political person, we end up with a childish (which is different than for children), too optimistic and right center fake-progressist work.

then, for no reason, all the morality created (and reforced by naruto's words, actions and positions in this conflict, as the hokage) stabilizes and becomes the morality “both sides are wrong!” as if socially they were equivalent situations. they are not: one arises as a result of the other, as a response to survive. peace isn't the answer!

i deeply love the naruto characters and i love how some of the lore is created. i could talk for hours about other points that i consider just as serious and adult as this one. and that's why i'm so sad. and i understand that it is a children's story, but that only makes it worse because it is poorly written: they don't know how to write such a complex lore for children, or they don't have the balls to write such a heavy and adult lore for young people and adults.

that's why i hate naruto. it really makes me sad.

naruto isn't about who's morally right or wrong, it's about who's your favourite child soldier perpetuating the cycle of violence

[dr-spectre]

Ok... is it safe to talk about Sonic Movie 3 spoilers yet? The movie is out on digital and it's been over a month.

Idk. Anyways.

I am both curious and utterly terrified on how they are gonna write Metal Sonic and Amy for Sonic Movie 4.

I will start off with my boy Metal first.

Metal Sonic to me is a very interesting character due to his goals and motivation. His goal to prove that he is the REAL Sonic and that he's better than the "fake" one. The way that he acts is a near perfect replication of Sonic's attitude, from the finger wagging to the poses he does in Sonic CD and the OVA, he is all about proving that he is Sonic the Hedgehog.

Metal Sonic is just not a simple robotic clone, he has depth to him and they expand upon GREATLY when he becomes Neo Metal Sonic and becomes SO OBSESSED with proving that he's the real Sonic by turning into a monster and trying to rule over everything, just so he can finally kill Sonic.

EVEN EGGMAN IS LIKE "Yeah naw dude we're fucked, we NEED the chaos emeralds to have a chance at beating him."

After his Heroes appearance, he became nothing more than a robotic clone used in spinoff games and in terrible mainline games like Sonic 4 and Forces. He only had splashes of depth to him in the IDW comics with this phenomenal scene.

So when i see Metal Sonic and a whole army of him in the post credit scene of Sonic Movie 3, i can't help but feel VERY WORRIED on what they are gonna do with him.

I mean don't get me wrong, the design is nearly on par with the game version, aside that fucking mouth piece thing, it looks AWFUL!!!! I HATE ITTTT!!

WHAT IS THIS!?!? WHY DOES HE HAVE AN ANGRY MOUTH!? ITS NOT SCARY AT ALL LMAO!

But now I'm just wondering, will they give Metal Sonic that depth he used to have? Will we actually see Neo Metal Sonic or will the main Metal Sonic be the coloured one we saw?

I don't want Metal Sonic to be like his appearances in Sonic 4 Episode 2 and Forces. I want it to rival his appearance in the OVA and Heroes dude. I want a fucking great antagonist, not a cheap robot that shoots out energy blasts.

I want a god damn intimidating robot Sonic.

Now... Amy Rose.

As some of you probably know, i like a character wrapped in pink, is hyperactive, wields a giant melee weapon and is always mischaracterized in the fandom they are from. When i was younger, i used to dismiss her or think she was just funny and move on. But as i've gotten older, i've actually grown to really like the character, especially in the older 3D games and with retranslation mods. Her story with Gamma was beautiful, her speech to Shadow, her jokes, her flirty/fangirl attitude towards Sonic. It's really fun to watch. Most media has a boy fall in love with the girl, but with Amy and Sonic, it's the opposite. Their dynamic is unique.

I also love how in some stories, Amy can get REAL PISSED OFF and have anger issues. Even roses has thorns.

However... in more recent stories like Frontiers, her personality has been mellowed out by a lot and her crush for Sonic is pretty much gone now. She's all about "sharing love with the world" now and her anger issues are gone.

Some say she's grown up and "oh she changed!" But we actually don't see this character growth at all. It's one thing to tell a story about how Amy learns that maybe her love for Sonic is too much and she learns to just be a good friend to Sonic. But it's another when the character has a MASSIVE personality change between Lost World, Forces and Frontiers. AND THEN THEY CHANGED GENERATIONS TO MAKE AMY LESS FLIRTY AND ANGRY LIKE.... HUH!?!? WHY!?!?!? THAT'S NOT HOW YOU WRITE A CHARACTER ARC!!!!! YOU GOTTA SHOW IT!!!! (A lot of Sonic characters have this issue too so it's not just an Amy problem.)

And them also doing the whole "Amy is no longer a damsel in distress anymore and her love for Sonic is over" is just... no dude. Amy was a damsel a couple of times and they never lasted that long. She's not on the same level as Peach. And the IDW comics tried to make her a Sally Acorn type character for some reason as well at first. Which was REALLY WEIRD! But maybe it's changed idk, i haven't kept up with the comics these days.

The only Amy that i really like in more modern stories is the one from The Murder of Sonic The Hedgehog. Now THAT'S how you write Amy.

So now, when i see Amy come in with a hood on and destroying Metal Sonics with ease, I'm left wondering, "oh no... how are they gonna write her?"

Will they actually show Amy's crush on Sonic? Will Amy just have Sally's personality? Will they give her some damn thorns? Will they make it to where SONIC IS THE ONE WITH THE CRUSH!?!? PLEASE DON'T DO THAT! DO NOT GO THE GENERIC ROUTE PLEASE!!

If they make it to where when Amy takes off her hood in Sonic Movie 4 and immediately falls for Sonic I'll eat all of my words, but i doubt that would happen....

Anyhow, those were my thoughts, i know that it's too early to make a definitive statement on things but i just wanna voice my concerns due to other recent Sonic stories not landing in the characterisation department for me.

