#the diagnosis was a long time coming and it's such a win for me

[ardate]

Today:

Got to appointment and am finally diagnosed with ADHD

Paid off the last of my debt for my renovations

Went to the protest against shitty pension law

Did laundry

I sure been riding some odd waves these last few weeks but today was an incredibly productive and rewarding day and I'm so happy ♥

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Inside William’s Next Act: Tatler’s May issue goes behind the scenes as the Prince of Wales is rising above the noise — and playing the long game

The burden of leadership is falling upon Prince William, but as former BBC Royal Correspondent, Wesley Kerr OBE, explains in Tatler’s May cover story, the future king is taking charge

By Wesley Kerr OBE

21 March 2024

When I first met Prince William in 2009, he asked me if I could tell him how he could win the National Lottery.

It was a jokey quip from someone who has since become the Prince of Wales, the holder of three dukedoms, three earldoms, two baronies and two knighthoods, and heir to the most prestigious throne on earth.

He was, of course, being relatable; I was representing the organisation that had allocated Lottery funding towards the Whitechapel Gallery and he wanted to put me at ease.

William is grand but different, royal but real.

At 6ft 3in, he has the bearing and looks great in uniform after a distinguished, gallant military career.

He will be one of the tallest of Britain’s kings since Edward Longshanks in the 14th century and should one day be crowned sitting above the Stone of Scone that Edward ‘borrowed.’

William, by contrast, has a deep affinity with Scotland and Wales, having lived in both nations and gained solace from the Scottish landscape after his mother died.

He’s popular in America and understands that the Crown’s relationship to the Commonwealth must evolve.

The Prince of Wales has long believed that ‘the Royal Family has to modernise and develop as it goes along, and it has to stay relevant’, as he once said in an interview.

He seeks his own way of being relatable, of benefitting everybody, in the context of an ancient institution undergoing significant challenge and upheaval, as the head of a nation divided by hard times, conflicts abroad, and social and political uncertainty.

We might recognise Shakespeare’s powerful line spoken by Claudius in Hamlet: ‘When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.’

With the triple announcement in January and February of the Princess of Wales’s abdominal surgery and long convalescence, of King Charles’s prostate procedure and then of his cancer diagnosis, the burden of leadership has fallen on 76-year-old Queen Camilla and, crucially, on William.

The Prince of Wales’s time has come to step up; and so he has deftly done.

In recent months, we have seen a fully-fledged deputy head of state putting into practice his long-held ideas, speaking out on the most contentious issue of the day and taking direct action on homelessness.

Last June, he unveiled the multi-agency Homewards initiative with the huge aspiration of ending homelessness, backed with £3 million from his Foundation to spearhead action across the UK.

He is consolidating Heads Together, the long-standing campaign on mental health, and fundraises for charities like London’s Air Ambulance Charity.

He was, of course, once a pilot for the East Anglian Air Ambulance services – a profession that had its downside: seeing people in extremis or at death’s door, he found himself ‘taking home people’s trauma, people’s sadness.’

Tom Cruise was a guest at the recent London’s Air Ambulance Charity fundraiser, William’s first gala event after Kate’s operation.

And more stardust followed when William showed that, even without his wife by his side, he could outclass any movie star at the Baftas.

There’s also his immense aim of helping to ‘repair the planet’ itself with his Earthshot Prize: five annual awards of £1 million for transformative environmental projects with worldwide application.

This project has a laser focus on biodiversity, better air quality, cleaner seas, reducing waste and combating climate change. Similar aims to his father; different means to achieve the goal.

On the issue which has caused huge convulsions – the Middle East conflict – William’s 20 February statement from Kensington Palace grabbed attention.

He said he was ‘deeply concerned about the terrible human cost of the conflict since the Hamas terrorist attack on 7 October. Too many have been killed.’

There were criticisms – along the lines of ‘the late Queen would have never spoken out like this’ or ‘what right does he have to meddle in politics?’ – but it was hard to disagree with his carefully calibrated words.

His call for peace, the ‘desperate need’ for humanitarian aid, the return of the hostages.

The statement was approved by His Majesty’s Government, likely cleared with the King himself at Sandringham the previous weekend and also backed by the chief rabbi of Great Britain, Sir Ephraim Mirvis.

Indeed, William and Catherine had immediately spoken out on the horrors of 7 October.

William followed up the week after his Kensington Palace statement by visiting a synagogue and sending a ‘powerful message’, according to the chief rabbi, by meeting a Holocaust survivor and condemning anti-Semitism.

This is rooted in deep personal conviction following William’s 2018 visit to Israel and the West Bank, says Valentine Low, the distinguished author of Courtiers and The Times’s royal correspondent of 15 years, who was on that 2018 trip.

‘William was so moved by his visit to Israel and the West Bank, he found it very affecting, and he was not going to drop this issue – he was going to pay attention to it for the rest of his life,’ says Low.

‘He must feel that… not to say something on the most important issue in the world [at that moment] would be a bit odd if you feel so strongly about it.’

There was concern from some commentators about politicising the monarchy, but this rose above the particulars of party politics.

As Prince of Wales, like his father before him, there is perhaps space to speak out sparingly on carefully chosen issues.

On this occasion, his views were in line with majority public opinion.

On homelessness, news came that same week that William was planning to build 24 homes for the homeless on his Duchy of Cornwall estate.

‘William’s impact is very personal,’ says Mick Clarke, chief executive of The Passage, a charity providing emergency accommodation for London’s homeless.

‘Two weeks before Christmas, the prince came to our Resource Centre in Victoria for a Christmas lunch for 150 people.

He was scheduled to stay for an hour, to help serve, wash up, and talk to people.

He ended up staying for two and a quarter hours, during which time he went from table to table and spoke to every single person.’

Clarke continues:

‘William has an ability to listen, talk and to put people at ease. During the November 2020 lockdown, he came on three separate occasions to help.

It gave the team a boost that he took the time; it was his way of saying: “I support you; you’re doing a great job.”’

Seyi Obakin, chief executive of Centrepoint, one of the prince’s best-known causes, adds:

‘People associate his patronage with the big moments like the time he and I slept under Blackfriars Bridge.

The things that stick with me are smaller in scale and the more profound for it – in quieter moments, away from the cameras, where he has volunteered his time.’

It is a different approach from the King’s.

As Prince of Wales, he was involved in the minutiae of dozens of issues at any one time, working into the night to follow up on emails, crafting his speeches, writing or dictating notes.

Add to that much nationwide touring over 40 years (after he left active military service in 1976), fitting in multiple engagements, often being greeted formally by lord lieutenants.

This is not William’s style. He has commended his father’s model, but he does things his own way.

Although patronages are under review, William has up till now far fewer than either his father or his grandparents.

Charles is sympathetic to William’s approach and his desire to make time with his young family sacrosanct.

They are confidantes, attested by the night of Queen Elizabeth’s death.

They were both at Birkhall with Camilla, reviewing funeral arrangements while the rest of the grieving family were nearby at Balmoral, hosted by the Princess Royal.

Charles has had almost six decades in public life and is the senior statesman of our time, with even longer in the spotlight than Joe Biden.

After Eton and St Andrew’s University, where he met Catherine, William served in three branches of the military between 2006 and 2013, finishing as a seasoned and skilled helicopter rescue pilot.

His later employment as an air ambulance pilot stopped in 2017, when he became a full-time working royal.

At that time, not so long ago – with Harry unmarried, Andrew undisgraced, and Philip and Elizabeth still active – William shared the spotlight.

Now, after the King, he’s the key man.

He can look back on the success of his first big campaign initially launched with his wife and brother in 2016: Heads Together.

‘We are delighted that Prince William should have become such a positive and sympathetic advocate for mental health through his Heads Together initiative and now well-established text service, Shout, among other projects,’ says the longtime CEO and founder of Sane, the remarkable Marjorie Wallace CBE.

‘It is not always known that he follows in the footsteps of his father, the King, whose inspiration and vision were vital in the creation of our mental health charity Sane.

As founding patron, he was instrumental in establishing our 365-days-a-year helpline and was a remarkable and selfless support to me in setting up the Prince of Wales International Centre for Sane Research.’

'Indeed,' says Wallace, 'this is where Prince William echoes the work of his father, showing the same ‘understanding and compassion for people struggling through dark and difficult times of their lives and has done much to raise awareness and encourage those affected to speak out and seek help.

We owe a huge debt to His Majesty and the Prince of Wales for their involvement in this still-neglected area.’

Just as I saw all those years ago at that early solo engagement in Whitechapel, William still approaches his public duties with humour and fun.

‘He defuses the formality with jocularity,’ says Valentine Low, citing two public events in 2023 that he witnessed.

In April last year, while on a visit to Birmingham, William randomly answered the phone in an Indian restaurant he was being shown around and took a table booking from a customer – an endearing act of spontaneity.

On his arrival later that day, the unsuspecting diner was surprised to be told exactly whom he had been talking to.

In October, Low reported, William ‘unleashed his inner flirt as he hugged his way through a visit with Caribbean elders [in Cardiff] to mark Black History Month.

As he gave one woman a hug – for longer than she expected – he joked: “I draw the line at kissing.”

And while posing for a group photograph, he prompted gales of laughter when he quipped: “Who is pinching my bottom?”’

Low believes that when William eventually becomes king, he will be more ‘radical’ than his father but wonders if people will respond to ‘call me William’ when ‘the whole point of the Royal Family is mystique and being different.’

However, William has thought deeply about his current role and is prepared for whatever his future holds.

For now, there is a decision to be made on Prince George’s secondary schooling. It’s said that five public schools are being considered, all fee-paying.

Eton is single-sex and boarding but close to home. Marlborough (Catherine’s alma mater) is co-ed and full boarding. And Oundle, St Edward’s Oxford and Bradfield College (close to Kate’s parents) are co-ed with a mix of boarding and day.

As parents, William and Catherine aspire to raise their children ‘as good people with the idea of service and duty to others as very important’, William said in an interview with the BBC in 2016.

‘Within our family unit, we are a normal family.’ Which may be one reason why he is so resistant to their privacy being compromised either by the media or close family members.

The 19th-century author Walter Bagehot wrote:

‘A family on the throne is an interesting idea also. It brings down the pride of sovereignty to the level of petty life… a princely marriage is the brilliant edition of a universal fact, and, as such, it rivets mankind.’

If hereditary monarchy is to survive, it must beguile us but also demonstrate its utility, that it is a force for good.

William said in that 2016 interview, ‘I’m going to get plenty of criticism over my lifetime,’ echoing Queen Elizabeth II’s famous Guildhall speech in 1992 ‘that criticism is good for people and institutions that are part of public life. No institution – city, monarchy, whatever – should expect to be free from the scrutiny of those who give it their loyalty and support, not to mention those who don’t.’

William saw close up his mother’s ability to bring public focus and her own personal magnetism to any subject or cause she focused on.

He admires his father’s work ethic, the way he ‘really digs down,’ sometimes literally (I understand that gardening is giving the King solace during his cancer treatment).

But the biggest influence for William was Her late Majesty, as he said on her 90th birthday.

As an Eton schoolboy, William made weekend visits to the big house on the hill, being mentored by Granny rather as she had been tutored in the Second World War by the then vice-provost of Eton, Sir Henry Marten.

William said in 2016:

‘In the Queen, I have an extraordinary example of somebody who’s done an enormous amount of good and she’s probably the best role model I could have.’

That said, his aim was ‘finding your own path but with very good examples and guidance around you to support you.'

Queen Elizabeth II had a brilliant way of rising above the fray and usually being either a step ahead of public opinion or in tune with it.

If you are at the helm of affairs in a privileged hereditary position, your duty is to serve and use your pulpit for the benefit of others.

In a democracy, monarchy is accountable.

The scrutiny is intense, with an army of commentators paid for wisdom and hot air about each no-show, parsing each announcement, interpreting each image.

William takes the long view. He has ‘wide horizons,’ says Mick Clarke.

‘There are so many causes that are more palatable and easier to achieve than ending homelessness, but his commitment and drive are 100 per cent.’

The prince seeks a different way of being royal in an ancient institution that must move with the times. His task? To develop something modern in an ever-changing world.

He faces all sorts of new issues – or old issues in new guises.

Noises off from within the family don’t help – Andrew’s difficulties, or the suggestions of prejudice from Montecito a couple of years ago (now seemingly withdrawn), which prompted William’s most vehement soundbite: ‘We’re very much not a racist family.’

William is maybe a new kind of leader who can keep the monarchy relevant and resonant in the coming decades.

Queen Elizabeth II is a powerful exemplar and memory, but she was of her time. William is his own man.

He must overcome and think beyond ‘the unforgiving minute.’

Indeed, he could seek inspiration in Rudyard Kipling’s poem, If.

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch[…]

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

This article was first published in the May 2024 issue, on sale Thursday, 28 March.

[coffee-mage-sans-caffeine]

This morning I got to go on a fun adventure called "coffee fucked their back and now has to attend physical therapy." Now, stories of 'coffee meets a medical professional outside of a work setting' are generally onerous and shitty because coffee's a fucking medical anomaly 90% of the time. But today, dear reader, there was a student physical therapist in addition to the most senior physical therapist trainer the practice has. So I started out as a good little coffee. "You should probably know that I'm borderline hypermobile, before we start." "Ah!" says the little baby physical therapist, who as yet has not developed a poker face. "We should do a beighton score before we start!" Yes, sweet baby, we should. And we did. Where I scored a 9/9 and got the very polite version of 'bitch this hypermobility ain't borderline.' So they start testing my range of motion. Currently my back pain is preventing me from doing anything that involves bending at the waist. So they ask me how I put my shoes on to come in to PT. I grab my ankle and pull my foot up to my face because my hips don't hurt and my knees don't hurt and my ankles don't hurt. So if I just pull my ankle up by my face, I can pop my shoe right on there, without flexing my lower back at all. And that's the first time the baby PT's face does this:

The senior PT nods and goes "Okay. That works." The Baby looks at the senior PT like "ARE YOU FUCKING SEEING THIS???" And the senior PT lays me back on the exam table and starts rotating my ankles and legs to see what my range of motion really is and casually says "Okay (baby PT), you should note. In this case, we need to change how we grip the leg for range of motion because if you watch here, if we pull on the ankle, it's gonna come right off." And the Baby goes "What... what do you mean 'come off?'" And quite cheerily I go "She means you'll completely pull my ankle off the joint, dislocate it. If you want to see it, you can just give it a bit more of a tug and then if you pull the forefoot straight out from my hip, it'll pop right back on, so it's fine." And the Baby goes "Uh. No? No. Please. Please don't do that. Does... Does coffee need a referral???? This looks like it needs a referral."

