#yes. this is early. no I am not going to fix that. I like posting things as soon as I'm done with them

[thekids-onholiday]

@coleminecanary 's 200+ followers Event,

Day 1: Fave ship or favorite duo !

Stephanie x Evan [EverymanHYBRID] Stimboard!

Themes of watching movies, playing games, and snuggling/physical non-sexual affection.

Requested by no one.

🎮 📼 🎮

📼 🎮 📼

🎮 📼 🎮

[ PS. two of the steph and evan gifs I made myself. So the link will direct you to a YouTube video. ]

This is very self indulgent, especially considering both our Evan kintype [and our Evan headmate] so... in a sense this was just a cathartic way of remembering our girlfriend. I am unsure if I'll continue to participate in this event, but this prompt made me want to make something for myself I guess...? Is that odd? The themes relate to how I remember spending time with Steph. And BONUS we're a canon ship! Yay!! yet people ignore us and instead ship mlm stuff when I had a GF in source... not my best work, but I enjoyed making this.

[taintandviolent]

Trust ; Kai Anderson x virgin!reader

summary: Kai finds out that reader is a virgin, and decides he’s going to change that.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 2.3K | female reader, smut, use of y/n, mentions of God (referring to himself as God), coercion, manipulation/gaslighting, dub-con (kinda???), handjobs, loss of virignity, penetration (p in v), praise (though it’s Kai so… don't get too comfy with it, it's probably fake).

a/n: requested by @jazz-berry ages ago! I struggled a little bit with this one for reasons unbeknownst to me. anyway, I hope everyone enjoys it! divider by @/strangergraphics!!

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

“It’s not like anyone here is a virgin. Besides —“ 

“I am.” You blurt, without thinking. 

Being a virgin in your early twenties seemed horribly embarrassing— although it was your body, your choice and all that. Empowerment, wrapped up with a pretty pink bow of lingering innocence. Still, the last thing you wanted was Kai knowing that, and seeing you as any different. So why had you said it? 

Silent, he seemed to dwell on the thought he was having, though his face gave no indication of what it was; impassive, stoic even. 

“Y/N.” His voice is low, commanding. It’s the voice he uses before someone gets an opportunity to do something great for him. The voice he uses before he tests someone’s loyalty. He gets up from his chair and walks over to the table. 

“Sit with me.”

He gestures to the table you fear most. The pinky promise table. You’d never been summoned to the table, never stepped out of line, or perhaps never stuck out enough to be summoned. Now, you have apparently. 

You unfold your legs carefully and get to your feet, wiping your hands on the front of your dress, smoothing out the wrinkles that had settled from sitting down. The rest of the cult waits on bated breath, waiting to see what unfolds. Kai seems to realize this, and turns to them, waving his hand dismissively. “This meeting is over. You all know what you need to do.” 

You pause and turn with intentions of joining the others as they leave. Kai immediately stops you with a stern, large hand on the roundest part of your shoulder 

“Not you. Sit down.” He forces you down into the chair, your butt hitting the cushion hard. He joins you at the table, quietly and for a moment, only stares. Takes you in, like there are words written on your face and he’s reading them. Fuck. 

Finally, one hand comes up, pinky extended. You lean forward, obediently, and link pinkies with him, wrapping your smaller one around his. 

“Are you loyal to this cult?” 

“Yes.” Easy question. You were undyingly loyal, perhaps to a fault. 

“Why?” 

You swallow. “Because I believe in its cause. I believe in your —“ 

His grip on your pinky tightens. “Don’t lie to me. That’s not what we do at this table, is it?”

You swallow. It’s like he knows, like he’s clairvoyant and can pick through all the parts of your brain that you’re hiding. Dig around like a child in a box of crayons, searching for the right one. 

Sheepishly, you shake your head.

“Try again,” he breathes, adjusting his body slightly. Irritated?

“You. I’m loyal because of you… I believe in you. I feel like you can fix this country, you can be the man that guides us all in the right direction. When I’m around you, I feel… I feel like it’s right.” 

His closed lips stretch into a smile and he huffs out a laugh through his nose. You shift around uncomfortably, adjusting your elbow’s position on the table. He’s so hard to read most of the time, and when he does finally give you an indication, it’s usually horrifying. 

“Were you lying about being a virgin?” 

“No…. Why would I lie about that?” 

“To get my attention.” 

You furrowed your brows and shook your head again, this time slower. You were confused why that, of all things, would get his attention. “No, Divine Ruler. I am.” 

Still holding onto your pinky, he leans back into his chair. The action pulls you forward across the table and you let out a little mewl. 

“I knew you were special,” he starts, looking up at the pendant light that hangs above the table. “I knew, from the moment you became a part of my cause, that you were destined for more.” 

You almost choke at his next words. 

“And that’s why you need to let me take your virginity.” 

