#my impulsive ass trying to keep this contained on one blog

[sagxshi]

—

[2018shawn]

fourth time lucky

Hi hunnieeeeeees!!!! Based on these asks, thank you all so much for requesting 🥰:

Hi! I was wondering if you could write a Shawn Mendes x reader smut where they are trying to get pregnant and they are going at it like bunnies and then they reader is exhausted from everything and then they are pregnant in the end? Thanks!

Baby-making sex with Shawn

I saw this on someone else’s blog, but can you please do it as well, it’s about Brian complaining about how loud you and Shawn were the night before, you’re all on holiday somewhere

warnings: swearing, smut, unprotected sex (duh), drinking?? a long ass ride

a/n: 6.5k-ish of my not-up-to-standard writing!!! I think I'd like to carry on some dad!Shawn concepts so come to my ask box with any requests/suggestions 🥰🥰 ALSO I think I'm really bad at smut so let me know how you guys feel lol any feedback/likes/reblogs are very much appreciated 💓💓

The sounds of the boys fooling around in the pool, that was private to your shared villa, kept you company as you paced around your room. You laughed at yourself, having no idea why you felt nervous at holding what you did, it was just a pre-test kind of situation. The green carrier bag on your bed, filled with extra goodies from the shop (because was you even on holiday if you didn’t try every foreign chocolate bar), flapped around from the soft breeze drifting into your room from the open balcony door as you placed the test box on the bedside table. You placed the stick you’d just peed on, on top of the box which contained 9 other small test strips, the instructions (which luckily came in English too) next to it.

Shawn had spoken to you many times about starting a family, but you were the one who held back, which is what surprised you most. You had your entire life planned out with Shawn, the two rings on your wedding finger backing this up. It had even gone as far as having rows over the matter – Shawn’s anxiety eating away at him that you actually didn’t want a baby because of him and how different his lifestyle is; this was the complete wrong end of the stick. He was a busy guy, sure, but after five number one albums and countless tours, you knew he was genuinely serious about taking a break in order to start the family you’d both discussed so many times before.

You’d only gone to the shop in order to get more supplies for the group of you staying in the villa. The beer levels were running low, meaning the water levels were running low as they nursed their hangovers in the day, gulping beer again come night-time. You’d found yourself down the medicine aisle of the small store down the road, thinking aspirin and more sun cream would be essential for the rest of your stay in the extremely warm country. Bending down to look furthermore at extra bits, because you always thought it would be better to have too much than not enough, your eyes gazed over the selection of pregnancy tests before you noticed one row of a slightly different test – an ovulation test. A lump in your throat formed, and you felt something you’d never felt before. A want. A need.

A small, soaked volleyball came soaring through the open balcony door, landing just at your feet with a soft thud, bringing you back from your daydreaming. You heard one of the boys shout sorry, laughing to yourself at the playful behaviour of what you thought were mature 20-something-year olds. You bent down, picking up the wet ball, walking over to the balcony to check out the situation.

Looking down, there was Brain, Connor and Naill all flailing around in the pool below you whilst Connor’s girlfriend relaxed on one of the sun loungers, topping up her golden tan. Shawn, also in the water, was resting his arms on the surface around the pool, looking up and waiting for you to appear on the balcony. And when you did, he beamed, like he hadn’t seen you in years. “Whoever threw that should definitely keep their day job,” you laughed, throwing the ball back aiming in nowhere in particular. You never imagined that what you said could spark the beginning of world war 3; if you could actually play properly and yeah well if your fat fucking head wasn’t in the way being amongst the bickering as Shawn just continued to lovingly look up at you, rolling his eyes at the antics behind him. “Can I borrow you for a sec… from the… intense game you appear to have going on?” You asked, wagging your finger at the guys who were now trying to dunk each other underwater, neither of them not really paying attention to you or Shawn as he instantly nodded. Pushing the palms of his hands against the heated, concrete ground he raised from the water in what you could only describe as a bond girl/Baywatch aesthetic. The water trailing down his body, the sun instantly soaking up the moisture on him, was a sight you though could impregnant you alone.

You worked out your pH against the chart on the instructions as Shawn made his way up to the room, screwing your face up as you tried to familiarise yourself with this new technical language. Shawn’s head appeared around the door and you smiled in return, moving the stick and instructions that were in your hand to behind your back, trying your best to mask the evidence although knowing you failed. “What you got there?” He asked, sauntering in the room, droplets of water still trickling down the lines of his abs every so often as he continued to dry off naturally.

“Well, urm, yeah… nothing” You throat suddenly went dry, as you wondered whether you’d made a stupid impulsive decision to tell Shawn you wanted to try for a baby.

“Okay, I’ve always wanted one of those?” He joked, sitting himself on the end of the bed, not caring about dampening the sheets or messing up your specific bed making skills. He noticed your foot tapping, something you always did when you felt nervous, as he glanced over your features to try and gather some idea of what was going on. “You’re worrying me now.”

“You don’t need to worry,” you laughed, shaking your head as the expression on his face didn’t change. “I just… uh… think I wanna try get… y’no… pregnant”

Then his face changed. To a big shit-eating grin and a sparkle in his eyes. “You do?” He asked, just to make sure he had full confirmation and wasn’t hearing things. You nodded, a small mhmm escaping your lips before rambling on about seeing these stupid sticks near the pregnancy tests, even though you only went in for beer but ended up peeing on this stupid stick. “So… what does the stick say?” He said, holding out his hand for you to take. You did so, happily, the instructions in your hands getting crinkled between your hold on each other.

He pulled you close, your body stood in between his now opened legs, his hands travelling up your sundress, keeping you close by stroking the skin on the back of your thighs. You brought the stick out from behind your back, finally, looking at what it displayed one last time before speaking, “I’m ovulating, but only until tomorrow, we’ve missed the main chunk.”

He took both the instructions and stick, not seeming to care you’d just peed on the thing, before tossing them towards the direction of the bin, but missing dramatically. With one swift tug, you fell on top of him as he fell back onto the dreamy mattress, a squeal escaping your lips as you crashed down onto him. “SHAWN. You’re still wet” You laughed, trying with everything you had in you to push yourself back up off him.

His hold was strong enough that you couldn’t escape and as he flipped you both, so you were now under him, his legs in between yours in an attempt to keep them open, “and you’re about to be,” he smirked, resulting in you rolling your eyes at his boyish come back.

Strong hands were now exploring every inch of your body as his head dipped down, allowing your lips to come crashing together. His hunger was evident, little time spent being detached from your lips, as he loved on you with everything he had in him. His kisses moved down to your neck, groaning into your skin as you tugged at the damp curls atop of his head. “Are you sure?” you heard him mutter against your skin as he continued to kiss your sensitive spots.

“Only if you are” you breathed, tugging his hair that little bit harder so his lips parted from your skin and he looked up at you, the same sparkle in his eye still there. He nodded, reassuring you with few words that he’d have to be bat-shit crazy to not want to start a family with you. His head dipped back down, lips working back on your neck and chest whilst his fingers toyed the hem of your now slightly damp sundress. Underneath was nothing but a tiny red bikini, which he wasn’t overly keen on you wearing in front of his friends, but you argued about wanting the best tan with minimal tan lines. He pulled the flimsy dress material up your body until it bunched up around your neck, pulling away for a few short seconds in order to lift it and remove it completely. You took your bottom lip in-between your teeth as you felt the cold air-con air blast over your body, your nipples hardening at Shawn’s soft touch.

Shawn moved so he was upright, knelt on his knees in between you. You couldn’t help yourself as your fingers reached up, brushing over the defined lines of his abs, him tensing at your contact and cock twitching beneath his stupidly tight, yet somehow still baggy, swim shorts. Because two could play the game of tight garments, apparently. They were baggy enough to portray as a normal pair of trunks, but tight enough that he knew you could see the outline of one of your favourite features of his, as he lay on the sun lounger next to you, or walked around your sun lounger to go inside even though his sun lounger was closed to the villa doors.

His fingers were toying with the ties on the side of your briefs, not necessarily tugging too hard for the knot to come undone, the long pieces of string now straggling across the bed and your bare thigh. You breathed heavily as his fingers trailed across your skin to your needy centre, fingers slipping under the dampness of your briefs. A sharp intake of breath caused you to arch your back off the bed as his fingers came into contact with your swollen lips.

A thumb traced your entrance, until it stopped at your clit where it created a light pressure. Cries of need left your lips, until Shawn stopped them by connecting his lips back with yours. “We have to be quiet, they’re right outside” He spoke in-between kisses, you only nodding in return, realising you’d zoned out of the real world as you suddenly hear the boys scream into a loud cheer from down in the pool. The torturous tease of his thumb hovering over your clit soon turned into a trace of circles on your throbbing nub, two of his fingers slowly entering you completely as you adapted around him. “Fuck… you’re… so wet” He moaned into your neck, his fingers sliding in and out of you with ease from the juices he’d created.

You wanted to come back with some sarcastic comment like that’s what you wanted isn’t it but didn’t have much time to as his lips moved down, taking what he could manage of your breast into his mouth as his fingers continued to work wonders further down. The cold, wetness of his tongue felt good against the dry skin, your back arching as you pushed up to meet his touch as much as possible.

It didn’t take long before you were whimpering in his hands, telling him how much you needed him. It was as if all he needed was the invitation for him to tug at the waistband of his restrictive trunks until his throbbing length popped free, a whimper freeing from his own lips at the relief. He lined himself up with you, one hand trying to keep you still as it grasped at your waist, keeping his eyes connected with yours at all time.

This time felt different. You knew you were probably being stupid, and it was just like any other sex you’d have, but the concept of it possibly actually leading to becoming pregnant made you feel some type of way. For years you’d looked at Shawn, unknowingly to him, and wondered if your children would inherit his talent or his crazy curls or dazzling smile. As if he sensed your mind was on overdrive, he interlocked his hand with yours, pinning it next to your head as his chest came down to meet yours, whispering “I love you.”

“I’m just saying… I think we made a baby!” He beamed, right on your heels as you both made your way through the villa to re-join the rest of the group.

“Shawn, please don’t start getting all obsessive over it. It happens straight away for some people, takes years for others, just remember that okay?” You smiled, stroking the back of his hand with your thumb. The sun hit you as you both walked out into the garden, feeling like a vampire as you squinted and groaned at the brightness.

“Oh she lives!” Connor shouted, the rest of the group turning around to look over in both of your direction.

“Did you go to the store back home, Y/N?” Niall joked, twirling the volleyball around of his pointer finger as if he was a basketball pro.

Brian couldn’t possible miss the opportunity to get involved with the jibing, “we even thought you may have run off with a sexy Spanish senor, we know Shawn can be a bit whiny sometimes.”

You rolled your eyes, a sarcastic har-har escaping your lips as you tip toed up, giving Shawn a gentle peck on the cheek. Like a group of teenagers, Shawn waltzed back over to the pool, putting his foot against Niall’s back, forcing him into the pool despite the fact he’d just completely dried off, apart from his legs which were dangling in.

Connor’s girlfriend tugged out one of her headphones as you sat on the lounger next to her, adjusting the backrest and stripping off your sundress – that you’d only just put back on – ready to take in the rest of the rays the sun had to offer. You were going about your business as normal, catching Connor’s girlfriend staring at you with a smug grin out of the corner of your eye. “Yes, Mila?” You raised your eyebrow, cocking your head as you gave her your full attention.

“You just had sex didn’t you?” She asked, spinning the wire of her headphones around her finger, only stopping when she smacked herself in the face with it for the third time.

You just laughed, “what makes you think that?”

“I dunno… you’re… glowing. Must’ve been really good though because there’s still something extra different this time” She shrugged.

The sun was still beaming as you awoke later on; you’d slept most of the day, only waking up when Shawn was applying more sun cream on your back. Fortunately so had the boys, which gave you some peace and quiet. Connor and Mila were squeezed onto one sun lounger, like big spoon/little spoon, whilst Niall and Brian were sprawled out on their own, soft snores escaping both of their lips. Your eyes began to flicker open, body stretching out of the light sleep. “So I’ve been thinking…” Shawn’s voice snapped your head round to your right, where his sun lounger was placed. He lay on his side, head resting on his hand with his elbow propped up on the bed.

“Jesus, hello to you too…” You rolled your eyes, a soft yawn escaping your lips even though you’d only just been sleeping.

“We should go upstairs, you know, while the kids are quiet” He pointed at the group the other side of you, and you watched them for a second, laughing at how Niall’s sunglasses were probably creating the world’s worst tan line right about now.

You stood up, taking him by surprise when you agreed, swaying your hips just that little bit extra as you walked inside.

Shawn was quick behind you up the stairs and you walked him backwards until he fell onto the bed as soon as you shut the door. He shuffled himself up to the head of the bed, eyeballing you as you kicked your flip flops off, not caring where in the room they ended up. You’d decided to leave your sundress down by your lounger during your swift decision, knowing it would be pointless in dressing in it again.

This time it was you straddling him, kissing down each section of his body as he writhed under you, hands firmly holding onto your hips. His hardening length was pressing into your thigh, “the sun actually does make you horny doesn’t it?” you laughed, remembering Shawn telling you once that it did, but you laughed it off as a stupid myth.

“Yup. And when that’s mixed with you… I’m a goner” He squirmed again, his hardness changing your laugh into a moan.

There was next to no foreplay; you lifted off him for a second, grabbing his member with your hand, lining your yet again aching core up with him. You both forgot about the quiet “rule”, hoping the guys would still be asleep, as you let out a loud moan simultaneously, your walls sinking down onto him and adapting to his size for the second time today. Sounds of satisfaction filled the room, hopefully not spilling over and out to the pool area, although that was the last thing on yours and Shawn’s mind. You found your rhythm, Shawn’s hands supporting your tactical ass as you hopped up and down. Flinging your head back in pleasure, Shawn helped you by thrusting, pulling your body down as his hips moved upwards, his breathing getting heavier with each plunge. “Fuck… I thought… I’m gonna…” He stringed out a set of words, all giving you the impression he was close to his climax. It spurred you on even more, your hips rocking down onto him a little more, pushing yourself closer to meet him.