And the senior PT calmly goes "Well, there's nowhere to refer coffee to. I don't know any doctors that I could trust to diagnose or treat coffee, so we'll keep them in-house and look after them here. They'll probably need an EDS diagnosis as they age, depending on where they are on the hypermobility spectrum, but there's no one to send them to now, so as long as coffee continues to show good judgement and goes to a doctor when things get more painful, this is fine and normal."

The Baby PT is screaming with her whole face that this is neither fine, nor normal. The senior PT is just shrugging and reminding me that bracing is an option but not one she recommends if I have enough stability that nothing's tearing. I'm nodding along and saying 'see that's what I say but my wife freaks out about it!' The Baby PT is just like "BUT DOESN'T THIS HURT????" and I'm like "Well... yeah. Obviously my body hurts all the time, but everything doesn't hurt at once all the time, it's different things every day, so it's fine." Well guys, I think that broke her. Because she just kind of stared at the senior PT with huge eyes for the rest of my visit. I think I broke her. Which is how you win PT, right? Right??? Anyway now I have exercises for my back pain. To work on getting back range of motion.

[sunlit-mess]

Hello, I hope it's not rude but I'm REALLY REALLY fond of your art!!!!! I was scrolling through your blog from new to old and found that you have Bpd,,,. I only heard about this condition, what is it like? If it's ok to know,,,!

hello, thank u! uhm it's something? HAHAHAHA idk how to explain it 😭🏳 lemme try to be as direct as possible

I'm high-functioning, but there are points I seriously just start showing symptoms.

Emotions: INTENSE as it can get while FEELING 99 PERCENT EMPTY. Something just- keeps you so.. hungry (not literally). Sensory is also another factor, and honestly I burn out a lot, tend to get overwhelmed n meltdown like shit

Identity: I either have BEEF WITH it, feel GODLY, or be so LOW, really low. I live with both passion and hate. I'm very confused. But I can say I'm just tired!

Attachments: Relationships are so hard to maintain bc of how much I fear abandonment, like bro I can't even leave my family as much as I want to. I'm more scared of getting disowned or losing my name. Love is a concept I long to grasp at the same time scared of it, I don't understand jackshit about " love ".

> I tend to self-Isolate with or without reason

> ...I used to test other people whether they can handle me or not, whether they'd leave or not. Not anymore though, but the thought lingers.

> Very- paranoid- about.. perception, neglect and invalidity HAHA.

Mindset: They call it Black and White, or generally just two categories to label my perception of things. However, I try to understand AS MUCH AS I CAN about a situation, etc. See what's in-between before I decide. that's really hard for me to do LOL.

> I always do my best to think and be nice

> I can be so fucking bad at the same time, only to regret it the next second or so

> My mind is scattered all over the place, It's exhausting

Trauma: I have memory problems and a lot to connect with that. Hate and fear is what I'm accustomed to. I live with a fuck ton of active predicaments like hell. Old wounds keeps reopening, and new ones never closes.

Impulse: shows in speech more than in action (THANK GOD LMAO I'D DIE IF I LET MY INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS WIN)

Habits: uhm. Ranging from sunshine and rainbows to SELF-DESTRUCTIVE. I get obsessive, like.. really obsessive.

Coping mechanisms: Usually I have mood stabilizers and anti-depressants n shit, but I don't rely on them anymore (bc I can't keep buying). I don't have good coping mechanisms even for physical needs. It's so bad bro. So I just end up drawing. that's the only good one I can list.

Living with it: Exhausting and an internal war 24/7. Does it affect me physically? Yes. Does it come with other mental factors and conditions? Also yes! But as one of God's most tired soldiers, nothing I can do but keep walking.

What I'm confused about: dawg last time, i kept searching about how conditions co exists like— Thats normal?? N the last diagnosis I was in confirms it does and nothing to worry about. BLUD I AM DEF WORRYING. Autism n bpd? u mean my behavior and shit isnt meant to be invalid as most people perceive — u mean these fckass experiences built that bpd? ☠️ WHAT AM I THEN—

(I'm having a hard time believing it bc as an adult, it's harder to process information like these)

[fashionteahouse]

Love your stuff!!

Please can I see an Embry x reader who just found out they have autoimmune diseases?? But he took her to the ER and that’s how he found out. Make it long if you can???

I stalk your page it’s embarrassing 🫣🫣😜

omg thank you! 💜 ofc you can and i’m honored haha ;) hope you enjoy :)

it is what it is - embry x reader

Waking up in the morning, exhaustion never left. Making sure to get extra of couple hours of sleep still made you a bit tired. When plans were falling through, getting dressed or going to the kitchen to get some water was sometimes a hassle. You noticed some shortness of breath. You were used to it all. You didn’t pay it too much mind.

Getting diagnosed was hard. You didn’t know what this would mean for the rest of your everyday life.

“It’s when the immune system attacks the body’s healthy cells and tissues instead of protecting it.”

You vividly remember the doctor’s voice saying this statement to you. Many doctors told you different things about how it was nothing or it could’ve been vitamin deficiency. You knew your body and you knew it wasn’t just “nothing.” Admittedly, you weren’t vocal with the newly found diagnosis. Trying to find the right time was your agenda.

You had your good days and your not so good days. Today, you tried your best to push through.

“It is what it is” you say to yourself, feeling strong enough to carry out the rest of your day. Not letting sickness win. You were determined to make it a mind over matter type of thing.

Embry picks you up and takes you to a bonfire, excited for you to finally hear the legends. You were excited to just be around him. Encasing his hands with yours, he guided you to the sand filled area and you saw the groups of people who decided to attend. Everyone was glad to see you and as were you.

Things were going smooth. Laughing and talking with everyone made you forget about what was going on with you. Going across the beach to get a drink left you breathless. Embry put a soft hand on your back, giving you a look of concern.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

You didn’t want him to worry. You’ve dealt with days like this before. “I’m okay. Just overdid myself that’s all.” you tell him.

As the bonfire progresses and you’re listening to the legends that the elders are telling, you feel a pain come on in your chest. You discreetly try to rub it but Embry kept a good eye on you, knowing something wasn’t right.

“Y/N, are you okay?” he whispers to you as a gruff voice who is speaking, is now background noise.

You nod.

The stories are over and you begin to stand, but dizziness doesn’t cease. Embry holds you upright to keep you from falling and hurting yourself. The pressure in your chest turn great. Your face twists with pain. You couldn’t take it. It was unbearable.

“I’m taking you to the hospital.” he says as he watched you crumble in pain before him.

Embry’s face was contorted with concern. Disbelief was swirling around him as the doctors read your medical chart and he found out that autoimmune diseases were evident.

Hands holding his head, he wished he had known sooner. Lying in the uncomfortable hospital bed, you were bummed about having to spend the night. The doctors wanted to monitor you but Embry’s emotions that showed, hurt you more than the pain that you felt.

Holding your hand carefully, not knowing if your joints are sore, he stares directly into your eyes.

“Why did you keep this from me?” he asked, he genuinely wanted to know why.

You muster up a shrug, you were scared to say anything to anyone. You were still trying to figure out how to go about life with what you’re dealing with.

“I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you but…”

“I’m supposed to take care of you. Promise me you won’t keep anything else away from me.” he says, not leaving your bedside.

“I promise.”

Being released, Embry really watched over you like a hawk. You explained to him the symptoms you have experienced and might experience. This made him on the edge of his seat.

“This is kind of why I wanted to take my time to tell you.” you tell him as he displays wordiness.

“Yeah but, who knows what would’ve happened if I wasn’t there.” he says and he has a point.

He asked a lot of questions. You happily answered them. You appreciated the genuine curiosity, he wasn’t shied away from you or your conditions. You appreciated the fact he was trying to make sure that you were okay. You even went as far as letting him know the lifestyle changes that you made. Avoiding certain foods that could cause flare ups and eating more healthier foods.

One day, you woke up feeling horrible. Your body felt heavy and you found it hard to move. A flare up was incoming. You phoned Embry with the last bit of energy that you could produce. He rushed over and he was by your side.

“I’m here.” he says to you as he comforts you. He spent the entire day with you. Getting up to fetch you something to eat, putting on the things that you liked to watch, made you forget about the sad reality of being stuck in bed. Everything was better when Embry was around. You felt weak and old at first but Embry constantly hammered in your brain that this is something you couldn’t help.

“I kind of miss the old me.” you say to him as the dusk started to set in. He looks down at you beside him, puzzled.

“The old you? What do you mean?”

“Without me being sick. I could do so much and now…I feel like I could do so little right now.” you confess to him.

“You’re always you. I love you for you.” he says seriously and you feel your heart warm up like warm weather. He reaches down, steals your lips with his, and keeps you close to him.

[master-sass-blast]

Let's Call it a Draw Between Us -Chapter One: Defeat.

Author's Note (uploading multiple works tonight, so I'm slapping this on all the fics I'm posting):

Uh... hi.

It's been a very long time. Longer than I'd hoped for, but suffice to say, this year hasn't gone according to plan.

In sum, I had a mental breakdown in Spring, got diagnosed with hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome in July, my husband totaled his car in September, I was sick for the whole month of October, my husband found a new (used) car... and then hit a deer at the end of November, and the insurance company ruled that it was totaled because the repair costs would be worth more than the value of the car.

Yeah.

There's been other shit, too, but part of what I've learned with the new diagnosis is that my body does not regulate or cope with stress well -which I sort of already knew, but it's to a vaster extent than I'd known. Essentially, this past year has just taken me out at the knees, and it will probably take my body a while to regulate and function well again.

I still want to write and post fics, but I now have a lot of anxiety around not being able to write and post fics (along with other things that my befuckened body interferes with), which is just... a lot. And frustrating.

I'm not throwing in the towel. But I also can't promise any sort of posting schedule moving forward. Right now, my body and brain are just too unpredictable, and I have to make sure I'm taking care of my basic needs (like eat and hygiene and sleeping, it's literally that difficult to deal with) so that I'm physically okay.

Thank you all for being so patient. I hope to see you more regularly in the coming New Year, but if not, know that I'm okay and still kicking, but that my body's just kicking back for the time being.

Much love and best of wishes to you all for the New Year!

Summary: Sevika pines. She drinks. Then she competes in some arm wrestling and makes some very sapphic eye contact.

She loses, loses again, and then she wins.

Or maybe she wins all three times. It depends on your point of view.

(Basically just a very self-indulgent fic that spawned from an idea about Sevika and a big, buff Reader that I'll probably never get around to writing in full, so I wrote this as a way of honoring that idea.)

Pairing(s): Sevika/Reader.

Rating: M for some sensual themes and making out.

Word Count: 10.1k. Whoops.

You drive her to drink.

Speaking of… Sevika leans against the bar and snaps her fingers at Thieram. “Whisky, neat. Half a glass.” She narrows her eyes when he raises his eyebrows at her, then scoffs and goes back to staring across the room once he jumps to. Idiot.

She hadn’t expected much out of you after she first met you. Properly met you, that is. Technically, her first introduction to you had been in an underground fighting ring stocked by Stillwater’s hardier, more opportunistic patrons. You’d made quick work of the other prisoners, but Silco had wanted a proper evaluation before deciding whether or not to scoop you up, so in she’d gone. She’d socked you in the jaw, you’d suplexed her through a shitty wooden table. Good times.

She hasn’t had any complaints about you. You’re quiet, compliant. You don’t get drunk on the job, and you don’t start fights with the rest of the crew.

But that seems to be about it. You don’t really hang out with anyone else. You’ll talk to her every now and then, but otherwise you keep to yourself. You don’t play cards with the others, shoot pool, or share drinks. No swapping of stories, or exchanging inside jokes. From what she can tell, you keep to yourself like a hermit in an invisible cave.

Like a shadow, she reflects as you hang back in your usual spot (towards the back of the bar, tucked into darkness, where no one bothers you). If you’re not watching it, you forget it’s there.

She’d thought that was it. She’s seen plenty of people leave Stillwater and fall into violence, or inebriation, or withdrawn sullenness. She figured you were a tragic statistic –yet another to add to Zaun’s tally.

And then…

Her upper lips curls when Jinx comes bounding down the stairs. She tracks the blue-haired sprite across the bar, over to where you’re sitting, then scoffs when you greet Jinx with a small smile before glaring down at her glass.

It’s like watching a flower unfurl after weeks of frost. You smile and open up towards the sun of Jinx’s exuberance like you’ve been doing it your whole life, like there’s nothing more natural to you than beaming at Silco’s brat. And, sure, Jinx is a kid and she’s kind of cute, for a demented gremlin. But she’s still Jinx.

Sevika scowls down into her whiskey. Fucking psycho kid.

You’d called it kismet when she’d asked why you tolerate Silco’s batty brat. You’d lost your baby sister when you’d gone into prison, Jinx had lost Vi after the factory explosion, and then, years later, the universe had brought you two together and balanced everything back out, or fucking whatever.

She supposes it’s a decent arrangement. Jinx isn’t nearly as vicious and off kilter with you around, and you get all soft, and mushy, and happy, and pretty–

Sevika motions to Thieram to top her glass up again. Fuck me.

You’re protective of Jinx, too. Not that the brat can’t handle herself (Sevika has her new arm to prove that). But, she can still remember the night Finn’s gang had crowded into the Last Drop. They’d been obnoxious, and overbearing, and more than a little sloshed. Jacen, one of Finn’s “good buddies,” had slapped Jinx across the ass as a joke.

He’d done it in front of Silco. He was a dead man regardless.

Before anyone –even Jinx–could react, though, you’d lurched out of your chair, grabbed the sledgehammer you keep with you in lieu of a knife or a gun, and taken two long strides across the bar. “Jacen!”

Sevika’s core clenches at the memory. She lets out a harsh breath, then gulps down half her drink.

The crimson, glittering spray of blood through the air had been beautiful. Like gems cascading through the air. Jacen’s face had caved in on one side from where you drove the head of the hammer all but through it. He’d dropped to the floor in a heap, unmoving.

“Anyone else want to have a go?”

She’d gotten herself off to the thought of it that very night. The fury in your eyes, the decisive, powerful movements of your body, the splatter of blood. She’d climaxed harder than she had in a long time.

The whiskey burns her throat –expected and grounding.

She takes it without coughing or gasping. She’s been an expert for decades. Her jaw works as she finishes swallowing, and then she turns her head so she can watch you again.