You can’t help but gawk, your bottom jaw falling. Had he just said what you thought? After all the missions, the campaigning, the rallying, and he’d never given any indication of personal feelings towards you and now he was going to fuck you? 

“I… I don’t know.” 

“Yes, you do. Do you think I’m stupid? You think I haven’t noticed the way you stare at me, hang on my every word?” 

He’d noticed. You gulped down your feelings, your pinky twitching in his grip. 

“You’ve even dressed for the occasion.” 

You look down at your attire as though it’s the first time seeing it; a modest, white, linen summer dress that buttons down the front. You’d picked it because of the weather. But Kai thinks otherwise. He lets go of your pinky and pushes his hands into the table to lift himself up. You watch, your eyes trailing like weights, as he moves around the table. 

“I am your God. Say it.” 

“You are… m-my God.” 

“And you trust in your God. You trust him to do whatever needs to be done.” 

Your voice wavers as you speak.  “I trust in my God. I trust him to do whatever needs to be done.” 

Kai takes your hand, lifting it. You raise with it, trying to control your nerves in a way that doesn’t betray them. So far, you’re failing. Sudden closeness brings a whimper from your mouth as Kai is hoisting you into his strong, toned arms. He sets you down on the table, wordlessly. Oh god, you think. He’s going to fuck me. 

Though terrifying, the thought tantalizes you and you can’t ignore the sudden wetness that’s pooling between your legs, soaking into the fibers of your cotton underwear. 

“You’re doing the right thing.” Kai says, low. His fingers brush your hair away from your neck, exposing it. You shudder in response. “You’re doing this for the greater good.” 

You don’t even know what that means, truly. Somewhere in your conscience, buried amongst the arousal, you know he’s manipulating you, coercing you but you can’t and won’t do anything to stop it. You don’t want to – and take a breath, inhaling the heady scent of him. You lean forward slightly, pouting your lips. 

“I am?”

“You absolutely are.” 

He’s so convincing. Your silly little brain buzzes with the contact as his hands trail up your thighs, scooping the dress up to your hips where it gathers in creamy, white pleats. Who are you to deny him? 

“You’re the most loyal follower I have, and you want me to do this. You’ve told me.” 

“No… I’ve never…” 

He tuts his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head. Insisting. “You’ve told me without telling me. I’m very in tune with my followers, Y/N.” 

You nodded, knowing full well that you had – it wasn’t some secret and if Kai had paid attention even a little bit, he would’ve noticed all the times you volunteered to be close to him, to please him, to praise him, and even worship him. 

It’s terrifying once his hands slip between your legs, tugging curiously at the elastic of your underwear. It’s terrifying, but you want to crush your mouth against his and suck on his bottom lip until it turns purple. Being aroused wasn’t new to you, you knew very well what that felt like. It was a feeling that consumed you almost every single time you’d been around Kai, almost as volatile of an emotion as jealousy when he’d pay attention to Meadow, or Winter, or any other female in the cult. 

“Look at that,” he says, low. Your cotton underwear, in a skin tone shade, is swinging back and forth, hung on his index finger. The wet spot that’s grown on the crotch is telling, embarrassing and unavoidable. Your head hangs heavy, like a scolded child. Kai presses a single finger to your chin, lifting it again and forcing you to look at him.

“Like I said, you’ve told me.” 

Kai moves quickly after that, undressing himself completely and standing proudly, not an iota of insecurity or doubt present. Unlike you. His large cock hangs heavy in front of you, having gradually stiffened at the discussion? At the thought of your virginity? Who knows. 

“Touch it,” he orders, and you respond by lurching your hard forward, drawn like a piece of metal to a magnet. Your hand closes around his semi-hard shaft. It’s warm to the touch and velvet soft. Instinctively, you begin moving your hand, jerking him off. 

“Good. Good.” He hisses. “You’re doing such a good job.” 

Praise. Praise from him feels like slipping into a warm bath after a long day, like sugar on the tongue, like the first buzzes of being very drunk. You’ve craved it for so long, and up until this point, have relied solely on superficial praises. Nothing like this. His hips jerk once, his cock twitching in your grasp. It’s stiffened almost to capacity now, and Kai rips his hips away from you, groaning deep in his throat. His eyes are locked on you; two, black ink wells that seem to go on forever. You swallow your nerves again, hoping he doesn’t notice. 

“Scoot closer,” he urges, pumping himself in and out of his tight fist. Beads of pre-cum dribble from the tip, which he quickly swipes over and drags down his shaft.

You obey, and shimmy yourself closer to the edge of the table until your toes almost touch the floor beneath you. Kai slots himself in between your thighs, holding one of them tight against his hip. He takes a moment to line himself up, smearing the flushed head against your slick folds. Your arousal spreads, coating the tip, which moments later, breaches your entrance, pushing deeper. It’s immensely painful at first; fire explodes between your legs in a searing, stretching sting, and you quite literally feel the rip as Kai steals your innocence, mercilessly.

