#we are OVERSHARING

[gardenerian]

how are you today, mel?

well aren't you the sweetest sweetie pants 🥰 cards on the table? mel's a lil weird. if you've been thinkin HEY there sure is a lot of mel around here these days, you are not alone aksjfh but! many lovely things to come. got the next week off of work, i am gonna go ramble up some mountains 🎉 happy almost weekend to you, my friend!

[melleody]

being a shifter is when ure itching to overshare about your dr and then remembering that’s like giving out your personal info in this reality..

[dailykafka]

— August 2, 1913 / Letters to Felice

[lazylittledragon]

ok i swear i'm not going to talk about my breakup forever but the thing that just keeps bothering me:

i know that not getting what you need in a relationship is a COMPLETELY valid reason to end it but also. i feel like having a very vulnerable moment where i opened up about my struggles with intimacy and being relieved that i didn't have to keep doing things i wasn't comfortable with, then being dumped a YEAR later because of my lack of intimacy. is something i should be allowed to be very hurt by???

[teamred]

re: your tags - I am dying to know about your Wade’s sister!reader x Logan fic, omg that sounds so fun 👀💖

-@eupheme

omg hi j!!! @eupheme (gonna tag you in case the ask post doesn't do it)

i actually have two wade's sister!reader x logan fics in the works! i hope you don't mind me sharing both~

the one i was referring to in my tags is called "dusk till dawn".

summary: vanessa is kidnapped, so while wade runs off to save her, he assigns logan to be reader's bodyguard. however, they don't get along, but they start to fall for each other over time.

it'd be a road trip/motel hopping au with lots of banter, sharing one bed, tension, angst, and steamy moments of course 👀

i'm taking inspiration from some of the moments with logan and mariko from the wolverine (2013) movie!

i'd love to share snippets, but it's really in the draft stages right now!!

second fic i have is called "can't help myself" (title tentatitive)

summary: wade only has one rule for logan: his sister is completely off-limits. but of course, logan never plays by the rules, and you couldn't give two shits about what your dumb-ass brother says.

this one would be more of a fun fic!! just like messing with wade but also having fun with logan and lowkey falling for him too

lots of dialogue, especially with wade, smut, fluff, etc. just a vibes fic

wouldn't be as long as the other fic - i wrote quite a bit for this already! here's a snippet of the intro:

“Don't look at her,” Wade paces around his apartment’s living room, listing the things Logan, his new roommate, should avoid when he meets his sister tomorrow. “Don't breathe in her presence, don't even think about her, and especially don't—” 

“What, ya gonna tell me I can’t fuck her next?” Logan cuts in with an amused chuckle, reclining on the living room couch with a hand above his head. 

“Yes, bingo!” Wade exclaims, pointing at him excitedly. “Exactly that, you geriatric sexy vampire. Or should I technically say vampire hunter?” He pauses, wondering for a moment. 

“Anyways,” he continues, “you can have any woman you want in this new universe—hell, I’ll cry my heart out every night after my evening jerk-off seshes, but you can even have Vanessa—but my sister? We’re gonna have a repeat of the Honda Odyssey fight, Wolvie, and that won’t be a pretty sight to see.” 

“Okay,” Logan replies, getting up from the couch and heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll make sure to fuck your sister until she forgets the fact that she's your sister. Got it.” 

“Hey!” Wade smacks him on the back as he’s bent over, trying to grab a beer from the fridge. A low growl escapes from him. “I’m being serious here.” 

“When are you ever serious?” Logan asks, popping off the beer cap with his thumb. 

“Now! I am being serious now.” Wade’s voice rises before he takes a second to compose himself, closing his eyes and inhaling slowly. Logan watches him carefully, sipping his beer. 

“Please, Logan,” he barely whispers, avoiding eye contact. 

The silence, punctuated only by Logan’s sipping, feels uncomfortable and heavy. Finally, Logan lets out a sigh.

“Fine,” he grunts. “I won’t get involved with your sister.” 

Wade breaks into a relieved smile and extends his pinky. “You promise?” 

Despite Logan rolling his eyes and shaking his head, he ends up hooking his pinky around Wade’s, sealing the deal.