His eyes were shut, lips apart, body trembling underneath you. That was all you needed to come to your own heightened senses, your body falling down, your chest meeting his own as you bit onto his shoulder to muffle your moans. You both lay there for a while, Shawn’s thumbs sketching patterns on the skin of your hips as he spoke into your hair, “okay, I think maybe that time we made one.”

You let out a large sigh, giving up all hope with your hair and dragging it back into a high pony as you observed yourself in the mirror. The heat did not agree with your hair. Neither did the chlorine. And probably neither did the fact you’d also just had sex for a third time. Something in you had clicked, wondering why it had taken you so long to want this; to need this. You weren’t sure how many times you and Shawn had been able to have sex in one day, your stamina usually quite low compared to his much higher drive.

Emerging from the bathroom, with a towel wrapped low around his hips, he sang along to some songs he’d been listening to in the shower. The energy was good throughout the villa, all six of you getting ready for a night in the local town with nothing but good drinks and good friends. “Do you think I should wear the leaf shirt…” Shawn started, looking at his two options of shirts hung on the wardrobe door, “orrrrr the stripe?”

He held both up alternatively, his lips pulled to one side and eyebrows raised as you tapped a make-up brush against your cheek, deciding on the life changing choice. “The stripe. I’m more likely to wanna get you into bed in that.” Throwing his head back, he laughed, not only at your bluntness, but the fact you actually wanted to get him into bed for the fourth time. If all holidays were like this, he’d take them more often. You noticed his smug features whilst he walked around the bed to stand behind you in the mirror, towering you due to sitting on the small stool. “You wanted a baby,” you shrugged innocently, continuing your light make up routine, knowing it would only sweat off as soon as you left the air-conned villa anyway.

“You’re cute,” he smiled, bending down and wrapping his arm around your waist, “and also incredibly horny from the heat.” You jabbed your elbow into his stomach as hard as you could, but evidently not hard enough as he just laughed off you attempt. He planted a small kiss on your cheek before returning to get ready, in the stripe shirt.

The night had gone well, the lot of you letting your hair down like you’d intended to. You couldn’t help, however, take slightly longer than normal to drink your drinks or sit quietly in the corner every so often just to see how much you’d miss this life; normal life. It made you feel content when you realised you didn’t actually mind, thus far, enjoying everyone else making fools out of themselves rather than you for once. Mila was soon bounding over, sipping the last of her drink and placing it on the table you were sat at, “you okay? You seem kinda… quiet.”

You nodded, placing your own full drink down on the table, “I just have a killer headache, I don’t think I drunk enough water today.” It wasn’t a total lie, you had a teeeeeny, tiny headache, but more so were tired from your unusually active day.

She seemed genuinely concerned, which made you feel bad for telling a little white lie, but you and Shawn were yet to discuss with anybody else your future plans, and you imagined it would stay that way. “You want me to head back to the villa with you?” You assured her you were fine, promising you’d be fine going on your own, “sooo, does that mean you’re gonna be drinking that or?” She asked when she was finally convinced you didn’t need to be walked home, pointing to your full beverage. You laughed, handing it to her before placing a small kiss on her cheek and telling her to enjoy the rest of her night and you’ll make breakfast for 10am.

You grabbed Shawn’s arm to grab his attention as he watched over Brian doing some of the weirdest ‘dancing’ you’d ever seen. He looked concerned as soon as he looked at you, instantly pulling you to the side so he could hear you a little better. “I’m gonna head back to the villa, I’m super tired and I’m just… kind of…”

He smiled warmly, “feeling maternal are we?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes for what felt like the 20thtime today. “I’ll just tell the boys and come with, 2 seconds.” And before you had chance to object, to tell him to stay and make the most of the night, he was dragging you out the door and in the direction of your holiday home, which luckily for the sake of your poor legs and slightly sore centre, wasn’t too far.

Shawn main priority was getting you to bed, and not in the suggestive way you’d think. He wanted nothing more than to make sure you were comfortable and rested, knowing you’d taken just about as much of him as you could today, or so he had thought.

He fiddled around with the air con unit, muttering to himself as he tried to figure out the electronics, happily smiling to himself when he’d set a suitable temperature. You pulled up the iPad, setting some stupid movie rolling in which you had no interest in actually watching, rather enjoying your boyfriend company. Crawling in behind you, his arm snaked around your waist and his lips peppered kisses across you shoulder, his breathe tickling you and leaving you wriggling under him. It was cute, loving, happy.

Around 30 minutes into the movie, which you and Shawn had spent the entire time talking through, you began to feel slightly more refreshed and reenergised. Your head was still perched on Shawn’s chest, and your own bare chest rested against his side, the thin and practically useless bed sheets were pulled up, covering up to your hips. “I’m just saying, I don’t think I’ve quite ever seen someone do “the worm” like that.” You laughed, your fingers mocking the name of the dance move.

“He thinks it’s his signature move, let’s just let him have his moment.” Your continuous laugh was muffled into the skin on his chest as your fingers yet again sketched the outline of his abs continuously. You noticed how he twitched every so often, tensing as you got the parts close to the top of his waistband. Taking full advantage of your touch, crossed with his weakness of being tickled, you stopped tracing the upper parts of his defined features, concentrating solely on the parts that were making him squirm.

Your manicured nails, painted with vibrant holiday colours, alternated between lines of his muscles, and the scar situated just next to them. He hummed happily into your hair, “you’re gonna have to stop doing that,” he let out a shaky laugh, his hand wrapping around your wrist to stop your delicate movements.

Looking up at him with glazed eyes, your eyelashes fluttered in an attempt to look as innocent as you could. He instantly knew what you were up to, shaking his head, “baby, I want this I do… but you’re exhausted. When was the last time you turned down a night out?” What he was saying was right, you were the party animal of the group for so long, but you were sick of being that person. You wanted this family. And maybe the sun was getting to your head, and you knew you had all the time in the world to try for a baby, but it only felt right that you made up for lost time, considering you were only ovulating for approximately another 12 hours, possibly even less. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” you smiled, moving your head back down to rest where it was previously, hand wriggling out of his grasp. He only specifically suggested you stopped doing the little ab-tickle, nothing else. So you continued, fingers toying with the waistband of his Calvin’s, letting them run underneath the slightest bit. You noticed how his chest was breathing deeper, his hand that was stroking your back coming to a halt on your waist where it grasped slightly. The changing matter was when you tugged the waistband up further than previous times, letting it snap against his skin when you let it go.

Before you could blink, he was on top of you, pinning your hand either side of your head and all you could do was smirk, successful in your not-so-secret mission. “I said stop.” Your smirk grew, welcoming back the Shawn you knew and loved oh so dearly. His Calvin’s weren’t hiding much, his length nudging into your centre, which was only covered by a pair of flimsy lace panties. His face was centimetres from yours, breath fanning onto your lips, “I’m not going to break my wife day one into baby making.” His sudden turn from demanding into caring only made your legs wrap around him, heels digging into the curve of his ass to pull him closer. You knew it wasn’t an appropriate time to argue with him, knowing his week spots would soon leave him coming undone and meeting your needy level.

He groaned as your material covered delicates touched, only spurring on the wetness between your legs, “Just…” you breathed, leaning up to place a delicate kiss on his pillowy lips, “one more…” he reciprocated the action, “please?” You knew innocently asking for permission was his weak spot and got him feeling a certain type of way and mixed with the other teasing touches you’d put into play, he was crumbling on top of you.

Lost in the moment, a large clunk snapped both your heads to look towards the direction of your bedroom door, which was still shut like it had been since you’d got home. Both of you furrowed your eyebrows, before confirming it must just be the outdated air con unit kicking in outside your room.

As if it never happened, his lips trailed kisses down your body, paying particular attention to the area where you’d previously been teasing him. You squirmed underneath him, the stupid stubble on his chin brushing against the top of your throbbing core. His breath tickled you, much like your fingers had been doing him, the kisses quite possibly the most delicate they’d ever been, like he would break you if he pressed any harder. You whimpered, not caring about the volume of your voice as you knew the others were out having a good time in a completely different way to you two. His hands were still intertwined with yours by your head, restricting you from reaching down and running your fingers through his soft bed of curls.

Heading further down, his pulled your panties in-between his teeth, letting them drag down, letting to cool air of the room hit you furthermore. “You really do want this, huh?” He asked cockily, no chance for you to answer as he begin to lap up your taste, running his tongue up your slit in the most torturous slow movement. “Shawn...” you breathed, squeezing onto his hands tighter at the new mixture of wet sensations between your legs. He hummed into your folds, the vibrations twitching your hips to push up towards him. 

It felt like heaven and pleasure, all rolled into one, Your legs wrapped around his shoulder, your heels helplessly digging into his back even though you knew he couldn’t get any closer if her tried. He continued to hum into you, forcing whimpers and moans of your own to leave your lips, taking over the volume of the movie that was now playing to itself. 

His sudden departure from your soaking focussed area left you only begging for more, him name leaving your mouth a handful of times in a plea to return. His fingers untangled from yours by the side of your head, reaching down and taking each side of your panties that were bunched up at the top of your thighs. “These... need to go” He continued rolling them down until they twanged off either of your feet, uncaring where they ended up as he tossed them behind him, “much better.”

“Shawn, I need you, please.” You begged one last time, your hands finally free and reaching up for any part of him you could touch. He seemingly agreed, crawling up on his forearms to cover your body, ensuring he didn’t crush you in the process. His fingers came up to your face in an intimate moment, brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen from your ponytail as he pressed a light kiss to the tip of your nose. Reaching in-between you both, he lined up his fully hardened length with you entrance, the reconnection of skin on skin bucking your hips upwards. He gave you no warning as he plunged into you, filling you whole with he first thrust, your fingers digging into the skin of his shoulder blades as you let out your loudest moan yet. 

“Fuck” he spat, as his hips connected with yours, filling you deeply. His head rested in the crook of your neck, placing hard, passionate kisses and nipping the skin of your collar bone when he wasn’t concentrating on breathing. Your hand came up to toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, twirling the stray curls.

“Shawn, I'm not gonna last...” You whisper, your breathing deeper than you’d felt it all day. You thought you’d last longer, but seemed to be getting weaker with each touch he gave you. Continuing to squirm underneath him, he groaned at your twitchiness. 

He pulled out of you, no time for you complain as he grabbed one of your hips, flipping you onto your front with one swift motion of his strong arms. A playful squeal left your lips, your head turning back to look over your shoulder with a glistening smile. His other hand came to your other hip, guiding your ass further up into the air, your chest still pushed against the mattress, “Fuck, you’re amazing,” he almost whispered, a contrast from how loud you’d both been throughout the last 30 minutes. 

His hand smoothed over the curves of your peachy asset, before sliding down and tapping at each of you inner thighs in a suggestion for you to move your legs wider. Happily obliging, you did so, feeling him shift his weight behind you. Entering back into you, you reached up and clenched your fingers around the fabric of the pillow as he filled you again. The headboard smashed against the wall each time his hips came into contact with your ass, thrusting you forward with each passionate movement. His rhythm remained consistent, a light tap on your ass every now and again reminding you to keep screaming his name as you drifted off into a state of pure pleasure every so often. 

“I’m gonna...” You breathed, unable to finish your sentence as you screamed in pure delight, your hair falling and covering your face. Shawn snapped your head up, pulling it back with your tempting pony, watching you as you came undone below him.  His other hand reached round your front, his finger finding your clit and rubbing circles to accompany your raging climax. You couldn’t speak, only screams leaving your mouth for the moments of pleasure.

The sight of you was enough to build up his own orgasm, the snap of his hips against your ass and the headboard against the wall slowing as he thrusted through each shooting pleasure. You couldn’t concentrate as your name left his mouth amongst his moans, until he finally came to a halt, pulling out fo you and falling back onto the mattress with nothing put a post sex glow covering his body. You remained on your front, laying your head on the pillow as you turned to face him. Through heavy breathing, Shawn finally broken the minute long silence as you both basked in your euphoria “Okay we definitely made a mini us that time.”

You looked at the large clock hung on the wall above the stove, reading 9:54, as you heard footsteps and movement start to filter from upstairs. Shawn sat at the breakfast bar, sipping from his coffee cup as you wizzed around the kitchen, steam coming from the stove and oven as you prepared your best breakfast display yet. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything?” He asked, feeling guilty you were running around like a headless chicken.

“Absolutely not, you burnt the beans last time you helped. Who even does that?” You laughed, blowing air out your mouth in an attempt to blow hair out of your vision. He shrugged, insisting it was definitely the pan’s fault because it was, like, 149 years old, not the fact he couldn’t cook.

“You know... one day it’s gonna be our kids coming running down the stairs,” he started, standing from his bar stool and placing his empty cup by the sink, “with their little school uniforms on,” your heart tugged are the thought, “and running into the kitchen because they’re fighting over who’ll be riding shotgun, but it’ll definitely be the boy because he’s such a mommy’s boy and the fact he’s the eldest.” You heart clenched. “And the girl will of course 100% be a daddy’s girl, which will leave you jealous because you’re normally the only girl who gets all my attention.”

He walked around to you, tugging at the towel in your hands until you fell into his frame. “Really been thinking about it, huh?” You smiled, reciprocating his hold, wrapping your arms over the top of his shoulders.

“After yesterday’s performance... how can I not?” He laughed as he bent down to kiss you, the butterfly feelings he gave you the first time you ever kissed still evident now.