You’re listening and nodding while Jinx rambles. There’s a certain attentiveness to your expression. Maybe it’s the angle of your eyebrows, or the soft, lax look of your jaw, or the brightness in your eyes. Whatever it is, it’s a total abandonment from both the harsh, dominating fury she’s seen from you, and the skittish, withdrawn apathy.

Something soft and needy aches beneath her ribs as she watches you with Jinx. Sevika grits her teeth and exhales with practiced languor. I’ve gone fucking soft.

Sevika doesn’t consider herself possessive. She visits the brothel far too regularly, and has more than a handful of casual “situationships” with different ladies around Zaun to be possessive. She’s not monogamous, at least. She doesn’t think of other people as property. The children of Zaun don’t have the luxury of such affluent detachment.

But she wants you. It’s like this thing that sits beneath her ribs and crawls around inside her. It’s restless, and writhing, and it gnaws on her bones like a feral dog in the dark corner of an alley. It keeps her up at night with racing thoughts, vivid hopes, and half-formed “what ifs.”

It also keeps her up at night because, more often than not, she winds up masturbating to the thought of you –like some starstruck, gods-damned teenager.

She’s not used to wanting –not for companionship, at least. She wants her freedom, wants her equality, wants Zaun to stand strong against those fucking Piltie pigs… but that’s about Zaun. There’s a certain degree of detachment there. It’s not about Sevika personally, the woman who is renowned at the Gardens, beats everyone’s ass in cards, and can drink any citizen of Zaun under the table. The woman who got blown up and survived, lost an arm and came back stronger, and practically rules the Undercity with a steel spine and a –literal–iron fist.

She doesn’t want for company. Any attention she wants, she can easily get. She doesn’t stay up half the night yearning for anyone, much less a… lover? Companion? Affection?

Sevika knocks back the rest of her drink, but the burning in her throat pales in comparison to the ache in her chest. Janna, kill me. Put me out of my fucking misery.

She wants you. She wants to get her hands on you, get you underneath her (or on top of her, she’s not picky), and crack you open. She wants to drink you down, watch all that rage and goodness and steeliness and softness pour out. She wants to find its source and let it all wash over her. She wants it –needs it–for herself.

She wants it to be hers, even in part. She wants to bask in everything you keep held back by your silent, stoic mask.

There’s a headache forming behind her left eye. Probably from clenching her teeth; ever since the scars on her face crystalized, the muscles on the left side of her jaw have been more sensitive to strain.

She’s not used to this –this, this insipid, endless pining. It’s been going on for months now, and she’s just about ready to put a fork in her eye just to make it fucking end.

She barks at Thieram to get her another glass. Drink until you feel nothing. Zaun’s oldest remedy. She leans heavily against the bartop, then groans beneath her breath. Might as well buy the whole bottle. Against good sense, she resumes watching you. Warmth spreads through her chest when you grin at Jinx, and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

“Y’know, somehow, I don’t think she’s going to figure out you like her just from you staring at her like a creep through a window.”

Sevika tenses, then glares at Ran as they sit down on the barstool next to hers. She picks up her refilled glass with her left hand and lifts it to her lips. “Fuck off. Nobody asked you.”

Ran stays where they are –a credit to their courage, at least. They smirk, then glance across the bar, to where you’re sitting, before returning their knowing, smug gaze to Sevika. “It’d be easier if you talked to her.”

“Shut. Up.”

“I’m just trying to save you the eyestrain.” They grin, thin and sharp, when Sevika flips them off, then lean against the wooden countertop. “Seriously, though. Why not ask her out?”

Sevika scowls and focuses on her whiskey glass, which is suddenly very interesting. “S’not that simple.”

“Why not?”

Sevika nearly kicks them off the stool and onto the floor (just for starters), but when she catches a look at Ran’s face and realizes they’re not teasing, she sighs and scrubs her face with her right hand. “I… I don’t know what she’d say.”

“Since when is that a problem for you?” Ran asks, face twisting with equal parts mirth and disbelief. When Sevika rolls her eyes, they shove her shoulder lightly. “It’s not like you ever have to work for it.” They pause, then smirk devilishly. “Maybe it’s weakened your game. Is that it?”

Sevika glares at them, then kicks Ran in the shin when they start snickering. “I’m gonna smother you in your sleep. And for your information, you giggling bastard, that’s not the problem.” When Ran swallows their smile and motions for her to continue (while rubbing at their shin), she huffs. “I –I don’t know if she likes women.”

Ran’s visible eyebrow arches. “You’ve seen her.”

“...Duh.”

“She likes women.” When Sevika grimaces, Ran narrows their eyes. “You think otherwise?”

“I don’t think she likes anybody,” Sevika admits; doing so is somehow both a relief and condemning all in one. “You’ve seen her around people. She’s not exactly interested.”

“Not everyone likes a girl in their lap the way you do.”

“That’s not the point,” Sevika snarls under her breath as she rolls her eyes.

“Then what is?”

It’s not easy to articulate. Sure, it’s an unspoken, universally acknowledged truth in Zaun, but that doesn’t mean anyone ever says it.

People go into Stillwater, and they come out –if they come out at all–different. Broken. You spent most of your life in that shithole –spent most of your teenage years there–at the anti-mercy of the wardens and other prisoners. It only stands to reason that any part of you inclined towards a relationship –or sex, or human contact–got snuffed out by the need to survive.

She feels bad for you, sometimes. Only when it’s too quiet, and she doesn’t have anything to do, and she’s not drunk and-or high enough to keep her thoughts from wandering to the dark, traitorously soft corners of her mind. She can almost see the child you started as –fiery, but so soft and good and kind–and it all got stomped out by the assholes ruling above them.

Sevika forces herself to loosen her death grip on the glass. Breaking it wouldn’t be the end of the world, but she hates picking shards out of the grooves of her mechanical fingers. “You haven’t seen her around Silver. She touched her shoulder–” she nods at you subtly “–without warning. I thought she was gonna break Silver’s fingers.”

“That’s Silver,” Ran says with a derisive curl of their upper lip. “She wouldn’t know the meaning of ‘boundaries’ if it rammed itself up her ass.”

They’re not wrong; the young woman’s brazen attitude is one of the things Sevika likes about Silver –albeit in small doses.

“She doesn’t talk to anyone,” Sevika murmurs, pathetic by her own standards. She’s worn down enough, though, to speak plainly. “She doesn’t go to any of the brothels, or take anyone home –and, yes, I’ve asked. She hates being touched, or being near anyone.” She presses her lips together to keep a pitiful smile back –she’d never forgive herself–then downs more whiskey. The burn of the liquor grounds her, brings her back to normalcy. “I don’t think she’s interested.”

Ran nods minutely, mulling the evidence over. They watch you for a minute, hawkish in their scrutiny. “She sits with Jinx.”

“Jinx,” Sevika grits out (both because it’s Jinx, and because of the implication of Ran’s observation), “is a kid.”

“She is,” they agree, unfazed. “But, clearly, she’s not entirely opposed to all human contact.”

Like I don’t fucking know that. Sevika clenches her teeth together to keep from snapping. She’s observed the same damn thing, and it’s what keeps that whining, consuming, itching ember of hope burning in her chest.

Ran watches Sevika for a moment, then continues when she doesn’t say anything. “She sits with you.”

“That’s different,” Sevika says on reflex.

“I don’t think it is,” they press. “She never sits with anyone else. It’s either on her own, with Jinx, if she’s here, or with you.”

“I–”

“It’s not like she’s in it for playing cards,” Ran continues, staring Sevika down when she tries to argue. “And she doesn’t drink much, either.” They prop one elbow against the bartop. “Frankly, if you’re not here, then she isn’t. She only bothers hanging around if you’re here.”

“That’s–”

“She talks to you a lot, too,” Ran drawls, tone both teasing and reflective. “The rest of us are lucky to get a word or two from her, but she’ll talk the whole night with you.”

“I’m–”

“She lets you touch her, too. I’ve even seen her touch your shoulder in return.”

“If you interrupt me again–”

“Quit moping,” Ran says, voice flat and final. “Ask her out, or get over it.”

There’s a lot she could say to that. First of all, no one accuses her of moping. But she tucks it away for later; she doesn’t want to start kicking Ran’s ass in front of everyone, because that means the trigger point for said ass kicking will inevitably become common knowledge. Her feelings are nobody’s business but hers. Second of all, no one but Silco tells her what to do, and that’s only for work. She is the only damn master of her personal life, thank you very fucking much. Third, she knows for a fact that Ran spent nearly two years pining for one of Silco’s assassins, so they’ve got zero room to talk shit.

Sevika downs the rest of her drink, then motions for a third refill. “She’s not interested.”

Ran stares at her for a moment. Then, they scoff and shake their head. “You’re an idiot.”

Sevika glares harshly at them–

The door to Silco’s office creaks open, then thumps shut, followed by the man himself quietly descending the staircase to the bar floor. “Jinx.” He finishes buttoning his trench coat shut. “Pack up your things. We’re going home.”

“What?” Jinx’s face screws into the picture of teenage consternation. The baby fat on her cheeks makes her look younger still. “But–”

“It’s alright.” You quickly and neatly arrange her blueprints and drawings into a single stack, then hand them to the blue-haired youngster. “We can talk later, okay?”

Envy curls in Sevika’s gut when Jinx hugs you and you reciprocate with one arm. She turns away and hides her scowl behind her glass. Fucking brat.

Silco addresses the rest of his crew, “I trust that you’re all competent enough to avoid burning the place to the ground?” He arches his good eyebrow, then smirks when a mix of serious answers and half-drunk jokes rise up from the crowd. “Good enough.” He turns to face Sevika and tosses her a key. “You decide when the bar closes.”

She catches the key with her right hand, then flips Petrichor off with her left when they start grumbling under their breath about Sevika being in charge. She raises her glass to Silco in lieu of a spoken fair well, then knocks the rest of it back when he leaves out the rear with Jinx in tow. “Fucking finally. Theo! Put something good on for a change.”

“Are you having another?”

Sevika looks down as Silver –one of Silco’s personal spies–materializes at her side. She eyes the younger woman –her tight dress, high ponytail, and alluring make up–then looks away. Not with you. “Probably not. Best to take it easy.”

“Since when?” Ran mutters under their breath.

Sevika subtly kicks their stool, then looks down when Silver situates herself between her legs.

“You sure?” Silver pouts –which does stir something in Sevika, given Silver’s plush lips and deep-colored lipstick, but it’s not the something that she wants tonight. Silver bats her eyelashes a little, then smiles coyly. “Could be fun.”

Sevika bites back a scowl; she doesn’t want to put Silver off permanently –not yet, anyway. She wracks her brain for some sort of believable excuse that even Silver would accept–

As fortune would have it, one falls into her lap.

“–pretty sure I hit three-fifty yesterday–”

A collective chorus of groans alerts Sevika to the newest problem –chiefly, that Arik is bragging about his “gym gains.” Again.

Nevermind that she could break him over her knee like a fucking twig.

“It’s taken a lot of dedication and hard work.” Arik stretches and flexes, preening while everyone else rolls their eyes. “I don’t want to brag, but I’m probably the strongest member in the crew.”

Sevika arches one eyebrow in judgment; it’s ludicrous, considering that he’s ignoring her, the bouncers, Leon and Boris, and Lock, Silco’s mountainous, tattooed henchman that works security at the Shimmer plants. Why do we even put up with you?

Theo barks out a laugh. “Fat fucking chance, dickwad. No way in hell you’re the strongest person here. Pretty sure Miss Silver could knock you on your ass.”

“I’d take that bet,” Silver chimes in, twirling a lock of her straight, powder purple hair around her finger.

Arik pouts, looking like a spoiled teenager. “Oh, yeah? Who’s strongest, then? You?”

“No.” Theo shakes his head. “I don’t have delusions of grandeur like you. Nah, it’s probably…” He looks around the bar, eyeing the bouncers, then Sevika, before twisting in his seat so he can see the back of the bar. “Actually, it’s probably Mouse, here.”

It takes you a moment to register the nickname foisted upon you by the rest of the crew. You lift your head, blink a few times, then straighten up. “What?”

“Cuntface here–” Theo jerks his thumb over his shoulder at Arik, who sputters and wheezes like a dying engine “–thinks he’s the strongest person in the crew. I wagered that title would probably go to you.”

“Oh.” You look around at everyone, then nod. “Okay.”

Arik huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “There’s –there’s no way to prove that! Size isn’t everything!”

Sevika bites back a smirk as every single woman in the bar glances at each other and rolls their eyes.

“You’re shitting me, right?” Theo sneers at Arik. “Look at her, and look at you. It’s not going to be much of a competition.”

“You can’t prove that!” Arik insists, expression petulant.

Theo swivels in his seat to face you again. “Can you knock him out to shut him the fuck up?”

“No one’s doing that,” Sevika pipes up when everyone starts chattering and laughing excitedly. When people start grousing, she levels the room with a hard, final glare. “We’re not paying to get blood out of the floorboards. Again. If you all want to be idiots and knock the shit out of each other, you do it on your own time and floors, where I don’t have to clean up after your fucking mess.”

There’s a lull, and for a moment it seems like that’ll be it–

Silver perks up. “What about arm wrestling?”

“Hey,” Ran drawls, eyes lighting up. “That could work.”

“Anything to get this moron to shut the fuck up,” Theo grumbles.

Arik pouts, but says nothing.

When she realizes everyone is looking for her –presumably for permission, not that anyone’s ever bothered asking before–Sevika waves one hand dismissively. “Knock yourselves out.”

You watch as a table is cleared and Theo all but shoves Arik into a chair. When everyone looks expectantly at you, you shoot a wide-eyed, somewhat panicked glance her way.

Sevika offers you a half smile, then shrugs as if to say ‘it’s your choice.’

You shrug back, then sigh before standing. You stride over to the awaiting table and sit opposite a very grumpy, red-faced Arik.

Sevika shifts on her stool so she has a better view. Heat unfurls in her core as you prop one elbow against the table. She watches the way the thick muscles in your arm and forearm ripple with each movement. Damn.

Arik shifts in his seat. His eyelid twitches as he eyes your arm and hand. “I– I don’t know–”

“Take her fucking hand,” Theo growls.

Arik swallows hard, then props his elbow on the table and takes hold of your hand.

“On go,” Ran declares –they’ve left the bar and now stand beside the table. “Three… two… one… go!”

It’s not even a competition. If anything, it’s almost pathetic.

Arik tenses his arm –then squeaks when you push his hand down so fast he nearly falls out of his chair. The back of his hand hits the wooden surface of the table with a dull thonk. He lets out an angry snarl, yanks his hand away, then lurches to his feet and storms off with such force that his chair topples to the floor.

