#sometimes I finally find the perfect way to describe all of my pain in a way that'll actually make sense to someone else

[mobpd]

I'm so lonely i'm so lonely i'm so fucking lonely

[shadesoflsk]

THE OLD WAY

pairing: Leon Kennedy x fem reader

summary: Living at a farm and being married surely has it perks. However, Leon can't help but think something is missing.

warnings: smut, MDNI, oral (fem receiving) p in v, mating press (??), creampie, breeding kink, outdoor sex, age gap (unspecified), established relationship, fluff, Leon is so husband in this, mentions of pregnancy, domestic bliss.

word count: 4k

author's note: Hello! I had this fic in my drafts for sooo long. I was kind of ashamed to post this since it's not my usual type of content but !!! fuck it !! Ovulation goes brrr. I hope you all like it!I had an older Leon in mind but I used a re6 leon pic for funsies. (And please... don't judge the lack of creativity in my title... I didn't know what to write.)

MY MASTERLIST

City life was no longer fitting for a man like him. Job was not the same and he was afraid he might not get up from one of his falls one day. Joints no longer worked like they used to, a painful reminder of how his age was getting to him.

That's why he chose to retire, rather early for the average citizen. But he believes his position as a federal agent has aged him to the point where he could easily describe himself as an 80 years old man who needed help crouching down.

With that in mind, he wasted no time buying a home away from civilization. Money was no problem and owning a ranch now sounded like the best idea he could come up with. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. Time seemed to flow faster as he settled down in a peaceful lifestyle.

Solitude was very much welcomed. The sounds of blood dripping and ragged screams were replaced by the soft pitty patter of the rain and the usual rooster’s crow each morning, announcing a new day. 

But, as much as he has grown to love and appreciate his simplistic routine, the monotonous daily work and the lack of companionship were hitting him hard. When night came and his thoughts clouded his rational side, he yearned for a change in his life. He was never the romantic type, never been. His previous job as an agent cut off any possibilities of having a partner and settling down like any normal person would. But years made him a sappy man, it seemed.

Life works in mysterious ways, though. He wouldn’t have thought that farm life would bring him a sweet thing like you. It all started with your car breaking down a few meters away from his farm. You wanted to thank him for his help, there was no way you would simply express your gratitude through words, not after his assistance. 

So, your first visit consisted of a home-baked pie which he reluctantly accepted. Not because he didn’t want to but it had been a while since he was last gifted something. That first meeting soon turned into a couple until you were basically there every day. 

“Stay with me,” shifted into a “Be my girlfriend” and therefore the “Marry me?” finally came. 

You were the best thing that has ever happened in his life, a peaceful life away from any danger the city may bring and a beautiful wife by his side? God granted him the most perfect miracle ever. 

He followed the milestones of your relationship to a T. Even though the lack of knowledge was sometimes obvious, he knew the basics of how to keep a girl—his girl— happy. It was in his nature to provide, and living with you meant no exception. 

He always strived to do better, to be better. Your needs were always met and he took pride in knowing he was your husband. No one else but him. 

However, he felt selfish when none of that actually fulfilled him. He was happy with you, don’t get him wrong. Nothing was like before when he thought he would die alone with no one who cared about him. But something in the back of his mind kept bothering him.

And ever since he realized something was missing, he couldn't help but try to find out what it was. 

For days and weeks, he tried picturing the change both of you needed. More pets? You had enough with the dog you both have. Vacations? He had already taken you to the beach. More space in your home? The house at the farm was alright… Maybe a little too big for just the two of you.

Oh.

Oh…

The problem was the two of you. Or rather, being just the two of you on this big ranch. 

He had come to realize that he could, in fact, dream bigger. A few years ago, he would have thought that being married was a faraway dream, unachievable and stupid. But now he’s a husband and maybe if he tries hard enough, he can get to be a family man.

However, nobody has taught him how to face these types of situations. Even when he asked you to be his wife, he needed months of preparation. How was he going to explain this desire to put a baby in you? 

On one peaceful night, he was spooning you as always. It was his favorite activity after taking care of his chores at the farm (and even doing some of yours just so you could relax more). But even when there was nothing but a comforting silence, his thoughts wouldn’t stop flooding his mind. 

He let one of his hands rest on your abdomen, caressing the skin there with circular motions. He tried closing his eyes to prevent more of those thoughts from coming to his mind yet it was useless. His imagination was running wild when he pictured you carrying a life in your belly, swollen and round, the perfect scenario.

He imagined taking care of you. Of course, his pretty wife won’t do anything if she’s next to him. There was no way he wouldn’t take that opportunity to show her how much of a man, a good man he was. 

Pressing a kiss to your cheek as he rested behind you, he spoke before even thinking what he was supposed to say.

“You would be a good mom, you know?” It slipped out of his mouth, he should’ve used a more discreet way of speaking his mind. Now it was too late to draw back.

“What?” You chuckled as you turned your head to look at Leon. “I’d look great as a mom?” 

“Yeah.” He whispered, finally admitting his desire to have a family. “What do you think?”

He wouldn’t push the matter if you don’t feel the same. As much as he loved the idea of having mini versions of both of you, there was no way he would force you to do it. 

“Mhm… I think you’d also be a great dad.” Your voice was as soft as his, indulging in this little moment of intimacy and raw honesty. 

The word dad rings in his mind. His life before having his ranch was violence-filled, then years of solitude surrounded by nothing but nature cornered him to think that being alone was his destiny. Now, you brought him a newfound desire to come back home and finding you and your child. A family.

“You think so?” 

“Absolutely.”

Leon had a silly smile formed on his face. His dreams were actually achievable and domesticity and tranquility were now his everyday life.

“We can try if you want.” You added, feeling how Leon continued drawing shapes on your stomach. “How many would you like?”

Leon didn’t think he would get this far. 

“Want me to be honest?” Leon’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “I wouldn’t mind having an entire football team with you.” He joked, hearing how you gasped in response.

“Leon!” You slapped his hand out of your abdomen. “I’m the one having them!” 

Both of you laughed as the night embraced both of you like a blanket. Confessions have never been so much welcomed as tonight’s. 

“I love you.” He murmured as his eyes closed. It was a reassurance that whatever life had in store for both of you, he would gladly accept it.

“I love you more.” You replied with the same fondness as always. Drifting off to sleep was easier than ever.

-

Days passed and the conversation wasn’t forgotten. Nonetheless, you let the flow of time and life decide for both of you.

Daily chores needed to be completed no matter what. So, he’s now washing his hands after feeding the horses. You’re holding the garden hose which makes a wet mess given the force of the water. 

“Didn’t know it was raining.” Leon jokes as the water soaks his shirt and pants. 

“Shit, sorry.” You turn off the garden hose as you giggle watching how drenched Leon looks. 

And while you are genuinely sorry since Leon still has things to do on the farm, you can’t help but appreciate the image your husband is offering. White shirt now see-through, giving you the perfect view of his soft abdomen clinging to the fabric.

When you first met Leon, he had told you what an amazing body he had. With so much pride, he once showed you pictures of his past self. Images of a toned torso and strong arms would look appealing to your eyes. But each time Leon and you are intimate, you get to feel his slightly rounder belly pressed against you, his strong arms clinging to you. In those moments you can’t help but thank God for the gorgeous man you have. 

“Enjoying the view?” Leon breaks the silence when he feels your eyes not leaving his body. 

“Maybe…” You quietly whisper as you drop the hose and walk closer to him. “Can’t help it, my husband is so handsome.” You add, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. Inevitably, you inhaled the scent you have grown to love. 

For a moment, you stay there, just drowning in the affection letting your hands rest on his sides unaware of how Leon could feel the slight friction of your breasts against his soaked shirt. The thin fabric of your dress does a poor job of preventing Leon’s hands from wandering around your body. 

A pool of arousal starts setting in Leon as he reaches your ass and gives it a firm squeeze.

With one swift and smooth move, he lifts you off the ground. Your feet are no longer touching the floor as Leon walks away from the barn. And, as if on command, you wrap your legs around his torso, allowing him to walk easier to whatever destination he had in mind.

For once, Leon hates the fact that he owns a big ass farm. His place is a bit far away from the barn, so his decisions are fogged by the desire and neediness he is feeling at the moment. Years in solitude led him to think he was imponent but with the way his jeans seem to get tighter each time your lower half brushes against his, he knows it's not true.

He is a gentleman, don’t get him wrong. He’d have picked you up and carried you to his bedroom as usual, laid you on the bed, taken off your clothes, and fucked you gently (or rough) like he usually did. However, a newfound wish piqued his interest, and even though you're in a secluded area, he wishes everyone would know what pretty girl he got.

Without further thinking and no complaints made, he places you down on the grass. The sensation of the blades tickling your skin is, in a way, bothersome, but your brain is easily turned into mush every time Leon dares to touch you.

Leon, however, wouldn’t allow you to feel any discomfort. His sun-kissed skin would be exposed in swift motion as he takes off his wet shirt. Those antagonizing seconds of admiring him unbuttoning the fabric push you to press your thighs together, seeking any type of release or mere pleasure.

“Up,” And after those endless seconds of him taking off his shirt, his hand taps your hip, motioning you to lift the lower half of your body for him to lay his shirt there. Giving no second thoughts, you raise your rear, pathetically quick, and Leon notices. “So needy, have I been slacking off?”

And his tone gives him away. He is looking forward to letting nature be the witness of your lustful acts. The sun being your light and the grass your makeshift bed. His body embraces the position on top of you.

“Of course I have.” He cooes, bringing his face lower and lower before pressing his cheek against your inner thigh. His stubble resembles sandpaper with how it scratches your skin, but at this point, it brings more pleasure than annoyance. “Look at her, already crying for me.”

His breath tickles the middle area between your legs. The wet spot in your panties is obvious to Leon who wastes no time to bring up that fact. And you want to thank yourself for choosing a dress today because there is no way you could do anything besides laying on the grass and letting Leon treat you so nicely and tenderly.

“How could I?” He hums against the soaked patch of the fabric. “Been neglecting my pretty girl.” He presses a kiss on your clothed area, dragging down the anticipated pleasure you’re looking for. 

“Mhm… please.” Your babbles gain a chuckle out of Leon’s lips. He is enjoying the whole setting, he wouldn’t have known he had a thing for outdoor sex but then again, he loves discovering new things with you. 

Antagonistically, he lifts your dress until it reaches your abdomen and exposes your lower half.

And finally, his fingers hook around the sides of your panties, yanking down the fabric, allowing himself to admire the way he has made a mess of you already. 

As always, he was ready for his favorite meal in the whole world.

Lying on his stomach, he props up on his elbows, his mouth dives into your pussy as his tongue laps at your clit. A moan escapes your lips as the sensation of being eaten out by Leon floods your mind and soul. 

He feasts like a starved man, like he is eating his favorite dessert. He delves into your aching hole, his tongue tasting the sweet and well-known flavor of your juices. He brings your legs over his shoulders, propping you to raise your lower half and reach even deeper. 

“Shit,” Your fingers tangle in his dirty blond hair, shoving his face into your cunt. His lips suck your clit, paying close attention to that part, drawing moans and whines out of you. 

A plethora of names are being said as Leon continues being trapped between your thighs. He flicks his tongue while he feels how some of your slick drips to his stubble. And with the way your legs squeeze him even tighter, he can already guess you’re feeling so much pleasure from his tongue alone.

You arch your back, trying to bring him even closer to your core. The wet noises of his saliva and your slick mix with the outdoor ones. The soft rustling of the trees’ leaves and the birds chirping are a reminder of the scenario you both are in.