[milkoomi]

inner glow up. ᥫ᭡

while we focus on our physical selves to glow up, we tend to forget about our minds and hearts. we also need to focus on letting more light come into ourselves. the way we think, the way we love, the way we expend our energy; all of that can have this aspect of “glowing up” too! in this post, we’re going to discuss how to glow from within and let that beautiful new energy radiate outwards.

let’s begin …

୨ৎ — the mind

deep clean your thoughts

meditation:

take a moment, even if it’s just for 5 minutes, to sit and clear your head. focus on breathing exercises, concentrate on the rhythm of your heart, listen to the ambient noises of your surroundings. meditation is a fantastic way of clearing your mind and removing those overwhelming thoughts that are piling up in your brain! you also don’t need to be sitting, you could also meditate while in the shower! i have an entire guide on how to do so! you can also take meditative walks and focus on your surroundings.

journaling:

just dump all your thoughts onto a page, write down everything that’s on your mind. once you’re done you can even rip up the paper and toss it away! doing these journal dumps can help release those racing thoughts and clear your mind. it may even help to relieve some weight off your shoulders!

decorate your mind with peace & kindness

write down affirmations or go to a mirror and say those affirmations to yourself! fill your head with positive thoughts and calming reassurance.

try recording a voice message & send it to yourself! you can say your affirmations that way or give yourself a motivational mini-speech. this way, you can go back to those messages when you need an uplifting message from someone. and it’s always better to get back up with kindness and love from yourself!

organize your headspace

make room for positivity, peace, and grace and throw out all the negativity that’s tossed around in your head. don’t let negative talk from others, media, or yourself take up space in your head! your mind should never hold a spot for negativity.

distance yourself from those who bring you down

delete social media that no longer serves you or take regular breaks to unplug from your phone

replace negative self-talk with positive affirmations

replace “i can’t” with “i can”

୨ৎ — the heart

nurture your heart

as your mind is an important place to keep thoughts of joy, kindness, and love, your heart needs to feel it!

practice self care

take care of your physical needs (shower, drink water, brush your teeth, eat nutritious and delicious foods, move your body)

write yourself love letters

say “thank you” when receiving compliments

provide protection for your feelings

your heart is scared and access to it should be very limited. don’t let just anyone in. now, i’m not saying you have to put iron walls up around your heart and feelings, but i’m saying that you need to be selective. be picky about who you surround yourself with.

invite people who…

provide genuine & unconditional love

support you and your dreams

encourage you to prioritize your health (physical & mental)

offer guidance when you feel lost

close the doors on people who…

make jokes out of your insecurities

take your passions and dreams as something to laugh about

invalidate your feelings and thoughts

think it’s okay to walk all over you

don’t value your time and space

୨ৎ — letting in the light

i believe our energies attract different things whether we want them to or not. letting dark or bad energy ruminate within yourself and allowing it to consume you can attract misfortune, loss, and sadness which keeps us from reaching our true potential.

let light or good energy flow within you and let that energy be the one that takes up all the space. you’ll attract what you actually want rather than the things you wish to avoid.

light energy can come from…

taking up hobbies you enjoy

listening to music that makes you feel good

spending time with loved ones

going on nature walks

playing with pets

celebrating your accomplishments

final notes —

the biggest take away from this: protect your peace. becoming the best version of yourself comes with knowing how to find peace within yourself and making sure you show yourself love and kindness. the main person you should lean on for that kind of good energy should be you. let your glow up start from within!

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

[teyrnacousland]

Hi I have even more to say about Lucanis being Caterina's second chance

I know someone else (Jules I think?) mentioned that Caterina was possibly... not soft, but softer, with her own children. That she got worse when she lost everything, because her less strict ways clearly failed and the solution was to be tougher on them. And I've said before I imagine her life before that loss was livelier, and warmer. The harshness and competition and torturous training was all still there, but their lives were so full outside of that.

But none of that warmth and life came from her. I think when the main sources of it left, the warmth drained out of her too. Like the moon losing its light during an eclipse. She doesn't see herself as someone who can be warm and loving. She doesn't know how to be that.

But Lucanis does. Lucanis has that light. Lucanis is bright, and warm, and loving. Lucanis is the one who can breathe life back into House Dellamorte (or he'll take his light and leave, but maybe that's better than losing it and becoming cold and empty like she did).

And I think she thinks it's too late for her. The person she is now couldn't fit back into the life she once knew. This sharp, broken person she is now doesn't fit into the past she lost, or the future she doesn't know how to hope for.

And I'm imagining someday Rook and Lucanis organizing and hosting their own big dinner event, and they invite the whole Veilguard, and Illario, and Caterina. And she stands on the sidelines and watches Lucanis with this lively bunch, sees him smile warmly at Rook and them smiling back, hears Villa Dellamorte light up with laughter for the first time in years. And it's not her family, it'll never be hers. But she gets to see Lucanis and Illario have something like what she lost, the things she never found a way to share with them.

Not to be a musical fan on this here Dragon Age blog, but this part from the Epic the Musical song 'I Can't Help But Wonder' keeps playing in my head as she watches them: "What if there's a world where we don't have to live this way?" // "If that world exists, it's far away from here. It's one I'll have to miss, for it's far beyond my years."

I keep thinking about the tragedy of not just the Dellamortes we know and love, but all the others too. Caterina's five children and the six other grandchildren. I think it's implied that Lucanis' parents were killed first, right? House Velardo sent Lucanis' mother's ring back to Caterina to demand she surrender, and when she didn't they started the war that took the rest of Caterina's children too. Did Caterina's children support her risking their lives, and their own children's lives, in her bid for power? Did they have to watch their siblings fall off one by one, with those remaining mourning each sibling while knowing the message of this murder was that they, and their families, could be next? Or did Caterina (and Illario and Lucanis) just wake up one day as the only survivors? Did any of her children ever ask her to stop, or try to run away? Where were Illario and Lucanis when their families died? How did they end up as the only two survivors? How old were they? Old enough to understand what was happening, or not? Which is worse? There are no good answers to any of these questions and I am now miserable.

[silentsneezes]

Heyy me again… ahahah

Do you have any silco with allergies hc’s or maybe a k!nk Silco/Vander Zaundads fic?

Totally asking this with normal intentions, completely not obsessed or anything!

(Im gnawing at the bars of my enclosure i love your writing)

thank you anon!! trust me when i say i'm also gnawing at the bars of my enclosure... so here's almost 3k of sick v/ander and kink s/ilco

i'll probably continue this in the future, but between university and life things i haven't had as much time to write... so we'll see

anyways, this is set pre-everything in the show. you could read it as an au if you want!