“Jeez, don’t you guys ever stop?” You heard Brian’s voice as he entered the room, snapping you both from your loving moment before you continued to attend to breakfast duties. He was followed closely by Niall, Connor and Mila as the empty kitchen became suddenly overcrowded. You slapped Nialls hand away a few times as he tried to steal items of food from right under your nose, frowning like a little kid. Good practice, you thought to yourself, as you looked at Shawn across the room how appeared to be thinking the exact same.

“Don’t they ever stop what?” Connor asked, mid yawn as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Going at it like rabbits, you should’ve heard them last night. I think shitting myself in the club would have been more enjoyable that listening to them two all night.” Brian confirmed, slumping himself onto one of the chair surrounding the dining table.

You and Shawn froze, giving each other a confused look as he continued to explain your sex life, even giving details of approximately how many times the headboard was thrown against the wall. “But... you were out with the guys?” You asked, promptly interrupting him when he got to the noise impressions, waving your spatula toward the foursome who sat around the table waiting for their fresh breakfast.

“He must’ve ate something bad, said he was gonna shit himself in the middle of the club and had to run back here” Connor butted in, resting his head in his hands as the hangover started to hit, but also laughing at his dumb friend who nearly had a very embarrassing accident during the night out. 

“ENOUGH. We’re about to eat” Mila scoulded, hitting her boyfriend across the arm as the rest of you screwed your face up in disgust. Connor shrugged, pouting his bottom lip as his head collapsed against the table in exhaust.

“Bro... why the fuck didn’t you tell us you were home?” Shawn asked, holding in hands out as he waited for a reaction.

“You were... busy!” Brain snorted, “I ain’t gonna be the one to rain on your parade. You were putting in a good shift, bro.”

Any annoyance Shawn had, didn’t show as he thanked his best friend with a swift high five, also rather proud of his performance, even more so considering it was the fourth round. He didn’t need to disclose that, of course, unless he wanted to go home a single, divorced man.

“More action that I’ve had in a while,” Niall randomly shrugged, filling his mug with coffee as they began to bicker amongst themselves who had sex the most, as if you and Shawn weren’t there.

Coming back over to help with the dishes, Shawn whispered in your ear, “are you sure you wanna have a kid?” He laughed, nodding back to the roudy group sat around waiting for their fuel.

“Bit late now isn’t it?” You raised your eyebrow, shoving a platter of bacon and sausage in one of his hands, and a plate of toast in the other.

He gasped, a little louder than necessary, causing the rest of the group to come to a deathly silence as he let out his word vomit, that resulted in another loud discussion from the heard of friends, “you think we made a baby too?!”

[cynical-amphisbaenia]

yes hello amygda i've been lurking here for quite some time and it's lovely but honestly i don't feel like saying the usual wOw YoUr BlOg Is 100% GuD and i AdOrE iT stuff. i mean your blog actually is and i do but it almost feels obligatory when every single ClasspectMe ask does that. and le oops, i spilled it - it'd be nice to hear your ideas about my Mythological Role! i've been searching for the right one for some time now. i trust your knowledge, though.

anyway personality is the first thing i want to describe. and the hardest one as well. you see, a common thing in my life is that i can't remember anything. like literally i remember less than 1% of everything that happened to me, ever. it's easier to describe what i was feeling than what actually happened. it's a genetic thing iirc because my mom has that too, but that's beside the point. i'm quite a talkative person and i tend to do the thing i did like a sentence before a lot. i used to be described as "impulsive and agressive" but that isn't true anymore, i can contain myself. that's probably the thing that led to my emotions being kind of, uh, separate from my mind. by that i mean i actually know i felt something a little bit after the fact, i just, i dunno, ignore it so hard i don't even acknowledge the feeling. that led to me joking about "selling my soul to a demon" as an explanation and the joke is still running

i kind of roleplay an arrogant piece of shit? not as a Knight-type persona but like for fun and not actually annoying anyone too much, and basically everyone knows i do. no self-worth problems though

surprisingly i don't have any problems typical for people my age and my family isn't a bunch of assholes, which has both led me to living a life in "easy mode" and to me being spoiled enough not to give a shit about basically anything. it's not a depressed thing: there are little to none things that motivate me besides "i have to" and "i'll literally die if i won't", and even the ones that exist don't seem to have any relation to one another. i'd say i'm an ambivert, but that would imply that i get energy from both being alone and from being with people, and i don't get it at all. i'd also say i'm a pessimist, but honestly i'm just an optimist that tries really hard to be pessimistic and it really shows sometimes, like when i tell my friends some edgy sarcastic shit and then help someone for no reason or give a stranger a chocolate bar or something. i do that a lot for my actual friends though and i actually have no problem making friendos and opening up to anyone

i use mutedHypocrisy as my chumhandle-ish nickname because 1. i don't really judge anyone out loud? i have are a lot of bUdDiEs with DEBATABLE opinions but i just don't discuss it almost ever, keeping to myself. not really a reason for this. and 2. because of my extremely unique memory i usually dont havr or don't remember any opinions of my own except for some really important ones, which had led me to saying two opposite takes on the same thing to a single person, them going "what the fuck", and that happened more than a single time.

on to symbols. well, the tarot cards mark me as The Star and my fate as a fate of The Fool. which is shown by me being, well, talented enough and having a lot of freedom but not enough ambition to really use it, making me basically useless. also the star thing? its number is 17 and the one before is 16, which is the Tower, which is a fucking cataclysm, and the thing is me being a few hours away from being born under "the tower" is also reflected in the situation in which i was born. i won't elaborate though cuz thats personal shit.

i guess fate kind of likes playing with me? in a friendly way. like i'm always in the best circumstances possible BUT i get trolled by luck along the way. like that friend who pranks you a lot but is actually a nice person and is fun to be around, the world around me feels, as i already said, "easy mode". a lot of people have it worse. i feel bad because i've got everything one could ever want but zero motivation and ambition to do things. and it's not even a "willpower" problem, because that thing helps me do A LOT and is the only reason i'm still functional.

i seem to have an affinity for the things i hate, even though this sounds stupid as fuck. i may despise something completely but i'll be like the meme about a guy who says "disgusting" and keeps looking anyway.

i perceive things as a play, making myself a fourth-wall-breaker type of character. i don't think i take it too seriously but that's kinda fun. i think it started when i noticed that my life and the projects i participate in have some patterns that don't change at all. it's not a thing about some situations always being the same, it's some specific things -- the beginnings and endings of ppl's relationships in the friend group, their roles there and my relationships with the people on em, for example. that's some conspiracy theorist shit right there though.

i don't think i can describe my arcs? i don't remember them. like i mean i was literally babied throughout my whole life, even if not in a way i hate or in an overbearing/limiting way. i had some anger issues and despised rules, but that's a teenager thing mostly -- i respect them now for the most part.

if there's anything important i forgot please tell me!!! can't describe my own ass right if i don't remember 95% of my life. love your work anyway.

Well, as much as it's appreciated, it's definitely not obligatory! And I hope no one feels that it is. Now, there's a few possible options. The main things to consider are Rogue or Mage of Heart and Heir or Maid of Mind, though you may also want to consider Void or Breath as the aspects.

You lack Heart in various ways, though not completely. You still try to take on various opinions or roles. This could be due to being a Rogue of Heart. Rogues tend to lack their aspects, and the taking on of opinions/roles could be stealing Heart. You do seem to focus on things like emotions and relationships, and especially your lack of motivation. Mages can also lack their aspect, but this tends to cause them to suffer - you don’t appear to focus on suffering too much, so it’s not as likely as Rogue. However, if you feel that you attempt to experience Heart to learn about it rather than simply just taking it on, then you might want to consider it. 

Alternatively, you could be an Heir of Mind - this is less likely as you only seem to have focus on the roles and adaptability of Mind while you focus on many more parts of Heart. However, if you were so caught up in those things like an Heir could be, it might explain why you ignore those things and lack parts of Heart as well. A Maid is also likely to get caught up serving only particular parts of their aspect - again, this is less likely than Heir as you seem to change Mind rather than create it, but you might feel differently on this. 

To decide between the Heart or Mind would depend on how you define things like your roleplay - does it feel like an exploration and taking (or experiencing) of Heart or does it feel like a changing/creating of roles which would suit Mind?

You could also consider Void if it feels like the circumstances of your life causes you to live in confusion and if it feels like your lack of memory is the main focus rather than it causing you to miss parts of Heart. Reading what you gave me it doesn’t seem to be the case, but you could decide otherwise. In a similar way, Breath could be an option if you feel disconnected from things, especially as you do focus a bit on freedom. For both of these aspects you could consider Heir, Maid or Mage as an option, especially as with Breath you’re clearly not connected to parts of it like motivation.

Hopefully this helps! Sorry it’s a lot of options, so feel free to ask me anything to help you narrow it down. ^^

[theofficeimagines]

guilty pleasure

Pairing: Ryan Howard/fem reader

  Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, reader and ryan dont really like each other lmao, strong language, mentions of pee but this isnt a piss kink fic i promise

  Word count: 2344

  a/n: this happened in a dream and i dont know how to deal w it so i wrote it out and then i found your blog so im sending it to you anonymously ksdhfkdsjfgh ive never read or written the office fanfiction before i dont know why my brain did this

-

  Kelly was invited to a frat party by a friend and naturally begged Ryan to come with. He didn’t seem keen on it, bored as usual with any plans Kelly tried to make to draw him back into a committed relationship, until you walked in on Kelly tugging at Ryan’s arm in the kitchen and she shifted her attention to inquire you. Ryan eyed you silently throughout the exchange. You told her that sure, you’d be there, and smiled. Ryan turned and watched as you left and you heard him suddenly exclaim “Ow!” as Kelly punched him.

  “Why don’t you leave her alone, you know she doesn’t like you.” Kelly grumbled.

  “Yeah, whatever, Kelly, I’ll come to your stupid party.” He replied, clearly not hearing what she’d actually said.

  You knew Ryan had a thing for you. He stares without restraint and always makes suggestive comments whenever he catches you when Kelly isn’t trailing his heels. The first time he tried flirting with you was in the presence of Pam, whom you’d immediately hit it off with. You looked at her, eyebrows raised, when he left, and she rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t worry about him, he does this to every new girl in the office that hasn’t broken thirty yet.” She said, giving you a warm smile.

  Sure, he was kind of cute, but maybe if he wasn’t so god damn pretentious you’d at least try and properly befriend him. But tormenting him with his own lust while keeping him at an arm’s length away was more fun. You didn’t like the way he treated Kelly and you wished she’d wisen up and drop him, but she seemed too far gone in her idolization to be reasoned with. So you didn’t exactly feel bad flirting back and then leaving him high and dry whenever he got particularly irritating. Someone had to have some control over his sexual impulses.

  But you’d never been to a non-office party with him before and couldn’t wait to see what he’d do to try and get your attention.

  You didn’t expect much in the way of formality from a frat party, so you showed up simply in your favorite jeans and the first clean casual shirt you spotted. You were never a makeup person and didn’t intend on starting now.

  By the time you got there, you really had to pee. You cursed yourself for drinking so much highly caffeinated name-brand soda throughout the day and not bothering to use the bathroom before leaving the house.

  You weren’t surprised to walk in and immediately find Ryan chatting up some random girls about how he was the youngest VP in Dunder Mifflin history and now how he’s some pseudo deep artist because “it didn’t really suit me.” He pretended he didn’t notice you come in and cleared his throat, suddenly overtaken by “um, uh.” He quickly recovered and continued his yapping, scooting closer to one of the girls to brush her hair out of her face and over her ear.

  Unimpressed, you sauntered over and placed your hand on his shoulder. “The real reason he isn’t VP anymore is because he got fired and arrested for committing fraud.” You said to the girls with a smile, kissed his cheek, and walked away to find the bathroom.

  Ryan stared at you, mouth agape. You heard the girls laughing despite the loud music and one of them said, “Wait, you got arrested?” incredulously.

  You were maybe ten steps away when Ryan finally snapped back to reality and shouted, “Hey!”

  You ignored him, shouldering past some sweaty, already drunk frat boys to get further into the house, toward where you assumed a bathroom might be.

  He followed and hollered, “Hey, (Y/N), what the fuck!”

  You finally stopped and turned on your heel as you heard your name. He seemed surprised and paused, causing you to cross your arms and look at him expectantly.

  “Why’d you do that? I was totally gonna lay one of those girls tonight!” He said in that classic Ryan Howard exasperated whine.

  Raising your brows, you scoffed and sounded a sarcastic, “Uh-huh.” before beginning to turn away again.

  “Hey,” he started and you sighed and turned back, “- I know you’re too stuck up and too deep into the feminist movement to sleep with me, but at least you could let me get on with other girls!”

  You laughed. “Ryan, your shit doesn’t work on me. I know you only came because I did and you were only talking to those girls to make me jealous.”

  “Fine, whatever, I give up.” He responded by throwing up his hands.

  “Really? That easy? After all this time?”

  “Yeah, if you’re playing hard to get, you’re playing too hard to get because I’m tired of this.” He seemed genuine for the first time in his entire life and you felt a small pang of disappointment in your chest. You enjoyed messing with him, and who knows, maybe one day you’d finally give him what he wanted.

  “Alright, hun, good luck with that.” Your tone was sarcastic as you patted the side of his arm. He glared at you and you turned away to continue on your quest for a bathroom. Any bathroom.

  The house was much larger than it looked. Or at least it seemed that way with so many people swarming in it, moving freely from room to room, the only rooms with closed doors barely contained the moans of frisky college kids. You hadn’t dared open any of them, not wishing to see something you might regret. You were about to give up and leave when you found Kelly.

  “Hey Kelly, where’s the bathroom?” You grabbed her arm to get her attention.

  “Whaaaaaa? I can’t hear you man!” She slurred. She was drunk. “The music’s sooooo loud!” She doubled over giggling.

  “The bathroom. Where is it?” You said louder.