Everyone else cheers and claps as the front door of The Last Drop slams shut behind Arik.

“Fucking finally,” Theo mutters before running one hand through his curly hair. He looks at you and smiles appreciatively. “Thanks for shutting him up. Want a drink?”

You lean back and away. “I –I’m good, thanks.”

“That wasn’t even a challenge, though!” Silver pipes up, pouting.

“We already knew it wouldn’t be,” Theo fires back drily.

“But,” Ran interjects with a wry edge to their voice, “if we’re really trying to figure out who’s strongest…” 

Sevika presses her lips into a thin line when they turn and look directly at her. Don’t you fucking dare.

“Do you think you could beat Sev?”

Traitor.

You look at her, then lean back in your seat and grin. “Oh, yeah. Easy.”

Sevika feels her brows rise up, and she grins back despite being annoyed with Ran literal seconds ago. “Really? That’s the stance you want to take?”

“I mean…” You shrug and smirk. “It’s the truth.” You raise one eyebrow as buzzed laughter and inebriated runs through the gang. “What, you're too scared to test it?”

Them’s fighting words. Sevika cocks her head to the side, smirks right back, then shoves off her barstool and stalks over to the table.

Your eyes light up as she sits down across from you. You lean forward, prop one elbow on the tabletop, and grin. “It’s nothing personal, Sev.”

The crooked angle of your grin makes her heart flutter in a delightful, squirmy manner. She swallows hard, forces down the childish feelings of elation, and props one elbow on the table without dropping your gaze. She smirks, and revels in the way your eyes dance in the bar lighting. “Nothing personal, sweetheart,” she fires back, making sure her voice comes out lower and huskier.

Your grin broadens. You clasp her hand and squeeze tight while Theo counts down…

“Three, two, one–”

Oh shit.

It’s like shoving against a wall. Granted, Sevika’s shoved, kicked, and punched a number of walls in her day. She’s left her mark –even broken a few–on nearly all of them. She likes to think that she’s a reasonably strong, generally indestructible motherfucker.

You watch her for a few moments, expression placid –save for the smug, wicked, coy, sexy smirk on your lips. You let her try for a little longer, then inhale sharply and blink rapidly. “Wait, did we start already?”

“Fuck you,” Sevika grits out without any real malice.

You grin, showing a brilliant, alluring flash of teeth –and then you push.

“Shit.” Sevika strains against your arm.

To her credit, she feels your own arm waver slightly; to your credit, you brace your muscles, and it’s like pushing against a wall again.

She grits her teeth and tries to up the ante again. She curses when it doesn’t work, then grunts when you push her arm down another fraction of an inch.

“You okay, baby?” You grin when everyone else laughs (it’s a mix of delight and shock). “It’s okay if you need to tap.”

She grins back. Right now, she doesn’t care if she loses. Frankly, if you keep flirting with her like this, she’s the real winner in this scenario. “Keep it up, baby. We’ll see who taps.”

It’s a lost cause. You take your sweet time, push her hand down smooth and slow, and talk a lot of smack all the while.

She’s got less than an inch between the table top and the back of her right hand, now. You’re not even actively pushing, more just keeping her pinned at that point. She grunts, then laughs when your arm doesn’t budge. “Come on, you cunt. Just fucking finish it!”

You laugh in return and wink. “You’re getting tired in your old age, Sev.”

She grins. “Say that again and we’ll take this out back, bitch.”

You wink –then shove the back of her hand down against the table.

The crowd clustered around the table breaks into cheers.

Sevika can’t find it in herself to give a shit. Yeah, she lost, people are teasing her for it, whatever. She’ll kick their asses later, if she feels like it. Right now, you’re laughing, and smiling at her, and she technically got to hold your hand. That’s all she really cares about.

“What about the other one?”

Sevika blinks a few times, then frowns, confused. She looks up at Theo. “Huh?”

“Her other arm.” He’s talking to you, but he turns and gestures to her mech arm. “What about that one?”

“Uh…” Trepidation flashes across your face as you eye her prosthetic. You cringe and lean back in your chair. “I doubt it.”

It’s fair; her mech arm is reinforced, has motors that work the joints the way her muscles used to, and it’s heavy as shit. She’s crushed bones with her mechanical hand, just by clenching her hand into a fist.

But, still. In for a penny, stupid ways of flirting –all that shit.

She props her metal elbow on the table, resulting in a muted thud.

The table quakes beneath the weight of her arm.

She grins in a way that she hopes is taunting and enticing. She holds up her left hand and waggles her fingers. “You scared, sweetheart?”

Your eyes flash. You run your tongue along the inside of your lower lip. You brace your forearms against the table as you eye her metal hand. You hesitate, pressing your lips together, then say, “Just don’t crush my hand.”

“Nah.” She shakes her head. She’s not out for revenge.

Your shoulders relax. You cock your head from side to side, stretching your neck, then put your left elbow on the table and clasp her mechanical hand. “Bring it on. Sweetheart.”

It’s a more even match; she’d certainly hope so, given the fucking mechanical arm.

There’s a vein popping out on the side of your neck. Your face is pinched, expression one of intense focus and strain. The muscles in your arm and forearm stand out in full, glorious relief, defined and rippling as you fight against the force of her arm.

Her arm isn’t shaking this time, at least; such are the merits of steel reinforcement bars. But she’s not moving your hand, either. Sevika growls. The motors in her arm whir as she pushes harder.

You grunt and shove back. You bare your teeth. Your gaze is locked on where your two hands are joined. Your hands trembles from the sheer force of your exertion–

And then her hand lowers an inch.

Everyone else gasps. Exclamations and expletives roll through the bar.

“Fifty gold pieces says Mouse does it,” Theo says. 

“Bullshit,” Ran fires back. “She’ll get tired, first.”

Kharim pulls out a pad of paper and a pencil. “That’s fifty on Mouse, so far. Do I hear one hundred?”

“I’ll put twenty on Sev,” Silver says with a sweet smile.

“Really?” Sevika grunts as she pushes harder against your hand. “Only twenty?”

You let out a breathless, strained laugh –then push her hand down further.

“Who’s got another fifty on Mouse?” Kharim asks.

Too late, she realizes her prosthetic arm is actually working against her, in this situation. She has to work against the weight of the mech arm –which you can use to your advantage, naturally. The built in mechanical safeties are hosing her, too. Her arm is designed such that, at certain angles or certain levels of exertion, the gears and motors will give to whatever she’s working against. It prevents damage to the internal mechanisms and bending the internal support structures. It’s invaluable for the longevity of her prosthetic, but it also means she can’t mindlessly strain against your hand like she could with her right arm. Her only hope is that her left arm can outmatch yours in raw strength.

Normally, she’d go all in on that bet. Normally –unless her opponent was doped to the gills on Shimmer–there wouldn’t even be enough force in the picture for the failsafes to override the locking mechanisms.

You growl, teeth bared in a glorious snarl, and shove her metal hand lower.

She can’t even find it in herself to be mad. One, she’s not some mealy-mouthed bitch who needs to be the strongest person in the room at all times; she, unlike some people (Arik), is confident in herself and her abilities. Two, it’s frankly impressive. It’s an unrepentant display of raw strength, and she’s not above respecting it. Three…

It’s hot.

She’s torn between focusing on resisting you and watching the muscles in your arm flex. Her mild buzz isn’t helping, either. In hindsight, should’ve stopped with the second glass. It’s taking far too much focus not to just gawk, to grin and simper like an idiot, and she likes to think she still has her pride –which is also why she’s not just giving up. After all, she has her pride. Sevika growls when you force her hand lower, then doubles down and pushes back. Maybe not for much longer, with how this is going. Fuck.

You grit your teeth. There’s sweat glistening along your hairline (which might be her only other saving grace, since her mech arm can’t get tired). You snarl, then grip her hand tighter.

Sevika swears when her arm suddenly jerks downward. She nearly topples out of her chair, saved only by managing to plant her feet beneath the table. She catches herself, blinks–

It’s over.

You shove her metal knuckles against the table with a thud –hard enough that the wood dents inward where her steel knuckle guard hits the surface.

The crowd goes nuts, loses their minds, whatever. If she’s being honest, she’s really not paying attention to it. A distant fragment of her brain registers the squaring of bets, exchanging of coin, but–

You’re still holding her hand.

A larger, deeply buried part of her is furious that she doesn’t have better sensory input on her left hand. She can detect pressure and temperature, rudimentary shit, but she can’t feel the calluses on your palm, or the precise texture of your skin. She can’t really gauge how thick your hand is in hers.

You’re still panting, somewhat dazed as you stare down at your joined hands. Slowly, your eyes trace up the line of her mech arm, up to her face, where you take in her stunned expression. You swallow, quick, then grin.

You’re breathing hard. Your skin glistens faintly with warmth. Your hair looks tousled, slightly sweat trapped. And your grin practically glows.

It’s the closest she’s ever been to seeing what you look like after sex. Sevika can feel her mind filing every single detail of how you look away for future masturbatory reference. She grins back, slow and a bit dazzled. “Shit.”

You let out a soft, quiet laugh. You drop her gaze for a moment, but when you look back up your eyes shine unabated joy.

You’re not looking away. You’re not pulling away. You’re not letting go of her hand.

Do it, a voice that sounds irritatingly like Ran’s whispers in her mind. Do it, you fucking coward. Sevika licks her lips, then leans forward, hoping that she comes across as conspiratorial and collected. “I–”

“Aw, don’t feel too bad, Sev.”

The sudden intrusion feels more like an assault. Fake, sweet perfume cloys at her nose. There’s arms around her neck, and unwanted weight in her lap.

Silver’s face looms into view. She peers down through her lashes, lips posed in a perfect, alluring pout. “It’s not–”

Whatever else Silver says goes in one ear and out the other. She’s looking over the smaller woman’s shoulder, instead.

You pull your hand back across the table. Your smile slips away, and your shoulders bunch up ever so slightly. Back to the usual mask of the careful, quiet mouse.

Godsdammit. Sevika shoves Silver out of her lap and stands with a snarl. “Fuck off.” She stomps away and up the stairs, to where Silco’s office and a few private rooms are. “Everyone, out! Tonight’s done!” She ignores the groans and jeers following her, storms into Silco’s office, and slams the door shut behind her so hard that it rattles in its setting.

Silco’s office is mercifully dark. Quiet.

Sevika collapses onto the quilted velvet couch tucked into the corner of the office. She drops her head into her hands and scrubs at her face. Janna’s left fucking tit, that was a disaster. She sits up, only to slump against the couch like a dejected teenager. This is never going to work out.

If she was anyone else, she might cry –out of sheer frustration, if nothing else. Since she’s not anyone else, she helps herself to a cigar from Silco’s stash.

She only gets as far as rummaging through his desk for the cutter. (Jinx must have absconded with it. Again.) Something in her hindbrain makes her go still; an old, well-tested instinct that says ‘something isn’t right.’

Sevika freezes. Her eyes scan the darkness for any signs of intruders, or one of Jinx’s traps. She strains her ears; aside from the faint, scuttling noises of stray pests, it’s silent.

Too silent.

There should be more talk coming from downstairs; she hadn’t really expected everyone to listen to her when she ordered them all to clear out. There should be music playing, people arguing, clacks from the balls on the pool table. At the very least, there should be complaining and the noises of a final clear down.

She’d half-expected Silver to follow her upstairs. Or maybe Ran, at least. But there’s no sounds of someone climbing upstairs, or Silver’s high-pitched voices, or even creaking floorboards in the hall outside.

Sevika pulls out a knife she keeps tucked in a sheath hidden behind the waistband of her pants. She creeps forward, deadly silent, until she reaches the door of Silco’s office. She gingerly places her right hand on the doorknob, until it’s completely encapsulated by her grip, then slowly turns the handle. Once the latch is fully retracted, she tucks herself behind the door and inches it open. She waits for a beat, then another, then peers around the corner.

The bar is empty.

Now that the door’s open, she can hear the sounds of someone rummaging around the main bar floor. There’s no conversation, though; it’s too quiet to be the usual crew, for another matter.

Sevika stalks down the hall. She quietly, efficiently clears each room before she passes it, until she reaches the end of the outer wall, where the balcony begins. She tucks herself into the shadows, then peers around the corner.

You’re down on the bar floor, putting the remaining chairs up on the tables.

Sevika watches you for a moment, somewhat dumbfounded. Where the fuck is everyone else? She blinks, until her brain finally processes that The Last Drop has not been broken into by assassins or other hooligans, then steps around the corner and into the full light of the bar. She taps the railing of the balcony with her metal hand to alert you to her presence. When you look up, she gestures around aimlessly. “Where’d they go?”

You look around, then back up at her and shrug with one shoulder. “You said to get out.”

“Doesn’t mean they’d actually listen.”

Your gaze cuts away from hers. You duck your head, then go back to putting up the chairs. “Might’ve pushed ‘em. Enforced the order.” You give a one shouldered shrug. “Thought you wanted ‘em gone.”

Sevika grunts and nods. Fair enough. At least, now, she doesn’t have to deal with Silver lingering around. For lack of knowing what else to do, she watches you as you continue tidying things up for the night. “We don’t pay you to do that.”

You shrug; your back’s to her, now, as you work your way around a circular table. “Doesn’t really matter. Thieram deserves a night off, every now and then.”

There’s not much point in loitering on the balcony and staring at you like a mooning idiot. She strides across the length of the balcony, tromps down the stairs, then crosses the distance to the table you’re working in three strong steps. She grabs one of the remaining chairs, flips it upside down with ease, then hooks the seat of the chair on the table top.

You go still for a moment. You watch her, gaze following her every movement, until you relax again and resume working. “‘M sorry ‘bout earlier.”

She nearly trips over the chair she’s picking up. Sevika stalls, blinks, then sets the chair back on the floor and levels you with an incredulous, confused stare. “What?”

“For kicking your ass.” The corner of your mouth briefly ticks up in a self-satisfied smirk, but it washes away to true contrition. “Wasn’t trying to humiliate you ‘n front of everyone.”

“I–” She pinches the bridge of her nose. Can’t imagine where that narrative came from. “I’m not. You didn’t.” She hangs the chair from the table, then scoffs, indignant. “Fuck’s sake, I’m not Arik.”

You smirk, but stay still as you watch her for a few moments. “You were mad about something.”

“I was mad at Silver,” Sevika grouses, careful to avoid making eye contact. And her lousy sense of timing.

You let her get the last few chairs, opting instead to grab a tray and collect stray glasses and empty beer bottles. “You two okay?”