“It hurts, doesn’t it? You’re being so brave. I’m so proud of you.” 

His dick twitches inside you, you can feel the subtle movement in your cunt. Then, without warning, Kai drives his dick all the way inside you, bottoming out in a flash of pain and an overwhelming sensation of fullness. In an out of character act of mercy, Kai notices how your face contorts, how delicately you’re wincing and trying to be brave. He pauses for a moment, letting you adjust to the new feeling. 

You swallow hard again and bring your hands up to his toned shoulders, finding a place of leverage where you can pull yourself up slightly to alleviate some of the pain. Most women, you assumed, had a vision of how their first time would go – and you supposed, at some point, you did too, but now, you’d forgotten it, enraptured by the feeling of your stuffed cunt, where the burn had subsided into a dull ache. The dull ache was hungry and brought you forward onto his cock, wiggling your hips slightly. 

“Are you ready?”

You nod, letting out a small squeak of approval. Kai back his hips out and you look between your legs; his thick cock is coated in clear fluid, your fluid. You see the look in his half-lidded eyes, heavy with lust and hunger. Holding tight onto your plush hip, he spears you again with his cock and this time, doesn’t stop thrusting. He finds a rhythm very quickly, and before you have time to process it, he’s pounding into you. Your pussy responds by getting wetter, adding more lubrication for the beating that your pussy is taking. Obscene, wet sounds fill the basement room, echoing in your mind to serve as a reminder of what’s happening.

“Good, good girl. You’re taking it so well.” 

You nod, pleasurable whines broken by the repeated force of his thrusts. You lean forward slightly, resting your head on his chest as he fucks you, your cheek pressed just above his pectoral muscle. Kai’s hands drift around your back, and one latches onto the back of your neck, pressing your face tighter against his body. You can’t tell if it’s an act of tenderness or one of malice – but your body responds by shuddering closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, too. 

It hits you suddenly; a pressure on your lower abdomen and a burning, but not the same kind of burn as before – it’s a new one. It feels like you’re holding back piss, but you know deep down you don’t have to. 

“Oh god,” you whisper. 

“What?” He asks, no concern in his voice. It’s more of an automated response than a caring one. 

“I feel like… I’m going to… oh god.” 

You feel Kai nod. “Good, let go.” 

The coil in your stomach winds tighter and after a few more thrusts, hitting a deep spot within you, snaps. You cry out as your cunt clenches around his cock, fluttering desperately in slick, dripping pulses. His thrusts get more feverish then, less controlled, and you feel the way his breathing hitches in his throat, his chest rising and falling with uneven pants. 

“Tell me what you want me to do,” he rasps. 

“I…” You hesitate. 

“Tell me, god damnit!” 

You jump and quickly stammer out an answer. “I want you to cum inside me! Please!” 

He does. Hard. 

In fact, he loses it so hard in you, pumping it deep inside your warm cunt that you feel it squeezing, dripping out the sides and pooling beneath you on the table. Kai doesn’t stop until his cock starts to soften within you, and only then does he pull out, backing his hips away from you. You whimper as his dick leaves you, but the physical contact remains. He still stands in front of you with a heaving chest, and strands of blue hair falling into his face.  

“Am I special, Kai?” 

“You are,” he responds, reaching up to brush the hair from your face. “And I’ll make sure everyone knows that.” 

[theundercoversquid]

All night

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles is worried about his car and you

Warnings: Fluff!

A/n: yes I know that it doesn’t work like this! But humour me.

A/N2: This may or may not have been sat in my drafts since Feb 24 2022...

Masterlist

Charles was an idiot. That much everybody could agree on. A lovely idiot. But an idiot nonetheless.

"I'm so sorry." Charles apologised again. His voice was small and sheepish as he looked at your unimpressed face. His arms were resting on the tail of his car.

"I'm not angry at you." You assured him. Your hands were on your hips as you stared at his car.

"Do you think you will be done in time?" Charles asked. His voice small and worried.

"I will." You assured him your voice filled with confidence you didn't feel. But Charles didn't need to know that.

"Really?" Charles asked. His face lit up like a kid on Christmas. And that face was the reason you would be pulling an all-nighter on the off chance it would let you fix his car in time.

"Really." You nodded, determination filling you. "But you should probably go back to the hotel.

"I'll wait for you," Charles told you.

"No, you won't." You told him. "You need to have a good night's sleep for when you race tomorrow."

"Are you sure?" Charles asked you unsurely.

"Of course." You assured him. "Now, the sooner you go, the sooner I can get started, and the sooner I can be finished."

"Thank you so much," Charles grinned. Kissing you on the cheek before he whizzed out to tell everybody he could race.

Taking a deep breath, you put your headphones on. Putting your favourite playlist on shuffle, you got to work.