  “Oh it’s ummm…. It’s uhhh…. This is a frat house, man! Just go whenever you want!” Kelly danced as she gave you her unhelpful advice.

  You sighed heavily, your bladder not enjoying the movement from being jostled about by wasted party-goers. You continued your way through the house when you spotted Ryan again. He was chatting up the girl whose hair he’d been playing with earlier. Something inside you snapped, you actually became jealous despite yourself, and you marched over.

  Grabbing Ryan hard by the arm, you pulled him away roughly as he hollered at you what your problem was.

  “Take me to the bathroom.” You demanded.

  When he saw the look in your eye, realization dawned on his face and he said, “Look, (Y/N), if this is another one of your games -”

  Despite your better judgement, you grabbed his face and kissed him ferociously. “Take me to the bathroom.” You commanded once again.

  This time he simply nodded and lead you by the hand through the crowded building.

  Upon finding an empty restroom, you whispered to yourself, “Thank God,” and began to enter when you realized Ryan was following closely behind you. You quickly turned and pushed him out, saying, “Wait, I actually have to pee.” and shut the door in his face.

  Having finally drained your bladder and washed your hands, you swung open the door to find Ryan still standing directly outside it. You grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him into the room, slamming the door shut and locking it and placing another hard kiss on his lips. He kissed back, almost angrily; your teeth gnashing one another’s. You didn’t know what had gotten into you, you didn’t know why you wanted this so suddenly, but you wanted it now and you wanted it bad. And you could tell he did too.

  Pulling away for air, Ryan gasped, “So we’re really doing this, huh?”

  “Shut up.” You snapped, untucking his shirt because of course it was tucked in, and grabbing him by the back of the head to pull him in once again. He made you so fucking angry, he was so annoying and manipulative - maybe you just needed to get this frustration out of your system by taking it out with none other than Ryan’s own body. You tugged at his hair, nails digging lightly into his scalp, as his hands ran up your shirt, setting your skin on fire.

  His mouth moved to your jaw and he backed you up towards the counter. “Feisty, huh?” He mumbled against your skin, his breath making you shiver.

  “God, you are so annoying.” You gasped as he moved to kiss down your neck, biting hard at your flesh.

  “I wouldn’t have to be so annoying if you weren’t such a bitch.” He said into your ear.

  You growled, grabbing his face to kiss him again, this time biting down on his bottom lip and sucking on it, eliciting a groan from deep in his throat and he smacked and squeezed your ass. You felt wild, feral - you hated it when men called you a bitch. But when Ryan did it, it made you wanna fuck him harder.

  He grabbed your thighs and pulled away just enough to say, “Jump,” across your lips. You obliged and he helped you unto the counter; whatever was on it before you clattering to the floor and into the adjacent sink. He tugged your shirt over your head and you began to unbutton his. His mouth and teeth back on your neck and jaw, his hands roughly grabbing at the bare skin of your torso, you fumbled feverishly with his stupid button-up. You caved and tore open the shirt, the buttons popping surprisingly easily from their stitches.

  “Hey -” Ryan began to protest, but you quickly cut him off.

  “Don’t call me a bitch.”

  He shrugged off the shirt and you took the chance to get rid of your bra. Ryan hissed at the sight of your breasts and didn’t hesitate to grab them. Heat pooled in your belly and you ran your nails down his chest, his abs, his hips…. And you began to pull apart his belt. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your breasts as you impatiently tugged at his jeans.

  “Jesus, just fuck me already, Ryan!” You whined, and he finally got the hint to push down his jeans and pull off yours as you braced against the counter to lift your butt. He pulled down your painties along with your jeans and you shimmied your feet out of them, Ryan wasting no time to take off his boxers.

  He took his hardened length into his hand and began pumping it in his fist, grabbing your chin to kiss you roughly. You spread your legs, scooting toward the edge of the counter to encourage him to finally start fucking you. He rubbed the head of his dick up and down your slit, spreading your wetness.

  “You ready for this?” Ryan questioned.

  “Fuck me.” You answered simply.

  Ryan didn’t need anymore convincing. He grabbed your hips and thrust hard inside you and you let out a loud whimper. He didn’t bother allowing you to adjust to his size, instead setting a brutal pace that turned you on even more. You hooked your arms under his shoulders and dug your nails into his skin, pulling down his back and back up again and buried your face into his shoulder. He moaned, grabbing your throat and pushing you back, forcing you to watch as he fucked you senseless. He watched as your breasts bounced with his movement and used his other hand to rub your clit.

  You were a fucking mess, moaning and whining as he pulled you back forward and trapped your body against his so he could rut into you harder, his fingers hard on your clit.

  “Oh fuck!” You cried, nails digging back into his shoulders. The fact that you knew you shouldn’t be doing this, the way he was grabbing you and biting you and kissing you, the rough and painful way he handled you, the fact that you were in a stranger’s house, only turned you on even more. You ground your hips desperately against his and wrapped your legs around his waist and he moaned, his fingers bruising your sides.

  Ryan grabbed your face with one hand, forcing you to look at him, and he groaned, “You gonna cum for me, baby?”

  You whimpered. “I’m not your baby.” You responded indignantly.

  He grabbed your thigh with his other hand, pulled it further up his torso and hooked it over his elbow, spreading you wider and pounding you harder. You cried out, clenching around him, that heat in your belly feeling insatiable.

  His fingers came back down on your clit and you held onto his shoulders for dear life.

  “God, you feel so fucking good.” He moaned.

  The two of you were slick with sweat, the room filled with animalistic noises and the sound of your skin smacking together. The coil in your belly felt just about ready to snap, all you were capable of was repeating varients of, “Oh God, oh fuck, oh shit,” and releasing the most wanton moans and whines. You could feel Ryan was close too, his breathing ragged and his thrusts becoming more erratic.

  It wasn’t until Ryan buried his hand into your hair and pulled, hard, that your orgasm shook your body and you screamed. Warmth spread all throughout your body as you came, and you clutched and clawed at Ryan for support. You heard him grumble something like, “So fucking hot,” as he rode out your high.

  Soon enough, he buried himself deep inside you and came, biting into neck and sucking hard, sure to leave a nice bruise. He pulled back and grabbed your face to kiss you, softer this time.

  The two of you stayed pressed against each other for a few moments, trying to catch your breath, before Ryan pulled out of you and you released your iron-clad grip on him.

  “Did we just hatefuck?” Ryan asked.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” You breathed.

[florencefallons]

Life and Stuff

August 10, 2020. The the first day of the most insane month of my life. Of course it would happen in 2020. I hope you’ll forgive me for using this platform as a means to get the thoughts jumbled around in my head out into a more organized form. I rarely ever even use this platform anymore. When I do, it’s to reblog pictures of Carol Burnett or Barbara Stanwyck. The occasional Emma Thompson photo. Never to sit down and spill out everything on my mind into what, very likely, will become a novella on its own.

I’m not a prolific speaker. I trip over my words. I say “um,” and “uh” a lot. My brain is moving at twice the speed of my mouth and my poor mouth can’t keep up. Therefore when I have things on my mind, like I do today, I can’t just talk about them. A) Who would I talk about it to? and B) Even if I had a place to talk about these thoughts, it would come out all jumbled up and I’d end up sounding totally ridiculous and having said nothing I wanted to actually say.

When it comes to expression, writing is where I’ve always excelled. Excelled is a strong word, but when you compare it to other forms of self expression, it’s the only form I am able to use proficiently. I don’t have a vlog or a youtube channel. I don’t have a blog that reaches people. I have no voice. No influence in this world. But I have this platform and it allows for posts like this, and for once, I’m going to use it.

As I said, August 10, 2020 was the first day of the most insane month of my life. More has happened to me in this one month span than has happened to me at any other time in my life...and you’re hearing from a person who was injured on the job and has had a fractured spine and 13 surgeries. I’ve been through some stuff. Nothing with the intensity and frequency this month has thrown it at me though. This month has resulted in seven major events that have deeply impacted my life in some way. Nobody is being forced to read this. In fact I expect most will see its length and scroll past it faster than a fundraising ad for Donald Trump. I do hope SOME of you will take the time to read it though. I’m mainly writing it for posterity. To have a place where this month is recorded, so I can come back someday and remember it. So, with that being said, here are the things that have happened (or are soon to happen) in this 1 month span. Listed in chronological order.

1) August 10, 2020. I was in my 2nd week of work at the new clinic our hospital opened. Working for the largest hospital and clinic system in the state, sometimes our clinics outgrow our ability to contain them. My job was in the neurology clinic. I worked as the nurse who took care of all the multiple sclerosis doctors and nurse practitioners, while answering all the patient questions, emails, and voicemails. We’re looking at about 2,500 patients on the generous side of the estimate. Needless to say, I was busy. It was said many times by coworkers, by the doctors I worked with, and--admittedly--by me, that the job was a two-person job. It was too much for one person to handle. I was drowning fast in a mountain of paperwork that needed to be filled out, messages that needed to be answered, phone calls that needed to be returned. I’d accomplish finishing, say 25% of the work, and 50% more work would come in. I was at the end of my rope. 

--Let me interject here by saying that, over the course of the 16 months I worked this job, I had to start seeing a psychiatrist, I had to start psychological therapy with a licensed therapist, and I was started on no less than 5 new psychiatric medications. Once the correct balance was found, I was reduced down to only 2, but regardless, I think this fact alone proves the point that the stress of the job was getting to me.--

I finally looked at the mountain of work in front of me and I broke. I set up a meeting with my boss, the director of nursing for all of the neuroscience service line (that covers 6 clinics). We met, and I told her “You told me to be open and honest, and to come to you whenever I have an issue.” She agreed. I went on to tell her that I was losing my mind. The workload was entirely too much to hold over one person and needed help. Desperately. I was constantly being interrupted by people needing help with this or that, which was fine. I don’t mind helping anyone, I love it...but it took away from the time I had to do my already overwhelming job. I may have cried some, I don’t remember. 

Her solution was probably the worst idea ever put forth, but I was so devastated and down and overwhelmed, I didn’t really even hear anything she said after I spoke my piece. Her suggestion was that, if our clinic was too hectic for me, I needed to transfer to the new clinic. It was an epilepsy clinic but we had 2 multiple sclerosis providers there too, so I could go there and be the MS nurse there. At that moment, that sounded like a great idea. Fewer people=less stress. Yeah, no. Once she sent me over there, she decided with me being there, they had no need to keep our patient care tech there. So she took her away and made her work at the main campus, where they have tons of patient care techs. That left me and another nurse who, due to a bad knee, did very little that tinvolved getting up off his ass and helping out with goings on in the clinic. He much preferred to sit in his fancy chair and delegate duties to me from there. I was younger, I was newer, and he was--in his mind--the charge nurse.

So, thus began the saga of my doing at the new clinic, the job that THREE DIFFERENT PEOPLE did at the main clinic. I was forced to triage (get into a patient room and go over everything to make sure it was up to date) every patient, draw labs on every patient, all while trying to do the job I was ACTUALLY hired for, which was answering phone calls and returning messages. Which was a full time job on its own. Needless to say, my “new’ duties took all that time away and all my stuff went unanswered. I kept getting harassed by patients and managers that stuff had been sitting waiting too long to be done. 

Mr. Charge nurse, from his chair he never left, didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. “It’s not that bad here” he’d say. Sure, if you never have to get up and do anything, but for me, it’s very hard. I have to do all the job of a PCT (getting paid nurses’ wages by the way) along with a job just as busy as the one you’re having to do. I’m expected to do as much if not more in the computer as you do, yet I never have time to touch it because I’m always triaging patients (half of which are YOURS) and drawing all the labs. Well of course he disagreed and said he helped and I was overreacting. By that he means he maybe got up once or twice a day because someone needed attention and I was still busy in another patient’s room.  My boss would berate me, asking why my inbox was sitting there so full and nothing was being done. 

“WHEN DO YOU WANT ME TO DO THESE THINGS *Insert her name here*??? I spend my entire day, I mean my ENTIRE day, doing the job of a PCT and you’re paying me to do the job of an RN. “Well, *insert his name* says he helps you.” That’s a damn lie and he knows it. He thinks that he’s the charge nurse, he’s older, and he has a bum knee (mind you I have my entire lower half of my spine fused so don’t give me that “I have hardware in my knee” bullshit. I’m full of titanium too. Fight me.) Well, help was refused, the other nurse was just told to try and help more and that he was not the charge nurse, that our clinic didn’t HAVE a charge nurse since there were only 2 of us. Well, he got so butthurt over that, he interviewed for a new job in the same building as our main clinic. He was offered the job. He was getting ready to give his notice and I was literally at the end of my sanity. So I turned in my notice to my manager on August 10, 2020. I told her I couldn’t keep doing the job of 3 people by myself and it was too much I was through. My doctors begged me to stay. She asked if I was sure that’s what I wanted. I said it wasn’t what I WANTED, but I can’t keep working like this. So I really don’t have a choice. “Well we don’t have the staff or money allocated to give you a tech if you’re over here.” So I shrugged, said I was giving her 4 weeks notice and I’d have to leave.

This was a Monday. On Wednesday, she came back and not only gave our tech back, she gave (*insert his name here*) everything he wanted, because she’d caught wind he was getting ready to leave too and she’d have no nurses at the clinic. I told her I’d retract my resignation if she would let us keep our patient care tech, because with her, I have time to actually do my job. She all but said “OK” and to give her a definite answer on Monday. So I did. Monday I told her I’d stay since we had adequate help. Well apparently she discussed thsi with her boss and came back at me with “Sorry, but all we can accommodate is an as needed position or you can extend your leave date and stay on full time until your replacement is hired and you can train them to make the transition easier.”

Are you freaking serious, bruh? “As needed” meaning “free reign to fire you with no consequences when we don’t want you anymore, plus all my benefits would be taken away.” Or, I could “stay and help train my replacement.” Are you out of your mind? Then what? Fuck off into the sunset, your job here is finished? I think I’ll take a hard pass on both those options. My last day will be September 4.