She snorts. “We’re not involved enough to be ‘okay’ or otherwise. We’ve fucked before. End of story.”

“...Did she do something to you?”

The tight, lethal quietness in your voice gets her attention. She straightens up, meets your gaze, and shakes her head. “No. She just gets on my nerves now and then, s’all.”

You grunt, understanding, then add a couple more glasses to your tray before carrying the lot over to the bar.

Sevika grabs a couple stray, half-empty bottles of whiskey, tequila, and vodka, then follows partially in your wake. She stops at the bar counter, watching as you round the end so you can dispose of the beer bottles and set the used glasses in the sink. She sets the half-consumed bottles on the counter, then leans against the neon light-edged lip while she watches you. “Gotta say, it was pretty impressive.” She smirks when you half-turn, brows lightly drawn together, then waggles her metal fingers. “Figured I’d have you licked.”

You snort, then shake your head. “Might’ve.” You set the last of the glasses in the sink, then drop the beer bottles in the recycling can. “Probably would’ve if we’d gone longer. You’d have me beat on stamina.”

She can’t stop her automatic, teasing, too sultry for its own good reply. “Oh, I doubt that.”

You do a quick double take.You stare at her over your shoulders, eyes the size of dinner plates. Then, your lips press together before quirking upwards in a shy smile. You laugh softly. “Yeah, well, your mechanics would’ve won, in the end.” You toss the last of the bottles into the recycling can, then turn and step to the bar. “Figured it was just best to–” you draw your fingers across your neck in a quick slash and click your tongue “–cut things quick, override the locking mechanisms.”

“Smart,” Sevika purrs.

You lick your lips, then grin. You eye her for a moment, shifting from foot to foot –then, you grab the remaining bottles and crouch so you can stow them beneath the bar counter. “Course, helps that you’re shit at arm wrestling, too.”

“Excuse me?” she laughs, caught off guard and bemused. “Run that by me again?”

“You’re shit at arm wrestling.” You chuckle as you stand. “Your form’s terrible. Makes you easy to beat, even if I wasn’t stronger than you.”

She grins wide, exhilarated. Fighting words. “Oh, is that how it is?”

You plant your palms against the bartop. “‘S how it seems to me.” You smirk –which grows into a smile as she looks you over–then prop your right arm against the counter. “I could show you a couple tricks. Improve your odds a bit.”

She takes the bait like the happiest, dumbest fish that ever lived and sets her right elbow atop the counter. “Teach me your ways, oh wise one.”

“Right off the bat–” You reach forward and adjust the angle of her arm. “‘S really not about raw power. I mean, it helps, but angles are a lot more important.” Your hands slide along the length of her arm, adjusting things until you’re satisfied with how she’s positioned. You nod to yourself, then move to her wrist. You hold her right hand with both of yours. “Gotta think about how you’re holding your hand, too. Too many people wind up pushing with their forearms. Means that they got their hands at the wrong angle, most of the time. You want to be pushing with your upper arm and shoulder.”

“Whatever you say, coach,” she drawls, layering on the sarcasm to –hopefully–hide how breathless she is.

You snort, then lower your left hand and grip her right hand with yours –assume the position. “Alright. Try now.”

She does –not with as much vigor as she used in the initial match, but she still puts decent effort into it. Her eyebrows spike high when she feels less strain than earlier. “Shit.”

You flash her a lopsided grin. “See? Knowing what you’re doing helps.”

“Bite me.”

You fake a grimace. “Not until you shower first. I don’t know where you’ve been.”

“You implying something?”

“I’ve seen how many people you can beat up in a week, Sev.”

She chuckles, then shrugs in concession. “Fair enough.” She grips your hand tighter and smirks wickedly before shoving against your hand, hard. “Hope you’re ready to join the list–”

You grunt –then brace against her onslaught and force her hand the other way.

“Shit!” Sevika strains against your hand, but it’s veritably useless as you slowly push her hand downward (at least you have to work harder for it, this time). “Son of a bitch –motherfucker!”

“Still stronger than you,” you fire back as you finally pin the back of her hand against the bartop. You smile, impish and sweet. “But that was a good try.” You grin when she glowers at you, then toss your head back and laugh when she flips you off with her left hand.

She can’t think of a retort; the wrestling tugged your shirt off kilter, and your laugh exposed something new –fresh, smooth ink along the side of your neck, previously hidden by your collar. She stares, tracing the way the tendrils of the flowers curve around your neck and down your clavicle before disappearing under your shirt. “That’s new.”

You look down at her, blinking rapidly, then crane your neck to look down when she gestures loosely at your chest. “Oh. Yeah.” You shrug with the opposite shoulder. “Wanted to do something for myself. Cover up some of the shit I got inside.” You hesitate, then swallow hard and ask. “Do –do you wanna see the rest of it?”

“Sure.” The meaning of your offer doesn’t really hit until you let go of her hand so you can start unbuttoning your top. Sevika locks her knees to keep from toppling over as all the blood rushes Southward from her head. Janna, help me.

Mercifully, you only undo the top three buttons on your shirt. Unmercifully, that gives you enough leeway to push the right side of your shirt down over your shoulder, revealing more of your chest and your neck.

Oh, and the tattoo.

It’s pretty. It’s a good piece, too, done by someone who knew what they were doing. The design is a dense cluster of flowers that fans up the side of your neck and down over your collarbone.

“That’s real pretty,” Sevika ekes out, voice gone to gravel. She reaches up to touch it, but catches herself before her hand leaves the bar. Don’t startle her. “Do you mind?”

It takes you a moment, but you look down when she gestures with her flesh hand. “Oh.” You let out a soft, trembling breath. Your throat flexes as you swallow. “Yeah –go for it.”

Everything that follows feels like a dream. The world seems to take on a warm, golden hue that overpowers the glaring neon lights and the dark shadow of night outside. It feels like she’s moving through molasses, achingly slow as she lifts her hand towards your neck.

Your skin is unbelievably soft beneath her fingertips. The lines of ink stretch slightly as she traces down your neck and over your shoulder.

“This okay?” Sevika murmurs.

“Yeah.”

Something about your heavy, trembling exhale makes her look up.

You’re staring down at her with wide, dark eyes. Your lips are parted, and you’re practically panting despite standing still.

But you’re not pulling away. You’re not shaking. If anything, you’re practically melting beneath her hand. And your gaze is locked on her face –practically zeroed in on her mouth…

Oh.

She owes Ran a drink. Or another kick in the shin. Maybe both.

This, however, is at least more familiar territory –so long as she plays her cards right.

Various options flit through her mind, but they all desiccate before they reach her tongue. She quickly finds herself locking up instead as she tries to figure out what the fuck to say. Shitshitshitshitshit–

(She’s never been more grateful that you kicked everyone out. Ran would never let her live this down.)

“Ask her out, or get over it.”

Sevika swallows hard. Go big or go home. Not like the world’s gonna end if she says ‘no.’ She clears her throat. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re really fucking attractive?”

“I–” Your eyes go wide as you sputter. Your gaze flicks between her eyes and her mouth. “Not –no. Not really.”

“Shame,” Sevika drawls. She traces her thumb down the stem of one of the flowers inked into your neck, then looks back up at you. “You’d think they’d have eyes. I’ve noticed since the first time we met.”

You snort, equanimity somewhat restored. “What, in an illegal prison fight club soaked in the blood of others?”

She smirks and winks at you. “You made it work.”

You draw your lower lip between your teeth as you smile. You duck your head bashfully, then brace your forearms against the countertop –which puts you closer to her height. “I hope you won’t be offended if I say that I didn’t notice you ‘like that’ from the start.”

Her gut drops. “Oh?”

You shake your head, gaze still glued on the countertop. “I was, uh, a little concerned with surviving –making sure you didn’t knock my teeth out with your metal fist, that sort of thing.” You let out a little laugh, then look at her. “But I noticed later.”

Warmth blooms in her chest and abdomen. She grins, soft and slow. “Really?” Her grin grows when you smile shyly and nod. “Well, shit. Lucky me.” She strokes her thumb along your tattoo again; satisfaction curls in her stomach when you shiver.

“I–” You lick your lips and look at her eyes, then her lips, then back up, then back down again, then back up again. “I don’t…” Your gaze locks onto her lips when she smirks; your pupils blow wide, and you let out a ragged, heavy breath. “I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

Heady elation blooms in her chest and quickly spreads through her body. “That,” she murmurs as she slides her fingers beneath your chin and leans in, “sounds great to me.”

Your lips are soft against hers. Hesitant. You freeze, scarcely even breathing.

But you’re not pulling away –or panicking–so she decides to stay the course. She presses her lips a bit more firmly against yours, then smirks when you let out a quiet moan and angle your head towards hers. There we go. After a few moments, she breaks the kiss and pulls back incrementally to assess your interest level.

You’re trembling. There’s a faint glow of sweat on your forehead. Your breaths come ragged and fast, chest rising and falling heavily. Your eyelids are half-lidded, pupils blown so wide that your eyes nearly look black.

Before she can do anything, you lean in and kiss her again; this time, it’s her turn to moan against your mouth.

It’s clumsy. It’s easy to tell that you don’t have much –if any–experience in this department. But your unabashed eagerness more than makes up for lacking finesse.

Sevika gently grasps your jaw with her right hand, guiding you through the series of kisses that follow. She carefully angles your head as she pleases, and pulls back intermittently to both catch her breath and see what you’ll do. When you keep following her lead, she decides to nip at your lower lip –just to see if it’ll draw you out of your shell more.

You let out a throaty growl when her teeth graze your lower lip –and then you pull away.

A mix of disappointment and fear flash through her stomach –but it all drains away when you vault over the counter and land next to her. She smirks as you crowd into her space, but frown when genuine trepidation settles over your face. “What?”

Your brows pinch together. “I–” You clear your throat when your voice cracks. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

Oh. That’s all. She smiles, lax and confident, then places her hands on your broad shoulders. “Touch me, sweetheart.”

“Where?”

She slides her hands down your chiseled arms, then takes your hands and places them on her hips. “Anywhere.”

You’re too still at first –nerves driven by inexperience. But you loosen up when she nips at your lower lip again. You draw in a guttural breath, then squeeze her hips tighter when she curls her fingers into your waist. You press closer to her when she slides her tongue against yours. When she slides her right hand up the back of your neck and tugs at the soft hair at your nape, you growl, then slide your hands around her ass and squeeze.

Finally. Sevika moans softly and arches against you. She wraps her right arm around the back of your neck, so she can keep you close, and rests her left hand on your hip. She plunders your mouth with her tongue, then moans again when you grope her ass more firmly. She hooks one metal finger through one of the belt loops on your pants and tugs you closer –then gasps when you shove against the bar.

You crowd against her, kissing her fiercely, eagerly. Your hands cup her ass and lift, forcing her onto the balls of her feet so you have better access to her.

Surprise flits up her spine. She’s not used to being in this position; most women come to her to be manhandled, not the other way around. But she can see the appeal of it; there’s a certain giddiness in the gut that accompanies it, like the hang time from jumping across rooftops.

The kiss devolves into something artless and hungry. The two of you meet each other in the middle, pressed against each other like teenagers in a closet.

She’s starting to get into that state where she feels like she’s melting into you, and vice versa. The bar, the faint drone of passersby always present in the Lanes, the buzz of the neon lights that wrap around the bartop, the arm wrestling match less than an hour ago –all of it’s gone, blurred into background coloration like splotches on one of those fancy, impression-type paintings, for which Pilties drop the equivalent of a Trencher’s life earnings (and then some). There’s that familiar, ravenous ache in her cunt. She ought to ask you back to her place; The Last Drop hardly seems poignant enough for your first time. But the notion of stopping your eager exploration of her body is downright offensive –especially when your open mouth catches her jaw and sends arousal curling through her gut.

You pause when she tips her head back. A few ragged pants fan across the sensitized, blood-hot skin of her neck. You swallow, then clear your throat. “I –is this–”

“Yes.” She curls her right hand around the back of your neck, then gently presses your forward until you lean the rest of the way in and press your lips against her throat. Her eyelids flutter as you trail soft, closed mouth kisses over the hollow of her throat. She moans softly, and her fingers curl into your short hair. Fuck. She waits for a bit, letting you explore, but pipes up again when she feels you growing more hesitant –nerves winning out over exploration. “Use your tongue.” She shudders when you lick beneath her jaw. “Attagirl.”

The praise does something for you. You moan into her skin, then repeat the motion again. You swirl your tongue against her throat, mimicking the way the two of you had kissed seconds before.

“That’s it,” Sevika encourages you, eyes rolling back in her head. She rolls her hips against you, then groans when you press closer, neatly pinning her against the bar. “Good girl.”

You whine, loud and broken, then lift. You half lay her out on the bar, then support the rest of her by locking your arms just beneath her ass. You bend over her and bury your face in her neck, devouring her like a starved stray.

Sevika locks her ankles behind your back. She clutches at the back of your shirt with her right hand, and braces herself against the bartop with her left arm. She’s in the perfect position to grind against you, so that’s just what she does.

A small, idle fragment of her mind notes just how great this is. Yes, she enjoys having her way with women –and she’ll get to you soon enough–but there’s something to be said for receiving. It’s a new spin on “being eaten alive,” and she’s never been happier to be dinner.

She slides her fingers into your hair when your mouth trails lower, towards her clavicle. “Good girl.” She gasps, then tightens her grip on your hair when you drag your teeth over her collarbone. “That’s it –good girl, good girl–”

You moan and grind your hips against hers–

Something crashes in the alleyway outside. There’s a loud slam, followed by the crystalline crack of shattering glasses. An enraged, muffled shout ensues, followed by more heavy thudding.

You both freeze.

She recovers first. A few minutes of hearing proves it’s just a couple of angry drunks going at it –she can hear slurred, if muffled, arguing and grunting that accompanies being punched. Idiots. She turns back to you–

You’re completely stiff. Your eyes are wide, gaze flicking around the bar. You’ve gone from holding her to gripping the edge of the bar top.

Sevika winces faintly when she hears your knuckles crack. She opens her mouth to reassure you–

Another thud makes you flinch –and then you press down against her.

Sevika grunts. She tries to sit up, only for you to push her back down. She stops struggling when you use your arm to cover the top of her head. What the–

There’s something so deeply protective about the gesture that it makes her brain short circuit. You’re literally covering her with your body, as though the ceiling’s about to collapse on top of the both of you.

It’s sweet. It’s also bewildering because nothing bad is fucking happening. It’s just drunks in the alley; they’ll probably pass out long before they could ever beat each other to death.