Charles bounded into the Ferrari garage. He hadn't seen you since last night when you promised him you could fix his car.

Charles hadn't seen you at breakfast, so he just assumed that you had headed in early.

But as Charles walked in, he could see his Ferrari looking brand new. And you were nowhere to be seen.

Charles spotted a post-it note stuck to the car, taking a tentative step forward. Gently pulling it off, Charles recognised your handwriting.

'All done! She's ready for your race x.' Charles read. Grinning to himself, he picked the note and searched for you.

But Charles couldn't find you anywhere. And no one had seen you. However, they were singing your praises for fixing his car. Frederic Vasseur had even gone to sing your praises to the rest of the world. Happily dropping the bombshell that Charles would still be racing, much to everybody else’s dismay.

Eventually, Charles had to give up on his search for you and retreated to his driver's room.

Opening the door, Charles swung his bag around to throw it on the sofa. Thankfully he caught himself in time as he spotted your prone figure curled up on his sofa.

Dropping his bag to the floor, Charles pulled his hoodie out. Laying it over your asleep body, he placed a gentle kiss on your cheek. Murmuring a quiet thank you.

Charles then left the room to warn everybody where you were. And unsurprisingly, no one suggested waking you up. After all that you had done, people didn't mind. After looking at the timings of some of the data logs, they were glad you were catching up on some sleep.

When Charles told Vasseur, all he did was shrug. Say that you probably needed it, and he would send you back to the hotel to sleep in a proper bed when you woke up.

And you did emerge not five minutes later. The hustle and bustle of the Ferrari garage coming to life, waking you up.

When you appeared at the entrance to the Ferrari garage, everybody burst into applause. You just looked slightly startled. Your hair slightly messed up from sleep and Charles's hoodie dwarfing you.

"Am I late?" You asked, horrified. "I could have sworn I only closed my eyes for five minutes."

"Your not late, mon amour," Charles assured you as he sidled up to you. "We are cheering you on for fixing my car."

"That was nothing," you waved them off. Embarrassed as your cheeks went a shade of red to envy the car you had given your night up for.

"It's not nothing," Charles told you. "It's everything. Because of you, I can compete in the grand prix."

"He's right," Vasseur told you from where he had appeared. "Now go back to the hotel and sleep."

"Yes, sir." You nodded to Vasseur. Knowing better the to argue. Especially as you could feel a yawn clawing its way up your throat.

Turning, you retreated to grab your stuff from Charles's driver's room.

"Sorry for falling asleep in your driver's room." You apologised.

"Don't worry, mon amour." Charles assured you. "I'm sure you needed the sleep." Gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear Charles smiled down at you. "Thank you so much for fixing my car," Charles said. His voice was a reverent whisper as he placed a feather-light kiss on your cheek. "Now go back to your hotel and get some sleep. Charles ordered gently.

Nodding, you bashfully smiled up at him before retreating out of the garage once again, with everybody cheering you and congratulating you as you left.

[rogersandclarke]

mutual 1: see the thing about obi wan is that even if he could get pregnant he would do a force-abortion on himself because he believes that strongly in adoption

mutual 2: do you think matt damon was seething and coping when j-lo dropped "dear ben" or do you think matt and ben were still hooking up at this time? essentially if the album dropped in 2002, the bennifer engagement is nov 2002-january 2004, and matt gets married in 2005,

mutual 3: my ebay bidding war for paul reubens's spit in a jar is going really well due to the psychic attacks i've been sending to the other bidder

mutual 4: local authorities wont let me into this abandoned hoarder house in rural wyoming. dies horribly. #i love drunk driving

mutual 5: listen ive studied rpf for years you dont understand. the homoerotic undercurrent of britpop is a different breed than what george and bob had going on. theres a playful aura facilitated by the early 90s

mutual 6: i am going to pound philip seymour hoffman into the ground so lovingly

mutual 7: im doing crazy things to davy jones pussy over here

mutual 8: thinking of writing my thesis on the evolution of rpf #no don't look at my lb diary yes i watched 10 martin & lewis movies this week

mutual 9: you see robbie and bob were having on and off trysts ever since robbie stopped him from killing himself in 1966 but it took martin scorseses tender devotion to show robbie how unhealthy that was

mutual 10: thankfully neil young started estrogen in early 1970. otherwise she never couldve made harvest

mutual 11: how minutes of semi-truck sound effects do you guys think i can play on my radio show before people start tuning away

mutual 12: put this post underwater sorry. but i just feel so angry when people post about their mutuals like they're people they never talk to. i've moved to different countries three times for my mutuals.

mutual 13: [picture of orson welles and anthony perkins laughing on the set of the trial] do you think they ever fucked #hot! #who said that

mutual 14: i think i could fix norman bates if we got married and adopted the eraserhead baby together.