Whimpers leave your lips as Leon's tongue makes out with your cunt. Your fingers grip the shirt Leon placed as a makeshift blanket. Heat starts pooling in your belly as the antagonizing seconds of Leon eating you out bring you to the edge.

At last, your body jerks and comes undone in Leon’s grasp. He holds you in place, flattening his tongue to collect every drop of your slick. He could easily cum too just by the fact he was tasting your release. 

“My sweet girl, always so perfect for me.” He finally disconnects from your pussy to crawl back to where your face is. He places some kisses on your neck which is glistening with a layer of sweat given how much pleasure you were previously feeling. 

At last, his lips reach yours and he passionately kisses you. You could easily taste yourself in the kiss yet you don’t care at this very moment. 

For a moment, he indulges in the tenderness of the kiss after bringing you to heaven with just his tongue alone. However, the easily noticeable restraint in his jeans was getting harder to control. 

You feel him grind against you, seeking any type of friction to ease the aching feeling of his erection. 

“Leon… I can’t….” Leon’s intentions are obvious as you feel his clothed dick humping your leg like a needy man yet, you are still tender from your ecstasy. 

“You can…” He brings his face against the crook of your neck once again, placing wet kisses around your skin. “Just one more baby.”

He pleads, he begs, he needs to feel you wrapped around him. Those thoughts about leaving his mark, leaving his seed in you are still pretty much present. So at last, you nod. That’s when you can feel a smile forming on his lips which continue being pressed against your neck. 

“Thank you, thank you.” Acting like he hasn’t touched for ages, you hear the rustle of fabric and his belt buckle falling to the ground. You see how his dick springs out of his boxers when he pulls them down, already leaking precum just from eating you out.

In less than a second, you feel him collecting your previous release, sliding his cock through your folds with such ease that it had you gripping air. 

“Fuck…” He murmurs as he pushes himself painfully slowly, taking his time to feel how your walls tighten around his length. Pinned underneath him, you feel overwhelmed by the sensation of having his body so close to you. 

“My pretty wife…” He whispers as he is finally all the way in. “Look at you, so pretty full of me.” He adds while one of his hands caresses your hair.

He starts gently rocking against your body, the pace is slow and comforting as if trying to remember the way your velvety walls clamp his dick, the stretch being something you’re accustomed to.

“I love you so much, you know that?” He says as he thrusts inside of you, this time a little more urgently. The hand that was previously running through your hair wraps around your waist and lifts it slightly. 

“Mhm…yes.” You nod as your eyes lock with his, witnessing a newfound desire you haven’t seen before. Maybe it was the fact that both of you are outdoors, you don’t know. 

The sounds of his skin slapping against yours mix with your heavy breaths. The perfect music for the perfect scenario. As soon as Leon hits that sweet spot of yours, you whimper his name like a mantra. 

And then again, the thought of a family floods his mind. The mental image of your belly stretching out, making space for the baby is everything he longs for. And not only that, but he craves to take care of you, his pretty wife. You wouldn’t need to lift a finger for the nine months of pregnancy. 

“Wanna fill you up.” He finally confesses in a moan. He isn’t a stranger to dirty talk, you know it well. The way his words come out like a promise and an already-made decision is proof of his not so hidden wish. “This farm is lonely with just the two of us…”

And as he presses his forehead against yours, you see in his eyes the devotion he has for you. The same man that promised you the world is now promising a life, a new life who is going to be the perfect combination of both you and him.

“What’chu mean?” You feign ignorance just for the sake of hearing those words coming out of his mouth again. And as you try to say some more teasing words, you can feel the way his thrusts get rougher as if trying to make a statement. The statement being that he wouldn’t stop until you get pregnant.

“You know what I mean…” He is huffing by now, letting out a grunt as he utters those words. “Wanna get you nice and full.”

Ultimately, your dreams are the same as his. So you allow him to transform this dream of his into his—your—reality now.

“Yeah?” You say through your teeth, trying not to whimper from the fact that his cock is reaching so deep into you. 

“Yeah.” He groans, his sticky forehead never leaving yours as he looks into your eyes and your dazed-out expression. “You’re gonna look so goddamn beautiful as a momma.” 

Out of desperation to fuck you even deeper, he brings your legs to his shoulders, just like he previously did when he was eating you out. But this time, it is an attempt to let his dick mark your womb. 

It is his mission to one day see a positive test. It’s his mission to show his devotion to his princess and the now-future mother of his children. He’d never stop looking at the telltale of his seed making its home in your body. 

He wouldn’t let you do anything besides resting and growing your little miracle. He’d cook, he’d clean, he’d feed you if you ask him to. 

“Keep squeezing me like that, I’m gonna—fuck—cum…” He effortlessly bends your knees even more, bringing them closer to your chest.  “Gonna fill you up until I’m so damn empty.” 

He takes advantage of the vulnerable position you’re in to bring a hand to your clit. Rubbing it, he waits for the imminent climax of both of you.

“Cum for me, princess.” He presses his body on top of you, the position allowing him to let out an almost growl against your ear. The sense of purpose that Leon is showing prompts you to finally reach your climax. With a broken voice and your fingernails leaving crescent moons on his back, you coat his dick with your release. A gooey ring forms at the base of his cock every time he pulls in and out of you. 

His actions don’t stop there, though. He was so close to spilling right inside you and making his dreams come true. He brings the hand that was previously teasing your clit to your face, brushing away some of your hair that has stuck to your forehead, he looks right into your eyes.

“Fucking love you so much.” He grunts, his deep sea eyes never leaving yours, as if trying to engrave this moment in his mind. To forever remember the time when he finally achieved his dream. “You’ll be the prettiest momma ever.”

Although his thrusts are too much for you to handle and the overstimulation turns into a slight discomfort, the way his hand is gently caressing your cheek—a juxtaposition of his determined attempt of marking you— makes you melt on the spot.

And especially since the cold feeling of his wedding ring reminds you of the amazing man you married.

“I'm cumming.” He warns you as his thrusts get sloppy and without rhythm. He's seeing stars at this moment, every time he plunges his dick into you he reaches the sky. And at last, with the way his breath gets laboured and heavy, it announces his high coming.

The head of his dick spurts rope after rope of cum into you, the angle you are in makes it easier for it not to drip out of you. He wouldn’t allow a drop of his seed to go to waste. 

You feel the warm and thick liquid filling your insides, proof of Leon’s actions and therefore fulfilled wish. For a moment, you stay there letting his weight crush you and your bent legs. 

After a while, he slowly slips out of you, carefully placing your legs on the ground. You feel the grass blades tickling your calves where Leon’s shirt doesn’t reach. 

Leon rests his arm next to your head, admiring the dazed-out expression you have after letting him fill you.

“Hey…” He murmurs before letting out a soft chuckle. 

“Hi you.” You respond with a smile amidst the exhaustion that is running through your veins. “We really just did that.”

“Yeah…” In his eyes, you can observe how much love he has for you and how eager he is to know if this one dream will be a reality.

With his free hand, he grabs yours and places soft pecks on your knuckles. 

“Are you okay?” He once again speaks, now making sure you are alright. 

“More than okay.” 

He gives your knuckles one last kiss before he lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head while doing so.

“A penny for your thoughts?” You ask.

“Nothing…” He shakes his head once again. “It's just that… I may have some dad jokes already prepared.”

“Shut up, Leon.”

You couldn’t wait to know if your dreams were achieved by this act. You couldn’t wait to see if your life could get even better than this. And especially, you couldn’t wait to experience being a family.

💬 shadesoflsk: Comments, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated.

[ceesimz]

Kissing a Fool

This is a classic sick fic - a quick trip to the out of hours doctors but nothing extreme.

If there was one thing that Alexia was, it was determined. That was what had gotten her to the place she was today, with countless trophies and awards in her possession, stadiums filled by fans adorning jerseys with her name and number, an endless amount of brands desperate to work with her, and millions around the world idolising her.

However, nobody was perfect.

Sometimes, Alexia's determination can, and will, bleed into pure stubbornnes. And that's when things can start to go a little downhill.

It all started one morning when she woke up beside you with a certain scratchiness in her throat and a dull ache behind her eyes. She ignored it, obviously.

Ignored it throughout your shared morning routine, paying you no mind when you asked if she was okay due to the disgruntled furrow in her brow and how she squinted uncomfortably with every slight increase of light. She also ignored it as she kept her sunglasses on whilst moving from her car to the main building for training, again acting none the wiser to the face you pulled at her as she walked around the facilities with the glasses still firmly planted and seemingly going nowhere anytime soon.

"Ale, you know you can't wear them for training?" You wonder amusedly as she holds the door to the locker room open for you. Shockingly, she doesn't reply, she just answers with a noise that can only be described as a huff. "If your head is hurting, take some pills before we start. Don't be stubborn."

"No. Todo está bien." She offers a tight-lipped smile as a consolation to her bare-faced lie, and the only thing you can do is sigh, nod, and leave her be until she finally gives in.

Though, in her world, giving in wasn't even a concept, nevermind an option. As expected, she woke up the next day feeling so much worse, to the point where she had no appetite and even if she wanted to eat, her throat was in way too much agony to simply just entertain that thought.

That was something you didn't realise though, because she normally had breakfast whilst you showered in the morning, meaning you didn't spot she had skipped that step. You also overlooked the fact she'd been completely non-verbal that day as she dared not to speak through fear of her voice failing her. It was only when you were rushing around, last minute of course, to pack your training bag when you needed her help.

"Ale, where are my new boots?" You called out from the bedroom, knowing she was at least somewhere in the flat. When you didn't get a response, you groaned frustratedly and marched out into the kitchen.

"Did you hear me?" You ask where she was seated at the kitchen island, slowly drinking a mug of honey and lemon tea whilst scrolling through her phone.

"I can't find my boots. Ale!"

Looking across at her from your place in the hallway by the front door, rooting through the storage cupboard beside it, Alexia shrugs half-heartedly.

"Okay, amazing, thanks for all your help. Don't blow up at me if we're late." You scoff at her, turning back to the cupboard.

Amidst your frantic search, you miss the way Alexia leans her body weight on the island counter in front of her as she stands, and the pained groan that goes with that. She walks over to the coffee table and pulls out the Nike box you were looking for from the bottom half of the unit, clearing her throat with a grimace before presenting it to you.

"Oh, thank god. Thanks, I'll be ready in literally just a minute, I swear." With a quick kiss to her cheek, you sprint back off to the bedroom to continue packing for the day.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Alexia fixes herself another honey and lemon tea that she purposely adds an ice cube to just so she can drink it before you come back in. It doesn't help at all though, and the realistic part of her mind immediately notices that is a huge red flag, but of course her workaholic mindset overrides it and shoves that thought to the side.

So when you come rushing back in, packed bag in hand, she offers a smile and leads you out of the apartment with a caring hand on your lower back.

Her untimely crash arrived later that day. The combination of a high fever and the symptoms that came with that and her illness, as well as the lack of food and the Barcelona sun, all colluded together to tear her down until all that was left was a lethargic and downtrodden shell of her.

You waited for what felt like forever as she showered, to the point where you were the only one left in the locker room. At some point she finally did walk out, her hair unbrushed and her face bright red and clammy despite the fact she had just showered, and her actions the past two days along with this appearance of hers caused alarm bells to ring in your head.

"Be honest, Alexia, how do you feel?" You question her pointedly, watching with a careful eye as she avoided your eyeline and cleared her throat for possibly the hundredth time that day.