Sevika gingerly splays her fingers against your back, between your shoulder blades. She murmurs your name, but gets no response –not even a glance of recognition. Her stomach drops when another round of shouting makes you flinch. She feels your chest push against hers as your breathing speeds up –and okay, that’s enough, time to divert things. She says your name, louder this time, then carefully cups the side of your face with her right hand. “Hey, baby. It’s okay. Just look at me, alright?”

You jolt when her thumb sweeps across your cheek. You do look down at her, though, and let out a shaky breath when you meet her gaze.

She revels, just for a moment, in how quickly you melt again under her attention. You’re still tense –you haven’t let up your death grip on the bar top–but your shoulders loosen up and your breathing slows a bit. You swallow hard, then lean every so slightly into her touch.

Focus. She can already feel herself getting sucked back into dreamy, brainless bliss. Focus, focus, focus. She blinks hard, then clears her throat. “Hey. Let’s get out of here, yeah? My place is quieter.” She pushes up on her left arm so the counter isn’t digging into her back. “More comfortable.”

“Oh.” Your eyes go wide. “Uh–”

Sevika swallows a grimace. Shit. Maybe Ran was right; she’s rusty, too eager, and now she’s pushing too fast. “It’s okay if you don’t–”

“No, no,” you cut her off. “We can –I just–” You set her down, then lick your lips as you rock from foot to foot. “My bed’s probably bigger.” You shrug and shove your hands in your pants pockets. “That’s all.”

Only several years of playing cards keeps her from sagging in relief. She nods, trying to process as panic flashes and ebbs, then takes a moment to study you. She notes the tightness in your shoulders, the way you’ve got your head ducked, and presses her lips together faintly. “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

Your eyes flash, and you step closer to her. “It’s not,” you growl, “an issue of want.” You swallow, then let out a self-deprecating laugh –which, fortunately, prompts you to relax a little. “I just won’t know what I’m doing, s’all.”

“I can work with that.” Sevika closes the distance between the two of you, gripping your hips when you bend down and kiss her again. She savors the feeling of your lips for a moment, then pulls away and grins up at you. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

[shjiyemis]

Gonna be so real rn.

I barely care about the election rn and my frustrations are focused on the people of minority groups who decided to vote for The parody version of the Annoying Orange, People who voted 3rd Party, and People who didnt vote at all and people who voted for Kamala wishing death upon people who dont deserve it to make the other voters feel guilty. etc. etc.

I have empathy for the people who just didnt want to support genocide and even the killer of their families but at the end of the day. No matter who you picked, America nor any other problem in the world is gonna change if you decide to let worst of all options win. We have to be smart about destroying the system and rebuilding bc guess what? No matter who you voted for or didnt vote at all, its all complicit which aint something we can control if youre living in this country.

Every single President INCLUDING Obama have supported all genocides going on. INCLUDING the silent ones going on here in America. Trump winning simply made the fire to those genocides much stronger bc now? The average citizens who support these disgusting actions are PROUDER THAN EVER.

No politician in this world is good, that was everyones first mistake. No politician in this world is good. Its just like all cops are pigs. There may be SOME good ones but that literally never matters because they're the people those systems will throw out of their gangs or they simply silence them until they become complicit or brainwashed.

Voting may not be an act of defiance but absolutely is a tactic to make it EASIER for us to defy and even riot.

My whole life, I was never given proper autonomy and I refuse to give up the autonomy ive gained through out my time in college. I refuse to be fucking scared. If I die, I die. but if I live, Im gonna fucking live.

I cant transition due to not only my psychotic diagnosis but because I will NEVER trust a medical professional when it comes to putting things in my body. My blackness was stripped away from me my whole life by my BLACK family who made me insecure about everything I couldnt control and forced the start to having so much internalized Anti-Blackness towards myself. Abortion has been illegal where I am for a WHILE before Trump became President and even than family have shown that they wouldnt support it if it seemed unjustifiable to them.

All the things ive seen people worry about has already been taken away from me so nothing has really changed for me, things ive had to worry about my whole life. So I cant imagine the fear that all of you may be having but this is why we need access to information and community.

Learn the things you refused to look at. Observe and learn the complexity of not only the people you love but the people whom you hate as well. Understand community, understand love. Stop seperating. Stop excluding the people who NEED community. CREATE COMMUNITY.

(Ive been hoping that we recreate ballrooms again cause like, I need that shit tbh. Need me a real mother fr.)

There are many things weve been through throughout history and we survived. Things were always hard and it shouldnt be but it wont get better if we become divisive. (Which is what ive been seeing for a long time from almost every minorty group. which sucks.)

I hope yall read this with not only love but with sterness. Not only empathy but with disappointment. Not only support but with warning.

Every person who simply wants to exist as a person should be given just that and I not only want that for me. But everybody in this world.

[ffjj5]

Let's get talking 🗣️💜

Warning: this post will discuss mental health and trauma.

Today is World Mental Health Day and until December 2019 I had been fortunate enough to have never had any struggles with mine. But then I did and I am not exaggerating when I say it shook me to my core. Following a traumatic event I was hit hard with anxiety, insomnia, fear, rumination and a constant feeling of impending danger. My home was no longer a place where I felt safe and I ended up working extra hours just to be out of the house. I couldn't eat as I always felt nauseous and I very quickly became a person that others didn't recognise.

I was always the one who helped and supported others in my friendship group so my friends didn't really know how to deal with that person being the one needing help and support. They were worried about me but just weren't sure how to help. So we sat and we talked, a lot, and they listened to my fears and worries and they helped me start to organise the thoughts in my head. One friend suggested that part of my healing may come from helping put the scum who had caused the fear behind bars. But in order to do that I needed to be in a better place. Something clicked in my head and I got in touch with my GP (who was amazing) and got the help I needed. It wasn't easy, it took time for me to feel the benefit of the medication, it definitely got worse before it got better but it did slowly get better. It was bloody hard work and there were days when I was so scared I was never going to get better and that how I was at that time was how I would be forever. But as time went by I felt the old me slowly coming back.

Nearly all of this was happening during COVID-19 a time when we were all forced to be at home, when I couldn't work to escape my house. Nothing like some forced desensitisation to help with healing! One positive to come from it being during this time is that my daughter was home from Uni so I wasn't at home alone and she was an absolute god send and helped me more than she will ever know.

A year later the case finally went to court after many COVID 19 influenced delays and I was in a place where I could give my evidence and give it well. It was terrifying and it's a blur but the next day all three defendants changed their plea and were sentenced to a joint total of 33 years.

This is when the real healing started as I knew they were gone for a long time and I was safe.

Now whilst my daughter was home she introduced me to a group called BTS, you may have heard of them 😁. These 7 men have been a significant part of my healing and they will never know how they brought light, laughter, happy tears and song to some very dark days. They also bought some sad tears but they were cathartic sad tears, We are Bulletproof: the eternal, Zero O'Clock and Magic Shop were three of my favourites to have a healing cry too.

My fight with my mental health continues and it has reared its ugly head again following my recent diagnosis of a chronic condition. But on the whole I am winning with the help of some amazing friends both near and far. There are some very special people on here that I speak to regularly about Jikook and life in general and I want to thank them from the bottom of my heart for listening to me. I am always here to return the kindness 💜💜

[heythereimb]

This is cross posted from Reddit. You can find the original here vvv

If you don’t know me, hey there I'm B.

December of 2022 u/mrtechnodad gave me the challenge of finding something good in every day, no matter how small. Since then I’ve been sharing monthly updates with a few of my good things from that month.

Anyone who's followed my updates has probably noticed that the title is different and I missed part of my usual intro.

That's because today's list only has one thing:

- I'm officially cancer free

After 708 days, countless hours of chemo, and 4 major surgeries, I have beat almost impossible odds.

Along my journey I've lost too many people who were important to me. Each of them gave me a new reason to keep going. My first roommate taught me how to be strong, how to push through the darkness. My second roommate taught me the power of compassion, how to use my voice to help others. A friend taught me how to laugh, how to see the fun in even the worst situations. And Techno, Technoblade taught me how to fight, how to win any war.

It's no secret I've struggled with survivor's guilt for almost as long as I was sick. I've asked the question, "Why them and not me?" so many times it's become a mantra. I've realized it isn’t about me or them. I think it's about finding what my purpose is. Their lives had purpose, they were full of love and joy. For so long I didn't think I had those things, that there wasn't a reason for me to still be here. I still have a purpose here. I think I know it. At least part of it.

I'm here to share my story. I'm here to share the good I see in every day. I'm here to live.

I'm alive to live.

And so are you.

Be alive. Wake up to wake up. Laugh, cry, sing, dance. Feel everything, sadness, joy, grief, shame, love. Watch the sunrise and live to see it set again. Then do it all again. And again.

Be alive to live.

Today I sat on a beach and watched the sunrise with the love of my life. For the first time in almost two years it wasn't tainted by the possibility of being my last. Instead the sun rose on the first day of my future. It's the first one of a lifetime of new days. Sunrises are no longer a symbol of bitter relief. Now they represent the promise of tomorrow.

I am beyond grateful to be alive. Since my diagnosis I was so sure I wouldn't make it. I had so little hope. Now my voice can shift from the cries of a fighter to the laughter of a survivor.

I am a survivor. Those are words I never dreamed of speaking.

Thank you to everyone who followed my journey. Thank you for your love, your support, and your endless compassion. Without this community my story would be very different.

Remember, "no matter how ridiculous the odds may seem, within us resides the power to overcome these challenges and achieve something beautiful. That one day, we'll look back at where we started and be amazed by how far we've come."

Until next time.

Your friend, B

[painted-bees]

Good question(s) and I'm nervous to answer cuz it’s a lot it but lemme try my best to finally hash this out into words.

Mental health stuff regarding personality disorders under the cut.

So, Raf's diagnosis is paranoid personality disorder, which is characterized by severe mistrust towards others driven by paranoid thinking. In Raf's case, he genuinely mistrusts the notion that anyone actually loves him or cares about him as a human being, and that people go only through the motions of pretending they do in order to exploit him; fear of being abused is implicit.

He spends a looot a lot of time and emotional energy trying to determine what specific people want from him--initially so that he could interact with them in the 'safest' way possible. Sometimes that meant telling them flat-out that he will not do/provide the thing he suspects is the other person's goal (with the intention of making them leave him alone), or (if it's someone who's company he likes) he'd deliberately attempt to give the impression that there's a chance they'll get what they want out of him--for as long as he is able to until the 'inevitable' falling out. His inherent mistrust and desire to avoid getting himself hurt meant that while he had a lot of nice acquaintances, he had basically no actual friends.

Raf generally, to anyone acquainted with him, just comes off as a very aloof, quiet, and private person with a busy personal life that everyone else is simply on the outside of. He goes out of his way to preform kindness to anyone he interacts with, regardless of the situation, because relentless amiability was always conditioned into him as a core trait of his curated persona growing up, and--yanno--it's worked very well for him. But also because--he doesn't fall onto the default belief that all people are bad and unworthy of kindness. "No one actually loves me" hadn't become synonymous with "everyone is a bad person". It just meant that "everyone will eventually be bad to me if given enough time".

This was his unchallenged reality from late teenagehood until some several months(maybe even a year or so?) after he had graduated from university and moved in with his uncle. His uncle recognized that Raf was very skittish, anxious, distrustful and prone to 'jumping to the worst possible conclusion' about certain things--which would often lend to some very tense interactions. His uncle, however, chalked this up to Raf having grown up under the thumb of an extremely manipulative, emotionally neglectful, exploitative mother. The situations where Uncle Bill would have to calmly and patiently prove to Raf that he wasn't gaslighting him over his wildly inaccurate assumptions/interpretations had become a more and more common as their relationship otherwise grew more and more warmly familial.

Things came to heads after the realization dawned on Raf that his uncle intended on using him as the ticket to win his mother's endearment. If Bill could successfully deliver Raf back into his mother's grip, that would easily be currency enough to convince her to reinstate Bill as a core member of Ephrem Records--thereby ending his uncomfortable estrangement with the family. And Raf would be back to living his life as his mother's preforming puppet; no autonomy, no control over his own life, no rest, an absolute nightmare.

Raf had grown too comfortable and complacent--his uncle had given him literally everything, from a place to stay, to a job that treated him well, to all the space, peace, and quiet he wanted, and with absolutely no obligation. Raf didn't have to work, he didn't have to pay rent, he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to do--uncle Bill had been willing to accommodate it all. Uncle Bill had once 'admitted' to Raf that 'guilt' was a factor motivating his charitable kindness. It hadn't quite sat right with Raf at the time--and now he knew why.

And, when it was made plainly obvious to Bill that Raf wasn't sticking around just to be hand delivered back to Monaco, Uncle Bill continued the charade, offering to provide Raf the car and cash he'd need to move as far away as he wanted to be. And--it wasn't until the morning after his first full day of driving across boarder into the states, on his intended route to Mexico, that Raf got into the car, sat there...and remembered that his grandmother, the largest financial owner of Ephrem Records, had been trying to entice his Uncle back to Monaco, back into the family--non stop--for years. Bill could go back literally any fucking time he wanted to, with or without Raf. And, Bill hated his mother--or so he was consistent in suggesting as much. Why would he want to endear himself to her in a manner that played to the traits he disliked about her?

Raf called up his uncle, tried to make head and tails of things over a long conversation over the phone, and--upon...not quite having enough shamelessness to straight up ask if going back to his place in Vancouver was ok, his uncle offered Raf the option to return--on the sole condition that he'll accept psychiatric help. With hesitation, Raf agreed to it.

Raf would consider bolting again a handful more times over the next few years, and each time, the 'situation' would pass with no horrible consequence for stubbornly electing to 'wait and see'/, or 'resigning himself', instead of repeating his mistake from the first time. It left Raf feeling more and more convinced that he cannot trust his own perception. Between this and therapy, Raf became pretty adept at not saying/doing anything that would be acting upon his suspicions/fears until he's had time to dissect the situation and get a second opinion from a designated person of trust--specifically, his uncle.

Basically, for better or worse, Raf has decided not to trust his own reality when it comes to his own (specifically negative) understanding/'interpretations' of his relationships and interactions with others, and has instead elected to replace it with whatever his uncle's is (a position of trust that Magritte eventually inherits). Raf figures his life is basically in his uncle's hands anyways--considering he's convinced himself not to leave Vancouver (he -did- move out into his own apartment, however) and has repeatedly resigned himself to being "cashed in” for whatever personal gain his uncle might be gunning towards with him.