The Last Drop on a Saturday is no fucking joke. Vander knows that full well, always double checking his list of opening tasks to ensure things run smoothly. Only a few hours after opening, the dimly lit, smoke-filled haven is already filled to its capacity. Earlier that day, there had been a boxing match held in a nearby arena, and it’s safe to say people are still riding that high. Vander picks up on arguments over bets that were won or lost, prideful drunkards boasting about how they’d been rooting for the champion all along.

The bar practically roars with the infectious excitement, only encouraged by the drinks the patrons continue to slam back. Vander doesn’t mind, he’s quite pleased with how popular his bar is, especially on nights where boxing matches occur. Everyone needs a good drink after a match, he supposes. Plus, the influx in business never hurts– people typically become more generous tippers the drunker they get. 

Vander works mindlessly as he pours drink after drink, zoning out to the sounds of raucous laughter, the clink of glass against wood, and the quiet kshhhh of the keg. The conversations are nothing more than a full-on-chorus, which has its pros and cons. 

On one hand, it allows Vander to zone out to the constant noise, letting himself work without second thought.

On the other hand, Vander feels like fucking shit. He’d been coming down with something the past couple of days, but he’d figured it wasn’t anything a few DayQuil couldn’t fix. Now, he’s beginning to realize that he was sorely mistaken in his initial dismissal of the cold. His usual charming grin doesn’t come as easily tonight, and when he wipes his brow, it’s not just due to the heat of the room. His skin is coated in a feverish sheen, his cheeks uncharacteristically flushed as he forces himself to work through his rising fever. 

The frequenters of the bars notice– at least those sober enough to– but they’ve seen this before. Vander’s tough. He’s the kind of guy who keeps his bar open for better or for worse, so when he’s sick, they just give him a look of silent understanding: he’ll be fine, he always is. 

As ‘fine’ as Vander might be, his movements are dulled by fever. He keeps moving, keeps working—filling mugs, passing shots, refilling drinks– functioning as if he’s on autopilot. His work is only interrupted as he hears the familiar drawl of his friend’s voice. 

“Is anybody home?” Silco asks with a slight smirk, looking Vander up and down as he takes a seat on the barstool closest to the sick man, observing his absent expression. Vander opens his mouth to reply, pausing momentarily to clear his throat before gruffly responding, “very funny, Silco,” sarcastically. He starts making Silco’s drink wordlessly, knowing exactly what the other likes. Vander doesn’t bother filling the silence between the two of them, letting the steady roar of auditory input wash over him. 

“Long day?” Silco questions, frowning as a nearby customer lets out a howl of laughter at his own joke, “I’ll bet you 20 gold coins he soils himself by the end of the night.” 

Vander finds it somewhat amusing how Silco always seems to take issue with the other patrons of the bar, as if he finds himself somewhat above this crowd. “I’d be an idiot to take you up on that,” Vander says with a tired grin, his lips barely curling upwards as he leans in, resting his weight on the bartop. He places the drink in front of Silco with a heavy thud, the glass almost too solid in his grip, as if it’s an anchor to keep him from slipping under the noise and fatigue. “You know how they get after boxing matches.”

“Oh, do I,” Silco replies, the words clipped, his voice carrying an immense judgement of those customers who lack any semblance of manners or public decency. He doesn’t like them, doesn’t trust them, but he does like Vander. 

Vander struggles to think up a response, his usual charm and banter replaced with a steady painful thrum threatening to become a migraine. The noise of the bar presses against his skull like a vice, and just as he finally manages to think up an adequate response, he feels it coming. A tickle in his nose, faint at first, but enough to make his breath catch as it buzzes through his sinuses. 

At first he tries to fight it, swiping at his nose roughly with the backside of his hand. His other hand searches his pockets for a rag, a handkerchief, anything. Unfortunately for him, the sneeze builds quickly. His eyes are forced to scrunch shut as his chest swells with an urgent, “hhHHHH-” and for a half-second, everything around him goes blurry, the pressure in his sinuses making his head swim, “hHHRRZZSCHHH’HUw!!”

Vander turns away from the bartop just in time, snapping forwards into his elbow with a resounding sneeze, one that grates his throat enough as to where he has to blink away a few tears. Silco watches with rapt attention, his abdomen pooling with hot attraction as he observes Vander’s broad frame nearly bend itself in two with the force of the sneeze. 

“Bless you,” Silco purrs, his voice low and sultry. The blessing practically rolls off of his tongue, and yet Vander knows it’s not just out of politeness. You see, Silco doesn’t just bless anyone. For him, offering a blessing is somewhat of a privilege, something one earns through continuous affection, and he and Vander are nothing if not affectionate. 

“I’ve got the whole damn package today—head full of cement and a nose that thinks it’s spring,” Vander mutters, barely able to keep the irritation out of his voice. Had he not known about Silco’s kink, he would’ve been entirely fed up with his body's need to sneeze. Except there’s a sliver of him that can’t help but relish the fact that he can make Silco squirm so easily. If he has to feel so utterly miserable, someone might as well enjoy it, right?

And he is miserable, nothing short of it. Silco, however, seems to be basking in Vander’s sickness, finding it difficult to resist the sight of his friend turned fuck-buddy turned… whatever it is they are now. 

“Why is it you insist on working when you’re sick?” Silco questions, knowing full-well the stubborn answer he’s about to receive– it’s the same every time. 

Except Vander doesn’t answer, letting Silco’s question hang in the air as he raises a hand to his nose. It’s back again, that bothersome, tantalizing itch that’s been wreaking havoc on his nose all night, “hhHHH’uh-”

At the sound of Vander’s hitch, Silco prepares himself for the imminent sneeze. Vander has never been one to have dramatic build ups when he’s sick– though allergies are an entirely different feat– rather, his sneezes come on quickly with one to two hitches beforehand. 

Unable to find a rag in time, Vander settles for cupping a broad hand over his nose and mouth, “hHHMMPH’DSSXCHHhew!” The sneeze is barely muffled against his palm, and Vander can feel moisture threatening to slip through his fingers. He pinches his nose between his thumb and his forefinger, gathering the residual mess and moving to wash his hands. 

When Vander returns to the bartop, he sees Silco, his gaze intensely focused, waiting with that unsettling calm, as if he could pounce at any moment. Had the countertop not been separating them, Vander is certain Silco would be draping an arm around his waist and pulling him close. And god does he want that. 