Except Wade doesn’t see Logan’s other hand behind his back, with his middle and index fingers crossed over another.

[bittsandpieces]

im supposed to be productive today but instead im trying to get the guy I went out with last week to send me a dick pic

[deepspaceballet]

i adore in fics when people find out about julian’s enhancements and then julian lets down his guard and people can see an actual a change, like suddenly there’s something unfamiliar about him? something much deeper and mature? not because everything about julian before the revelation has been a SHAM or anything, i just like the idea of all these intelligent people having totally underestimated julian, the young, naive doctor, when really julian’s been one step ahead of them the whole time, letting them see him a certain way. the concept of others finally getting to see they had the wrong idea, especially back when they sort of saw julian as somewhat less than, the whole time. it’s about that moment of oh. he’s been the smartest guy in the room the whole time. them suddenly not seeing naivety, but seeing power. that. i like that.

[solreefs]

me out loud in class: haha yeah don’t we all get lonely sometimes

me in an essay: I’ve never felt like a real human person in my entire life and I don’t think it’s ever going to get better and do I even want it to anymore?

[caffstrink]

Cain and abel sealed the fate of all siblings in history

[mash4077confessions]

Of course...

[hurglewurm]

me: we are Not going to worsen our life while in a minor depressive episode

the brain: :/

[eri-pl]

"Nothing is evil in the beginning" (but it needs a better title, this line is too overused) (for @morgoth-into-the-void-week day 4)

Melkor character study. Surprisingly no TWs, despite sticking close to canon. If I even get this far in the timeline, there won't be drastic descriptions.

But we're in his head (3rd person) and watch him spiral downwards. I guess this may be unsettling. As for now I got through Ainulindale and it's pretty benign in my opinion. A lot of unheatlthy emotions though.

Why do I love writing characters who are wrong? For the irony? Maybe.

No "thee" this time, because the format is weird already. I hope it's readable enough. It is a bit experimental in form. I also hope to some day finish it all the way back to the Void.

Fic below cut.

"I can handle this."

"You can't. You would unmake yourself in an instant. You need to learn. I love you."

"I could. I know I could." He lunges into the void, seeking, yearning, burning to create. It's empty. It shouldn't be empty. He will make it full. "I can handle this."

"Come, meet your kin. Learn them, learn with them. I love you."

"I will. Later. I need to see what's there, I need to find It, I know You will let me one day, I need to. I will learn them later."

"You have to choose. I love you."

"I can do both. I can handle this."

A melody comes, and it's stranger than the Void.

He makes it even stranger, stretches it into far reaches of his thought, far into the Void, where he can make it into something that never have been. And singing it, changing it, making it kindles a light in his heart. It's almost what he had longed for. It is something where there was nothing. But then he stops singing and it fades, and what was it's not no more.

"Almost" is not enough.

He sings again, there is something in the motive, something yearning for an answer, if he could only find it.

"Come, sing with your brother, learn to harmonize with him. I love you."

"I need to understand first! I can't let anyone muddle the question before I find the answer! I can handle this, I can find it, I will not fail You."

"You will. But I love you, Melkor."

He sings louder, desperate to hear it, to grasp it. It's still not loud enough. He needs to grow. So Melkor stretches into the Void, trying to be more than he is. Melkor. That his name. It fits.

Everyone gathers and Melkor meets many of his kin for the first time. Still, his thoughts are wandering through the Void, seeking the answer. When he manages to become fully present and feels the others, the Music has already begun.

It had begun and continued, changing. Not like one motive, explored back and forth in his mind, in his singing, but... Like a line. It had more of this strange quality of passing and then being no more. It was beautiful, but boring, slow. When will we get to filling the Void?

The others sang wrong. It wasn't the song Melkor had been given, it was simpler. Less important. Melkor sang louder to lead them into a more worthy music.

They didn't want to be led and started quarreling. He added more ideas, showing them what could be, what he could make if they stopped slowing him down. If they let his questions bloom to their full glory, if they let him seek the answers undisturbed. Yes, they were trying to help, he was aware of this. But they only slowed him down. He could handle it by himself.

Some managed to help a little, though, adding to his song, and it grew even mightier. But still not mighty enough.