"Fine." It was then that you realised that was the first time you'd actually heard her talk that day, and the sound of her voice sounded as comfortable as nails on a chalk board.

"Please, Ale, just be honest. You look awful." You tell her, to which she lets out a sharp breath, otherwise known as her attempt at a suppressed laugh. "What do you get out of lying about it? Nothing. If you're sick and feeling like shit, just admit it so we can figure out how to make you better."

The fact you said 'we' when talking about her being ill made the prospect of just dropping her act and accepting she's sick exceptionally more appealing, but she just couldn't do it. Tomorrow was an important Champion's League game, and there was no way she was going to miss it. Not a chance in hell.

"I am okay, I am coping. Let's go home." She managed to get out, swallowing harshly after speaking to choke down a gag due to the agonising burn of her throat.

"Will you at least take some medicine at home? There's no use feeling like this when there's things you can have to at least take the edge off." You try to compromise, knowing at the very least you will force some pills down her throat one way or the other.

She nods, finally admitting defeat to one little thing, and your stern persona softens a little. Under the light of the changing room, her face is pale apart from her rosy cheeks and there's a sheen to her forehead that indicates just how terrible she's feeling. And there was no point sugar-coating it, she really did look awful.

"Hey. Come here."

Offering your arms out for a hug, Alexia mumbles something you can't quite make out before stepping into your embrace and deflating with a deep sigh.

"It's all well and good hiding how you feel around the team, but not me. Please don't do it around me. A blind person could see you feel atrocious so please admit that and accept my help." You whisper, rubbing a hand up and down her back comfortingly.

"Don't want you to get sick." She mutters at the quietest volume she can, giving you a hint at just how much discomfort she was in.

"That doesn't matter to me. Let me take care of you. Please?" Hesitantly, she nods after a moment, so you pull back to get a good look at her face. What you're met with breaks your heart. "Oh, Ale. Let's get you home."

You do exactly that, demanding that she go get in bed the second you're through the door to your apartment. Now, in the comfort of her own home, you hope that she'll fully drop her guard down, but it seems a little trickier than you thought. She rejects the bed and settles for the sofa, though she grabs her laptop from the coffee table and opens it to start doing some work admin.

"What are you doing?" You ask when you come over with a glass of ice water and a pack of tablets.

"Work." She answers with a shrug. This was part of her routine, but you had guessed, incorrectly, that she would drop this part of the day considering how she was feeling.

"No, you should be resting." You tell her, sitting beside her and offering her the box of pills.

"I am not running on a football field anymore. I am on the couch like you asked. This is routine." Alexia answers. Her voice is barely there anymore, it was merely just a rasp, and the pain she hid was evident in each word.

"Alexia." You sigh disapprovingly, popping two tablets out of the packet for her. "If you're going to be like this, at least for the love of god take these pills."

She does as you say, swallowing them both with a grimace before turning her attention straight back to her laptop screen. You had tried your best to help her, but pressuring her further would only make the situation worse, so you relent and stifle a sigh. There was a little bit of guilt you felt at getting annoyed at her, but this was just who Alexia was. You didn't like this process, you despised it, but there would eventually be a time where she would come crawling back to you when her stubborn tendencies had taken it too far, you just hoped she was sensible about it.

It was undeniably difficult watching her as the afternoon bled into the evening, knowing at some point her meds had worn off and she was putting herself through torture for nothing. Still, she was adamant as ever that she was okay, so there was little you could do about it without causing an argument. The only positive was that she somewhat relaxed after eating less than a third of her dinner, cuddling up to you as the pair of you watched a film on the sofa.

Her blinks got slower and her eyelids drooped a little over halfway through though, so you decided it was time to usher her to bed. And if she refused, that would be your last straw before you blew up at her.

Thankfully, and quite surprisingly, she agreed and stood up before walking, very sluggishly, to your shared bedroom.

At her request, you make her a cup of the tea she'd had before and bring it to where she lay on her side once she'd done her routine, a hand covering her eyes to block any light. Placing the mug down on the table, you draw the curtains and sit beside her, one hand falling to her head to gently massage her scalp.

"Rest. Early night. Big game tomorrow." Alexia insists weakly, barely able to string a sentence together as she pats the space beside her for you to lay down.

"You've not taken any tablets, or drank your tea. I'm not resting until you do." You state, not-so-discreetly laying the back of your palm on her forehead to gauge her temperature. Her skin is burning, and you curse the pair of you for somehow not owning a thermometer in your flat. "Ale, you're really unwell."

"It's not too bad." She argues feebly, leaning up on shaky arms to sit up against the head board. You hand her the tea and tablets, watching as she winces even more than earlier whilst struggling to swallow the pills.

"Ale." You warn her. "I doubt you should even play tomorrow."

"No!" She croaks out, coughing afterwards. "I am playing. No other option."

Speechless at her defiance, you just shake your head and go about your own night routine. As you brush your teeth, you watch her through the crack in the door and see how she is when no one is around. Her face scrunches up every time she swallows, and her hand clutches at her throat too. Not only that, but you hear her let out strangled groans every so often whenever she moves, her body aching and her head pounding. This all indicates the exact kind of state she's in, and it's not one fit for a 90+ minute long, possibly intense, football game.

"Alexia, listen to me." You demand tenderly, sitting beside her again and taking her hand. "You are not well. Stop resisting that because you will only get worse. This game tomorrow, the rest of the team have it. I believe that absolutely, and I know you do too but you won't admit that aloud. I know what's going on in that head of yours; you're scared of letting people down and disappointing yourself, your family, me, and the fans. Well, I'll tell you. You won't let anyone down by not playing. People, and that includes me, just want you to be healthy. You can gaslight yourself into thinking you've not got a minor injury, but you can't do that in this situation. You need to slow down and rest before you end up in the back of an ambulance."

"It won't end like that." Alexia shakes her head.

"That was just an exaggeration, Ale. I have no doubt that you will be sensible and not let it get to that point. Please, for your own sake, prove me right." You sigh once more, flicking off the lamp to delve the room into darkness so you can settle for the night. "Get some sleep at least. I love you and I only want the best for you."

"Love you too."

The way she tucks herself up beside you for the night, her face buried in the gap between your neck and shoulder, tells you all you need to know. It's a subliminal sign of how much she needs you, a subconscious message that conveys how much she wants to give in to whatever illness she's got and let you take care of her. The thing is, she's not quite at that stage yet mentally.

So when you line up in the stadium tunnel the next day, a few people in between you both, you're staring daggers into the back of her head that she can surely sense.

Your attempts throughout the day to get her to skip just one match, where Barcelona were already winning 2-0 on aggregate, were completely futile because - shock horror! - she just would not listen. You gave her a piece of your mind multiple times, as did Irene and Marta and Mapi and other members of the Barcelona staff. What frustrated you most though, aside from Alexia's stubbornness, was Jona's willingness to put her on the pitch. He didn't think twice when Alexia confirmed with an apprehensive nod that she was well enough for the match today, and that's how you were in this situation now.

Throughout the whole first half, where Salma scored to make it 3-0 on aggregate, your eyes were on her any chance they could. By the 30th minute, her movements were sluggish and slightly lacklustre, you were adamant it was clear for everyone to see that playing today was not the right choice. Did that mean the referee or the match officials or Jona and his staff did anything about it? Absolutely not.

At a lull in the game, where the opposing goalkeeper was getting the ball for a goalkick, you jogged over to her and tugged on her jersey.

"You need to get off this pitch, Alexia. You are not fit to play." You warned her through gritted teeth before walking off without a response.

That didn't seem to deter her from continuing though, because she carried on playing like you hadn't spoken a word to her. Your fury only grew, and it took everything in you for it not to show through your actions in the game. You managed to suppress it until halftime, where you sprinted off the pitch to give Jona a lecture about the circumstances.

You were almost certain that, when Alexia walked back onto the pitch for the second half, there was steam coming out of your ears like a comedy sketch. If you thought your girlfriend looked awful the previous day, she looked even worse now.

"She snuck off to the toilets at halftime to... you know, throw up." Esmee reveals as you go to join the team huddle. That revelation just added fuel to the fire.

After the huddle, you carefully grasped her arm to give her another warning.

"Alexia, I know you were sick at the break. You need to get off the pitch, you are worrying me now." You choose a softer approach, hoping it'll get through to her.

"No. Leave it." She grunted, jogging away towards her starting position.

Turns out, as you had told her for the past 72 hours, that statement could not be more wrong. By the 60th minute, her movements were lethargic and lacked any strength or power, and each kick of the ball stole more energy from her already severely depleted endurance. Every step, every little movement felt like she was fighting a losing battle, and it was obvious to everybody at this point. Any longer and she would have had to been taken off on a stretcher.

But finally, finally, it seemed concerns were raised about her because she was substituted off. Alexia decided now was the time to give in, because truthfully she had never felt worse in her life.

The words from the staff and her teammates around her simply weren't registering in her head as she grabbed a puffer coat, zipped it up to her chin with the hood up, and staggered down the tunnel. She was freezing cold, yet to the touch of anyone else she was sure they'd be burnt at how hot her skin was. Stumbling through the door of the physio room, she just about made it to one of the beds before she collapsed down onto it.

By the time one of the team doctors caught up to her, she was shivering at an extreme level, also unable to stop the pathetic whimpers and whines that left her. The next period of time was a blur as the medics worked around her, urging her to take off the jacket as a cold cloth was draped across her neck and a bottle of water with electrolytes in it was handed to her. She sipped at it periodically, eyes tightly shut as the effect of her defiance ripped through her. With not much else to do right now but bask in self-pity, she was filled with regret and shame for letting it get to this point, where she couldn't even finish a game. If you were to ask her now, not that she could really talk, she would confess that she absolutely should not have played today.

To put it simply, she had exerted herself far too much and pushed way beyond the limits that her health could handle. Her actions were dangerous, to no one other than herself, and that paired with the worry people no doubt felt for her, eventually led to tears seeping from her eyes. She would never admit that they were mostly a result of how unwell she was feeling, no, she wasn't at that point yet.

The only saving grace in this whole thing was when you rushed into the room once the match was over. When you approached her, her eyes were still closed and she appeared to be stuck in some kind of trance. Your hand on her waist didn't alert her, neither did the hand that brushed her hair out of her face where it stuck to her forehead.

"Ale?" You whispered, jumping a little when her eyes flew open.

There was no other reaction from her though, she just looked at you with wide, frantic, fearful eyes that seemed to plead for help. It was then that you realised the trance she was in was a state of shock, and it instilled fear in you too.

"We think it's best we take her to the out of hours doctors. She has symptoms of tonsillitis, I doubt it is anything more severe than that, and it's just been made worse by playing today and not resting." One of the members of the medical team advised, to which you nodded instantly.

"Yeah, absolutely. Can someone drive us there please?" You asked, glancing back down at your girlfriend to see her eyes had shut again as more tears streamed from them. You took one of her hands and cupped her cheek, your thumb gently stroking over the burning skin of her face.

"Of course. We'll have it outside in a few minutes."

It was a struggle trying to get her to the car, but eventually you were in the backseat with her leaning heavily against you, her head on your shoulder. You clutched at her hand for the whole drive, filled with intense concern for the woman beside you. She could barely keep her eyes open, nevermind talk or move. To sum it up, she was ruined. And though, rationally, you knew it was all her own doing, you couldn't help but feel somewhat at fault for it getting this bad. Ultimately, there were lessons to be learnt for the both of you, and you'd be damned if you weren't going to do better next time. You never wanted to go through this again, nor did you ever want to even imagine Alexia this sick again.