Just as Vander moves to prop himself against the bartop again, he hears a drunken, “Oi! Vander!” and groans internally, straightening up and snapping out of his exhausted haze. The woman, a regular frequenter of the bar, leans against the other side of the counter with a casual air, “Get me something strong, but nice. I’ve got a lady to impress,” she says with a smirk. Usually, Vander would have the energy to engage in some sort of playful banter, perhaps asking the customer as to who she’s pursuing tonight. Instead, he rattles off a few drink options, giving her a sideways glance as she chooses the strongest of the drinks he’d proposed, “You sure? It’s got one hell of a kick.”

The customer dismisses his warning with a wave of her hand and a chuckle, “I’m feeling lucky today.”

“Liquid luck,” Silco tuts almost inaudibly from his seat, though it goes unheard by anyone aside from Vander, “what a foolish concept.”

Vander’s lips curl into a slight smirk at the sound of Silco’s words, but he forces himself to maintain focus. He has a job to do. With a sigh, Vander grabs a glass, still feeling the steady ache that only a cold can instill. As he’s about to start mixing, he feels that nagging sensation in his nose return, the familiar tickle building once again. He grimaces, trying to hold it back for the sake of not sneezing into a customer's drink, but his body has a different plan. His breath hitches involuntarily, forcing him to pivot away from the countertop without even setting the glass down first. He draws in a final, urgent breath before snapping forwards and spraying the tiled floor with an uncovered, “hHHRRRSSXCHHHh’eHw!” 

As the sneeze fades, Vander stays still for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, his body still catching up with the sudden burst of pressure. He forces himself to stand upright, tending to the moisture clinging to his septum with his sleeve. He’d usually have a bit more decorum when it comes to covering and utilizing his sleeve as a tissue, for the sake of germs moreso than any feeling of embarrassment, but he’s too fucking tired tonight. 

“Salud,” the woman blesses absentmindedly, watching as Vander composes himself enough to make her drink, “you look sick as a dog,” she comments. Vander just continues mixing the drink, replying with a halfhearted, “that’s never stopped me before.”

“Touche.” Luckily, the woman leaves the conversation at that, exchanging the drink for a few gold pieces and making her way across the bar back to the person she’s trying to impress. 

“She’s right, you look terrible,” Silco says matter-of-factly, drawing Vander’s attention back to him. His fingers trail along the rim of his now empty glass, his expression smug as he receives an eye-roll in response. 

Vander doesn’t have time to reply as another customer approaches the bar, and he internally curses as he turns away from the one person in the bar he actually wants to see right now. His head throbs, the dull ache in his throat turning into a tight, bothersome burning sensation. As he prepares a round of shots, every movement feels slower than his last, his limbs growing heavier as the evening progresses. 

Finally, after what feels like hours, there’s a lull in drink orders, and Vander has the opportunity to return to his conversation with Silco. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries, instead saying, “you’ve got a handkerchief, no?”

“I always do,” Silco replies effortlessly, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he registers where this is going. Vander extends his hand wordlessly, becoming increasingly frustrated with his nose running like a faucet. 

“Use your words,” Silco tuts, though his eyes flick between Vander’s outstretched hand and his nose, reddened and irritated after being berated all day. 

“Silco,” Vander huffs huskily, evidently too exhausted to tolerate any sort of teasing, “give it here.”

“That’s no way to treat a customer.”

“Bullshit, you’re not a customer.”

“Hm, then what am I?” Silco asks, enjoying this far more than he should. His hand slips into the inner pocket of his vest, extracting his crimson red handkerchief from its resting place. He keeps it hidden in his lap, waiting for the perfect moment to submit to Vander’s request. 

“A brat.” 

Vander’s hand remains outstretched, waiting for Silco to drop the dominant act and give in. Fuck me Vander mentally curses as the itch swells in his nose again, forcing his wide nostrils to flare in protest. It’s like Silco was waiting for this moment—the vulnerability of Vander, flushed and slightly out of breath, his hitches almost an invitation. 

“I know you always hhhHave one on you. Give it to m-hHHH-me dammit,” Vander’s previously annoyed tone is replaced with one of urgency. Both he and Silco know damn well he can’t hold back for shit. 

Silco watches, waiting until the very last second before pressing the handkerchief into Vander’s palm. His fingers brush across the calloused skin of Vander’s hand, which is nearly twice the size of his. Vander clutches the handkerchief, turning on his heel and doubling over as a sneeze tears through him, “hHHHGGSXCHHH’Hh’ugh!”

“Bless you,” Silco purrs once again, silently cursing the countertop separating him from the sick man. He can feel his arousal making itself known, pressing against the tight confines of his pants, “You’ll be making that up to me, you know I don’t share–” he begins, but Vander cuts him off. 

“I’ve been pudting on a show for you all nighd. Don’d be so greedy,” he mumbles huskily, the congestion in his voice dulling certain consonants. Vander gives his nose a strangled blow. It’s unsuccessful at first, eliciting a huff of frustration from the man. With both hands holding the handkerchief over his nose, he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the next attempt. The second noseblow is much more productive, clearing his airways as best they can be with a cold ravaging his nose.

“That’s better,” Vander acknowledges, tucking the– already soiled– handkerchief into his back pocket and moving to wash his hands again. Silco, having been observing Vander’s every move, shifts to relieve some of the pressure in his pants. 

“It’s a shame you have to work,” he comments idly, knowing full well that Vander could’ve called someone in to cover his shift, “I’ve heard a good fuck is quite the cure-all for colds.” 

Silco’s bluntness never fails to catch Vander’s attention. People typically shy away from expressing their kinks, especially one as bizarre as sneezing, but Silco treats it as he does anything that can bring him sexual gratification: without shame– though don’t be mistaken, he’s eager to indulge in humiliation when given the chance. 

Vander knows exactly what Silco is alluding to, weighing the benefits of closing early or calling someone to take his place. His stubbornness and grit can only last so long, it seems, as he leans heavily against the bartop again. 

Grinning as he recognizes the slight defeat in Vander’s expression, Silco presses on, “Would it be so terrible to take a night off? I’d stay, of course, to attend to your needs.”