A new theme appeared, but it didn't help, as most of his "kin" still didn't understand anything. A few went quiet, a few more joined him, but this still wasn't enough. Why? Why would they not understand?

Melkor sang as loud as he could, turning his voice into a defeaning roar, yet still, they opposed him. Even his so-called brother. Mostly him.

How could they all be so stupid, so— there was no concept for this. How they sang was— it was like imagining a wrong solution to a problem, but without the "imagining" part. It made Melkor feel things he'd never known before, and they were not entirely unpleasant.

There was strength in this feeling. He channeled this new sensation into his song and many of the others finally shut up.

Then, before Melkor could develop his theme, another break.

He resumed his song, accompanied by some others, seeking... What was he seeking? The quiet countermelody, too slow, too chromatic and yet not tense enough, distracted him.

…He had been asking a question. It had been important. And his foolish "kin" made him lose it.

He would find it again. He was the mightiest, if he wouldn't find it, than no one would. And it was too beautiful to be lost forever. So, he had to.

But first he needed to convince the others, to make them understand that they were singing wrong. They kept stealing his chords, harmonizing them into something unbearable, something... painful. The pain was another new thing.

Another sudden break, halfway as something was beginning, something—

"Melkor, my beloved child. There cannot be a wrong music, none of you can change it against Me even if you try. And if anyone dares, they will prove a part of my plan still, and they will witness beauty beyond their furthest imagining. I love all of you."

All of them. But when it came to a reprimand, Melkor is mentioned specifically. Even thought they were the ones singing wrong.

That hurts.

A Vision appeared before them, solidifying again the order of Time, but Melkor didn't pay much attention to it. And hearing that he was but a part, but an insignificant embellishment—

Something changed.

New beings appeared, like the Ainur but yet unlike. How? How was that not impossible? So fragile, and yet they had a depth to them, and a blinding newness. Something inside them called to Melkor: an answer and a question. He needed to understand. And those creatures, those silver and gold juxtapositions, moved erratically and yet too slowly, not letting him see clearly, not letting him—

What? He started in amazement at how much those Children (was he not enough?) were given, waiting. But no gifts were offered to him, or any of the Ainur; not even to his boring, obedient brother.

Why? A tempest swirled in him, those feelings he'd put before into Music, and a piercing longing. It was as if the whole last part of the Song sounded in his heart.

Melkor pushed it back.

He could handle those feelings, nobody needed to know how lost he was. He would find himself quickly. He'd got enough reprimands already, he didn't need to make it worse by asking stupid questions. Apparently he wasn't good enough. Well, he would prove himself. He could handle this.

First, he had to make this messy place worthy of those tiny, absurd creatures endowned with such gifts. Which, of course, meant that he had to work against most of his so-called "kin", who understood nothing of it.

Why did he always have to do the hardest work?

But he was the mightiest. He could handle this.

the Vision is gone, interrupted earlier even than the Music, and there is Darkness. How can it be gone, after Melkor has put so much effort into it? It hurts, but he can't show that. He has to be mighty. To prove himself.

The Darkness seems to look at him with too many eyes, and he needs to hide his pain his secrets from it, so that it doesn't interfere with his plans. Most of the Ainur look at him with anger, and even the few who joined him shy back in fear. But Melkor needs every tool he can have, so he decides that being feared is a good thing.

"I know that you long for the world to be, that you yearn to meet and know something unlike you, and yet akin, separate and yet real. I love you all, and so—

Eä!"

[mushroominaforest]

Grief kinda sucks. I think people should just like, not die.

[kacchanot-fucking-deal-with-this]

explaining mpreg to my boss wasn't on my 2024 bingo

[skibasyndrome]

.