So, while going through all this I was being tested and was diagnosed with not one, but two life-altering disorders.

2) First, I was diagnosed with severe attention deficit disorder. I was told I’d actually had it my whole life based on testing and had never been evaluated or treated. This would have been the 1990s when this started, and I found out my parents were approached about the possibility I had ADD. I made excellent grades, but had major problems with impulse control and talking too much and paying attention. My parents dismissed this suggestion. They did not--and to this day still did not--believe ADD was a real diagnosis. They said ti was nothing more than kids who needed their asses beat and they’d learn to behave. I could not possibly be one of those hyperactive kids who suck in school and just all-around do poorly. I did too well in school. I was told to pay attention more and stop goofing off. I was threatened with spankings if I messed up. So I worked really hard to stop my impulses from taking over. And I did, some, but not always. I got punished quite a bit for things I did in school. Not on purpose, but it’s how I was. And now, as an adult, I was still struggling with impusle control and with paying attention. I still struggled in prioritizing tasks and organizing things. I could never figure out why my brain wouldn’t let me do those things. My PCP said I had ADD--he KNEW it--but I had to be diagnosed by a licensed psychotherapist. So I went and was diagnosed. And it changed my world. It was a lot to process, knowing what I went through as a kid and knowing the punishment I went through for something that was not my fault. I wasn’t abused, I wasn’t mistreated. If I’d been treated for ADD as a child though, I might not have just done well in school, I might have kicked ass. I might have been valedictorian rather than 6th in class to graduate. That was hard to swallow. Yet a relief at the same time.

3) Went to the sleep clinic and got a take-home sleep apnea study kit. It came back positive for sleep apnea. My oxygen was dropping to 70% at night, which is basically hypoxic, and the reason I’m probably so sleepy all the damn time. As soon as I get home from work and get settled, I fall asleep for at least an hour, maybe 2. I haven’t always done that. I used to have trouble sleeping to the point I needed Lunesta for help (although the taste was so bad I rarely took it).Sure enough, I need CPAP when I sleep to help keep my oxygen over 92%. They told me I’d feel better almost instantly. So I’m hoping to go see them next week about getting my machine. 

4) My friend’s little 4-year-old niece died. She was a special, miracle child who touched so many lives it’s insane. She was a beautiful soul. I never met her but her death affected me profoundly because her aunt posted so many photos and videos online. I felt like I lost one of my godchildren or something. It hurt. I can’t imagine what they are going through.

5) My uncle Jerry died. The day after the little girl I just mentioned. I can’t even attend HIS funeral due to COVID and the risk of contamination. My mom is  on a chemo drug for an autoimmune disease that destroys her immune system. So we’re trapped away from everyone (if I want to see my mom that is). 

6) My last day of my job was today, September 4, 2020. It finally came, my time there is done. 16 months of hard work down the toilet. Because of poor management, shitty leadership, lack of care or respect for employees, etc. I offered to stay, but my offer was rejected as it was given. It just served to remind me I made the right decision, even if it was a bit rash. Several others have quit or gotten fired so staffing will be interesting. My old “charge nurse” is about to learn what getting off your broad butt and helping is all about now. They aren’t sending him ANY nurses to help him next week. I’ll be honest, I hope the whole thing blows up in (insert name here)’s (my director’s) face. she is trying to run the neuro clinic like she runs her other clinic--which is TOTALLY DIFFERENT. I thought she’d be good for the clinic, turns out she wants to get rikd of EVREYONE who has FMLA-Anyone who has permission to be off work without fear of repercussions. She wants a bunch of “as needed” staff so she doesn’t have to hire full time people, she doesn’t have to pay anyone benefits, and she can get rid of them whenever she likes “your as needed position is no longer needed,” without going through all the bullcrap red tape the state puts you through to fire anyone. Anyway, bottom line, today was my last day at a job that--the job itself--I loved. The patients I loved, the doctors and nurses I loved, and my coworkers I loved. I have never left a job I loved. It was 100% management. My main doctor, the medical director of the service line, did not want me to leave and keeps asking me to say. I had to explain to him I tried, but they refused. Broke my heart. He’d take me back in a minute though, if the situation at the clinic ever changes. I hope it does. He was the most brilliant, kind, generous, respectful, patient, and dedicated man I’ve ever met. He taught me a lot. I’ll take a lot of what I learned from him with me wherever I go.

7) The final thing has not happened just yet, but it will be very soon and I’m already dealing with it. So September 7 is the 1 year anniversary of the death of my best friend. I still miss her like it was yesterday. Time has, as they say, healed some of the wound, but not all. Every now and then I get slammed with the realization she’s gone. I’ll never see her again. Talk to her. Hug her. Laugh with her. Ever. Again. And I cry and suffer with it all over again. That is happening less frequently, but it has picked up again now that 1 year is approaching. I can’t believe it. My best friend has been dead for 1 year. The 1 year anniversary of the last time we spoke was August 20. It hurts so much. But slowly, over this year, I’ve started dreading getting up in the morning a little less, I can breathe again, a little. I can laugh again without feeling guilty about it. I’ve finally hit all the 1 year milestones with her death (well, as of 9/7). I’m going to her grave this weekend to place some special things I purchased in honor of her 1 year anniversary since her passing. Damn I miss her so much.

So, this month--this whole year technically--has been a lot to process. A lot to find out, a lot to digest, and a lot to grieve through. I keep thinking “it can’t possibly get any worse, maybe things will get better now” and it always does. That trend for 2020 doesn’t bode well with the election coming up. That makes me so nervous I feel sick. But I refuse to get political here. If you’ve stayed with it this far, you have tremendous stamina and I salute you. It’s taken me hours and several breaks to write thanks to my ADD and just being sleepy and falling asleep in the middle of typing. But that’s it, my month inside the year straight out of hell. 

[team-iron-wannabe-man]

Promises

Title: Promises

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2609

Summary: Bucky gets injured during a mission, and Y/N isn’t very happy about it, in fact, she’s the exact opposite of happy. 

Warning: Mission Angst, Some Fluff, Smut (so if you are under the age of 18, refrain from reading this. And if you are following this blog, please unfollow immediately! This is an 18+ONLY blog. Thank you).

A/N: This is my first Bucky smut so please be kind. Also, I would love some feedback. And I would greatly appreciate a reblog, and wouldn’t mind at all if you would share this with a fellow Bucky lover :) Thank you and happy reading! xx

Disclaimer: Photo from marvelcinematicuniverse.fandom.com

Bucky hadn’t stuck to the plan. He hadn’t stuck to the plan and was seriously injured. Unknown to the severity of his injuries, you pace inside the Quinjet anxiously, awaiting his and Steve’s arrival. You were terrified, pissed off out of your mind, and everyone in the room with you could sense it.

“I swear to God, if Bucky comes back here alive, I’m going to kill him myself,” you grit out, Nat and Sam shifting slightly on their feet, feeling a little uncomfortable, however Nat was more curious to see how everything was going to play out.

Nat and Sam knew the things you were capable of. They knew that when you say you would do something, that the threat was almost never an empty one – and as much as you were in love with the Winter Soldier, even he wasn’t safe from your wrath – and with Bucky being Bucky, he would let you do as you pleased if he knew he was every bit deserving of it.

Suddenly, grunts and heavy foot falls echoes through the aircraft, and you immediately seize your treading, putting Nat and Sam on edge, and ultimately, on alert. If you were going to make good on your declaration, Nat and Sam had to prepare themselves to cut in at any moment.

Steve came into view, supporting a battered Bucky in his arms. Bucky had his flesh arm over Steve’s shoulders while Steve held Bucky in place, his other arm around your boyfriend’s waist, all the while struggling to keep a grasp on Bucky’s – detached – metal arm.

A gasp escapes your lips at the sight, and Nat and Sam flinches, knowing things were about to get ugly. It was common knowledge that Bucky was suffering injuries, but no one knew the extent of it. No one, especially you, did not expect his metal arm to be completely severed from his body!

Bucky was going to get it.

“Aw, shit,” Sam hisses, only loud enough for Nat to hear.

“Be ready,” she replies vigilantly, Sam nodding in confirmation.

Steve grunts, stumbling a little as he tosses Bucky’s disconnected arm in front of them, needing the extra leverage to hold on to his best friend. Your eyes stalks the metal arm as it scrapes against the floor, the appendage stopping right before your feet.

Yup. He was going to get it.

Steve halts with caution as he notices the way your eyes glazes over on him before eventually fixating on Bucky. He could see the fire raging in your currently dark orbs, and he could sense the danger that was soon to follow.

“S-Steve,” Bucky stutteres with wide eyes. Bucky had noticed the livid expression on your face, and the tension in your body language. “G-get me o-outta here!” The Winter Soldier stumbles back, fighting through the pain. “Run!” Bucky sputteres in pain, but before Steve could do anything, you were already grabbing Bucky’s metal arm from the ground and heading their way. Sam took a step to intervene, but Nat put her arm out to stop him, earning a questioning glare.

“I just want to see what happens,” she whispers, a spark of interest glittering in her eyes.

“Woman, are you crazy!” Sam hushes back, but receives no response.

“You piece of shit,” you growl, “I told you to wait!” Sam shot his attention back to you, as all three men wince at the harshness in your voice, despite Nat, who is thoroughly entertained.

“D-Doll…” before he could say anything else, you slap him in his chest with his own arm, causing Bucky and Steve to fall back on their asses, hard metal floors colliding with their sore bodies.

If the situation wasn’t so serious and your intentions weren’t murder, Nat would have let you do some real damage, but the Winter Soldier was too much of an asset to the team to lose, so she finally nudges Sam, giving him the OK to stop the madness.

“Whoa!” Sam yelps in a heartbeat, not hesitating to rush over and grab Bucky’s metal arm away from you. When he finally manages to dislodge the limb from your iron grip, you scowl at him before whipping your attention back over to Bucky, leaping onto him and wasting no time to assault him, landing jabs on his chest, stomach, and twice square on his jaw.

“Alright, Y/N, that’s enough! Stop it!” Nat shouts, trying to pry you off, but to no avail.

Steve succeeds in freeing himself from under Bucky, as you straddle your boyfriend’s waist, continuing your onslaught while Bucky attempts to protect himself with one arm. “Y/N! Doll, stop! Please. I know, I’m sorry! I should have listened,” he grunts in pain.

“No! If you want to die, then let’s make it happen!” You choke, tears now streaming down your face. “I told you to wait! I told you not to stray from the plan! I told you to trust me!” You were fuming with fear that you couldn’t contain yourself. You continue to hit him, until you feel your body ripping away from him, strong arms wrapping around your torso. Nat was quick to Bucky’s side, checking to make sure he was okay.

“Y/N, calm down!” Steve orders, holding you tight around the waist, trying to restrain you.

“No! That asshole almost got himself killed! If he wants to die, then I’ll do it for him!” You cry. “Do you know how scared I was? I thought I was going to lose you!” You sob, body going limp as you began to break down. “I thought I lost you,” you gripe.

Steve sighs and turns you in his arms, holding you as you weep into his chest. Steve’s eyes meet Bucky’s, who looks guilty more than anything.

“It’s true,” Nat starts, “she was really worried.”

Bucky hangs his head, running his only hand down his face. He feels terrible. It was never his intention to make you feel that way, but then again, he should have known. He is an idiot. You have every right to be angry at him, and he deserves to get the living crap beaten out of him. He deserves all of it.

With Nat’s aid and shoulder to lean on, Bucky stands up and hobbles over to where you are, still in Steve’s arms. He gives Nat a nod, communicating to her that he could stand on his own, and she slowly removes herself from under his arm. “Sweetheart…” Bucky holds out his hand, his fingers running through your messy hair, and instantly you’re in his arm, nearly knocking him over again. You cling to him like he was a ghost ready to disappear at any moment. Bucky sighs, feeling you trembling. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs in your hair. “I’m sorry, I was an idiot.”

“I’ll say,” Sam agrees in the distance, taking his usual seat and buckling himself in. “Now let’s get back to the compound. We need to get your Humpty Dumpty tin-ass fixed up, then you and your woman can have your little near death reunion.”

Steve sends Sam a pointed look, but the Falcon merely shrugs. He’s tired and just wants to get back home. Nat agrees, taking the copilot seat, and starting up the engines. “You two buckle up,” Steve commands you and Bucky before taking the pilot seat.

Arriving at the compound, Bucky is instantly rushed to the medical room, where he spends hours with one of Stark’s doctors, while the man himself and Bruce works on Bucky’s Vibranium arm, with the help of Shuri, via hologram video.

It was late by the time Bucky is finally put back together. Exhausted, he trudges back to his and your shared room. He opens the door as quietly as possible, wary of the possibility that you were waiting up for him still pissed, but instead he finds you sound asleep on the bed, curled into a ball.

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath. He was a real dumbass. During the mission, he acted on impulse, not thinking of the consequences or about how it would effect you. He deserved more blows than what you had given him. Steve shouldn’t have interfered.

As Bucky made his way over to his side of the bed, slithering under the sheets and laying on his side so that he’s facing you, it was impossible for him to not to notice your swollen eyes, the dried trails of tears that stained your cheeks, and the exhaustion embedded in your slumbering expression. He brushes his hands over your cheek as he whispers an apology. “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

Your eyes flutter open, and blurry blotches quickly turn into Bucky’s face. “Bucky,” you call, voice soft and broken.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he assures.

In a blink of an eye, your lips were on his; hard, needy, and desperate. Bucky moans against your lips, as you reposition yourself on top of him, straddling him with knees bent on each side of his hips. His hands easily find their way to your waist, stroking up and down before his hands slips under the thin fabric of your shirt, or rather, his shirt.