Vander looks up, his eyes traveling from the smirk on Silco’s face to his slightly unbuttoned top– had his chest been so visible before, so appealing? His view of Silco’s slim waist is blocked by the counter, but he’s almost certain Silco’s hard to some extent; it really only takes a few sneezes to get him going. After all, Vander’s are his favorite. 

“Fine,” he agrees stubbornly, glancing at the clock. Typically, The Last Drop would stay open well into the night and through the earliest hours of the morning, but it’s only 11:30 and Vander feels like dead weight. He leans down, searching for the bar-phone he keeps next to the especially expensive liquors. Upon finding it, he dials an employee's number despite the guilt ringing through his mind. He’s not one to give up easily, and he’s certainly given one hell of a fight to make it through this shift, but the promise of a quieter room and Silco’s attention is enough to sway him. 

“Jay? I’m sorry to ask, but–,” Vander pauses as his breath hitches, the itch suddenly returning with a vengeance. He holds the receiver as far away as possible, ducking to the side and clamping his other hand over his nose, “hhHHHGDTSCHHH’huew!” 

Apparently, Jay could still hear the utter desperation of the expulsion from over the phone– and was left to imagine the mess it made, and trust, it was messy– and is quick to say, “I’ll be there in twenty. Try not to drop dead by then.”

TBC…

as always, any reblogs, tags, and comments are very much appreciated!! i experimented with a different writing style with this fic, so any feedback is appreciated as well :3

[bellamoooon]

Riff never really thought he would last this long with you, but here you were, he had been with you since the year before Tony had gone upstate, which summed up to two years— which for riff was a lifetime considering his “relationships” never lasted more than a day.

“Come on girly girl, I promise they’ll behave this time…” there he was, puppy eyes and a pout standing in the door of your apartment, trying to convince you to let the jets have dinner at your place.

“Riff, you said that the last time, diesel threw a plate at action—“ you spoke reminding him about the catastrophic dinner that had happened weeks ago.

Because yes, you loved riff, and the rest of the boys, to be fair you had been like a mother to most of them, which was comic, seeing as they were all of your age, or a year younger, but despite that, the care you had given to your boys— as you call them — was more nurturing and motherly than what their actual mother ever provided.

But— often when you made dinner for all of them, it turned into a goddamn mess.

Chewing with open mouths, spilling juice, broken plates, sauce accidentally spilled on your pretty pink table cloth, and stolen spoons— don’t ask, you do not know what they take your spoons for.

“I just don’t want to have to clean up after, you boys are like a stampede of elephants, you tear my apartment to shreds in minutes” riff laughed, of course he did, he pulled you closer wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Come on angel, I’ll make the boys clean up, you just cook up one of those delicious warm meals of yours and we do the rest.”

It was tempting, getting to see the boys— and them endlessly complementing your food, and you weren’t an egomaniac, but man it was nice to hear— and spending time with riff, which was often a complicated task with all the trouble they find themselves in.

“Fine, but this apartment better shine after” he hummed as he left a kiss on your head, good thing he had convinced you, the jets were all getting set up for the dinner riff had promised them, he knew you’d give in eventually.

***

As you turn the stove off, right on cue there’s a knock at the door, you sigh, it’s just dinner, they’ll help clean up, no one’s gonna kill anyone, you try telling yourself, but who were you kidding, whenever more than three jets were in a small space— or big to be fair— an earthquake was bound to happen.

“Heya doll, got the boys, need any help setting up?” Riff said with his usual charming smirk as you opened the door, you made way as him and maybe five or six jets walked in behind all freshened up and smiling as they greeted you.

“Yeah, could ya set the plates and silverware, I’ll be there to serve in a sec” he nodded as he started to hand out plates to the boys as the placed them carefully on the table.

As you close the door a foot is shoved in the way letting out a yelp of pain, “ow!”

immediately you swing the door open to find baby John with his brows knit together in pain.

“Jesus, baby John! Why the hell would you do that?” He shakes his head as you place a hand on his back as you both walk in.

“The guys started to run— and…and I kinda lost ‘em so im just slightly late, sorry ma” you giggled as he spoke, always so well spoken and polite. He was a good kid from a broken home, and you were the kind of mother he always wanted his to be, so to say the least, you were fond of him.

“Alright, go sit down, I bet the boys already set the table for dinner” and they had done that exactly, and were even seated already, looking all pretty and innocent as if they weren’t in fights everyday.

As you had predicted, they all gushed over the food and how “no five star could do it like you did”— says riff, it’s just a simple meal, but he was used to eating whatever he could find cheap enough for himself, or starve, which was almost never, since you’d always have a little something for him.

“Okay, now clean up, I want no complaining or whining, Diesel— you’re on dishes tonight” obviously, he let out a soft “aw man” as he started picking the plates and taking them to the sink, “and the rest of you wiping up the table and the kitchen counter” they all groaned, but complied.

Riff found it incredibly amusing and mesmerizing how, ever since you two were together, they all obeyed to most of your orders and looked after you whenever you were out late.

“Y’know pretty, you’d make a great mom someday” he said as he wrapped his arms around your waist, making you smile as his warmth stuck onto you.

“Already am, dickwad, you made me responsible for all your jets, but I don’t see ya paying child support” you say as you turn your head to look up at him, lets out a loud chuckle as he presses a kiss on your shoulder.

“I’ll pay you once these monkeys are out here girly girl, they don’t need to know how good I fuck you” he whispered in your ear, your face lit up with a bright blush as you stuck your elbow in his ribs.

“Riff! You gotta stop doing that, I mean it.”

“Unless you’d want ‘em to hear your pathetic whining, pretty, remind ‘em you’re mine and no one else’s” he left a quick kiss on your cheek as he pulled away, going towards the boys to walk them out of the apartment, turning to wink at you.

You just know it’ll be best if you sleep in and not leave the house tomorrow.

[bubbipond]

I meant to say this yesterday but ThamePo is killing it with the way they are handling a mixture of emotions. One thing I absolutely hate in romances is when an MC is regrettably wrong, but the shows overall message, and normally the love interest, push the narrative that everything is fine because they are good people. Instead, in this scenario, we have Jun acknowledging that Thame is not being a good partner. He is a good friend but not a good partner at present.