mutual 15: [picture of a computer fucking itself]

mutual 16: m sooooo girl drink drunk daveeeeee

mutual 17: eroticism of the machine? uhhh yeah only if the machine is a sexy car #STOP PUTTING THOSE COMPUTER PICTURES ON MY DASH

mutual 18: my warriors in maine are one step closer to slipping cocaine back into stephen kings food so he can be a good writer again

mutual 19: you don't understand. walton goggins isn't just gay in the show. he also walks gay in real life. you have to understand this.

mutual 20: im going to kidnap mike stoklasa and only release him when he makes a post coming out as bisexual

EDIT: ETHAN LET ME POST THIS: mutual 21: do you think lana del rey and joan baez are hooking up. why is lana with her everywhere and introducing her documentary and doing all these things. we KNOW joan is bisexual. do you think

[toxicanonymity]

Hey Boo,

I've been seeing Joelkemons making the rounds being the best kind of dude to have around when you're crying.

Is Stepdad is having very strong feelings about all of this too? I imagine of Raider (LOML) and NW are being so soft with us, something in stepdad might respond to our hopelessly impotent rage.

I'd love to see how he reacts.

Boy howdy, tho, if I could slip into the brothel and have a big ol' Joel-pile, that shit would fix me all the way.

Thank you so much for everything you do and are.

I hope you're taking care of yourself too.

-- Cupquake <3

black tuesday

JOEL x f!READER | 1000 words

WARNINGS: 18+. Election Night. ANGST. Tears. Fears. This is intended to be a cathartic fic with some comfort but please don't read if it could be traumatic. Allusions to reproductive rights, etc. Reader is angry, esp. at men, takes it out on joel a little. Joel is supportive. Reader dacryphilia, brief smut. STEPDAD AU but you don't need to know it, and the stepcest doesn't come up.

NOTES: Sweet Cupquake, you're welcome and thank you for always being so supportive. Poor stepdad, he's normally the one needing comforting, isn't he? Yes, he has strong feelings about all this. This doesn't fit neatly in the AU timeline just roll with it. My brief post on the election is here. This will most likely be my only fic that overtly acknowledges the u.s. election. DO NOT INTERACT: TRUMP VOTERS, ANTI-CHOICE PEOPLE, MINORS.

You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment watching the news while Joel makes dinner and a huge mess in the kitchen. When the early votes are counted, we’ll see a lot more blue, they said. No, actually. Not really. You turn the volume way down so you can barely hear it. 

“Pasta’s ready,” Joel announces in a weak, sing-song voice. 

You remain on the floor. Your breathing is shallow, and it doesn’t feel real. 

Joel comes into the living room but doesn’t sit down. He stands with his arms crossed. His neck veins are bulging, his biceps are tense, his jaw clenches as he watches the screen. He’s pissed, he’s so angry watching this happen. He’s embarrassed to be a Texan. He thinks about all the women he knows. Embarrassed to be a man. 

He looks back and forth between the tv and you, and he sees your eyes are watery. He brings your glass of water from the kitchen, but you refuse it. He puts it down on the coffee table. Then, he picks up the remote control and turns off the tv. 

“Why’d you do that?” you snap. 

“It’s only makin’ ya sad,” Joel replies. “It’s still early, there’s time.” 

“Sad?? You think I’m sad?” Heat rises to your face. Your chest tightens.  

“Okay,” Joel acknowledges softly. “I can see you’re not just sad.” 

He sits down and tries to put his arm around you but you scoot over to face him. 

“All you men just go around blowing your loads everywhere and we’re the ones who have to deal with it, and you have the nerve to tell us how.” 

“I’d never tell you how to--you know that.”

“--I am so fucking tired of men talking.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and sits quietly next to you for a minute. It’s hard knowing there’s nothing he can do or say, but he’s not going to leave you unless you tell him to. 

He clears his throat and asks softly, “Would anything make ya feel better?”

“Only waking up from this nightmare.”

“Yeah,” he acknowledges. 

“I don’t wanna feel better,” you begin to cry. “I want it to not happen….Like, is this real life?” 

None of it feels real. Months ago, people in stupid red hats were carrying around actual sperm cups. The highest-profile rapist in the country called himself the father of fertility, and crowds of people cheered. He said “mass deportation” and people cheered more. And then half the country voted for these sick, twisted buffoons. 

“You want some space?” Joel asks. 

“No,” you protest tearfully.

He hesitantly brushes the back of your neck with his thumb. This time, you let him put his arm around you. 

You whisper, “I can’t believe this is happening.” 

“Sweetheart, it ain’t over. We got time.” 

You shake your head no, ‘cause you can feel it in your gut. 

Joel sits in silence for a moment, and you can’t see it, but he’s tearing up because he can feel you burning and he’s powerless. 

He holds you and strokes your back while you bury your face in his chest. He discreetly checks his new york times app and tries not to react out loud- it’s only getting worse. 