The team doctor that accompanied you explained the situation to the receptionist at the sign-in desk, and fortunately there was a doctor available immediately for Alexia to see. That was a huge weight off your shoulders, literally, because the nurses helped to guide Alexia to the consultation room and assisted her in laying down on the bed.

It was quickly decided that giving Alexia an IV was the best way to start as it would provide her with fluids that she had lacked recently, before the doctor assessed how bad her tonsillitis was. He then prescribed her a round of strong antibiotics for her to take for the next ten days, something that would be a struggle due to the condition her throat was in but she'd get it done.

Now in proper care receiving treatment, Alexia was feeling slightly better and a lot less spaced out. The staff member from Barca had left a while ago once Alexia had been seen to, and for the moment the doctor had stepped out of the room to get her tablets. That left the pair of you alone now, for the first time since before the game earlier.

You were stood beside her bed, still grasping tightly to one hand as the other repeatedly ran over her hair to comfort her. Though, out of nowhere, Alexia rolled over and it worried your for a moment, thinking she might be sick, but she only dropped your hand and pulled you closer by the waist so that she could hide her face in your jersey covered stomach. With a soft smile, you let her rest there, glad she was doing well now.

No words needed to be uttered, it was a moment of silent intimacy that allowed both of you to process the events that had occurred and begin to decompress from the stress of it all. There was no doubt in your mind that your girlfriend was still feeling rougher than ever, but there was comfort found in the fact that she wasn't hiding her true feelings now. What she needed was you, that's all she wanted all along, and in this moment now she started to think she was borderline crazy for denying herself from that.

You could pin-point the exact moment she had that thought, because despite her weakness, she managed to pull you tighter to herself. Additionally, you felt her body deflate as she sighed into your shirt.

"Sorry."

Through her limited words that you had quickly grown accustomed to over the past few days, you know there are about a hundred other things she wants to say in this moment, but her voice and her vocabulary fail her. You couldn't blame her or fault her though, you never could, because that one word placed a plaster over an anxious crack that had formed with everything that had occurred.

"It's alright, Ale. I'm just glad you're on the mend now." She leans back a little and looks up at you with anxious, bloodshot eyes, and you understand the message she's trying to communicate. Your heart plunged at the broken sight of her, but you quickly reminded yourself this wasn't the time for that. You needed to relax almost as much as she did. "Don't worry about it, my love. Just relax for now, that's all I ask of you."

That seems to do the trick, because she settles back down afterwards and the last bout of stress leaves her body. Despite her weakened movements, her grip on your waist never faltered. The simple fact of it all was that you both needed the proximity right now. Love languages always came across as a bit of a farce to you both, but it was hard to deny that right now one of them was being portrayed at its utmost strength.

There was one last thing, however, that you had to do to settle those last niggling anxieties.

You move out of Alexia's space momentarily, smiling slightly at the disapproving mewl she lets out, and she watches with one eye as you pull up a chair beside her so that you're at a more equal level. She's still lay on her side facing you, one side of her face smushed against the bed which makes you let out a quiet giggle that pulls a confused look out of Alexia.

"You look a bit cute right now." You tell her, grinning when she huffed and closed her eyes. From your new position, you raise a hand and slowly start tracing your index finger up over her nose and down the right side of her face, repeating the movement over and over again. "I love you."

Her eyes opened once more at the statement you uttered, a hint of a genuine smile blooming on her face for what might be the first time that day.

"Same." Was all she could mumble, making you laugh and the sound of it caused her smile to grow.

"I feel bad for laughing but I can't help it." You somewhat apologise, and Alexia rolls her eyes jokingly.

When she gazes at you again, you're completely overcome with love and admiration for her, knowing there's not a soul on earth you could adore in the same way you do for her. At that, you lean forward to press your lips against hers, but upon first contact, she jolts away with wide eyes.

"No, amor." She grumbled despite the pain it caused her.

"Why not?" You wondered, feeling a little butt hurt at the rejection.

"You will get sick." The midfielder states like it's an obvious fact. Well, she was wrong.

"No I won't." You claim with a sly grin. When she frowned in confusion, you giggled. "I had my tonsils removed when I was younger."

A look of understanding and relief crosses her face, before she smiles and pouts up at you dramatically. To deny her now would be sinful. Her lips are a little chapped, but in the grand scheme of things, that minor fact is like a drop in the ocean, because your girlfriend is here, and she's safe, and she's going to get better, and most importantly of all, she's in love with you. In sickness and in health, right?

"You really are as white as a piece of paper, Ale."

"Stop being mean."

[prettynice8]

Kinkmas Day 10: Spanking

Jung Wooyoung x male reader

This guy

Stuff: Spanking DUH, possessive Wooyoung, bratty reader, brat taming? you two are friends, reader is an Ateez member, I think that's it.

TW: The reader is described as having a pretty fat ass, if you're insecure about your flat butt like I am, then maybe this story isn't for you. Some content maybe be difficult for bubble butt sensitive viewers.

Word Count: 1,064

You and Wooyoung are really good friends, closer than most other members in the group, and he secretly had a bit of a crush on you. You had a big one on him too, secretly teasing him by bending over or touching him a little too long. You knew exactly what you were doing, and you loved every moment of his flushed or sometimes even frustrated expression whenever you teased him.

Currently, you two are in dance practice with the rest of the members, practicing for the upcoming concert tour. As the lineup goes for this dance, you are practically right in front of Wooyoung for the song the whole time, so you had quite the idea. A terrible, horrible, very bad, brilliant idea.

Your shorts are always incredibly short, the target of many complaints from Wooyoung since it messes up his dancing, almost always giving him a hard on. So, with this particular number, you decided to turn the slut notch up to 11, bending over, sticking your ass out, and arching your back as much as you possibly can.

Wooyoung grows more and more sexually frustrated as the practice session goes on, the bulge in his pants becoming harder and harder to hide from his fellow members, and it's all your fault.

It's so fucking hard for him to see your plump ass and not just squeeze it, run his face through it, fuck it, dear god anything. He wants to grope it so bad but that would make the friendship a little awkward, just a little bit.

But FUCK, seeing that wonderful bubble butt jiggle in front of him during every practice and not being able to do anything with it is complete torture, and he knows damn well that you're doing this shit intentionally, you fucking bitch.

Once practice FINALLY ends, you walk over to Hongjoong, who gives you a light spank on the ass.

"Good job today Y/n, though your dancing was a little too..." He pauses, trying to find the right way to put it. "Too sexy."

"Thank you!" You expressed graciously, not exactly taking his backhanded advice like he wanted.

"Don't you think it's a bit... much." He said kindly, trying to phrase it in the best way he can. Suddenly, Wooyoung walks over to interrupt the conversation.

"Far too much, it's really difficult to dance with his ass in my face." He confessed angrily to Hongjoong, raising his voice a little due to the sexual frustration you're giving him.

Then, Mingi walks over and gives you a light spank on the ass, making it slightly jiggle.

"Good job today." He told you with a gentle smile, but that light spank was Wooyoung's thirteenth reason, so he's about to do something about your slutty attitude.

Without another word, Wooyoung grips your arm and takes you away from everyone else, dragging you to who knows where, gripping tightly enough to leave a bruise. He walks quickly as you stumble behind him, trying to hold back the massive smirk your face desperately wants to make. He soon reaches his intended destination, the recording studio, where no one can hear how loud you scream. In a sex way not a murder way.

He quickly sits down and throws you on to his lap, taking your shorts and underwear off and throwing them to the other side of the room, you won't need them for a while. He does all of this within a blink of an eye, both disorienting and turning you on.

"You're fucking leaking, I bet you just loved showing me this perfect ass! Flaunting it in my face, fucking tease!" He nearly yelled at you, gripping your cheeks tightly, almost hard enough to bruise, finally being able to get his hands on the one thing he's wanted for months now. His tight grip makes you both whimper in pain but also shriek in ecstasy, the duality of men. His grip on your plump cheeks only tightens, making your shrieks only louder.

"No one's going to help you, fucking slut! I have you all to myself." He started loudly. Wooyoung finally spanks your bubble butt, watching as the plump flesh jiggles from his hard slap. "Fucking finally, that's so fucking hot."

But one slap isn't near enough for him, not after all you've put him through, so he goes to mother fucking town. He slaps your ass HARD, over and over again until both of your poor cheeks are a bright shade of red. He spanks one, then the other, waiting to watch them jiggle and once that stops, he does it all over again.

"Sorry okay! That really hurts!" You whined, but secretly you adored how mad you've made him with your constant teasing, loving the way his hand felt as it smacked your now hot burning flesh.

"You like this don't you? You like how I'm punishing you for weeks of being a total slut!" He yelled angrily, delivering a particularly harsh slap, making you screech in pain and pleasure.

You respond to him with a simple yet effective cheeky shrug, this REALLY pisses Wooyoung off, which you can tell from how he gives your cheek the harshest slap yet, causing the loudest pitch you've reached in your entire life; Hongjoong would be proud of such a note. At this point, neither of you can tell what's louder, his spanks or your moans.

Wooyoung then goes back to continuously spanking you, slapping your cheeks over and over at an excruciating pace, projecting weeks of sexual frustration into your poor ass, making it terribly sore. It hurts like a fucking bitch, but you kind of love it. Your shrieks of pain turn into pitchy moans of pleasure at the sensation of his hand slapping your ass with such force and ferocity.

Once Wooyoung has let out all his sexual frustrations on your perfect ass, he gently rubs the tender and sensitive flesh, gently kissing your cheeks, a complete contrast to his previous aggressive behavior.

"Now you know what will happen if you pull that shit again." He warned, giving you ass one more hard slap, making you shriek in the recording room.

"Good to know, now I know what to do if I ever want to get spanked or..." You let on, giving him a wink, which earns you a final harsh slap on your ass.

THE END

[henghost]

Twig Liveblog for Arc 15

great arc!!!! it all felt so french, somehow, very may '68, with feckless anarchists and student rebellions. sy even starts smoking!!!!!! that was probably my favorite part, sy nervously smoking more and more. i'm beginning to understand how everyone around him finds him so irresistibly attractive...

speaking of: jessie and sy are literally TOO CUTE!! jessie explaining how she likes trains, sy and jessie sleeping with their heads on each other, and then a little peck on the cheek 🥺 they are so perfect for each other! the interlude is probably one of my favorites so far. god that line about how she didn't know jealousy until that episode with lillian killed me. the discussion of "anchors" is so fascinating--and heartbreaking when we realize that the central anchor for all her memories is sylvester. she is cursed/blessed to recount in perfect painstaking detail every encounter, every little instance of neglect. she reroutes every new experience through the complex web of memory, and it feels so agonizing to have even this small exposure to that. every new happiness is tinged with the pain of nostalgia.

there's some kind of parallel between jessie/sy and fray/avis, i think. people who can, by virtue of being victims of fucked up biotechnology, only find solace in one another. the phantom amalgam-fray joining evette was another standout moment--the not-quite-sisters.

fray continues to be enigmatic. her motivations, plans, and pathology are all so murky. does she really have a scheme lurking in the background that she doesn't need to be there for? how will this circumvent the sore-loserdom she describes? (very excited to learn, by the way, that the infante is one of the people who gets to personally condemn whole cities.) sy's long discussion with fray wherein he details how he felt like a dog for the academy was so good.

fray is so fucking cool!! it's crazy that she gives mauer a run for his money in terms of being a badass rebel leader. dolores the octopus 😍😍😍

sad to narrowly miss the lambs :( i hope they can still meet up sometime soon! i want to know what's going on with them too, like for instance if mary and lillian have kissed yet.

final predictions!!!!! (or embarrassing myself for your amusement):

fray is probably right to be more cautious than sy wrt fighting the crown, and sy's recklessness will lead to some unspeakable catastrophe

this catastrophe will probably involve some plan to disseminate the nobles' big secret that backfires horrifically

the plague will be what ultimately does the crown in--too thematically appropriate to have eruptive, spontaneous life triumph over the crown and academy's regime of biocontrol

the duke and the lambs will unite to try and defeat the infante, but will lose

the king will be larger than the infante

sy and jessie will kiss a lot and make love and get married and find some way to have children and name them all sylvester junior or jessie junior and live happily ever after forever :)

[fauna-a]

V The Magician Reversed

¡Evil Nat AU!, or better: what if Lovelace was Nathaniel’s master? I had already written something about this concept, here; this is the beginning, when Lovelace is plotting and Nathaniel… well.