[hold-him-down]

Belleview Chapter Two (Part D): Day One

Notes: This is the final part of chapter 2. Now, pretend all 4 of those parts were posted in one thing because that is really how it was meant to be but things got away from me :)

Belleview: Chapter 1, Chapter 2 (Part A), Chapter 2 (Part B), Chapter 2 (Part C)

TW: Institutionalized slavery, Med Whump, Dubcon Medical Care, References to Human Experimentation

✥ ✥ ✥

Day one, Lincoln thinks, goes by in a sort of semi-organized frenzy that makes up for a lack of rhythm with the undiluted tenacity of every person who has been assigned to this site. It is a flurry of organizing volunteers, scheduling with local hospitals, reviewing the notes of the medical team and pausing, occasionally, to ask how his two patients are faring. River remains isolated, but no one pushes him, and Felix remains alive and that, for what it’s worth, counts as a win.

Beds are built inside of the tiny rooms with impressive efficiency, while volunteers sort through the floods of donations, things from clothing to food to entertainment. At some point, an entire truck full of televisions, courtesy of the mayor, pulls up, and at another, a florist brings a van-full of indoor plants to help make the place feel more ‘homey.’ Three restaurants deliver catered lunch, and seven bring dinner. The residents, by and large, refuse the food, and it is not until the prepackaged meaty substance that has been their daily meal for their entire time at the site is found, heated, and delivered, that most of them eat anything at all.

The phone rings non-stop with offers for food or ‘any other support needed’ over the next week. News vans come and go, with volunteers offering cursory updates on where things stand at Belleview, but never on the residents themselves. Their identities are protected, and no one seems to mind regardless. 

The community, much to Lincoln’s surprise, rallies behind the residents, and he is left to admit, reluctantly, that even here, in this somewhat small community in southern Florida, where so many vocal supporters of the system fought tooth and nail to keep contracted labor intact, there are countless pockets of good. He doesn’t have the time to rearrange his opinion on the town, but he recognizes the necessity to reassess where he stands.

For now, he throws all of his energy toward the task at hand.

Three of the residents, Felix, Gabriel, and Ari, require hospital visits for diagnostics. Lincoln makes a note to check on them before leaving for the night. Seven more have been hooked up to IV fluids and are being monitored while they sleep, but will be treated at the site once the med rooms are set up. Three (River, chiefly among them) refused any care, and seven allowed themselves to be examined without fighting. Notably, the team suspects that many did not understand, or believe, that things have changed, and so the pretenses under which they cooperated were dubious at best.

It’s eight o’clock, and with one full twelve-hour shift under his belt, Lincoln accepts that it’s nearly time to call it a day. The first group of volunteers has begun packing up and leaving for the evening, with the new group filing in and orienting themselves to their tasks. Lincoln sits in the empty office, twenty-one folders strewn haphazardly across the large metal desk. 

He reaches for the newest folder, marked ‘Felix,’ and opens it. He reads through the notes– his notes– and stands, placing the lone file into his bag. He picks up his keys, and he turns off the light to the office, and he starts making his way through the bowels of the building that, just yesterday, housed horrors that he has not yet begun to wrap his head around.

Lincoln passes several volunteers setting up a common area out of what was once a waiting room, which includes putting together sofas, hooking up the donated TVs, stocking shelves full of books, and hanging art. There are half-broken down boxes strewn everywhere. He greets the volunteers with an exhausted smile and half-wave as he passes. Once he reaches the tip of the main corridor, he pauses. It’s quiet now, with an almost eerie quality to it. A couple of the fluorescents are dull, with one outright flickering. It gives the wing a sort of post-apocalyptic ambiance befitting its history. If not for the doors, each cracked open in a bid to encourage the residents to explore their temporary home, it would look exactly the same as it had this morning, save for one of the plants that made its way to a corner.

“How did it go today?” Dr. Anthony Schiller, the assistant director of the site, who will oversee it during the overnight shifts, asks as he pulls up beside him. 

“It could have gone worse,” Lincoln responds. They are silent for seconds, maybe minutes, staring down the long hallway. And then, “I’m worried about them,” Lincoln says softly. At the doctor’s expectant look, he continues, “About where things go from here.”

Schiller nods in agreement, and Lincoln hands him the key to the office with a half-hearted smile that is meant to be encouraging, but might read closer to reluctant. 

“Files are on the desk, notes are in the files,” Lincoln says. He gives a rundown of where they’re at, what they’ve done, who to keep an eye on overnight.