After a few minutes of silence, he whispers your name, and you respond, “mm?”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. 

You look up to see his cheeks wet, his hair messy. Your heart swells with affection. Affection and… gratitude? God, the bar is in hell. But to be fair, you really love him. You’re grateful for the man he is, not the one he isn’t. 

Desire begins to stir in your chest.

Joel presses a kiss onto your forehead, then lifts your chin, and you look at each other. He brushes away a tear from your cheek. With his own cheeks still wet, he swallows, and the emotional bob of his Adam’s apple sends a rush of arousal to your core. You put your hand on the back of his neck and pull him toward you for a kiss. 

Affection and relief floods your body. It’s temporary, of course, but you let yourself have this. You let the nightmare fade into a spicy dream. 

You straddle him and he pulls you close and moans into your mouth. You kiss him desperately and feel him harden under you. He hesitates and mutters, “sorry,” trying to read the room. He pushes your thighs back, trying to put some distance between you and his hard-on. 

“Stop,” you reply, then latch onto his mouth again. He breaks away and says, “Just don’t want ya to feel like I–” 

“Shut up,” you tell him, then scoot yourself closer, your crotch firmly planted on the warm, stiffening shape in his sweatpants. You grind your hips into him. He kisses you back with increased fervor, and moans into your mouth. Kissing passionately, your loins throb warmly together and your hips move in rhythm. 

You reach between the two of you and slide your hand down his sweatpants. You palm his leaking manhood. Pressing it against his tummy, you gently move the skin on his shaft, and  He groans.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and thrusts against your hand. 

You stand up to urgently take off your pj pants. 

His man-guilt is still eating at him. Squeezing his aching hard shaft, he lets out a moan, then weakly offers, “Are you sure you wanna…”

In response, you straddle him, hot and dripping against his bare arousal.  You slide against him, throbbing and ready. Then, as you slide his tip to your entrance, you warn him, “Get it while it’s on the table.” You sink down on him and he shudders. Then he thrusts upward and moans as he bottoms out.  

“My legs’ll be closed for business soon,”  you explain. 

He closes his eyes and breathes deep as your body accommodates his.  “Fair enough,” he answers thoughtfully, then opens his eyes. “Wait. Even if my face is the customer?” 

------

------

-----

NOTES: I actually wrote three Stepdad things, and chronologically, this is no. 2 of 3. The others aren't posted yet. The first one is a standalone pregnancy scare, nothing about the election (would've been before it). And the second one is a post-election talk about contraception.

My brief post on the election is here.

Thank you for reading. Please remember to take care of yourselves <33

[juletheghoul]

AN: The gif of this man as a sheriff, sent my ass into a SPIRAL and this is what happened. I originally wanted to post this for my birthday, but with Canadian Thanksgiving falling on the same weekend there was no way I would have been able to finish lol. I am still trying to post more often, please be patient with me, hopefully this makes up for the lack of posting for the last few weeks. Special thanks to @wheresarizona for betaing and just general wonderfulness, to @just-here-for-the-moment for screaming at me through comments and in whatsapp over this, and to @frannyzooey for screaming at me through discord lol (And for making me some super awesome edits that I will post after!) Hope you enjoy xox. 

(PS, I have an idea for a part 2, let me know if you’d want to read it!)

Pairing; Sheriff Frankie Morales x f!reader (Blue / Bluebell as a nickname)

Warnings;  sweet, lovestruck Frankie needs his own warning I think-piv sex (wrap it up), swearing, dirty talk, Frankie eats pussy like the champion he is, a non-consensual creampie, angst, longing, yearning, some violence (involving guns / war, accurate for the time period-I tried not to let it get too gory or graphic) brothel mentions - let me know if I missed anything.

Word count; 13k 😅

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

Dust swirled around him as he made his way into town from the train station, the sun beating down on his every step, and although he hadn’t been home in over a decade, he still knew the way just as well as if he’d never left. Difference was he’d left practically a boy, and now he’d come back a man. 

People he both did and didn’t recognize passed him as he carried his suitcase down the sunny high street, some of them smiled, most of them ignored him. It made no difference to him. He would be their new sheriff just the same. Besides, there was only one person he cared to see again. There would be time enough for that later, though. First, he had to get settled. 

The brothel was busy, a surefire sign of the town’s growth evident in the number of horses tied up in front. 

“Well, hey there, sugar–” He tipped his hat and smiled at the young lady calling out to him, smiling as she leaned against one of the columns flanking the entrance, “-you coming to make a woman out of me?” She batted her big eyes at him. 

“Don’t count on it.” His tone was polite, his smile in place. She tsked, giggling at his manners before being called away by someone inside.

Sweat was starting to collect on his brow with the effort of lugging his suitcase all the way from the train station, and he let out a relieved sigh when he finally stepped through the doors of the sheriff's office. It was somehow even hotter on the inside. 