The man who came to take him that morning didn’t look like a magician as they had been described to him: he didn’t have a beard, just to start, and wasn’t old at all. He smiled, even, and this amazed Nathaniel so much that for a moment he forgot about the fear and the pain of abandonment.

«Hello» said the magician, scrutinizing him behind his shining glasses. «My name is Simon Lovelace. From today I will be your master».

The first teaching he got was forgetting his name: from that moment, he was called just ‘boy’. The second teaching was that Simon Lovelace was his master: not his father, his friend nor his confidant, his master; and, until their relationship would have been professional, it’d be perfect. Lovelace had been brought up like this and was still on good terms with his old master, who sometimes came by.

The boy didn’t like old Schyler very much, but, again, it wasn’t about liking or not, but if he could be useful. And Schyler was a powerful, competent magician, and of great experience.

The boy had understood quite quickly that the only to get in that little circle was being useful, even better: indispensable. He studied day and night: Lovelace had given him free access to his library.

«Start from here» he had said «And go on. When you’ll meet anything you don’t understand, come to me and we’ll see what to do about it. But don’t neglect your lessons».

Lovelace wasn’t particularly prodigal with compliments, but he could recognise talent, and he could read people.

«What is it with that smug face?» he asked the boy after a correct answer about Aldebrand’s Pentacle. «You’re just doing the bare minimum, nothing more». He drew near the boy and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. «No one likes know-it-alls, boy. No one likes finding out to be the least smart in the room. If you want to make it to the Parliament, remember this very well».

«But it’s not fair» the boy blurted out querulously. «If I know it, why shouldn’t I say it?»

«I didn’t tell you to not say it, boy. Pay attention! There is a right way and a wrong way. Do you maybe think you could enter in the Prime Minister’s office and say that your idea is better than his? Think!»

The boy thought. He learned to keep his mouth shut in front of his master’s colleagues and show only what people expected from a nameless boy. He was patient, even if his entire being rebelled against it.

And, finally, it was his turn.

The imp was summoned by his master, but the circles had been prepared by him, as were the candles, the herbs… And the orders would have been given by him.

The imp appeared in the shape of a baby, vicious and red-faced; the boy hesitated only for a moment, then pronounced the words of command.

It was done: he had exerted his willpower for the first time on a demon. The nameless boy turned around in his hands his Scrying Glass, his first real gift from his master, and smiled. A thin smile, easy to hide or change as necessary.

«Boy» Lovelace called him «tonight a man will come here: you stay out from my study».

«Of course, sir».

«Don’t worry, boy» Lovelace’s glasses flashed in the dark. «We’ll find something to do for you, too».

[mermaidsirennikita]

What are your favorite saddest historical romances? The books that make you want to cry and not pretty cry like actually ugly sob

Oooh publishing because good question! I find it kinda hard to cry with books (and movies, TV) because of my weird compartmentalization thing, but! These made me cry, or at least made me *want* to. Not all of them are like, wholly sad, but they do have a good chunk of sadness at min.

The Scoundrel in Her Bed by Lorraine Heath. This has one of the only scenes that made me cry without having to sit and think about it; like, I didn't realize I was crying until I was crying, and it was a full, "breathe out and wipe at your eyes" situation. The situation in this book does hit home for me personally, but I also found it to be one of those horrible things where it's like... the only solution is to basically undo something that can't be undone. And it sucks because the thing wasn't done by the characters but to them--but it doesn't mean they can make it so that it didn't happen. OOF.

Waking Up with the Duke by Lorraine Heath. I always get really emotional when Ainsley and Jayne part as he brings her back to her husband, because it really has that like.... kind of cinematic, "the movie is ending and they're giving up" feeling. The way Lorraine wrote it feels so final, even though you know you have like 40% of the book left or something. It's rough.

A Rose at Midnight by Anne Stuart. This book is quite intense, and quite dark, and it really vividly describes the pain the heroine suffered in her past. I mean--just true horrors. It's that, and this really intimate catharsis she has with the hero, who she's hated for most of the book, at the end. This is a book about trauma and guilt and the parts of yourself you won't ever get back after something horrible happens, and what you do with what's left.

The Duke's Perfect Wife by Jennifer Ashley. The scene where Hart and Eleanor go to the tombs of his wife and baby son, oof. Like, the emotion over the baby really gets me. I also love a scene where the heroine like fully embraces the hero's love for people who came before her--romance can be kinda meh on that front sometimes, but this book does it very effectively. There's also a scene later in the book where Ian and Hart reunite and it's like--Ian never though they wouldn't find each other, and he's so upfront about it, and it's because their bond is so strong??? Truly I'm a sucker for a sibling bond.

In general, I really like that those core four Mackenzie brother books deal with some pretty heavy shit? Like they're funny, they're adventurous, they're super sexy. But you have Ian in his book struggling to communicate in a world that won't listen to him, and these gestures of love between the brothers that don't do what they need to, and Cameron's intense trauma from his marriage and him doing his best to be a good father while being imperfect; and Mac and Isabella dealing with the reality of being truly in love but not truly right for each other at the time. It's GREAT.

Thief of Shadows by Elizabeth Hoyt. Dude, everything to do with Isabel's infertility in this novel. Like, her trying to shake Winter off by dropping that bomb on him, and Winter being like "no it is a loss, I would've loved to have had babies with you, but I want you more than imaginary babies"--like, the acknowledgment that he loves her more than hypothetical kids, but IT DOES SUCK THAT THEY CAN'T HAVE BIOLOGICAL KIDS. Like, it's so real for him to acknowledge that they will be okay but this situation sucks and it's not okay. Her breaking down over her inability to have a baby, her bond with her husband's illegitimate child that is just so tenuous, the big scene at the end, the fact that there is no magic baby. It's a lot.

OH DUDE. And there's a scene where Winter has to make a really tough call for this kid who he has like, pseudo-adopted... and he's making the right decision for the kid, but it's very painful for Winter personally, ESPECIALLY when set against the backdrop of a plot that basically is about how Winter and Isabel won't be able to have a baby together. Lol so much of this book is hammering home how Winter and Isabel are such good parents, essentially, but they can't have a biological child. It is ROUGH. When Winter says goodbye to that kid, I CRY.

When the Duke Was Wicked by Lorraine Heath. Dude, when Lovingdon uncovered Grace's secret... And the way it makes him confront his trauma over losing his wife and child and his fear of loving someone and losing them??? GOD.

Lorraine Heath is also really good at writing a book that's like "life isn't guaranteed, you've gotta just love and live boldly despite that" which is a complete callout.

A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall. The moment when Gracewood recognizes Viola by her freckles. That is a fucking LOT, dude. Overall this is a lighter, romp of a book, which I think is important because it's basically meant to give us an old school adventurous historical with a trans heroine... But it luxuriates in a type of sorrow at points that isn't at all about Viola being trans, but about the time she lost with Gracewood, the survivor's guilt and physical and metaphorical pain he's suffered from since they last saw each other. It's a lot, dude.

The Dragon and The Pearl by Jeannie Lin. There's a despairing love confession following a very intimate scene, and everything feels like it's just not going to be resolved? (And they discussed this a lot in a recent episode of Fated Mates, but--to me, a lot of the best romance novels give you a "how is this going to end in an HEA???" moment.) And it's so quiet and intense and I love it.

Indigo by Beverly Jenkins. The grand gesture at the end of this book. It's so meaningful. It did have me crying a good bit. Don't wanna spoil, it's too good. I mean, this book is about a woman who was born into slavery working with the Underground Railroad.... it's sad. But it's also so optimistic and full of joy.

[girlgenius1111]

You said you like to keep these things in your asks to read them again - figured it’s the least I can do to try and show how much I appreciate your writing! I apologize in advance for the absolutely excessive length of this, but I’m not well know for my brevity, unfortunately.

Solstrale being so excited at IKEA - my HEART! Mapi is giving such golden retriever energy in the store I am obsessed. Solstrale starting to tear up in the store and yet Ingrid being so gentle and kind, this is simply everything this girl deserves and more. THE SUN MAP MUG? UR AN EVIL GENUIS I LOVE YOU (pun absolutely intended)

“Mapi was just happy to be there” had me giggling as I sat in bed.

“You weren’t…loveable” oh but baby you so are, and you never had to do anything to be deserving of that love. None of us do.

Your ability to write these little splashes of humor in serious moments is just…wistfully wonderful. Your ability to write golden retriever Mapi? God tier.

THE TWENTY THREE TATTOO?! Punch in the mf gut I must admit

I must say I wholeheartedly say that I sympathize with Ingrid’s inability to be chill in any situation. Her tumbling into the room asking about the tattoo is cracking me up lol.

The dichotomy of emotion between Ingrid and her sister, Mapi and Solstrale, and Mapi and Ingrid flows so well and is executed perfectly. I’m in complete and utter awe, in the most complete sense of the words! It just ebbs and flows so perfectly

ABSTINENCE IS KEY IM WHEEZING 😭

“You cried yourself to sleep that night, quietly muffling your sobs in your pillow. It was a sadness that plagued you, mixed with hope. Your parents didn’t love you, you were pretty sure of that. But it seemed like, maybe, Ingrid did.” This is gorgeous. Painful, and yet so so hopeful at the same time. The balance of heartbreak and softness is wonderful.

The phone call 💔 The call backs to Mapis experience with the Spanish camps is such a perfect comparison.

“I am never letting that woman near Solstråle again. I don’t care what I have to do. She’s been hurt enough. I won’t let her be hurt anymore.” INGRID FINALLY FUCKING GETS IT PRAISE THE LORD!

“Of course healing isn’t linear” Judas Priest I am genuinely sitting in bed with tears in my fucking eyes.

Okay their father showing up wasn’t at all what I was expecting but I am sat. Oh god…not Solstrale coming in at the worst time PLEASE GOD NO 😭

“You didn’t mean you wanted them to let you go back to Norway. You wanted them to let you go. The tension in the air thickened at this, as both of them realized what you meant.” This poor GIRL. Mapi swearing on fucking INGRID sent me into the stratosphere…oh how much they love her.

“And maybe it was also the desperation inside yourself, too,  and the ache in your heart that you knew you didn’t need to carry anymore.” No words. All I do is fucking write and I have no words to adequately describe how much perfection exists in this one sentence.

Whew. I truly can’t quite put into words how genuinely perfect this is. To reach the level of heartbreak and emotion that you do is just something phenomenal. It’s something special. How you find the moments of light and mix it with those of the dark, all at the same time. You have this most wonderful gift of being able to portray human emotion in such a raw, real way and I am so endlessly grateful that you choose to share it in this little corner of the internet with us. I’ve adored this series and how you’ve crafted these three and their little household, and will always be sat for any future stories you write about these two - or anyone else for that matter.