Jun was right, he tasked Po with a lot of stuff that Po even expressed unease about doing. He never actually asked if Po was good at certain things he was tasked with and he didn’t have the time to help Po if Po needed it. He consistently had to choose something else over Po and while, yes he always apologized and corrected himself, he still was not prioritizing his relationship with Po. It’s okay to call out even the best people for not showing up the way they should.

That was always the source of Thame’s jealousy. He wasn’t jealous because he thought Po liked Jun more, he was jealous because he acknowledged that Jun was, at that moment, the better option. He couldn’t easily talk to Po like Jun or have friendly banter like Jun. he had zero time to understand his feelings between Pepper helping him realize them and his encounter with Jun. He was willing to let Jun fight for Po because he thought that they were on even playing ground, if not Jun being higher than him. This was always because he knew he wasn’t doing his absolute best. This is also why PepperGam exists in this world. To show how a person can easily give up everything for one person. Pepper and Thame are ultimately two sides of the same coin. Pepper is willing to forfeit as he doesn’t see being able to have Gam and have MARS. But Thame believes he can juggle them both without giving up either.

As I have said before, ThamePo has always been centered around Thame and Po’s ability to stick together despite the outside sources trying to rip them apart. But in this case, if Thame had lost, he can easily acknowledge that it wasn’t entirely Jun’s fault, he would share blame in being incapable of reading how Po actually felt. Which is proven in every time Pepper had to alert him that he was inadvertently hurting Po’s feelings. So I love the show for keeping Thame accountable even though he’s literally the best person on the show; and for acknowledging two people can deeply love each other, and still be right person, right time, wrong place. In other words, Thame and Po are at an advantage for time and person but an unusual disadvantage in placement of their individual positions.

[deadpoetsandlivinglegends]

Oh gosh ok let’s do this

3 ships I like

I’m gonna avoid dps because this is a dps blog so that feels like cheating

Scooby gang (Fred, Daphne, Velma, and Shaggy, not Scooby tho cause he is like their dog-child, but I ship it platonically, found family trope, or as a polycule, I don’t really care I just like when it’s all of them together), Anne and Diana (specifically the Anne of green gables first novel, let me tell you, I have made some of my friends endure me rambling on to persuade them into believing these two are better than Anne and Gilbert when some of them didn’t even know of the novel or anything before, like love Gilbert, and him and Anne can be cute but Anne and Diana are something else, I swear, I fight for this ship), and last is probably Tori and Michael from Solitaire (probably more qpr than romantic ship but a ship nonetheless)

Two honorable mentions cause it’s basically a case of I just like everyone so I would have to use all 3 ships in one go if I said these series are Six of Crows and The Raven Cycle series

First ship ever

I think it was probably Milo and Kida from Atlantis: The Lost Empire when I was a kid

Last song I heard

Scared of My Gutair - Olivia Rodrigo

Favorite Childhood book

In 4th grade I was really into the amulet series, I remember nothing about it besides it is a fantasy graphic novel that has a redhead and her brother but I know I loved those books and read them obsessively

Currently Reading

Not currently reading one (unless my college textbooks count), but the last one I read was Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde and like a week before that I read Solitaire by Alice oseman for the 3rd or 4th time

Currently Watching

Just watched Scream (1996) today

Currently Consuming

Was about to go make another cup of coffee if that counts

Currently Craving

That fifth Infinity Train season focused on Amelia that we will never get (I know this is supposed to be food but god why did they have to cancel infinity train, I love that show)

No pressure tags: @the-deadest-poet @rywritess And of course anyone who wants to

9 10 Fandom Folks to Get to Know Better

Thanks so much for the tag @schofielded !!

3 Ships I Like

Okay so I’m currently writing for Anderperry so they have to be at the top of the list, Reddie is my beloved which I fear will follow me throughout my life so they’re next, and hmm idk what to put for my third one since I like to read for a lot of ships and have barely written for others. I think I’ll go with a surprise pick and say Boreo! Tragic gays for the win

First Ship Ever

Omg I actually cannot say it was too embarrassing. The first one I’m willing to say is Larry which is also embarrassing and I regret it but I fear the fanfic was so good sorry.

Last Song I Heard

Drums of Death by FKA Twigs. I am addicted, something about the beat is just so good.

Favorite Childhood Book

This is kind of hard for me because I mainly had author phases as a kid rather than just one book that I adored. Looking back, though, I would probably say The Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo was my favorite. Her descriptions were so good that it made me want to eat paper like the mice.

Currently Reading

Four Minutes by Nataliya Deleva! It’s a queer Bulgarian novel I’m reading for my around the world goal and I’m really enjoying it so far!

Currently Watching

Just finished watching Swing Girls (2004) so I’m counting it since I’m between TV shows right now. Anyway the movie was so cute and feel-good, I definitely recommend!!

Currently Consuming

I had fried chicken for dinner if that’s what this is referring to. Anyway it was good!

Currently Craving

A strawberry limeade with added coconut and cream from Sonic 💔 I don’t have my car rn so I am stranded sadly

No pressure tags: @neil-perrys-suicidal-tendencies @vinesandvellichor @good--merits-accumulated @lc-27 @axe-76 @dreadedwhim @poetrusic1959 @yawping-poets-society @scriptscraps @neilperryismine + open to anyone who wants to join!!

[darbonime]

problems in paradise

contains: angst, arguing, difficult relationships, bit of fluff i suppose.

word count: 2.8k

Your eyes follow him leaving the house to have a smoke again, his white undershirt is crumpled, body stiff, making muscles more prominent, the golden chain glistens faintly and hair is slicked back but doesn’t seem to have the first freshness. Today is amazingly gloomy day, previous few days were sunny, and when you woke up, you caught by surprise with cloudy sky, and weather forecast woman said there is rain possible in the second half of the day. Not that you minded, you have no mood anyway.

It was only morning and before breakfast was ready, he already swallowed three cigarettes in himself, passing back and forth between the living room and the porch. He feels off and you never were good with making a first move, usually you keep silent while your soul eaten alive – unhealthy habit of yours. Alex no better, he prefers to be silent as a grave and suffer away from anyone.