Once Anthony has retreated, Lincoln makes his way through the corridor toward the exit. He listens for any signs of distress as he does. In one room, the light from the TV flashes through the crack in the door. From another, he can hear crying. He pauses, knocking on the door. “Do you need anything?” he asks, and the boy’s– Ethan’s– eyes snap up to meet his.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan whispers. 

“It’s okay,” Lincoln replies. He takes a step into the room, where there is a barely-eaten dinner and an untouched pile of blankets. “I’m sure this is overwhelming,” he says. He picks up the top blanket and unfolds it, then sets it on the untouched bed. “Have you had a chance to eat?” he asks. 

Ethan nods, visibly holding back as much emotion as he can. 

“Okay,” Lincoln replies. He sits at the edge of the bed, and pats the space next to him. “Will you come sit with me for a minute?” he asks then. Ethan, predictably, does as he is asked, and Lincoln hands him the blanket. “I’m going to head out for the night,” Lincoln explains. “Is there anything you want me to grab you for tomorrow?”

Ethan shakes his head quickly. “Okay,” Lincoln replies. “Try to get some sleep. If you’d like to turn on the TV, you can. Anything you need, please let the volunteers know, okay? I know this is confusing,” he continues, “but things will get easier.” 

Ethan smiles, his eyes downcast, and Lincoln squeezes his hand. “I’ll see you in the morning?” 

As he continues down the hall, he wonders, idly, how many of these beds will be untouched tonight. How many of these men will go hungry tonight. How many will sleep at all. River's room is quiet and dark, and Lincoln resists the urge to check in on him. He is okay. He refused lunch and dinner, but has a bed, has clothes, and has access to food and water. No progress has been made throughout the day, but, Lincoln hopes, they will try again tomorrow.

He reluctantly continues walking.

He pauses, finally, at Felix’s door. As one of the three critical patients, the volunteers have been on top of him all day, reporting back at least hourly on his status. With the medicine and with the fluids and with the constant care, he’s been stable, which is something.

Lincoln pushes the door open as quietly as he can, and buried under a weighted blanket, curled up on his side, lies Felix. An oxygen mask covers his mouth and nose, and, under the covers, Lincoln knows a slew of monitors cover his body, feeding them data on his condition. After a thorough review of that data, Lincoln turns his attention back to Felix.

Even in the darkness, it is obvious that he has been bathed, he has been given clothes, and his wounds have been tended. He looks… peaceful, Lincoln thinks. He looks comfortable. 

As he takes a step back toward the hall, Felix’s eyes crack open, instantly seeking him out. His fingers lift, just slightly, in something that vaguely resembles a wave, and Lincoln makes his way to his bedside.

He kneels next to him, squeezing his fingers gently. 

“Hey,” he whispers. With his free hand, Lincoln brushes the hair off of Felix’s forehead, then runs his fingers across the bruising on his neck. “I was just on my way out,” he continues, “I wanted to check and make sure you have everything you need?” 

Felix doesn’t respond, but he keeps his eyes on Lincoln. Lincoln smiles and stands, with a soft, “I’ll see you in the morning,” as he moves away from Felix’s bed.

The panicked look, the same from earlier, ghosts across Felix’s features, and he reaches for the mask. It doesn’t take more than a split second for Lincoln’s mind to be made up. At home, his boyfriend will struggle to understand what happened here today. He’ll be chastised for taking his work too seriously, for not setting boundaries, for giving too much of himself to his job.

But, he thinks, as he pulls out his phone to send the text message: I’m going to stay here for the night. I’ll check in in the morning. Will explain tomorrow, he knows it’s right. By the time he drags the small armchair over to Felix’s bed and settles into it, Felix’s body has lost the fight for consciousness. Still, when Lincoln puts his hand on top of Felix’s, and the tension in his shoulders immediately lifts, Lincoln knows that this is where he’s meant to be.

Belleview Taglist:

@pigeonwhumps @peachy-panic @whump-cravings @pirefyrelight @i-eat-worlds

@taterswhump @squishablesunbeam @inpainandsuffering @distinctlywhumpthing @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@handsinmotion @whumps-and-bumps @pumpkin-spice-whump @alexmundaythrufriday @itsawhumpsideblog

@hellodecisionparalysis