Thank you so so much for writing this. Dealing with some of my own personal issues with my own mother and reading this is just…its heartbreak and it’s healing all at the same time.

And ofc, thank you to Bailey as well! Who are we without the planners and helpers in our lives - I think I’d lose my head if summer-princess didn’t remind me where I put it sometimes haha!

i am… speechless?

i want to print this comment out, frame it, and put it up in my room. tattoo it onto my body.

it’s crazy to me how comments on my writing can be so eloquent and beautiful, but you always somehow manage to do that.

seriously i read this with the biggest smile on my face.

it means so, so, SO much to me that not only do you read my work… and enjoy it… you have such strong feelings about it. it blows my mind in the best way.

anyway. going to read this everyday for the rest of my life. i appreciate and love you very much.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I’m having a thought! So we all want to see Antoni smut cause we’re thirsty, but of course respectfully understand that he is Ace. But Artyom ��.👀 OR Antoni remembers those things…. Endless possibilities there Ash

CW: At first NSFW for like... Four paragraphs, some initial consensual spice, more or less whumper POV in a way, death threats/murder, creepy whumper

Antoni allows no direct smut, Anon. This is as close as he will let me get.

-

Sweat trickles down the back of Artyom's neck, and his breath is hot and damp against hers. Her little cries are right against his ear, high-pitched. Her fingernails drag down his back, a little further with each rock of his hips.

He couldn't begin to describe how this feels. Hot, tight, wet - all the usual words come to mind but none of them are good enough.

Carly Riggs digs her nails so deep into his back he's sure he'll find blood later, whispering oh god oh god oh god as she comes. The way she goes tighter than ever around him, the prickle of pain near his shoulder blades, even just the way her voice sounds all overwhelms him and he follows her, eyes tightly closed as pleasure takes him.

The leather of her car's backseat sticks to his arms, his head nearly knocking into the door, but finally they slow and then stop, both of them breathing hard.

"Eto bylo khorosho," He groans. "Tak khorosho, tak korosho..."

Carly reaches one hand up to wipe the back of her hand across her forehead, smiling at him. It's a dopey expression, sweet and sated. He likes that look on her. "What?"

"Sorry. I mean... Very good. It was good." His accent is rougher just after sex, voice slightly breathless and rasping. He pulls back reluctantly, dropping a hand to dig around for his boxers and jeans. "We should do again sometime, see if I can be even better."

"Better than tonight?" Carly laughs, pushing herself up to seated, wriggle her jeans back up over her hips. "I might die."

"Only in little ways." He winks at her before pulling his shirt back on. "This is the idea, right?"

"Oh my god. Artyom, you are the weirdest." She's still grinning as he offers her a hand to scoot along the seat and finally stand. The breeze outside the car cools and dries the sweat on them both. Her hair is a rat's nest of tangles in the back, and they're both flushed and have a sheen of sweat. Not entirely subtle. "Are you sure you don't want to come to the party with me?"

"I am sure." He smiles, leaning back against the side of her car. She eases the door shut and follows suit, their elbows nearly touching. She yanks her tank top back down.

"Whenever somebody gets you to agree to a date, I bet you'll be an amazing boyfriend," Carly says, teasing and not-teasing.

"Maybe." He has no intention of dating anyone. Ever. But he doesn't say that to her. "Be safe at the party, eh?"

"Of course." She leans over to bump affectionately against him, as close as he allows to a goodnight kiss. "I'll see you at work on Tuesday, right? We both open that day."

"Da. You will see me then. Now I need to go inside. Keep off your lights until you are gone from my neighborhood, please."

"Just tell your mom to fuck off." Carly sighs, finger-combing her hair as best she can. "You're a fucking adult. Do what you want."

"Mmmn. Easier to say than to do."

It isn't his mother he is worried about getting a good look at Carly Riggs.

But he just gives her a hug, her perfume and the scent of them together a heady mix in the air, and opens her front door for her to settle inside and drive away, easing slowly down the road to make as little noise as she can.

His key in the lock makes only the slightest sound, and he oiled the hinges so the door never so much as squeaks. The house is dark and silent, the TV for once is off. He moves with perfect knowledge of every obstacle between him and his bedroom - avoiding the box of clothes for donating that has been sitting for three months now, his mother's little dog's pile of toys, even a kitchen chair out of place.

The vodka in the freezer pours easily into a shot glass, and he knocks it back to feel it freeze and burn, tasteless, down his throat.

Two more shots and the warmth spreads further than the cold, so he adds a little water to cover what he stole and puts it back, turning the bottle so the label is exactly the way it was when he came in..

He has long experience at this. His father will never know, never guess. The better for his health if his vodka turns more and more to simple water, anyway.

He showers, washing Carly off him as well as the smells of his job. When he checks the mirror after drying off and pulling on a pair of gray sweatpants, he sees - yes, scratches, with bright red spots where blood welled up, from just below his shoulder blades down nearly to his waist.

He smirks at the sight, but then realizes the bathroom door is open. His smile fades as his eyes raise.

Reflected in the mirror, Misha stares at him, expression somehow both empty and avid.

"... The bathroom is taken," He says, after a breath. His younger brother, head tipped against the doorframe and mop of hair falling over his eyes, smiles. It's thin, and it doesn't reach his eyes.

None of Misha's expressions ever reach his eyes.

"Got mauled by a tiger at work tonight?" Misha's voice is light. He makes a little claw gesture with one hand, fingers bent. "Rrrrow."

"Misha-"

"Which girl was it? The cute brown-haired one?"

Artyom turns away. "None of your business. Go back to bed." He wets a toothbrush and gets toothpaste, hoping to stave off the conversation long enough for Misha to lose interest.

At first, he thinks he might have succeeded. Misha disappears from the doorway, and Artyom makes his way to his bedroom in the dark. His father's snores are deafening, down the hall. His mother will be sleeping in the guest room, and even if she snores, too, it would be impossible to hear it over his father.

He pads barefoot over the hardwood floor until he heads into his room, letting the door close behind him and collapsing onto his twin-sized bed with his feet hanging off the end. He can hear Misha's television in his room going through their shared wall, low murmuring voices.

There's a beat of silence. Artyom takes a deep breath, holds it for a beat, slowly exhales. Outside, the breeze shivers the leaves into a soft rustle. His clock reads past midnight, but if both his parents are asleep already, they won't know to bother him about it.

Not that anyone ever minds when Misha misses curfew, but if Tyoma is late, oh, let hell rain down...

He groans and rolls onto his side, pulling the covers up. He can feel bitter tomorrow. Besides

"The blonde, then?"

Artyom shoots upright with his heart in his throat, eyes briefly wide. "Chto za khren', Misha!"

His brother is a shadow in the corner, leaning against the wall with his hands in his jeans pockets, shoulders hunched.

Smiling.

In the dark, he has only even deeper shadows for eyes.

"Tell me which girl it was, Tyoma."

"I... Why?" His heart pounds, and he scoots until his back hits the wall, watching as Misha pushes lazily away from the wall and takes the two or three strides he needs to drop into the computer chair Artyom keeps next to his desk. No computer, but maybe one day. If he can save up.

"Because I want to know, dumbass." Misha laughs, leaning over. There has always been something strange about his laugh. "I want to know who's out there stealing my brother's heart."

"No one is." It's an honest answer. "Not sure I even have one to steal, Mishka." Less honest. But his voice is still too airy, and he can tell Misha enjoys the idea that he has frightened him. "It's just... friends with benefits. Da?"

"Is it?" Misha scoots the chair closer, clicking over the boards on the floor. Artyom feels strangely trapped, even though he could push Misha back and run. But he doesn't. His brother won't hurt him.

Not yet.

"It is." He drops his voice even further. "I promise, Mishka. There is no one outside the family. No one."

"No one but me." Misha is inches from him, his knees touching the side of Artyom's bed. Now light from outside, dimly white, glimmers over his dark eyes. "Right? Right, Tyoma? Family first."

"Right." Tyoma meets his gaze. Misha's eyes are like dead things, empty marbles in a moving face. "Family first. No one is more important than family."

"Right. And I'm your family. Me. So you can't run off to screw people if it means not taking care of me, right? If you get some girlfriend-"

"I don't even want one." Artyom cuts him off. Misha leans even closer, somehow. And there's a glint, a sheen of moonlight off metal. His little brother is holding a knife. "Carly and I are just friends who, who fool around sometimes."

"Carly, then." Misha's smile widens, like a skull's rictus grin. "The blonde. I figured."

Artyom winces, internally. But all he does is swallow the lump in his throat and nod. "Da, Mishka. She has a boyfriend at college. This is just for fun."

"Khoroshiy, Tyoma."

The silence draws out, and then Misha moves in almost a lunge forward and upright. Artyom flinches back, but Misha only ruffles his hair, giggling like he used to do when they were kids and he would push other children down the slide before they were ready.

"Relax. You are my family, too, Tyoma." He pats the side of Artyom's face. The knife in his other hand disappears back into a pocket, closed up into harmlessness again. "Family first."

"Family first," Artyom whispers.

Misha turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.

Artyom doesn't fall asleep until it's nearly dawn.

A week later, Misha calls him for help, and he spends the night digging a grave in the woods, just deep enough to cover two bodies with pine needles and fallen leaves without it being obvious. It takes hours, and his arms burn, muscles screaming for him to stop. He ignores the pain.

Misha helps, which he doesn't usually do. He digs, too, his eyes locked on Artyom's face. The dead bodies mean nothing, now. They've served their purpose.

"They're both pretty," Misha says idly. "Good luck I found them, huh?"

Artyom grunts.

"Hey. Tyoma." Misha snaps his fingers and Artyom looks up. Misha is only a couple feet away. He has the same look on his face as he had in Artyom's room the other night.

"Don't see her again outside of work, Tyoma. Don't. You don't need friends. You have me."

"... Mishka-"

"Don't 'Mishka' me. I said don't hang out with Carly Riggs anymore unless I'm with you. Okay?"

"... Yeah."

"Say you won't. Say it out loud. I can finish this myself, you know."

Artyom thinks of the knife Misha keeps, one he never uses on anyone else. He knows that knife is for him.

Artyom's heart pounds all over again, exertion and a dim terror beneath. "... I will not hang out with Carly without you."

"Good. Let's finish this up."

He goes back to digging, and Artyom follows suit, trying not to look too hard at the bodies.

A couple Misha saw in a bar and wanted to destroy. So he did. And now Artyom buries them for him, as always. Because his mother's heart would shatter if her youngest son was caught doing such evil things.

Because he knows what he must do to protect the brother who has been the center of his life since his birth. The brother who will one day, he thinks, be the center of his death, too.

He feels Misha's eyes on him like a brand as he dumps shovels of dirt over the open dark, slightly feline eyes and messy dark hair of the man. The tangled blonde hair and bright blue eyes of the woman. She has a t-shirt on from the restaurant where Artyom's been working.

It isn't a coincidence. It's a message, and Artyom understands.

Family first.

Or else.

[scoundrels-in-love]

1, 11, 39 for the fic ask thingy? 🐝

Thank you for asking, bbee. <33

Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

Truly, nothing scares and overall upsets me more than having to write multi-chaptered fics. I finally managed to break my curse of never having finished one earlier this year and I am gritting my teeth and chanting that I can and will finish the ones hovering in my WIPs as well. One shots is where my heart is at, even when I link them together in long collection.