“Can I help you?” A kid no older than he’d been when he’d left greeted him from one of the two desks in the small room. 

“I’m Francisco Morales, I’m here to see–”

“He’s here to see me, he’s my replacement.” A grizzled but familiar voice sounded from behind him, “You’re early.” The older man walked past him on his way to the second, bigger desk, where he put his cowboy hat down before turning to face him once more. “I was under the impression you’d be here by the end of this month. You in that much of a hurry to retire me, boy?” 

He set the suitcase down before wiping at the back of his neck with his handkerchief. 

“No sir, just wanted to get settled in, have some time to reacquaint myself.” He put the cloth away. “Fix up the house before starting. Thought I’d check in with you first, though.” He’d gotten in plenty of trouble growing up, and most of the time, this man had been the one to pull him by his ear and make him smarten up. It was a novelty to be in this office and not be in trouble. 

“Well, you’ve checked. Go on and get settled. The desk and the badge will still be here in a week.” Sheriff Carson had always been one to speak plainly, and he did so now. 

“Yes, sir.” Francisco picked the suitcase back up and braced himself for the glaring rays that would greet him just outside. 

“Son,” He turned at the sound of the old man’s voice, “I was sorry to hear about your folks. They were good people.” He nodded back at the old man once and made his way back out the door.

—

“Try again.” You crossed your arms, “We both know I’m not paying that much.” You kept both your voice and expression as neutral as you could, keeping your real interest in the supplies he had close to your chest. Interest and necessity always cost more. 

He narrowed his eyes, and you raised your eyebrows in return, holding your ground. 

“Price is an even one hundred dollars; had to ride halfway around the world to get most of it-” You curled your lip in disgust.

“Bullshit, Dale! You rode to the nearest town, and that’s only a day's ride at the most. I’ll pay fifty, and that’s twice what it’s worth.” 

“You tryna rob me, woman?” He crossed his arms, mirroring you, “I’ll go down to eighty, but that’s final.” He rose to his full height, his posture making him look like some giant, petulant child. 

“Seventy-five. And I want some tobacco.” 

“Goddamn, you drive a hard bargain. Fine.” He extended his hand, and you shook it with a satisfied smile. 

“Good man. Pleasure doin’ business with you.”

“Yeah, yeah, robbin’ me more like.” He grumbled good-naturedly and unloaded the supplies while you counted out the money to pay him with. “Goin’ back in a couple weeks, make sure you let me know what you’ll be needin’ before I go.” He tucked the money away and left. The rest of the morning was spent restocking the various bottles and cabinets with your new stock.

It was therapeutic, sitting behind the big mahogany counter to take inventory of your shop. The shop that had taken you years to finally acquire. Every so often, you took stock of all the work you’d put into it and felt a significant amount of pride in what you’d accomplished. All of it done on your own. 

The customers came and went throughout the day, buying tinctures and tonics, and you helped them all to the best of your ability until the end of the day eventually found you, and you locked up the shop. With a final sweep to ensure everything was in its right place before closing up for the night.

The sun was blessedly low as you made your way home, but the streets were busy. Ethel, the youngest and friendliest of the girls who worked in the brothel a few doors down from your shop, was smoking her pipe on the porch, waving and smiling as you passed. 

“Hey Ethel, how you keeping?” You called out to her, “Fall in love again today?” She laughed, a plume of smoke wreathing around the halo of her hair. 

“Of course, saw a tall drink of water today. Think I’m gonna marry him.” She winked, a devilish smile on her pretty face. 

“Uh oh, sounds like he’s in trouble.” You laughed, waving as you passed by the house. 

“He will be if he ever comes in here, bye Honey, see you later.” 

The buildings thinned as you moved further and further away from the main street, giving you a clearer view of the surrounding ranches and houses scattered throughout the plains. Your own house came into view, and you smiled to see it. The view of it had the pride swelling again; it had been run down and ragged when you’d purchased it, but money wasn’t the only thing you’d invested. That house was the result of your blood, sweat, and tears. Hours and hours of elbow grease, blisters, and bruises, cuts, and had you not been very careful, it would have cost you a few broken bones as well. 

There was another house on the way to yours though, one that wiped the smile right off your face as you passed it. It was a house that drew your eye no matter how many times you walked past, no matter how many times you tried to ignore it. It was empty now, but years ago, it had been full of life, full of love and mischief and happiness. It had been full of hope and promises. It was empty now, one of the windows broken, much like the promises had been. 

You couldn’t help but watch it as you passed; something flashed in the window, but you ignored it. There hadn’t been anyone there for years. 

Wish it would just burn down or sell. Wish the ground would open up and swallow it whole. 

Your feet ache when you finally make it to your house, eager to unlace the boots imprisoning them. You did your best to hurry through all your chores and feed yourself, the promise of a hot bath and sweet-smelling soap carrying you through. 