You play with the last piece of scrambled egg on your plate, scraping plate with fork, irksome sound mixes with news channel on the TV, coffee was cold long ago. Overthinking is contagion, you try to get rid of, you are doing good until it’s him. With him you always care too much. With him every argument feels like it’s the end. Always waiting you are, it’s around the corner you believe. You look on the door through which he left few minutes ago, you see him outside in the window – he is smoking hollowly staring ahead of him.

The silent treatment, sudden and not expected, as usual, appeared three days ago. He got snappy and avoidant, avoidant not in his Alex’s way, when he tried to keep everything with a train of mystery, but in a way of stopping looking into your eyes and in way of going to bed much later than you, what already made you lose quite hours of sleep.

The problem is that you instantly start to think that you did something wrong, and if you did, you should fix it, but he is speechless as a fish. Making him talk is like making a corpse talk, especially if it is about something that bothers him. That sudden silence started happening often, too often for your own liking. Countless times, you told him to speak with you, but you can’t make a person trust you until the person itself starts want to trust you, can you?

Exhausting it is, with all love you have for him, you involuntarily started to think of the talk. The breakup talk. There’s always buts and stops. You are stuck in a dead point of uncertainty and hesitancy.

Thickly sighing, you pick up the last piece of food, shoving it in the mouth, not truly wanting to eat it. When you get up to pour out cold coffee, that lost any alluring taste to you, in the sink, he comes back, bringing all familiar bitter smell of cigarette smoke and palpable tension. You search on his face, for distant answers that his face could possibly give you, on all the questions you have. Alex plumps down on a chair that creaks under his weight unpleasingly, with blunt gaze looking at the screen of working television.

“You’re alright?” Gather up with courage you. Your voice is soaked with tremble, no matter how you try to hide it every time you mess it up.

“What d’ you mean?” His voice is rough; accent is tangible but in a bad way, not in the way when he is almost asleep, not in the way he’s drunk and all pent up with want for you, not in the way when he’s lazy and cuddly.

You inhale sharply.

“You are all silent. Smoke a lot.” Composed, but boiling and anxious at the same time inside. Lump blocks proper breathing, only short phrases born from your mouth, you don’t want to stumble upon the words. He knows himself nothing is smooth, you even made first step to him, he should meet you halfway, that’s how relationship works. Normal ones work that way, you are pretty damn sure.

His fingers running through his tousled hair with a heavy sigh, as if you aren’t his girlfriend but an annoying puppy jumping around him. Your patience running thin, his detached behavior makes you on edge, more than you’d like to admit.

“Jus’ no mood.” With a dull, he says.

That’s what he always says. A disguised reason. He tells you anything but not what actually feels. Never vulnerable or never vulnerable with you?

Crack.

“Alex, are you fucking serious?” You slam a cup on the counter, your voice, angry, mad and offended, like thunder crossing the sky, rings along kitchen, finally making him shoot his eyes at you, with sharp pure confusion.

Being too sensitive emotionally always brings problems in your life. You cry too much over romantic comedies, and flare with rage with a snap of fingers over any little and not little thing.

“I worry! You don’t speak, and I’m here just wondering what happened to you. Again!”

Deep down you know.

He is frightened to accept it, you are frightened to accept it even more, but two years of relationships were not from big love.

You love him and he patches up a hole inside of him by you, a band-aid, and a band-aid always gets thrown away eventually. There was nothing real. Never. Not for him. It got too far, that’s what happens when you decide to date your friend solely to have someone warm in your bed. The constant buzzing thought that he must love you because you cherish him leaves his mind for no second, haunts him constantly but ghostly. He likes to be loved by you, it’s a raw truth. The cost of loving and being loved. He should leave, but won’t, not by his choice. Your love is the forbidden fruit he shouldn’t have reached for, but it looked too appealing not to reach.

“What the hell ‘s this ‘bout?” His voice now raised too, furrowed brows still show fake turmoil and clear defensive mindset, fists clenched under the table, hiding there to keep himself calm with you as long as possible. It’s a rare sight for him to yell or raise voice even for a bit. Alex is bad with arguments, like a bird in a cage, he can’t escape, and he hates to have no choice, that’s how every argument feels with you, “Can’t I be jus’ silent?” Just silent. You let out a hysterical laugh, loud and humorless.

“Do you think I’m a fool, Alex? We both feel something is up!” Never his short nickname in the arguments. You scoff, shake your head, you attempt to regain control, but it only gets worse. “Why can’t you just speak? Use words for once!”

“Maybe, I jus’ need some bloody time alone, and there’s too much of ya, huh, babe?” He spits the last word more distinctly. Your eyes widen slightly in quick wave of shock, you can clearly feel your heart leaps down into toes with hurt and disappointment, “Leave me alone, for god’s sake, and mind your own business.” With a cold snap, he gets up sharply, nearly dropping the poor chair, that in a rough atmosphere has strange fragility to it. You can clearly hear him mumbling “bloody woman” as he strides to the living room trying to deal with fury tremble in a whole body, escaping the escalating heat of the argument.

Choking feeling envelops you from what he just said. Tears seem to find way in your eyes, stinging with pain and wrath, urging you to blink them away. Never he said things to you like that. Your stomach turns with an urge to break and shout, an urge to answer him with the same coin he did.

Alex tries to build a concrete wall between you too, push you away, hurt you that much, that you didn’t even want to get close to him. Push you away that much, hear curses from your mouth, make you hate him, make you leave yourself. If he wants to spit harsh words at you, both can play that game.

Curling with the wind, leaves on the trees tossing chaotically, as trunks bend with force of flow. Sky got even darker and somber than before. The rain is about to start pattering, the door to the porch forced to slam with gust, but neither of you winces because of it. The atmosphere thickened, rooms in the house acquired the bleak view of them. The world seems to fade away and lose color, blending into a mix of grey tones and the colorful filter replaced with noir one.

“Leave you alone?” You follow him immediately after with a ready to fight face, almost no trace of tears, only redness in eyes, “Last time I known you barely can exist on your own without someone else!” You hit right in the sour spot with sarcastic cruelty. His back is facing you, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling the anger flowing from him as steam emerges from the pot, his arms on his sides, hard and strained. Attractive, even now that thought rests in your mind.

“Alex, you push away everyone when people try to help you, but the only ways you deal with your own concerns— “ Words are punctured and straight, inexcusable.