11. Link your three favorite fics right now

Oh boy, I am not good at picking favorites, especially such limited number. But okay. *cracks knuckles* You're definitely getting more than just three, though.

sometimes it's heaven sent (we kiss, make up on the way) - a Mashwood Pushing Daisies AU by @dingusttmax that has been living in my corner of my heart and my mind. Painful, sweet and hot all at once. Absolute perfection. His through the deep dark forest long aka Mashwood Princess Mononoke AU is also just. SO GOOD. Fuckin' fantastic. Emotional, creative, stunningly described.

blended in measure the Mashwood series by @tardisready is just superb, fantastic, devastating, cleverly plotted and told, stunningly hot. Can't give it enough praise, truly. Also, ace Vash rep!

maybe my heart needs to break to be sure a Mashwood piece that comes with several warnings that absolutely should be heeded, but whew. The emotions, the love in this are absolutely fantastic, devastating and will stay with me for a long time. Forever, I suspect.

Mycorrhizae a Mashwood piece that left me just! Mouth ajar in the best way possible. Leaning into cryptid/inhuman Vash all the way in, absolutely fascinating and left me in awe and sick with writer and brain envy.

get your hopes up a Stryfewood focus Mashwood piece but Vash is very much present. Hot, emotional and just all around winner for me.

"Always" is in the eye of the beholder a VashMeryl piece and insight in Vash's immortality and the lifespan of love versus loved one.

Sister of Bandits by @ladymaliwan a VashMeryl piece about Meryl finding Ericks and Meryl is so delightfully badass in this, just everything about this is so good. I love the expansion of Meryl's arc that feels so natural that the author is making.

Bluebells by @needle-noggins is a VashMeryl fic in progress that has me captivated and not just because I've had the privilege of few sneak peaks of what's to come. Dealing with Meryl's very reasonable trauma after well... Everything. And navigating a life in the after. Which is a theme that I absolutely love to see explored.

for reasons wretched and divine a VashWood smut piece that comes with suicidal ideation warning. Trans Wolfwood and stone top Vash. The way this Wolfwood is written, it won't leave me alone. If I could do him this beautifully fucked up just once, I'd be happy.

Research Findings a Vashwood piece by @bienchanter short, funny as all hell, sweet. What's not to love. Like Smoke Through your Fingers by them as well - amnesiac Vash with synesthesia, which I think is such a winning combination. And it's not because I am biased, it's really a great zombie apocalypse Mashwood AU: what's it really for (if it's not yours and it's not mine)

There are several more I want to link, but I can't find them quick in my history, goddamit. I've been lax about bookmarking things lately. T_T

39. Share a snippet from a WIP

From what I have lovingly deemed Demi fic - a VashMeryl post Trimax piece.

“I thought you had died.” 

I almost did. Everyone else has. 

But it’s not true - she is here, hugging him so tight it almost hurts. So he does not say that, does not say anything at all, just holds her in return. Her shoulders tremble softly, because there's few things he's as good at as making her cry, it seems.

Vash doesn't count minutes holding her (comforting her, comforting himself), lets the few stray stares drip off of him, them, until Meryl is ready to pull away a little and look him in the face properly. There is an instant urge to turn his head away, duck out of her gaze, as if she could read all his recent failures in his features.

He doesn't, because he didn't come here to run away again. At least not the moment they've met. (He is tired of running. He is more scared of staying.)

Send me fanfic writer ask?&lt;3

[breathlesspieceofdeath]

okay so im *just* finishing what if? s2 and i just wanna say, im losing my goddamn mind.

from the fact that we have most of the avengers reunited in 1602... we WON! we have a wanda/loki hug, steve hood, bucky with a really fucking nice lil beard😩, happy hogan hulk vs bruce hulk, non-ironman tony, the odinson trio (+ odinsdottir?) being cute lil siblings, steve letting go of peggy and even referencing the original mcu timeline where we finally know that the only timeline where the avengers win and save the universe is also the (probably) only one where steve gets his happy ending with the love of all his lives...

it makes me think... and it makes me feel a certain way... it makes me realize that, i cant be all that mad about the universe we get to see in its entirely. it brings me so, so much comfort. the mcu may not always be entirely perfect, there are many fans (including me) that think many many times that we do not get to see the things we want to. we don't get the happy endings we wanted to and it's painful to watch sometimes our favorite characters not get the chances they deserve and we're not always able to watch the mcu use their full potential - giving them a weird and bad arc.

but this show... this silly little animated show makes me feel at peace. i feel fulfilled. it makes it all make sense - something that marvel lately seems to be struggling to do.

i know we cant always be happy with the ways things go, even more when it's a fictional universe we don't get to create, but seeing so much chaos and so much feelings in "what if?" gives me the inspiration to create all kinds of scenarios where things go completely the way i want to. makes it easier to read fics and actually picture them going the way the writer sets them to go, and that with every piece of art inspired by another universe including the marvel characters.

i just gotta thank every creator that shares their stories with the community and most of all, thank marvel for giving all of us these masterpieces we get attached to and even giving us tools to create our own stories with it.

i could never find the right words to describe how much i love marvel.

[aweirdfuckingguy]

The rooftop is where I daydream of being. I had (have) a plan. A plan for my last day, feeling chill fall air brush against my skin as I study the night sky above me. Last day hearing the dry leaves tumble in the wind. An undisturbed final night, perfect and serene. I have been asked what would I miss about life. Honestly? Nothing. I’m excited to finally rest. To finally allow my brain to stop, sit, and bask in eternal peace and quiet. Something my mind doesn’t have the ability to do. I was going to need: a pack of cigarettes, alcohol, tape, plastic bag, a knife, my earbuds, and my phone.

When I was younger, I imagined I would send out personal letters to the closest people in my life. When I attempted often in the past. I would write out letters to my mom, dad, and little brother. The themes were recurring.

Mom, I love you. You were the best mom a kid could ask for. I know you will get this in time if you haven’t now, this isn’t on you. This has nothing to do with you. You have been an astonishing parent and I am deeply thankful for every second I have spent with you. I love you so much, I’m sorry for not being strong enough to persevere.

Dillon, I love you more than you will ever know. Live for me. I wasn’t strong enough to

go on but I love you and miss you already. I’m sorry I had to leave. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better big brother. I’m sorry for letting you down and not being what you needed. I want you to live on, enjoy your life, don’t let your past consume you the way I let mine. Have fun dude, I love you. If there is an afterlife, I’ll be there waiting to hug you again.

Dad, I don’t love you. I’m sick of lying to you every time I say those three cursed words. I’m not going to waste any more of my words explaining why I hate you. I have tried and you choose not to listen. Just know I wouldn’t have killed myself if you weren’t such a shitty dad. I resent you. Always have, and even now, I’m killing myself because of your impact on me. Sit in it. My final words to you are, go fuck yourself.

I wrote those just now, imagine these three paragraphs in multiple iterations in a messy kid-like manner. I started writing suicide letters when I was thirteen.

The plan, it is a fight everyday not to do it. Some days I’m stronger than others. Sometimes I give in a little and cut my wrist just to see the blood and feel the pain. A fucked up way of reminding myself that I am alive. I described it to someone once as it feels as though there’s a deep pit inside me. No matter what I fill it with—therapy, friends, medications, art, weed, alcohol; I’m still deeply miserable. People say, “You just have to push through!” What if I’m sick of pushing through? What I hear and see that sentence for what it is, a distraction from the inevitable. I am sick of distractions. I can’t escape my childhood and the mental torture I’ve gotten from it and myself.

I have been going to therapy since I was thirteen. Desperately searching for answers as to why my dad is such an asshole. Why I hate and blame myself for everything. Now I at least know why. I have been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and PTSD. So, I at least know why it’s so hard for me to move past what damaged me the most. I have a medical difference. Recently my therapist keeps telling me to quit my vices. What if I just need to work through it? What if I just want someone to listen?

I tried searching for a deeper connection by dating. To find someone who feels fucked up as me but we both try to get through it together. It’s been weird..and hard. I second guess every text I type. Wondering if he hates me over a text. A joke that I over think and decide it’s stupid. My heart leaps when he replies. I miss him. I feel like I fucked up with him though…so I feel alone. Again. And all I keep thinking to myself is…I can’t keep doing this.

[pleas3pretendimnothere]

Reading for March! I only read 3 books this month. I've been dealing with some mysterious medical issue (classic "all your tests are normal! Here's some pain meds, go home."), so my stress has been very elevated. I'm in pain every day, and it's made the physical act of sitting still and reading quite difficult. Shout out to audiobooks for allowing me to get through these while broiling in the bath!

Authority & Acceptance

By Jeff Vandermeer - I read the first book in Vandermeer's Southern Reach trilogy Annihilation some five or six years ago shortly after Alex Garland's film released. I loved the movie, so I was happy to pick up the book it was based on! That book was very different, neither in a good or bad way. Some things, the movie improved on, and other things the movie failed. Regardless, it was a haunting read that stayed with me years later, when I finally picked up the sequels.

Annihilation is about Area X, a dangerous seaside dream-world that defies explanation and has become secreted by the military. Delightfully, Authority opens up the world of the Southern Reach, the nearby operating facility where the world's brightest attempt to understand Area X's many horrors. The main character is the young and mysterious new director, Control, who delves into understanding the strange, clandestine operations of the Southern Reach, especially those linked to his now deceased predecessor. One scene in particular involving a secret attic will stay with me for a loooong time!

In the following book, Acceptance, the worlds of Area X and the Southern Reach converge. Characters from different times, which feel each like different, distinct worlds, tell stories that expand the reader's understanding of Area X. I won't spoil much, but this book was a near perfect end to this series. The horrors of Control and Ghost Bird's conclusions, the tragedy of the lighthouse keeper and the creation of Area X, and the deep character intrigue surrounding Gloria each play into an ending that doesn't answer all questions, but in the spirit of the series, still provides a mysterious yet satisfying feeling of finality. Though not all things "work out", there is relief.

Authority may have been the weakest book in the trilogy, but Acceptance was the strongest. It's not often that you find series that finish so well, but Vandermeer's Southern Reach trilogy is definitely among the good ones. The books are highly psychological, and often, I was forced to reread passages in order to completely understand them. Sometimes, the writing felt intentionally confusing, and other times, perhaps not so intentionally! The books make for slow reads for that reason, but thanks to the great storytelling, that was something that did not bother me. I love written horror that fails to describe the indescribable because, of course, of the nature of the thing. Whatever description results is highly paradoxical to the reader. It's horror that is inherently confusing, and therefore all the more horrifying. These books are boiling over with this stuff, and I loved it! The suspense, the paranoia, the terrible climaxes... Chef's kiss, all around!

A fantastic sci-fi horror series I'd recommend to fans of the genres. It's a staple in character work and psychological terror (or terroir? Nay...). Definitely BUY IT!

Frenchman's Creek

By Daphne du Maurier - And now for something completely different! How different? Why, some classical literature about a high society Englishwoman who tires of the frivolities of court life! Luckily, adventure awaits her at her summer home... in the form of piracy! And adultery, of course!

Rebecca is a favorite of mine, and I knew I had to read more by du Maurier. While Frenchman was no Rebecca, it was still a wonderful time! Our main character Dona is a delightful wild soul who says what's on her mind and does what she feels like. She's a breath of fresh air who can't be cowed, and her stubborn character makes for a wonderfully likeable hero. No wonder she falls into the arms of a handsome pirate hiding his ship and his crew in the nearby creek! She just can't be tamed!