His touch sent waves of relief over your body. He is there, he is real, he is touching you. The warmth of his hand, the coolness of his other, the heat of his chest against yours, and the bulge pressing on your ass. “Bucky,” you mumble, kissing his lips again, this time with a lot more tongue, needing to taste him.

“I’m here. I’m okay. Everything is okay,” he breathes, his hands sliding to your ass, grabbing them to guide you over his now hard member. You moan as he grinds your covered heat over his boner. He needs you, and you need him. The need for one another is enough validation to let both of you know that this wasn’t a dream and that you were both present alive and in the flesh. It was crucial for you to know that he is not a figment of your imagination, and it was vital for Bucky to know that everything isn’t all in his head, that he wasn’t lying in a medical bed going through surgery or worse… dead.

You and Bucky share languid and needy kisses, tongues massaging over each other’s, all the while stripping and tossing articles of clothing in every direction of the room. Even with bodies still sore from the mission, it is easy to ignore the pain when your bodies are tangling together.

“Please, I need you,” you plead, still straddling him.

Bucky looks up at you, and it’s the look in your eyes… the fear in them made his heart clench and he knows then that he needs to make you understand that everything is okay. That he’s safe and he’s there with you. That this is real.

“Doll, I got you,” he promises, rolling you over so he was on top.

Without wasting any more time, he presses the tip of his generous length into your hole, pushing in little by little until he finally sinks deep inside, your walls surrounding him completely. The sounds eliciting from your lips hit him hard. What if his impulsiveness took him away from you and he could no longer hear your voice? He could no longer feel you? He could no longer see you? Just the thought rattles his bones.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he grunts, burying his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. “I should have stuck to the plan. I can’t imagine not being with you. I was stupid. Baby Doll, I’m so sorry.”

Tears streams down the side of your eyes and soaks into your hairline. You couldn’t imagine a life without him either, and every mission, no matter how simple it was, had you on edge. Just the thought of the mere possibility that something can go wrong was enough to get you paranoid. Ever since you and Bucky got together, there was never a scenario left unturned that you didn’t prepare yourself for, until today. You didn’t expect Bucky to go in guns blazing and it terrified you.

“You’re here. You’re safe. That’s all I want. That’s all I need. You’re it for me. Without you, I don’t know what I’d do,” you confess. Almost a year together and neither of you had ever mentioned the possibility of love, but it shows in the actions of your daily routines, whether it was the lingering smile across the conference room, the way he’d lace his fingers with yours, or how you’d pepper him with kisses in the morning… it was the little things that let you and Bucky know that what you two have is deep, real, serious, and everlasting. It’s not just sex, although the sex is mind-blowing.

“You’re it for me too. It’s always been and always will be you. Just you.” Pulling him into another deep kiss, you lift your hip up to meet his, chasing your now impending release. Bucky brakes the kiss with a grunt and a gasp as he feels your walls tightening around him. “Fuck,” he hisses, driving into you harder.

“I’m so close, please. I need it. I need you.”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate, piercing blue eyes intensely meeting yours, not once breaking. He wants – no needs – to watch you fall apart all over him. He needs to see the effects that only he has on you.

Hitting that perfect spot time and time again, your eyes roll to the back of your head, back arching off the ground, and your entire body trembling as your pussy throbs around his shaft, still drilling into you. Bucky groans loudly, unable to withstand you constricting him, and out of no where, his own release hits him like a train, his seed coating your walls with string after string of his spending.

His body goes limp over yours, his cock still nestled inside you, while you are wrapping your arms around his neck and legs around his hip, needing his weight crushing you, needing the closeness. “Bucky, I love you.”

Despite his utter elation over your admission, he can’t help feeling a little disappointed in himself for not saying it first. He was about to say it, but you beat him to it. He always imagined himself confessing first. In Bucky’s own mind, he believes that he loves you more fiercely than you did him. He fell for you the moment he met you. That first time meeting, during one of Stark’s fancy shindigs, you had walked over to him and asked bluntly, “so… you a Cyborg or something? Do Cyborgs even dance?” He was all yours after that, even before he even realized it.

“I love you most,” he replies, kissing your neck.

“Good,” you smile back, raking your fingers through his hair. “Just know…”

“Hmm?” Bucky prompts.

“Pull some shit like that again, and I’ll kill you with my bare hands. Do you understand?” You warn, clenching your hand in his hair and tugging just hard enough for it to be pleasurable.

He moans at your sudden dominance and chuckles. “Fuck, you really know what you’re doing to me, Doll,” he mutters, making you smile.

“Answer me,” you demand, smirking at the effects you have on him.

“I understand. I understand you loud and clear.” Pulling away, Bucky sits on his hunches and you feel how hard he is again, his cock still lodged inside of you. “Let me show you how much I understand,” and with that, the rest of the night is spent in the room, making all sorts of promises.

--

A/N: What did you think for my first Bucky smut? I hope I did alright. I would appreciate some feedback! Reblog or send it through my ASKs! Also, share with your friends! As the saying goes, “Sharing is caring!” (for the most part)

Tagging my only Bucky friend: @pinknerdpanda ( I LOVE YOU! )

[baddieromanova]

so you falice shippers still ship that mess who fucked once, even after alice willingly took him back after what he said to her and won't even talk to his new son? and are happy about it? lol sucks to be tasteless

This message has been sitting in my inbox for roughly 2 days and I’ve been going back and forth on whether to dignify it with a response or not. While I tend to ignore and delete hateful messages such as this and not give the coward behind them any form of the attention they crave, after careful consideration, I decided to abandon that belief because answering this question gives me a great opportunity to tell you about yourself and how wrong you are, sit back and get comfortable.

First of all, I’ll never understand how people who have 99% of a fandom blocked and filtered tags pertaining to what that fandom makes posts about and produces content for, still manage to make posts about what said fandom is doing, saying etc. Why do y’all make so much assumptions about a group of people you’ve sworn off all contact and interaction with for well over a year? How would you know what goes on in the Falice section of the fandom? So my main question here is, what’s the point of even using the block button against us if you’re still going to come to our blogs and goes through the tags to seek out what we’re up to? If these blocks weren’t in effect we could all have mature discussions instead of resorting to this, so I have to wonder, is it because the block button on your end prevents us from shutting down your bullshit so you can happily enjoy your idealistic totally pulled out of your ass version of Riverdale and it’s ships/characters? Hmm

Second of all, I can assure you no Falice fan is happy or even satisfied about their sudden reunion with no reconciliation or acknowledgement over what happened in 3x15, which we knew was bound to happen, hence why a lot of fics were produced back in the SUMMER containing the content we knew we were not going to get. Would we have loved to actually see FP apologise? Alice to punch him in the face? His reaction to Charles? A touching moment between all three after being reunited for the first time in 25 years? FP to practically grovel to Alice till he was on the brink of tears? Alice acting cold towards him? Heck yeah, we all at least wanted her to spit at him, I don’t know anyone who didn’t want her to act physically towards him, he deserved it, which is why we took our dreams to Wattpad and AO3. Personally I wanted a resentful anadonned child plot to play out where Charles initially hates Alice and we see that play out while they try to build a relationship. We have ranted, we have rambled, we have argued and we have moved on. We don’t watch this show with rose colored glasses and an idealistic perspective. We know it’s a joke and the writers are incapable of decent and realistic execution of development for friendships, relationships, break ups and reconciliations and use time jumps to avoid doing so, we’ve accepted that. We’ve made our peace with that, which is why we can still watch and find some enjoyment while you and others literally complain every single day over the most minor instances.

Thirdly, I admire your attempt to use the writers incompetence when it comes to writing relationships to push your “Falice is a mess who fucked once” arguement and even throwing in the 4x04 time jump matched with FP and Alice suddenly being together and little mention of Charles to put emphasis onto it. You’re trying to twist it into a Falice problem when it’s actually a Riverdale problem sweetheart, their problem with accurate story development and execution and just being lazy with any character and ship outside of Archie, Betty, Veronica and Jughead. If we want to go by that logic then I suppose by default Tom is a bad parent for being conveniently absent during his sons participation in a farm cult and not noticing his missing kidney despite being a cop thus immediately being able to pick up on that. I guess Sweet pea is a shit friend for “not saving” his bff from said cult and I guess Polly’s a bad mother for putting the same twins she was willing to run away from her family from to keep safe, up for adoption, and not even acknowledging their presence now or even having a say in who has custody of them. Of course none of these things are actually true, they’ve just unfortunately happened because of either plot convenience for the core four characters or just complete lack of care from the writers. Just the fact that they still seem to be in their newborn phase despite being nearly three years old according to the shows timeline says it all. They don’t care. As for “mess of a ship who only fucked once”, as much as you people love to clutch onto season one canon or what was established back then for dear life and disclaim 3x04, you sure do love to ignore certain parts of that season and keep 3x04 in your mouths when it comes to Falice. Seasons one and two always implied much more happened between Falice as teens than what 3x04 presented. You don’t go from telling someone you’d still sleep with them if they weren’t so stuck up, impulsively telling them to leave their spouse, doing a parole violating act to protect them, writing an apology letter despite being unable to strong two sentences together, talking about your kids making said mistakes you and your ex did and then snapping back with they weren’t all mistakes and having your heart broken upon seeing the woman you love return to her husband to “Yeah we just fucked once”. Falice were more than a one time thump, and that’s the canon I’m choosing to stick with, the same way you choose to believe Hal fathered Charles despite there NEVER being any implication through dialogue, backstory or characters that he was and there being a higher chance of the father being Tom or Fred before FP being a viable candidate. I’m not going to suspend belief of that just because the writers were more concerned with the sensationalism and “fun” aspect of the teen actors playing their parents, and essentially just doing dress up because none of their portrayals of their parents were accurate or even done to a high standard, Lili’s acting was decent but her acting is decent in general, Cole’s mannerisms were superb and KJ looked like Luke’s twin but outside of that, I didn’t see any of them as young versions of the parents and I promise nobody else did, and doing a storyline revolving around a bootleg Dungeons and Dragons game and making it borderline supernatural rather than just giving us a simple episode about the parents as teens based on the stories that have told on the show already.

You’re most likely a Halice or crackship that will never happen stan, you’ve got bigger priorities than FP and Alice and their relationship love which I’m sure has no impact on you or your faves whatsoever , maybe if you spent the time you did crying over Falice actually minding your business and shipping your ship you wouldn’t be so bitter.

[positivlyfocused]

How I Get What I Want Easily

The best happiness is conjured. It's how I get things easily. Getting what I want should be easy. That's the way life can be for everyone. For me it is.

It hasn’t always been easy.  I had to learn how reality happens before getting what I want came easily. I appreciate what I learned. So I'm sharing it.

In the old days I didn’t know all this. By "old days" I mean a few years ago. 😀

Back then, I got a lot of what I wanted and some of what I didn't. I got that the same way you likely do. Random!

I became pretty successful, but it was hard work, struggle, sacrifice.

Instead of talking about the old days, I want to talk about today's days. But I guess I can't without referring a little bit to the old days for context. 🤷🏽‍♂️

How Do Things Happen?

First, let me clarify something: Getting what I want means creating reality.

Many people scoff when "new agers" talk about "creating reality" and "manifesting". Here's the thing about that.

A lot of what I want is “real”. Physical events, physical things and, yes, some intangible things too. Like peace of mind. And understanding how life works.

But everything I want, including intangible stuff, must happen in the physical world. I call that “reality”. You probably call it that too.

So getting what I want means experiencing realities different from what I have. New realities that include in them what I want. Somehow, those realities must come about.

How do they come? Aren't they being created? If so, who or what creates them?

I explored these questions some time ago. I'm glad I got super-clear answers.

So when I talk about getting what I want, I'm talking about creating new realities. Realities that weren't realities before. I'm at the center of "how". And I'm getting better proving to myself how that "how" works.

Fig. 1 below shows how I used to create reality. I call it "The Haphazard Way". Here's how that process worked for me. Maybe it works for you this way.

^^Illustration by the author

Reality Needs A Perceiver And It Shapes That Which Perceives

Reality doesn’t exist if there is no perceiver. So reality needs a perceiver for it to “be”. Any consciousness capable of perception will do. In Fig. 1, I'm using me as the perceiver. But it could as well be a dog, bird, cockroach or single-celled organism.

In The Haphazard Way, as perceiver, I look at the world (Step 1 in Fig. 1) and see what's happening. From that, I choose what I want.

For example, when I was young, I realized having money was a good thing. In high school, I looked at professions where my talents (love of writing, art, etc) would pay most. Then I planned my life to match that trajectory.

So far so good.

But while spending so much time looking at the world, I also couldn't help see how other people got what I wanted. Sounds normal, right? You set a goal, then look at others' success as a model for yours.

The problem is, I’m not here to copy what others did. I thought I was. And I succeeded at that for a while. It wasn't fulfilling though.

^^Illustration by the author

I’m a creator. I’m here to do it my way. A fresh way. You are a creator too. You're not here to copy others.

Besides, the majority of humans (like 99.999 percent) create what they want haphazardly (Fig. 1). That works. But it's not easy. That’s why so many people describe getting what they want as “working your ass off," "sacrificing", "paying your dues", etc. Then they feel proud about that.

Why would I want to copy that? If they knew what I now know, I don't think they'd feel proud.

But it's what they know. So I don't blame them. Instead I say "more power to you!" Because they're going to need it.

In their reality (FIg. 1), working your ass off (or who you know, or having money, or paying your dues or whatever) is necessary. It's necessary because they’ve looked at how others have done it. And they are copying that.

I was doing the same. Here's why I don't do that now.

Living Other People's Experience By Default

When I copied another’s way, I also accepted their beliefs about reality. Everybody's doing that. Which is why we have the world we have, where pretty much everyone thinks the same way about reality. I thought that way too.

Back to Fig. 1: Looking at the world (Step 1) formed beliefs within me consistent with what I was looking at (Step 2). Including other people's beliefs. If I believed as everyone else, my actions would match everyone else (Step 3). Not my original, pure inspirations.