AND SO, to finally answer your question ahaha: when Raf outwardly vouches against someone's character with as much straightforwardly committed plainness as "If you hire that guy, I will quit", that guy has committed a transgression that is awful beyond any reasonable doubt.

This is also why, as Raf and Magritte became more and more friendly over the course of their weekly jam sessions, Raf suddenly going chilly and quiet on her was a recurring problem she began encountering with more frequency.

At the core of his instincts Raf will always, beyond conscious thought, believe that people can only see him as an exploitable resource and will, without fail, harm him accordingly. But--there's now a layer of increasingly thick vellum that's been laid overtop of that core--a contradicting truth that's been asserted to him, that he is being asked to put more stock into and to internalize. He slips up, there are many many times where he doesn’t catch himself on time, or is feeling too strongly to employ meaningful countermeasures. When a situation aligns in a manner that allows his paranoid thoughts to really sinks its teeth into him, he can still have catastrophically ugly, fear-driven moments...but he's been working really, really hard to manage it. He wants that lightly obfuscating vellum to become so thick that it's opaque. He wants to believe that what Uncle Bill and, eventually Magritte, say is real is real. He can't trust them, but he will anyways. He has to believe that love is an action--a deliberate choice, and if love’s an action then so, too, is trust. Because regardless if they can really love him, he has decided that he really loves them.

And the reality can reward or punish him for it as it sees fit to do so. An endless frightened loneliness is worse than dying.

[seresinsbabe]

Dream of Me: Chapter 1

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x fem!reader

Synopsis: Jake made the dumb mistake cheating on the only girl he every really loved. Fast forward a few years, he's a Navy pilot and you're now a famous singer.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Angst, mentions of STI’s, mentions of cheating. Nothing generally bad this chapter.

Chapter Songs: I'm Not Mad

THIS BLOG IS 18+ MINORS DNI

I do not consent to having any of my work shared on any other platform. If you see any rendition of my works on another site know that it has been posted without my permission.

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Four Years Later…

Jake had never really moved past you. It didn’t take him long to realize the error of his ways and those around him never really let him live it down. When his family heard of what he’d done they were beyond pissed. The two of you had been together so long that by the time it all went down you were practically family. 

The chlamydia diagnosis a week later was also another bit of instant karma. He was just thankful it was curable. Jake never should have slept with that girl. He’d kicked her out just minutes after you’d left and then had his own meltdown. 

Since then he never committed again. It was sex only for him. He was a broken man that had caused his own demise. Because of it he’d turned cold. Jake had always been a confident man, but he’d gone overboard after you left. Veering right into overly cocky, caring only about himself and no one else. It had earned him the call sign Hangman in flight school. He wasn’t well liked by the other pilots, only a handful could really tolerate his presence and he was more than alright with that. Jake didn’t need to be liked by anyone.

After you left him he tried to win you back. It was when you sent back the necklace he’d given you, the one that had belonged to his grandmother, that he knew you were really done. That was when he really broke. Because Jake had made the conscious decision to cheat. He’d known it was wrong when he was doing it and he’d still done it. There was no excuse for it. The only reason he’d done it was because he felt touch starved. You’d been working so hard, not only on your music but at the hospital that the relationship had been put on the backburner. Jake knew that what he should have done was stick it out. He should have waited for you, because ultimately you would have come back. When you’d done what you needed to do you would have come back. But he didn’t. Instead he chose to be selfish, a trait that more often than not landed him in hot water. 

To make matters even worse you had achieved your dream. It took a couple years for you to go mainstream, but then it was like Jake couldn’t get away from you. Your voice was everywhere, haunting him. Even his sisters would make it worse. The year you’d performed the Super Bowl half-time show was the worst. Somehow his younger brother had managed to hook the TV up to the whole house stereo system his father had just gotten installed. So no matter how far away Jake walked in the house he could never get away from your voice. He had to hear you sing to millions of people about how he’d hurt you, betrayed you. No one knew it was him. That was the one thing he was thankful for. As far as he knew you’d never revealed his name. 

After that he went on a boycott of modern music. Strictly only sticking to playing the songs on his phone. Never the radio. He couldn’t bear to hear your voice anymore. He stayed off the internet as much as he could, his way of avoiding any tabloid or press photos of you. It wasn’t easy, but he’d managed to do it and he was going to for as long as he could.

Most guys that cheated didn’t have to deal with this kind of aftermath. For Jake it was like some sick, twisted Karmic retribution that the girl he’d destroyed went on to become famous. Jake Seresin had truly fucked himself over on that one. 

“Hey, Seresin, you free Saturday night?” Jake’s head popped up to find Javy standing there with Phoenix and Rooster. 

“Uh yeah, think so. What’s up?” He was assuming they wanted to go to the Hard Deck, their normal Saturday night hang. It was one of the few bars Jake could go to where he didn’t hear one of your songs playing over the speakers while some heartbroken women screamed along to the lyrics. That was only because Penny refused to have any other music system than the jukebox. 

“We’ve got tickets to a concert, Bob had something come up and he can’t go, you want to take his place?” Jake shrugged.He knew most of what his squad mates listened to and he was sure whatever the concert was it would be good. And he would put money down that it wasn’t your concert. None of them seemed like the type to be that into your songs, so he felt like he didn’t need to worry about that. 

So he agreed, looking forward to a night with a handful of people he actually enjoyed. Even if he did but heads with Rooster and Nat every so often. They were still two of his closest friends. Even they didn’t know about you, though. Jake had never told anyone about you. As far as he was concerned no one else needed to know just how much of a douchebag he truly was. 

The rest of the week flew by fast and before Jake knew it he was piling into Rooster’s Bronco and headed for the arena. It wasn’t until the electric billboards on the arena came into view that he realized he had indeed fucked up agreeing to come. He should have asked who the concert was for, because if he knew it was yours he definitely never would have agreed. Now he couldn’t back out because they were already here and even if that wasn’t the issue he’d have to come up with an excuse as to why he didn’t want to watch you perform. It wasn’t like he could say ‘Sorry guys, gotta jet. I cheated on the headliner and all of her songs are about me.’ 

Fuck. He was really screwed. Even more so when he realized just how close up their seats were. So close he knew you’d be able to see him. You’d be able to spot him the crowd and Jake wouldn’t be able to handle that he knew that for a fucking fact. 

Natasha was buzzing with excitement next to him and Jake immediately knew this was mostly for her. “Didn’t know you were such a big fan of this girl.” He mentioned nonchalantly. It was more so he could gauge just how much of a fan Natasha was. If she knew she was standing next to your ex, the one who’d made you become this way, how would she react?

“Oh my god yeah! She’s such an amazing artist, I mean there’s so much pain behind her words but she sings them so beautifully.” Jake couldn’t disagree with that. You’d always had a beautiful voice. Of course when you were with him you mostly sang country. Now it was pop music, which he couldn’t lie, from what he had heard your voice was much better suited for this genre than it was country. 

“Not to mention she’s hot as hell,” it was Rooster who chimed in. “She’s got those big doe eyes, a great rack and damn those lips.” It was taking everything in Jake not to deck Rooster for talking about you that way. “Whatever guy broke her heart is a fucking idiot.” That made Jake want to punch him even more. Even though Rooster was right. Jake was a fucking idiot.

The only response Jake could muster without making any of them suspicious was a nod. How the hell was he going to get through this?

The first act was good, not as good as you, but still good. Jake enjoyed the music, but each song was just one song closer to your performance. When you finally did step on stage it was like everything from all those years ago came flooding back. 

You were still the same woman he’d fallen in love with but you were different. You really looked like a woman now and not some girl in her early twenties chasing a dream. He’d seen pictures of you here and there. As much as he tried it was almost impossible to completely avoid your face with as big as you’d gotten. 

Your look was grungier. It wasn’t the sweet sundresses or bell bottoms you used to wear. The mesh top with the black leather bustier and skirt wasn’t something you’d worn with him, but it looked damn good. And your legs, the ones that had always gone on for miles, looked even longer in the thigh high heels you had on. Fuck. Is this the route you still would have taken if he hadn’t broken your heart or would you still be performing in a sundress?

None of his friends seemed to notice how mesmerized by you Jake was. Likely because they were all just as mesmerized by you and no one could blame them. You were in your element up there on stage and he couldn’t help but be in awe. Of course he’d watched you perform before, but this was much different than those small town dive bars. For more than just the fact that you were singing your heart out about just how badly he had broken you.

It was nearing the end of the set when you noticed him. Those piercing green eyes watching your every move. Why was he here? It had been so long since you’d seen his face, heard his voice or anything. Every so often his family would check in on you, but they never brought him up. They knew better and they had been almost has upset as you were over the whole thing. 

Your stomach was in knots. The man who broke you in two was here, watching you sing about him on stage. Once you notice him you couldn’t stop noticing him, but you did your best. Focusing on the music and the lyrics coming in through your ear piece. 

“Change up the last song.” You rushed out of your mouth when you went back stage for a brief break.

“What?”

“Change it. I want to do I’m Not Mad.”

“But it hasn’t been released yet, are you sure?” Everyone was looking at you like you’d sprouted three heads but you just nodded. Adamant on your decision and they finally relented. “Alright, we’re full sending it.”

Most of your songs were written about Jake, but this one has been written the night of another passed anniversary. You’d been rummaging through your stuff trying to find the wine glass a friend had given you years ago when you came across a framed picture. It was you, in one of Jake’s t-shirts, lying in the mess of your blankets with a cup of coffee in hand. It was the first morning after you guys had moved in together and Jake had taken the picture. Spouting something about wanting to memorialize how pretty you were in the morning sun. The wine glass was forgotten for the need of pen and paper.

“I'm not even mad anymore

Oh really I ain't even mad anymore

Yeah, I don’t even want you back anymore

I don’t remember what we had anymore, yeah”

You tried to keep your focus on the crowd as you sang but your eyes kept traveling back to Jake’s. Singing to him because you want him to hear it. To really listen to you.

“I hope your back aches and your knees hurt

I hope you think about me sleeping in your t-shirt

I hope your little brother turns out to be nothing like you

I hope that you hurt more than I do,”

He did. God, did Jake ever hurt more than you did. Neither of you were the same and while you had channeled your pain into something productive, Jake had managed to make himself a nuisance to anyone that he could. All because of the idiotic choice he’d made seven years ago. Because it was a choice. He knew that then  and he knew that now. 

“And honestly I still wish you nothing but the best

I know that you're still self-obsessed

I hear the wicked get no rest

But when you do I hope you'll dream of me,”

Crowd be damned at this point. Your feet had carried you closer to the edge of the stage Jake was closest to. Conviction in your voice as you sang to him. This felt like it was teetering close to the edge of the closure you’d never allowed yourself to have.

“I don't even hope you die these days

I hope you live 'til eighty-five these days

Regretting that you'd ever lied these days

I hope it's eating you alive these days

Yeah, I hope you're up late in the bathroom

Just wishing Imma change my mind and come back soon

I hope that when you're thirty-five years

You’ll wish that you tried to 'cause I know that I'd do.”

Each verse had images of your relationship playing in Jake’s mind. It wasn’t a power ballad by any means, but damn it was still getting your point across. 

Jake did regret it all. He regretted ever caring so much about himself that he lost sight of you and brought that girl home. And when he was thirty-five he was no doubt going to wish things had been different just as he was now.

By now the crowd had noticed you were singing to someone and eyes were turned towards Jake. There would be articles about this in no time flat. That you were sure of. Videos anywhere and everywhere from fans’ phones showing the way you two were looking at each other as you sang. Texts from your friends and family, texts from his family. Rumors would fly. The world might figure out who he was and that he was the one you sang about. And really it was likely about time. How no one had figured it out yet was beyond you, but this definitely wasn’t the way you figured it would come out.

“I ain't even mad about it anymore

No really, I ain't even mad about it anymore

Maybe just a little less than I was before

I've got a twenty dollar bill that says that you never ever ever gonna change,”

You wondered if he had changed. Likely not, he was Jake after all. If anything you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d only gotten worse. 

“I still wish you nothing but the best

I know that you're still self-obsessed

I hear the wicked get no rest

But when you do I hope you'll dream of me.”

Your eyes were still on him when you sang the last verses. Holding his gaze as the music faded out. Someone was in your ear yelling for you to close it out, to say thank you and goodnight. You had a meet and greet to get to. Eventually you did, tearing yourself away from him to focus on your job.

Jake swallowed hard, watching as you finally disappeared off stage. He turned to look, finding his friends staring him down with wide eyes.

“Dude, what the hell was that?” Javy was the one to finally ask and Jake swallowed hard again. He knew he wasn’t going to get out of this, but he didn’t want to answer in this crowd. So Jake just started moving, pushing through the people to get to the Bronco. 

“Hangman?” Nat started just as they’d reached the Bronco. 

Jake squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before he opened his mouth. “She’s my ex.”

“What? No way.”  Jake rolled his eyes at Rooster’s denial, but continued on.

“We dated before she got big, I cheated, she caught me and…”

Rooster scoffed loudly again. “No way, this is just another one of your inflated stories. You? Date her? I don’t believe it.” Jake didn’t really give a shit if Rooster believed him or not. It didn’t matter at this point. Jake just shook his head and reached for the door handle, wanting to get out of there as fast as he could. 

Javy seemed to notice Jake’s distress and became the voice of reason, somehow convincing the other two to drop the topic. Jake knew it would only be dropped for a short time. And whether he wanted them to or not, he was already well aware they would press him for the full truth of it. A truth he hadn’t spoken out loud since it had happened. Out of pure embarrassment and guilt. Jake had always been an asshole, but he never would have guessed he’d become a cheater.

@cherrycola27 @clancycucumber2300 @bradshawseresinbaberesinbae @brittanyovensns @rolisinhaa @phoenixssugarbabyby @deaddumblbumble @caitsymichelle13 @whateverbagman @avengersgirllorianna @izz-ayes-world @novagreen04 @percysaidnever @leafsfan02 @anurst @rhirhikingston @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @flrboyd @mrsjaderogers @alldaysdreamer @gabicalicota @jstarr86

[windslar]

That's right. I'm back.

Explanation under the cut (TW: pregnancy, abortion, loss)

I know I dropped off the face of simblr without explanation, and for that, I'm sorry. A lot of things happened in March -- around the time of the Growing Together release. I remember thinking how timely is it for infants to come to the game just as I learned we were going to be a family of three.

Long story short, I found out I was pregnant in February, which was a very exciting time as my husband and I felt it was the right time. Truthfully, I became less interested in the game and so much more absorbed in reading and learning all about pregnancy and motherhood. Sims just kind of faded (as it does for many people) as my life began to change.