Frenchman is just plain fun. It's cheesy romance, tongue-in-cheek writing, and ridiculous adventure that left me sometimes in giggling fits. If you enjoy romance, this is a fun one. RENT IT!

Okay, no promises, but I MIGHT read Way of Kings this month. With this illness, we'll just have to wait and see!

[murrpa]

I’m sorry if it makes you cry but if i cried then YALL WILL CRY WITH ME!!!😈

[this scenario is based of off Thor crying]

Thor, holding onto Wade as Wade is bleeding: Wade? Wade! Cmon, stay with us!

Wade, his sad look pierces him thru half ripped mask: I knew I couldn’t do it… why did I even fucking try?

Thor, bitterly smiling: Buddy, hey, it’s okay, breathe… you can do this, you can heal

Wade: My body… Fuck— it hurts, so fucking bad

Thor: Wade… look at me! Wade, please!

Wade, reaches up to touch his shoulder, his hand shakes as he does so, giving his last strength for this touch: Hey, thundercloud, Could you please… if you see Colossius, tell him he was my bestest buddy ever? And to Logan… that it was worth… worth everything?

Thor feels a tear roll down his cheek: Yes, Wade, I promise… I will

After, Wades arm drop with the last breath, near limp and lifeless body.

[sometime after the fight/incident]

Grey skies never left since that day, and rain drops were coming down the city, as fast as Logan’s tears. Waking up everyday was a torture, a meaningless routine becoming more miserable and hard to keep up. Even with the room full of people, Logan felt bitterly alone.

All the blame lays on him, though it was never his fault in the first place. He knew he could’ve done something to prevent this. But he didn’t. And now, the perfect world, as he used to describe it, became a hellish place, where he feels million times more guilty, hates himself like never before.

Hot tears burn his skin, and painful whimper escapes his lips, that’s when Wade would come running to wipe them off and hold him close. Alas, he’s alone. Never in a thousand years he thought he could feel so alone and small. Until now.

But as they run down his face, suddenly, hands reach out around his back, locking his eyes shut. In confusion, he hears Peekaboo, Peanut!

••••

Wade: Anddd as that piece of shit did his hockus pocus and slammed me into the ground, my life literally flashed in from of me! Haha, I thought I was dead already!

Logan simply looks at him, up and down, nothing on his mind but pure happiness. Wade— being funny, laughing off his own temporary death, smiling and sipping beer like in good old days. Life has a meaning now.

Wade: But y’know what? Y’all are jerks, how dare you put that awful picture of me on my grave?! Speaking of, I crawled out of it, definitely getting the tightest sleep in my life, fuck, I was well rested, dug myself out of that bitch and ready to whip the shit out again!

Logan: Wade?

Wade: Yeah?

He barely holds back, as eyes shine with tears.

Logan: I was ready to get back to my old timeline, because I wouldn’t be able to live here, where every single thing reminds me of you. It felt like the best life I ever received… slipped through my fingers, gone, with you, goddamn it

Logan feels his heart breaking in thought of what his life would’ve become after Wades passing. But pieces back together knowing Wade is in front of him right now, safe and sound.

Wade: Peanut… believe me, I shouldn’t be a reason for mourning—

Logan: Shut the fuck up, please, I never wanna hear that shit again, understand?

They stand in silence, eyes into eyes. Wade puts the beer down on the window seal.

Wade: Okay, sweetheart

Logan, finally letting emotions pour over: Thank you

Logan embraces Wades shoulders in a tightest hug, feeling his wild heartbeat. Wade doesn’t question, responding with the same gentle wrap around his waist, as he himself begins to tear up into his hoodie. After a brief taste of cold 6 feet under, Logan’s warmth feels like breath of heaven.

Logan, softly sobbing: Thank you… for coming back

Wade, giving Logan��s neck a gentle kiss: I will always find my way to come back to you, Peanut. In every timeline. I promise.

Logan’s fingers dig hard into Wades shirt in a wave of joy, but then he lets go of him, enough to shift his hands on his chest, to tug onto the fabric, and pulls Wade into the softest kiss, as warm hands remain on his waist, holding Logan like Wade will never let go.

[Deadpool’s monologue as the scene progresses]

“I made a terrible mistake, like a shit-eating, embarrassing misconception! Throughout my life I was chasing Vanessa like a stray dog chasing down its old owner on the drug-needle-soacking-wet streets of Manhattan. Dude, imagine being so stupidly blind like me— everything I could ever as for, was there with me all along, following into every shithole, every fight, every goddamn challenge life threw at my face, but he was with me! Like, dude, he was ready to die for my timeline and my friends, abandon his old life and hop through the hoops to save everyone. But he saved me first! And as cheesy at it may sound… he claimed his place in my heart like fucking queen Elizabeth the 2nd claimed her throne, bless her soul! I’m pretty sure it’s mutual, otherwise, why are Logan’s kisses feel so fucking loving?! Hah, in short, my whole world now fits in a hug, single. fucking. hug… Okay, Miss Gaga, take it away before I cry” *Crying Wade noises*

🎵✨If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next you,

If the party was over and our time on Earth was through,

I’d wanna hold you, just for a while,

And die with the smile,

If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next you✨🎵

end credits🎦

(Op: im crying again😭😭😭)

bruh im trying not to make myself sad but Die with a Smile reminds me of Wade and Logan so much it hurts, and im not even gonna mention i cried myself to sleep about it night before

[leonbloder]

The Tenderness of Pain

I like having a plan. 

Nothing is more satisfying than making plans, having all the details sorted out, knowing what will happen, seeing it happen, and then celebrating that the plan was executed. 

It's not that I can't pivot and respond to unforeseen circumstances, mind you.  But usually, I've already thought of most of the unforeseen circumstances ahead of time and have at least formulated something of a contingency plan if the unforeseen becomes seen. 

Over the past few years, however, I've been learning what it means to live in the tension of uncertainty, even though I crave the exact opposite.  

The reason for this?  Well, I've finally figured out that no amount of planning can account for the unexpected, and even when I think I've accounted for it, the unexpected always shows up. 

I have had more than a few times in my life when I had no idea what to do as I watched my well-thought-out plans go up in smoke.  Sometimes, it's something minor, like a plan for the tasks I hope to accomplish in a day, and I suddenly find myself sidetracked by an emergency.  

But the plans that hit the hardest when they fall apart are those I have held dear for a long time, maybe even years.  

An example of one of those plans was the one I had for my family when we moved to Texas some years ago.  My parents moved with us, and the plan was to find or build a house where we could all live together. 

In what seemed like a miracle, we found a perfect house on the very street where we'd been renting.  For a while, the plans and dreams I'd had felt like they were coming together, and I was so happy.  

And then my mom passed away not even a year later.  

Things were never quite the same after that, and it took a long time for me to realize that all those plans I'd had were never going to happen.  I grieved all of it for a long time, and it took me until this past year to really reconcile with it. 

The feeling that I felt most intently as I wrestled with the loss of those plans was a feeling of being lost.  I felt unmoored, without an anchor, and set adrift.  

But I slowly learned over time that I had begun to find myself again in the pain of that loss.  The pain taught me about who I was, even though it was hard to understand then.    

There's this super interesting quote from the renowned Buddhist teacher Pema Chodron that goes like this: 

When inspiration has become hidden, when we feel ready to leap, this is the time when healing can be found in the tenderness of pain itself. 

While we can't go through life without ever feeling pain or loss, we can discover healing as we let our pain instruct us rather than choosing to leap away to make it stop any way we can.  

I'm about to offer up a Star Trek moment as an illustration.  Don't judge. 

In Star Trek: The Final Frontier, Captain Kirk delivers an amazing line to the film's antagonist, Spock's brother, Sybock, who can take away painful memories from people.  

To which Kirk replies: 

“You know that pain and guilt can't be taken away with the wave of a magic wand! They're the things we carry with us, the things that make us who we are. If we lose them, we lose ourselves. I don't want my pain taken away, I need my pain!”

I've always loved that line, even though the film wasn't my favorite in the Star Trek anthology.  As it turns out, we need our pain to help us heal, so much so that Pema Chodron described it as "tenderness."  

I feel that God is always present with us, but we feel that presence more when we are in pain- if we are willing to sit with it and allow it to instruct us.  

Let yourself learn from the pain you feel and not run from it.  May you find God in it, and allow yourself to be healed.  And may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you now and always. Amen.  

[advancedatrophy]

Saudade (English: /saʊˈdɑːdə):

An emotional state of melancholic or profoundly nostalgic longing for a beloved yet absent something or someone.

If the last entry did not make me sound like I needed an exorcism, this one sure will.

I am sure on some level we have all felt severe FOMO at some point. Whether it’s not being invited to the popular girls birthday party, not being picked for the team, being the only one who got a bad grade, being the last one in the friend group to turn 19 or even being last to lose your virginity. I used to think some of those would be the worst thing to ever happen to me. Now imagine that all of those things were in your immediate reach, and you decided you couldn’t do it so you gave up. Imagine being the last one to lose your virginity, you are so excited to finally do the deed, you are already naked, you’re into it, ready to go and… at the very last second you run away and opt to stay a virgin forever. It sounds fucking nuts. That’s how I feel right now, but as hard as it is to believe it feels even more dramatic. The problem is, pain and sadness in a weird way is kind of my comfort zone.

It boils down to a choice. And “choice” doesn’t even feel like the right word to describe it. In my head I have made up my mind already. I have already decided, I have made peace with my decision. I mean it’s not like it was a hard choice.

Which is correct?

A) 2 + 2 = 4

B) 2 + 2 = -5472.7

If anyone else I knew was faced with a seemingly obvious math problem (happy + happy = love or… sad + total fucking prick = horrible), I would obviously have them choose the right answer. Math has never been my best subject, but that is beside the point.

My point is I am so mad at myself right now. The answer is so obviously option A that I can’t even believe I keep writing down the other option. It’s like my brain is not communicating with my body. Like, you know when you have something stuck in your teeth and your tongue knows EXACTLY where the thing is, but when you try to finger it out its like there is no sense of direction at all? Anyways…

Let me tour you through just how fucking good option A is just to bring the point home:

In movies, theres a man and a woman and there is so obviously sparks between them, but neither one of them really make a move and its all kind of banter for an hour and then in the last fifteen minutes it’s one big grand gesture and boom they are in love and the whole time you’re thinking “finally…holy fuck couldn’t they just have started with that?”

Every single day feels like the last fifteen minutes of that movie to me. This man makes me feel like I am a kid in a candy store. I am literally floating (I think) sometimes when we are together. I don’t even feel like my feet are on the ground. I am not paying attention to anything other than what he’s gonna say next. Hoping the whole time that he’ll kiss me and we’ll laugh directly into each-others mouths.

He is the funniest person I have ever met. And I consider myself to be pretty hilarious myself, so I have a high standard for wit.

Music sounds different to me now. I actually hear the message in it all. I always knew the lyrics but I never actually felt it directly in my heart like I do now. I am listening to songs I know like the back of my hand and suddenly they have me in my feelings. And even still, 1 million playlists later, I have yet to find the perfect song to really describe my feelings.

I am trying hard with this journal to seriously try and get my real life feelings off my chest, but there are no words. How I feel is beyond words. It’s pure bliss.

When he’s not around, and when we can’t communicate, I go feral. I feel like a fiend. Maybe that’s unhealthy, I don’t give a shit.

I have to make my brain act on this or I will regret it for the rest of my stupid life. It’s not one or the other, there is only one answer.

If you’re reading this, I love you. And I miss you.