^^Illustration by the author

Beliefs dictate actions in The Haphazard Way

My actions reflected what I believed. Next I'd look at results my actions created (Step 4) to check (Step 5) if they matched my expectations. “Expectations” is another word for "beliefs about the future". Based on beliefs I got from others, I formed beliefs about the future containing what my acts should produce.

Make sense so far?

Here's the problem. My adopted beliefs included ways to get what I want. But they also included negative beliefs about the world. About me too.

A major negative belief about the world, which I adopted from others was "there's only so much to go around". Another: "I'm in competition for those limited things, whether it's money, women, cars, etc.” Another: “money doesn’t grow on trees” meaning: it’s scarce.

These are beliefs new agers call "scarcity consciousness". They make an unlimited thing limited.

My beliefs also included other people's beliefs about people like me. For example, I had a lot of negative beliefs about being African American and queer. These negative beliefs shaped my self-worth, self-respect and, most important, what I thought was possible.

Maybe you have these too. Where do these come from? I got them looking at the world. I listened to what my parents' said about the world and believed them. I watched their personal experiences, then formed beliefs from that. I got beliefs from my personal experience. I shaped beliefs listening to TV and radio. I got beliefs from reading stuff.

In other words, I got my beliefs from looking at the world around me (Step 1).

How about you? Where do your beliefs come from? Have you thought about that? Some people I talk with are open enough to say they get their beliefs the same way I did. "I was raised to believe..." is how it usually starts.

Maybe you were "raised to believe..." a certain way too...

Back to Fig. 1.

^^Illustration by the author

So when I checked my progress (or lack thereof), I would make up stories reflecting my messed up (inaccurate) beliefs. "This happened because I was black" or, "I can't do that right" or, "I wish I could do it like that guy", or "I need money to do that and I don't have money so..."

The thing is, the world I saw matched beliefs I had. It's tricky to sort out beliefs I hold from the world I see. They are so intertwined. In reality, they are one. They both reflect each to the other. I know that now.

^^Illustration by the author

So no matter what happened from my actions, I interpreted them according to my beliefs. I still do that. That can't be helped. Life will always reflect my beliefs.

But today, I have a whole new set of beliefs. They come from a new way of creating reality.

What's interesting is, I wouldn't have my new way, were it not for the old way. 

Life will not differ from how I believe. "Life" is the cycle illustrated in Fig. 1 and 2. Both cycles repeat themselves over and over. Beliefs become automatic. Acts born of beliefs recede into the background. What’s left are results and interpretations.

If I want any part of my reality different, I must change my beliefs. To change beliefs, I must know how they happen. Then use that process differently.

That's where Fig. 2 comes in.

^^Illustration by the author

The World Turns From One Thing I See To The Next

I questioned early on why things happened the way they did. So The Haphazard Way helped me. It's not wrong. I think it serves this exact purpose.

I'm not the only person who knows about this. More are learning it all the time. Here's how it works:

First, I look at the world (Step 1). But I don't accept that world as factual. Instead I look at what is and use it to decide not only what I want, but how I would like it to happen.

I don't think about the specifics of how it could happen. I only think about how it would feel to have what I want (Step 1).

Once I figure that out, I choose beliefs (Step 2) consistent with what I want.  I just make up beliefs. The more original the better. The beliefs boost the feelings.

Next I hold the feelings the beliefs have boosted. I keep feeling the feelings. I pay as little attention as I can to current reality. Including the fact that it doesn't contain what I want. I don't think about what I want either. I only feel how it feels having what I want.

I'm not always successful. But you'd be surprised how little success is needed for this to work.

If/when I'm successful with Fig. 2 Step 2, the universe and the larger part that is me gives feedback, suggestions and impulses about acts to take (Step 3). I try never to act unless I get inspiration. This is important.

Sometimes it takes a long time before I get inspiration. Just ask my wife! 😜

Other times, inspiration comes immediately.

Sometimes I have to sort out where the inspiration is coming from. Old beliefs sometimes draw ideas to me. They sound like "you should be doing...."

The right inspiration doesn't sound that way.

When right inspiration does come, I try to act immediately (Step 4). Next, I do my best to not look for evidence my acts create. I don't check. Instead, I use observing the world as fuel. Fuel for more manufactured beliefs. Beliefs consistent with the reality I am creating, rather than the one I'm looking at.

My Inner Being has written in this blog about some results this process produced. It's going to continue doing that. So many things are happening all the time.

Life has changed for me since using this process. Most important, I'm finding myself happier. Not because I'm getting more of what I want easier, which I am. But because when I'm spending most of my time focusing on positive beliefs, how can that not become a habit? And how can a positive focus turned habitual not produce a reality consistent with that? And how can that not create a happy life?

That’s conjured happiness.

In the end, I want what I want because I think I'll be happier getting that. When I'm positively focused, I'm already happy. That's the best place from which to have what I want show up. It takes out the yearning that happens when I seek happiness in getting things.

The best happiness is conjured happiness. I know that now. And thank goodness that I do because it makes getting things easy.

[elizaviento]

Higher Power

My dear Anon -- this prompt was perfect and I thank you for the delicious images that subsequently invaded my mind.  I hope this meets your expectations, as well. 

Note:  This story features Rick/Reader D-74 from Assimilation because, you know, they’re my babies and I just love them so. 

Higher Power

(Rick Sanchez x Reader)

NSFW -- 3200 words with lots of romantic type feely feels.

(FYI:  Assimilation can be found in the Rick Fic Masterpost link in my blog description.)

*****

It was Jerry’s idea to go camping.  I only agreed because I knew how much he loved it.  Rick only agreed because Beth guilted him into it.  So, you can imagine how much fun we were having while huddled around Jerry’s poor excuse for a campfire.

“Okay! Who has a scary story?” Jerry asked much too cheerfully while violently ripping open a bag of jumbo marshmallows that proceeded to spray outward, hitting him in the face before tumbling to the ground.

“Don’t worry, I brought another bag” I said before the kids could groan in disappointment. I knew Jerry better than he knew himself so the second bag of marshmallows was just a metaphor for my knack for bailing him out.

Rising from the ground, I quickly dusted off the seat of my jeans before shuffling toward my tent a few yards away, which was more difficult that I had initially taken into account.  The sky had managed to fade from the soft hues of pink and blue to pitch black in the half hour that we’d congregated around the fire and I found myself stumbling on twigs and small rocks more than once before reaching my destination.

Once I’d finally made it to my tent, I felt around for and quickly unzipped the entrance flap -- the metallic hiss of the zipper sounding as loud as a freight train in the all encompassing darkness.  Then, crawling inside on my hands and knees, I continued to navigate by touch until my hand closed around the plastic bag containing the fluffy cylinders of sugar.

When I felt something bump my ass from behind, I opened my mouth to scream the very second a hand materialized out of nowhere to engulf it.

“Jesus fuck! Calm down!” Rick’s rough whisper floated toward my ears from close by.  “You -- y-y-you’re too fuckin’ jumpy” he chided, releasing my mouth so I could breathe a sigh of relief as he crawled inside the tent beside me and flopped down on his back.

“What are you doing?” I asked as he gripped my upper arm and tugged until he’d pulled me on top of him.  I could feel, rather than see that our faces were within an inch of one another as his warm breath wafted across my skin.

“Humm?” was his only reply as he closed the short distance and pressed his lips to mine. Even in the complete blackness, his aim was perfect and I wedged one hand between his neck and the floor of the tent to hold him in place. That is, until I remembered that we were mere feet away from the remainder of our family.  Pulling back, it was my turn to place a hand over Rick’s mouth to prevent him from connecting our lips once more.  

“As much as I’d love to be defiled among the majestic beauty of nature, I’d rather not scar Jerry and Beth for life.  Or the kids.” I removed my hand from his mouth expecting something witty in retort.  I wasn’t disappointed.

“Baby, you can only be defiled once and I -- uh -- I’m pretty sure I took care of that looong ago” he purred, squeezing my ass for good measure.  I needed to nip this encounter in the bud, right now, or I’d never have the willpower to resist.  So, I pitched my body to the side until I landed on my back beside him.  

“We need to get back before Jerry assembles a search party” I warned, hoping that the threat of my brother happening upon us rutting in a tiny tent would deflate his libido.

“Ugh. For some -- someone so hot -- so sexy, you sure know how to kill a boner” he complained. My eyes were just beginning to adjust to the darkness so I could faintly make out the movement of his lanky form as he sat up, his spiky hair swishing across the vinyl ceiling of the tent.

----------

What felt like hours later (but was in reality only 45 minutes), Jerry had run out of cheesy campfire horror stories and was grasping at any straw to keep each family member’s attention.

“Come on, Dad” Summer whined as she pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her hoodie for the 247th time that evening on impulse, the ‘NO SERVICE’ message on the screen mocking her time and again. “Can’t we just, like, go to bed now?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jerry asked, plunging another marshmallow on the end of a twig and thrusting it directly into the fire; only to pull it free when it had transformed into a block of flaming ash.  “It’s only 9:00 o’clock!  The night’s still young!  Rick, you must know some spooky ghost stories with all that planet hopping, right?” Adjusting my gaze beyond the flickering flames, I caught a glimpse of Rick and Beth sitting directly across from me, rolling their eyes simultaneously.  

“No, Jerry” Rick spat, his face screwed up in disgust as he took a swig from his flask.  “I don’t have any spooky ghost stories ‘cause they -- g-ghosts don’t exist.”

“Well, how could you possibly know that?” Jerry countered, shoving the charred marshmallow into his mouth before spitting it right back out with a whimper.  “Ow, that’s hot!”

“It was practically smoldering like a brick of coal, Jerry” Beth explained with a sigh, wrapping her arms across her chest.  It was, indeed, becoming increasingly chilly as the evening progressed and I felt a smile tug the corners of my lips when I spied Rick draping an arm across her shoulders in an unconscious bid to warm her.  No fatherly instinct, my ass, I thought, making a mental note to point out his adorable display of affection at a later time.

“Yeah, Rick. How do y-you know ghosts don’t exist?” Morty chimed in as he speared a hot dog on his twig and very carefully hovered it above the flames.

“Be -- because there’s no such thing as a soul.  Or god.  Or the devil. It -- it’s just us, all alone fuckin’ judgin’ and -- and -- and killin’ each other in the name of some ‘higher power’ that, if it did exist, wouldn’t give two shits about any of us anyway.” He paused long enough to take another pull from the flask.  “Does that -- uh -- does that answer your question?” he finished, standing from the fallen log he and Beth were sharing in some type of mic drop-esque grand gesture.

Narrowing his eyes in the way he does right before he says something stupid, Jerry countered, “I think you do believe in a higher power, Rick.  But in your case, it’s yourself."

“Yeah! You -- y-y-you know what?  You’re absolutely right, Jerry!” Rick said, throwing his hands in the air while Beth lowered her head and pinched her brow.  I could second her reaction as I also stood to make my way back to my tent.  “‘Cause -- uh -- you know --” he continued, suddenly jabbing an index finger in my direction, “-- your sister screams -- calls me GOD every single night!”

In that very moment, everything fell eerily still and silent.  Even the crickets seemed to halt the ritualistic rubbing of their hind legs as each pair of eyes that didn’t belong to Rick grew to the size of teacup saucers.

“Uhh…” Jerry hedged while trying and failing to formulate an adequate come back.

“Seriously, Grandpa Rick?” Summer interjected while stomping away, presumably toward the tent she’d be begrudgingly sharing with Morty. “Just… gross!”  Tentatively, Morty rose to join her, the inky blackness swallowing him whole like the gaping maw of some type of mythical sea creature.

Feeling like I could vomit at any second, my eyes flicked toward Beth.  The look on her face could only be described as mortified as she also gathered up the remainder of the food and tossed it in the cooler.  “Thanks a lot, Dad” she spit sarcastically, actively avoiding eye contact with me.

Then, as if suddenly realizing what an absolute horrid thing he’d just allowed to fly from his mouth, Rick slumped forward and groaned  -- scrubbing a hand down his face before fishing the other in the inner pocket of his lab coat again for his flask.  Or should I say crutch.

“Look. I --” he began, but the damage was done and I was already striding toward the sanctuary of my tiny tent with unshed tears of humiliation and rage stinging my eyes.

----------

He didn’t come after me.  At least, not right away.  He knew he’d managed to piss me off royally and that if he didn’t give me time to cool off, I wouldn’t be above socking him in the jaw.

So, I lay in the dark -- staring up at the ceiling of my tent with the sleeping bag zipped up to my chin.  Once securely inside, I’d let the tears silently fall from my eyes as I seethed and seethed and cursed his name.  How could he say something like that?  In front of the kids?  In front of BETH?!  Did he really think so little of me that he wouldn’t think twice before blurting something so fucking crass in front of our family?  

Eventually, the burning sensation in my face began to cool along with the tear tracks drying on my cheeks.  Rick knew to let me be when I was truly angry because he also knew that I wasn’t one to hold a grudge.  However, perhaps he deserved it this time.  Perhaps having a legitimate grudge held against him would serve him right.

Mulling the thought over, I yawned and let my eyes drift closed.  The crickets had resumed their delightful chirping and I allowed them to lull me into a peaceful sleep.

----------

“Shhh” a raspy voice hissed with lips pressed to my ear when I was suddenly jolted awake. After a second or two, my brain registered the voice with the vision of a man with blue spiky hair and a perpetual scowl.

“I’m still mad at you” I whispered while I attempted to wiggle from his grasp.  I was trapped in the sleeping bag with Rick’s arms wrapped tightly around it.  

“You’re not” he challenged, his voice low enough that only I could hear while his lips still pressed and feathered across the shell of my ear.