“Don’t—” He grits through the teeth. He hates to hear how messed up his ways of solving problems are. No need to remind what he’s gotten himself into.

You don’t halt, crossing his words. “The only ways you deal with your own goddamn concerns are drinking to the full oblivion or smoking it all away!” You yell, raspiness scratches your throat, pointing your finger at him accusingly, trying to bruise him hard as possible.

Contention comes to a stop as he turns to face you, but briefly, only casts you an irritated defeated gaze and falls with a heaviness of stone on the couch. Now both of you pissed off and wounded. The pair of you did a great job, silence stuck between you two, and both your breaths aviating in the dense air.

His hand runs down his furrowed enraged face. Alex is aware that you are right, the instant you’d left, he would end up not in the best state of mind and soul. Even not loving you, by being near you calm him, keep him sane, don’t let him ruin himself completely.

He’s obsessed with the surface, he creates an image to follow, gets caught in his own trap, which makes him feel once again like a fool. Most of his life he tries to appear the person he is not, ending up feeling worse than before, hilarious clown in his own eyes. You are not an exception, to your unfortunate, even with you he tries to prove something indistinguishable. Something he isn’t quite sure of himself.

One day he came to a conclusion, that there’s nothing to maintain, everything inside of him got rotten to the extent when even the image he created, the one he needs he assures himself, ceased to look perfect.

You wait for him to say at least anything, just anything. But he keeps soundless. The argument made no sense in the very beginning, you understand that both of you are merely worn out to be connected to each other, but none of you risks quitting whatever you and him have gotten into. Tears get harder to hold back, air seems to stop finding way in the lungs and breathing becomes too hard to be an essential thing. It grips your throat to the ache, as you try to keep the tears to yourself, ears preventing any sound leaving only suffocating drone in them. You sit down near him, but yet far away, exhausted and given up.

He looks down at his own hands, to acknowledge that he is indeed here, to catch a breath for a second. Guilt crawls from behind over his back spiderly, straight to the mind together with realization, the words he said to you minutes ago, were not words you have common life with him for, not the words he supposed to tell as a loving partner. He knows it, he knew it even then, but let them slip anyway.

Alex looks up and catches a trace of your eyes glistening, getting glassy, his own eyes get foggy with full awareness. Ace in your sleeve, every argument is won by you when you start crying. He crumbles, feeling the immediate desire to hold you, to actually give you something real out of all his fake facade.

“No, c’mon, darlin’…” He sorrowfully gulps, “Come ‘ere. Come ‘ere. Jus’ don’t cry, you know I hate it.” Guilt and remorse, replacing his snake-like rude voice from before, he beckons you with his hand, straightening on the couch.

You break into quiet sniffs that grow into sobs as you climb on his lap like a beaten cat. He wraps his arms around you tightly, his clothes familiarly smoked, and embrace is warm. Sobs pierce right through his heart, pained and hopeless, breath catches in your throat, and you seem to lose it gasping for it, your cheeks red and stained with salt tropes. Alex hands brushing over your silky hair, soothing you, almost loving you. He mumbles quiet reassurances in your ear. Your head against his chest, hearing his heart beating so fast, is proof to you, the most evident one, the loudest one, that whatever it is he has for you, is here. He might hide himself till the end of the day, but heart always will tell the truth. You want to believe that.

Thump-Thump-Thump. Fast and worried.Knocking against the ribs.

Your sobs get quieter but still there, another minute there won’t be any of them. He doesn’t watch you, caresses your head, gives you time. His caresses apologizing for him as Ales keeps his eyes lifted and empty, he knows you hate to be watched when you are crying, but simply he feels ashamed. Ashamed of being the cause of your misery.

“Me a dickhead, yeah?” He whispers in your ear, feathering tiny kiss on the lobe of it, urging you to chuckle quietly through the tears, smile tugs the corner of his lips, “See? Ya laugh already… Wha’ a sunshine you are.” He pokes your tear-stained cheek. Gentleness is a bitter aftertaste in mouth.

Alex genuinely thinks that way. You are a ray of sunshine for him. The one he doesn’t really deserve.

Years ago, you couldn’t understand how a person could forgive rude words in the heat of the moment. Adamant and revolutionary, you refused to accept any apology. Love for him changed it entirely. Changed you. From rough on the edges to pliable. You would forgive him in a second after apology, would forgive him if he committed a crime, would forgive him even when he confesses that you are nothing but temporary replacement. He has that look in his eyes that speaks with shame and embarrassment, repentance and despondency. His eyes are showing a lot, that’s why he’s wearing shades practically all the time, you learned it in these two years.

Life with him wasn’t bad. Not minding, lack of feelings from him, he tried his best to appear the best man for you. Didn’t seem to cheat, at least you don’t know about it, and you avoided any thoughts about it, it would crash you. He kissed you, hugged you, fucked you. Suspicions that he doesn’t seem to love you were from the beginning, but he assured you and himself in different. You could see how he tries to find attraction for you. Kindness and beauty are you; Alex knows it, Alex loves it but not you.

You wipe tears, breath is still shuddering, his palm is warm and balmy, touch is soft and lulls you to sleep. You wouldn’t refuse a nap with him after that little scandal. That is what you both are going to do probably. Leave it for the next time. Outside it starts to pour, drops drumming against the windows demandingly, and you wait for him to tell a stupid joke of his. Most of them are so lame, but you find yourself laughing like a fool with your full heart.

“Oi, our arguments shake the weather, ya see?” He turns your face to the window, his fingers hold chin carefully, and you chuckle stupidly as you always do.

Lying your head back on his chest you close your eyes, odd intimacy leaks into the moment. His heart slows down, but you still feel his teeth clamped together and lips in a thin line. Your fingers hesitantly reach his chain, fidgeting with it, counting every link in it to yourself, trying to bring peacefulness through it, getting distracted by doing random thing. Alex sighs. Loudly and tiredly. His hands find your head again, stroking it, as if saying “It will end soon. Just wait.” You wait for the end, but it seems to come slower than you expected.

a/n: can't say i like this one very much, and can't say it has the ripping-heart-of-chest atmosphere, but i tried my best. it supposed to be an argument with a fluffy fluff in the end, and then idea of fake love came to my mind and couldnt leave it.