Many times I felt compelled to come back to explain the situation but as more time passed, the more I felt like it was unnecessary. I didn't think anyone was really going to care, despite the fact that a small number of people did reach out in my inbox (thank you). I figured one day, I'd come back and be like, "surprise! I had a baby!"

But that won't be happening. At least not any time soon.

At my 20-week scan, there were concerning findings. Multiple ultrasounds and procedures later, we had a few reassuring results only to be hit with a rare diagnosis that had severe impacts on the baby's viability at birth.

We chose to terminate the pregnancy. It was the most difficult decision despite knowing it was the right decision for my family. I had grown to love our baby and pictured our lives together. We had told close friends and family. We bought a stroller and a baby carrier. We got gifted some hand-me-down clothes for our baby girl. I had never imagined something so devastating and traumatic could happen to us especially so late into the pregnancy. It felt so unfair. So cruel.

It's been a rough couple of months. The anxiety and depression were at an all-time high. I have been off work for a little bit so I've had more free time, which is not ideal in terms of my mind constantly thinking about our loss, but the time is also kind of necessary for me to heal. In the last two weeks, I revisited the game and started playing casually again, but also lurking more and more here on tumblr. I do miss it. And I think part of the fun of playing the game is sharing my gameplay and interacting with the people in this community. It's one of the few things right now that's keeping my mind from falling into the deep pits of depression.

So yes. I'm depressed and I play the sims to escape the depressing reality of my life (right now). Don't worry, I have other supports elsewhere to help me cope; but in the ~alone times~ this game is keeping me from crying in bed all day so I count that as a win.

Now that that's out there. Please don't ask me any further questions or details about the whole thing, partly because I don't need to relive the sadness any more than I do, and partly to avoid providing any more (potentially) identifying information. I just want to move on and enjoy this safe-ish space the way I used to, and I hope that you can welcome me back with open arms.

[ask--eggman]

Honest questions, Eggman

Have you properly won against sonic before (excluding the incident with infinite)

And are you autistic/ gen

Well, that depends on your definition of "win." When I had a my grip on this world for 6 months, that was by far the closest I've ever gotten to sweet victory. That irritating hedgehog was beaten and imprisoned and I had it all! That's more than enough proof that I absolutely have what it takes, that counts!

It was hilarious seeing how weak and helpless my enemies were without their precious hero Sonic. If they hadn't rescued him, this world would've been forever in my hands! I would've wiped them all out, Sonic would've remained in captivity and then I would've banished him to space after I got to rub my glorious completed empire in his face!

It also proved that they're all inferior against me on their own. They need each other and have to use the embarrassing mushy "power of friendship and teamwork" stuff or the Chaos Emeralds to stand a real chance against me, one man with often nothing but the creations of my own superior genius on my side!

Besides that... No, not yet in terms of really beating him. But I've come very close many times! I've almost blown him up in space, jettisoned him from my fleet in space, crushed him, and made him eat dirt many times! And one day I will succeed and permanently claim my rightful place as this world's mighty ruler!

But having most of the planet at my mercy for that long isn't just some small easy feat to scoff at and exclude, you know! Such a brilliant accomplishment is all the proof I need! I also consider "winning" to be getting to make some of my biggest dreams a reality and I've done that twice with Eggmanland and my Interstellar Amusement Park!

A victory is a victory, no matter how short lived. And one day I'll succeed again and get what I want and next time I will keep it firmly in my gasp, permanently. I only get stronger and smarter with every defeat and it's only a matter of time! The hedgehog's days are numbered and the time for my glorious empire to rise only draws nearer!

Hmm, I don't know. I don't have a diagnosis and I've never really thought about it.

[lloydfrontera]

Who is the person Rakiel's closest to?

damian! definitely damian! it took them,,, so long to get there, truly they put the llojavi slowburn to shame, but goddamn the results are pretty goddamn delicious.

i once said that the reason i couldn't get so invested in their relationship was because i felt that rakiel wasn't as invested in damian as damian was in him. their devotion didn't really feel mutual and that made me feel really sad for damian.

but then damian got sick. and oh boi. did that change things. rakiel goes to such lengths to keep him alive, he cares so much to keep him comfortable and stable and just puts so much effort into taking care of him, it immediately endears you to him in a much deeper level than the story had done until that point. rakiel's care for damian makes you care for him and it's wonderful.

there's way too much for me to truly summarize, it would take me far too long and i'd need to reread a lot of arcs to give myself a fair chance at remembering everything in the right order, but there is just. so much. their relationships is build up so slowly and lovingly that you truly believe how much they care for each other.

as the plot goes on and the stakes get higher and higher you start to see the cracks in rakiel's carefully detached demeanor, the facade he puts on as damian's primary doctor and truly start to see how much it gets to him that he can't keep damian safe. no matter what he does, no matter how many times he cures him, how many miracles he pulls off, he just can't keep damian from suffering.

he's his employer, he's his doctor and most of all he's his friend and he can't keep him from being in constant pain and suffering. worst of all, his meddling at the beginning is the reason damian is going through all of that in the first place. and he hates it.

in ch 548-550 you really get to see just how much he's come to care about damian, how close they've gotten to each other and how much it gets to rakiel the idea that he may just not be able to save him.

this is the first time we see rakiel truly lose his composure in front of a patient because the sheer hopelessness of their situation hits him so hard he's outright shaking as he tells damian his diagnosis.

then later on when they're looking for a treatment to damian's illness berkis points out the obvious solution to their problem. they could just send damian to an unpopulated world, let him die there and allow the demon king to grab his vessel in a desolated place where he can't hurt anyone. all his efforts would be wasted and they'd have 3000 years more to prepare for his next attack. truly, it's the most viable solution they have available.

it's completely unacceptable to rakiel. he will not send damian to die alone. he won't abandon him like that.

when berkis asks him if he's saying no as damian's doctor or as his master, rakiel replies that both, but knows that deep down he's also saying it as his friend. he can't let go of him yet.

berkis calls him out on this, telling him he can't decide something that will put the entire world in risk based on his feelings. he completely destroys all of his arguments, reminding him that not only did rakiel say there was no cure for this illness but what will he do with the next incurable disease that attacks damian. and the next and the next and the next. no matter how many miracles he pulls off there will always be a next attack and the demon king only needs to win once.

so rakiel only tells him to please. please give him a chance. he will try harder. he will try his best. just please, please let him try to the very end, until there's truly no more hope.

and if they can't find a cure, if there's truly nothing more they can do... then they can send both damian and him away.

because it was his fault. it's on him that this is happening. damian's hopelessness and misery, it's all because of him. and he has to take responsibility for it.

and then because this wasn't heartbreaking enough, someone else speaks up and says he's voting in favor of king berkis' plan. damian has heard enough. he will not put his prince in danger when there's an perfectly viable option right there.

rakiel gets so angry.

he yells at damian and then grabs him by the collar, asking him what the hell does he think he's doing. and when damian explains to him the only way to keep him safe is to go and die alone in a different world, rakiel tells him that's nonsense and that he'll pretend he didn't hear what he just said because it obviously was a mistake.

he's not. really angry at damian. he's livid with himself. because it's his fault this is happening. is his fault damian is trying to sacrifice himself. and it's his fault he's not competent enough to save him. he's absolutely furious with himself but he can't help but take it out on damian who least of all deserves it and that also infuriates him.

god there's some dialogue in this chapter that just. gives me heart palpitations. i can't do it justice so just. here.

"You are my escort. You can't die without my orders. How long have you been by my side? You still don’t know that?" "I know it very well." "So why do you do this?" "I do it because I have to." "Insolent." "I can’t help it even if you curse and criticize me." "I have never given you the freedom to die at your own will." "If I don’t have that freedom, I will stop escorting Your Highness." "What?" "If it is possible to protect Your Highness other than as an escort, I will gladly do so." "Damian." "Your Highness." "Damian!" "Yes, Your Highness." "Retract the statement you made to everyone earlier, immediately." "I don’t want to." "It’s an order." "I refuse." "I will save you." "How?" "Somehow." Even if it means taking away my own life. Even if it means working harder to treat others, earning bonus life, and giving it all to you. I want to save you. I don't want to give up. But did Damian know his feelings? Is that why he smiled more sadly? "Your Highness. You have done enough so far." "… So what." "You still want to do more?" "Of course." "…" Damian Cayenne let out a soft sigh. He could feel his master's heart. So he also felt sad and guilty. It's because of me. Because of him, his master was in danger and unhappy. So he decided. "… All right. I will follow Your Majesty’s wishes." He bowed his head obediently. So that my lord can rest assured. So that he can trust himself and put his heart down. Just be obedient. Like that. "I think my judgment was clouded for a moment just now. I apologize."

they want. so badly. to keep each other safe. they're trying so hard to protect one another. damian is willing to go die alone in desolate planet to keep rakiel safe. rakiel is willing to work himself to death to give damian his own lifespan.

they make me insane.

this is just. the tip of the iceberg, there's a lot more that happens before and after that i can't put in one single post because we'd be here all day but just. know that it exists and that is worth reading the entire novel just to see their relationship unfold.

so. yeah akjshdkjas

[firendeavor]

Knock knock Are you alone? No one's out here and I was not followed Love, love You’re already home Party’s over and you don’t look so good

Doing my duty to the people by running at you all full pace with this song in my arms (Clear the Area - Imogen Heap) and dumping it at your feet.

You know when you listen to a song and it just kinda embeds itself into the canon? Anyway yeah listen to this song and think about Season 4/Season 5. Also, even though the Genius description talks about drugs and alcohol, I don't think it's explicit enough to rule out the rest of Ian's experience with his diagnosis in these seasons.

Anyway! Now I get to point out my favorite bits!

When you find your way back down in one piece Then I'll just be waiting here

This scene kills me anyway but paired with the song then it hurts even worse. Mickey not being able to do anything but wait until Ian comes around, and has no idea what to do or how to help. All he can do is give Ian the space to come back to himself, however that may look.

You won't talk, you won't try Just move It's too still in your sadness

Another really self explanatory line but it's followed with 'it's okay, you'll just have to trust me', which definitely comes a little later in their story, but hurt me again all the same when I was already thinking about Ian's own personal worries when it comes to having someone look out for him:

(Side note: the "would you take care of me if I was paralyzed" line is my weakness. It ruins me. But anyway!)

Nobody means anymore to me than you If you're in, baby, then I'm in With you always

I really don't think I have to provide evidence for this section. We're all very very familiar with ride-or-die, rolled-on-the-cartel, escaped-prison-for-my-ex Mickey Milkovich. If you really do need evidence, I'm just gonna hand wave at the entirety of the show and suggest that you take your pick.

But the next line is:

Careful, close to the edge there (You're scaring me) Fall into my arms

And I couldn't stop thinking about the section where Mickey has to make sure that Ian doesn't stab Kenyatta, or beat the homophobic protestors with a cross. Mickey tries to fix the problem again and again by himself ("l got him, I got him" "he's got me" "he belongs here with me" etc, etc).

This, of course, also means I get to bring up everyone's favorite devastating hug:

(Another side note: AAAAARGH I love this scene. Then again, who doesn't, am I right?)

More than anything I wanted to bring it up because Mickey spends most of his time in these seasons afraid, but for completely different reasons than when he was younger. This time, there really isn't anything else he can do but hope that Ian comes to him and leans on him for assistance.

(Also the following line being 'fall, fall into love' helps a lot.)

Overall, the song has this air of "I'm freaking out a little, but whatever, I'm still here for you, take as long as you need" which is also one of the reasons why Seasons 4 and 5 are my favorite despite how devastating they are.

Honorable mention to the line:

But your eyes tell a whole other story And I feel the weight of the world

Which just makes me think of the look that Ian gives Mickey in the hospital. Like side by side, this is the exact moment that Mickey realizes that Ian getting better isn't just a flick of a switch.

Let's fucking sit, indeed.

Anyway, thanks for reading my ramblings over this one song. I originally just wanted to share the song and call it quits but if I can convince anyone else to see what I'm seeing then I'll count it as a win!

[bullet-prooflove]

Not Ready: Jimmy Lanik x Reader

Tagging: @annieradcliff @cosmic-psychickitty @random-sofi @giuls-ver @crazy4chickennuggets @thebewingedjewelcat @infinity-mars @elizabeththebat @emma-dawson @legit9thlunaticwarrior @depxiety :@genius2050

Companion piece to The Diagnosis

You were dying and there wasn't a damn thing that Jimmy could do to save you. The colour had drained from your features, leaving your skin a sallow, worn out grey. Your cheeks were gaunt, you’d lost a lot of weight over the past couple of months, the cancer ravaging you from the inside out. When he held you close, you felt so fragile. He’d lay awake at night, his face pressed into your shoulder because he knew that time was running out and he wanted as much of it as possible. His fingers traced over the curve of your cheek as you lay in the hospital bed with your eyes closed. Your breathing was shallow now, a low rattle emitting from between your lips. The morphine was helping with the pain, it was all that they could do for you now.

“I’m sorry honey.” He whispered, past the well of emotion that was building in his chest. “I wish we had more time, that we’d found out sooner.”

You didn’t respond to his words; he didn’t even think you knew he was there and that broke his heart even more because you were always so attentive. It was one of the things that Jimmy loved about you. Your dedication, the fact you always knew the right words to say in a crisis. Where he came across as cool and professional, you were warm and empathetic.  

He heard that rasp, the long intake of breath and he knew it wouldn’t be long. He tried to fend off the agony that scored his soul, the whirlpool of grief that threated to suck him under but he felt it crashing over his head drowning him. He couldn’t imagine a life without you. He couldn’t stand the thought of going home to an empty bed, being around your things, knowing that you weren’t coming home. It made his chest ache, the pain so acute that he couldn’t force himself to breathe. He felt like he was suffocating under the weight of all. His eyes were singing, his throat burning because he could feel death’s icy presence standing over his shoulder, waiting for your final moments.

When you’d collapsed in the living room this morning, he knew the worst was coming. When they’d rolled you into the E.D, he had barked at his colleagues, snapping and snarling while you were examined until Will had taken him aside.  

He knew that Jimmy was falling to pieces, that his friend was starting to spiral. He’d spoken in a low, soothing tone as he explained that the next few hours would be about palliative care, doing their best to make you comfortable. He understood Jimmy’s need to fight, to rally against the illness that was stealing away a part of his soul, but it was over, there wasn’t a war to win anymore.

When it was over Will put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder, his lips pursed together grimly as his friend held onto your hand, clasping it tightly.

“I’m not ready.” He said into the space between them. “I’m not ready to let go just yet.”

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