But, I actually was.  And, his arrogant insistence that I wasn’t…

Freeing my arms from the cocoon of the sleeping bag trapped in Rick’s arms, I forcefully shoved him away.  Wishing there was even one speck of light to see the, no doubt, shocked expression on this face, I wiggled from the sleeping bag completely and sat upright with my knees pulled up to my chest.  

“What the hell?” he harshly whispered from the other side of the tent.  I could faintly hear the whoosh of polyester fabric as Rick blindly groped his hands across the sleeping bag, searching for me.

“Don’t you dare, Rick!” I spat, my voice straining as I tried to project a whisper in a manner that adequately portrayed how upset I was with him.  “Don’t you DARE try to get in my pants after that little stunt you pulled!”  He groaned in obvious annoyance and the rage burned within me fresh and hot.  He had no right to be annoyed with ME.  “Get out” I demanded, pointing toward where I thought the flap of the tent was located even though it was much too dark for him or I to tell.

Without a word, I felt the tent pitch and sway as he attempted to crawl toward the exit. Again, I could hear the swish of his hair as it made contact with nylon and I began to snicker as it became increasingly obvious that Rick couldn’t locate the flap.

“Wait” I said, my voice softening as his exasperated sighs only managed to endear him to me in the most inopportune moment.  I had promised myself I’d hold a grudge, but I was failing.  Now that I was free of the warmth of the sleeping bag, the chill licked at my exposed skin and the deep seeded adoration and yearning for Rick began to bubble up from the pit of my being; that coil nesting in my stomach slowly unfurling to extend to my arms as they searched for him in the darkness.  Recognizing my tone, he immediately sought me out again, as well, and soon we were comfortably entwined.

“I’m sorry” he whispered into my hair and he sounded more sincere than I could ever recall.

“You know I’m not good at expressing my feelings --” I began and he scoffed as if to imply ‘yeah, me either’ before I continued, “-- but that was fucking brutal, Rick.”  He pressed a tender kiss to the top of my head and I knew I wasn’t angry any longer.  Turning to press my face to the crook of his neck I whispered confessions of love against his skin while balling my fists in the lapels of his lab coat.  

“Sweetheart --”

But, I deftly cut him off by pressing my lips to his while tilting and raising my hips, effectively tipping him flat on his back.  Now straddling him, I settled my bottom on his upper thighs while my hands worked the buckle of his belt.  Even in the darkness, the practiced movements came so naturally that I’d soon pulled it from the loops and began the task of loosening his fly.  And, while I undressed him, he undressed me -- lifting the oversize t-shirt from my body before I trailed my hands under his sweater until he lifted his arms so I could do the same.

We were quiet. Silent as the night.  Neither of us above a whisper as our humid breaths heated the small enclosure that protected us from the elements.  And when I finally rose to line his cock to my entrance, I suppressed a sob as I slowly took him fully inside.  

“Oh baby -- oh fuck, you feel so good” Rick groaned before capturing my lips just in time to swallow my moans and gasps.  

“Rick” I breathed, nestling my face in the juncture of his neck and shoulder as I buried one hand in his hair.  “Rick, please.”

He knew what I wanted.  He was always hesitant to utter the words even though we both knew them to be true. He hitched a breath as if to prepare but I decided perhaps now wasn’t the time.  Perhaps I wanted the words to come of their own volition instead of from my gentle prompting.  

So, I began to fuck him.  Slow and deep -- alternating between pressing kisses to and planting my teeth in sensitive flesh behind his ear.  And, still we were quiet.  Silent as the night.  Neither of us above a whisper as we rocked together, his fingers digging bruises into the flesh of my hips while my fingernails pressed crescent grooves in the flesh of his neck and scalp.

“Oh my -- fuck! -- oh god” he released in a strangled whine as I quickened my pace.  The slight slapping of skin on skin ricocheted between the nylon walls of our enclosure as it mingled with muted grunts and gasps and the occasional soft moan that I allowed to escape when Rick’s cock hit my sweet spot just right.

“Who’s the higher power now, huh?” I asked in the sultriest whisper I could muster before trapping the shell of his ear between my teeth.  

“Sweetheart -- baby...” he whined, gripping my hips tighter in silent question.  He was teetering on the edge of control and I nodded my head in approval, excitement already overtaking me as my body tensed in preparation for the pounding I knew I was in for.  And as he bent his knees to firmly plant his feet on the floor for leverage, he moved one hand from my hip to roughly grip the back of my neck and pushed his pelvis upward until the head of his cock pressed heavy, direct and consistent pressure on my g-spot.

“I love you.”

The words were so sudden and unexpected that my body immediately responded, tensing further as my cunt violently clamped around Rick’s cock and I came -- hard -- sinking my teeth in his shoulder to silence the scream that threatened to rip from my throat.  Each contraction seemed to be stronger than the last as it pulsed and pulsed through me, the endorphins flooding my bloodstream at an alarming rate.  And, as my climax began to ebb, Rick lowered his hips only slightly before forcefully slamming them upward again and again and again.  Limp as a rag doll, I allowed him to fuck into me as another orgasm began to build deep inside.  No longer possessing the mental capacity to sexily moan and croon for him, I only dropped my head to his shoulder as he whispered the praise he knew I cherished so well.

“Oh, fuck, my perfect girl.  You -- you know I love you, huh?  Y-y-you can feel it, yeah?  Feel how much I fuckin’ love you? -- oh shit!”

I came again -- quietly sobbing and drooling against his neck and I clung to him; sweaty and trembling.

“Thaaat’s it, my sweet girl.  You -- you’re pussy’s so goddamn perfect, baby.  Fuck, I’m gonna cum” he growled directly into my ear, probably a little too loud at this point but I was far too gone to care.  He fucked up into me -- hard and deep -- once, twice, a third time; clenching his teeth, a forceful inhale whistling past them as he filled me up. Hot and thick and perfect.

“Holy god, fuckin’ christ” he gasped as his muscles relaxed and the death grip on my neck and hip loosened.  I only hummed in response letting my full weight settle on his chest for only a moment before I rolled and plopped down beside him.  

“Leave it to Jerry to pick a campground that doesn’t have showers” I quietly joked and snickered as the product of our coupling leaked to the floor of the tent.

“I -- uh -- I’ll portal us to the house in a couple of hours” he rasped.  My eyes had somewhat adjusted to the darkness once more and I could faintly make out the motion of his sweeping hand through his hair as my mind burned the evenings activities into my memory bank.  “But, remind me to tell Jerry he was actually wrong. Yet again.”

“About what?” I asked suspiciously, furrowing my brow as I hoped he wouldn’t say something completely idiotic to ruin the moment.  But in the safety of the darkness, he said something that nearly knocked the wind from me --

“My higher power is you.”

The End.

[theramblingonesie]

Uniting in Anger

Last week, I finally sat down to watch the highly-recommended comedy special, “Nanette” by Hannah Gadsby.

It was so good.

Seriously. Go watch it. This human has an excellent brain, and her messages are super important.

But of course, this wouldn’t be my blog if I wasn’t complaining about something, right?  

The end of “Nanette” kind of broke my heart. For the entire hour +, I was along for the ride, hanging off of every word she said, raising my fist at the TV in solidarity and support.  And then she just….dumped me.

I do want to take a quick timeout to honor that celebrities and public figures are people, too.  Not deities.  You will disagree sometimes, and that’s totally okay.

Nonetheless, I was sad.

At the end of her special, she closes by saying that we must no longer unite in anger, even if that anger comes from a place of love.  But the way she spoke about anger did not sound like the anger I know.  The anger she spoke of sounded more like hate and self-loathing.  I kept saying, “yes, I agree, but I don’t think we use that word the same way, and you’re really breaking my heart right now. Please, please don’t spread this with those specific words; it’s so unhealthy.”

I agree with her, to an extent.  The actions many take out of anger are quite unhealthy, and no, we should not unite over that.  Hate crimes start with anger.  But so do human rights movements.  So let’s be a little more clear—

Anger is simply saying, “nope. This is no good.”  Anger saves lives. Anger creates boundaries and containers for healthy, respectful relationships.

When anger is told that it is not allowed to exist, or that it’s the only thing in charge, the human brain goes into wild places, because anger never disappears.  If it isn’t allowed its own channel, it’ll just go hide behind some other emotions or impulses.  That’s when we get stuck in rage, fear, willful ignorance, prejudice, unrelenting sadness, and terrible violence.  Anger says, “I will keep you safe”.  And when you say “go away, anger”, your brain says, “oh shit…now I’m not safe. OVERCOMPENSAAAAAATE!!!” That could be shutting down, dissociating, or lashing out.

It breaks my heart when people conflate anger and hatred.  We are in this mess to begin with because of our misinformed ideas of anger, and the vast efforts to destroy it, particularly for anyone of a marginalized demographic.  Unless, of course, one’s anger can be used against them by those who seek to oppress them.  Consider, for example, this need in our white-supremacist society to hold on to the stereotype of an angry black woman or a violently angry black man to justify racially motivated injustice, and excuse oneself from personal accountability.

Control a person’s ability to stand up for themselves, and you control their entirety.

When I heard Hannah’s words and desires around stopping anger, I knew what she meant.  She was exhausted, and sick to death of bullshit. She no longer wanted to see people hurting themselves or others.  She wants to live in a world that doesn’t hurt.  She wants people to join together in joy, love, pleasure, and benevolent laughter.

This is what I heard between her words. And yes.  Yes, yes, yes, YES to all of this.

But we’re not there yet. We have to work toward that, because we’re so far down and lost that it’s going to take a lot of strong effort by every single person on this planet to do better, to hope for better, to believe in better.  So right now we’re angry.  We need to get angry for things to change.  Not hateful.  Just angry.

In my interview with Aepril Schaile, she mentions that she came across the theory that anger is actually a form of optimism, because in order for a person to be angry, they have to believe that things could, or should, be different.  Apathy and acceptance, I believe, are the greatest dangers to modern social progress.

Think about it—when you’re in a failing relationship and you fall out of love, you fight less, right? Because at the end of the day, you’re just like, “ugh. Whatever. I don’t even like you. I’ll say whatever you want to hear so you just go away.  Fuck my life.”

Or when you’re at a job that is zapping the life out of you, but you don’t believe you have any other options, so you just whither away for years getting kicked in the shins by your miserable boss, setting the timer on Monday for when you can finally go get blackout drunk on Friday before it all starts over again.

Anger, instead, looks like telling your partner that you love yourself, that you deserve better, and that you’re not going to put up with getting screamed at or degraded.

Anger looks like going to HR to report that your co-worker put his hand on your ass for the last time.

Anger looks like asking a child who’s locked out and sobbing in front of his house if he’s okay.

 We NEED to unite in anger.

Not hate.

 When I started The Scarlet Tongue Project, I felt completely isolated in my anger.  I was silenced, told I was crazy, told I was scary, told I was weak, awkward, quiet, etc.  I wasn’t allowed to use my anger, so I had no idea how to use it when it inevitably came up.  Most of the advice I got was to chill or “let it go”.  Rarely did anyone pause to consider what might be on fire inside of me that was causing this.  At that time, conversations on anger were not flooding in online like they are now, nor were they happening in my various communities of friends.  Now you can’t even flutter your eyes open in the morning without being smacked by someone’s flying rage fit.  Only a couple years ago, you actually had to sit down and do research to find people brave enough to talk about these things.  Now, we can’t escape.

One of the greatest blessings of this project was that I stopped feeling isolated.  I found people I could process with, people who understood, people who would teach me, and people who knew how to harness anger in order to move forward with great love and strength, to create epic change and love in the world. Friends began coming to me and saying, “thank you for doing this. I’m so fucking angry all the time. I just never felt allowed to express it.”  This week, 6 artists are flying into Mexico City to join me for an art residency related to the film.  Our intention is to come together, discuss anger, discuss how to build community, explore how to free ourselves from social constraints, how to support others in their desires to live in truth and openness, and how to create action and change for a more beautiful, just world.  It is anger that is bringing us together.  And it is so profoundly powerful and magical.

When Hannah said that we cannot unite in anger, of course I took it personally, because that is the entire mission of my project—to create communities where people feel safe and inspired to stand up for themselves and others in the face of injustice, to be witnessed in their authenticity, and to move forward to create their best lives with the support of others.

If you are angry, sure, you can use that to fuel an agenda of fear and destruction.  You can also use feeling confident and happy in your skin to go cheat on your partner with 50 people.  Emotions are indicators, not actions themselves.  The energy you draw from your emotions can go anywhere you put it. I encourage you to find others when you’re angry.  Find someone healthy to talk to, find groups to join, go see a show that inspires you and helps you imagine worlds of deeper love, greater tolerance, and goddamn it—FUN.

If you are angry, see if you can push to the other side of the voice that says, “SHUT UP.”  Try to invite your anger in.  Listen to it.  Ask your body what it needs to feel relief.  Then find others who support you, and maybe even share your dreams.

If you separate anger from hate, what does that look like?  Does it have its own space?  Can it lay close to feelings like bliss, pleasure, and satisfaction?

My anger does.  And I’m so grateful to the wise, creative folks around me who can hold that, because they know that on the other side is a super badass world of experiences and ideas that we can’t wait to manifest.

Unite in an anger that flows.  Unite in an anger that doesn’t get stuck.  Unite in an anger that gives you energy to create. Unite in an anger that is from love, and leads back to love.  And if you’re not sure how, then unite with people who do so you can find the help you need.

I’m sorry, Hannah, but the brilliance of your work did, in fact, powerfully unite people in anger.  They learned something.  They felt desire to be better people.  They felt love and compassion for you and for themselves. Thank you for that.  That was a gift.  And now you get to move on to something else, which is the whole point. But please don’t dishonor what brought us to this beautiful place of eye-opening and change.

Anger does not have to be suffering.  Anger can be revolution.  For many of us, anger IS revolution.  And the revolution needs you.  I hope to meet you there.