—

The house was so much worse than he’d thought it would be, and he’d thought it’d be bad. A couple of windows had broken, and half a town's worth of dirt and dust had blown in through them. He sighed at the state of it, knowing his mother would never have let it get this bad, and for once, he was grateful she wasn’t around to see it. 

He set his suitcase down and made a mental list of what needed to be done. First thing first, he needed a few things. 

With a wagon full of supplies and considerably less money in his pocket, he began the long process of making it habitable. With a stiff brush and an even stiffer broom, the dirt was returned to its rightful place outside the house. The windows that weren’t broken were opened to let in fresh air, and floors and counters were washed. Food and supplies were put away; the bed was made with new, expensive sheets and linens. 

He worked his fingers to the bone throughout the day and most of the night until he’d done as much as he could. There was nothing to be done about the windows; the glass had been ordered, but it would be a few days, possibly even weeks, until he could fix those. 

By the time he’d boiled water to bathe himself with, he could barely keep his eyes open, and once clean, he dropped into bed and into the sweet abyss of sleep. 

-

It was strange for him to wake up in the same house he’d grown up in, even stranger for him to wake up in the bedroom his parents had owned. He’d been so dead tired that he’d forgotten to close the shutters, and the room was flooded with the golden light of dawn, chasing away any and all hope for a few extra hours of rest. 

Those earlier years were vivid in his mind now that he was here, in this house. He could practically hear the younger, wilder version of himself climbing out his window to go find her. Could still taste the stolen kisses in his mouth, could still hear her delighted laugh when he’d wrap her up in his arms and declare his undying love.  

He rose, trying and failing to leave the memories of her behind, and got ready for the day. The coffee he’d bought from the general store wasn’t half bad, and he drank the whole pot with gusto, making a mental note to make sure he picked up some more before he ran out. 

The current sheriff didn’t want him underfoot while he settled his affairs, and he didn’t plan on making Carson’s life harder, but he did want to reacquaint himself with the town he’d soon be the law in. He figured the best way to do that would be to go into the businesses and talk to the people, and make his presence known. 

You should be looking for her, give her an explanation–demand one in return. 

He shook his head, ignoring the rational part of his brain. After all, he didn’t even know if she was still here. He thought about her as he left his house, imagining he could see the two of them as they’d been before. He, in his transition into manhood, her in the bloom of her youth, the two of them inseparable. The ghosts caught up to him though, and then he saw her–the real her, standing just outside the apothecary, waving someone away. 

She saw him too, and his heart raced. She was even more beautiful to him than he remembered; it was as though for a brief moment, all of the years between them melted away. 

A very brief moment. 

The look of shock and hurt, and what he hoped had been love on her face was replaced with a look that, thankfully, could not hurt him. It was pure and unadulterated anger, no–fury. 

His legs moved, bringing him towards her. This was definitely not how he wanted this meeting to go. He just hoped she’d listen, but judging by the way she stuck up her middle finger at him, it didn’t look good. 

–

The nerve of him. The unmitigated gall! 

“Wait–” His voice sounded as you turned to make your way back inside the shop. 

“No!” You yelled back over your shoulder, not even bothering to face him, even as your heart raced to see him again. 

“Goddamnit, woman, wait! Let me talk to you–” He was closer than you thought, barely managing to avoid you slamming the door in his face. 

“Don’t you ‘woman’ me, Francisco Morales!” you yelled up into his handsome face, hating how gorgeous he looked, how his neck- one of your favourite parts of him- stared you in the face. “Do me a favour and take off for another fifteen years. Leave me be.” 

“Come on, Bluebell, you gotta let me explain.” He managed to slip through the doors before you had a chance to lock them, but it didn’t matter, the pet name he called you stopped you in your tracks and rocketed the fury to new heights. 

“Bluebell?” You couldn’t hide the edge of violence in your voice, “How dare you call me that? I am nothing but a stranger to you at this point. You lost any and all privileges to call me anything at all when you left.” He was taller than when he left, but his eyes still burned into yours the way they’d done when you were young and in love. 

It would make you laugh if you weren’t still so hurt about how everything had gone down. The way he was standing in front of you, hands on his hips, frustrated frown in place. You didn’t give him an inch, but it hurt to admit just how badly you’d missed him. You shooed the swirl of feelings for him away, focusing on the one easiest to deal with: anger.

“Will you listen to me at least?” 

“Why should I?” You turned from him, busying yourself with putting a few of your jars back in their place. 

“Well, because I owe you an explanation–” You let out a bark of cruel laughter.

“That’s an understatement.”

“-I know, I always intended on coming back for you. You have to know that.”

“Do I? Do I just have to know that Francisco?” You all but slammed the jar into its slot on the big cabinet, taking up the whole wall behind the counter. “You know, you have some goddamn nerve–” the little bell above the door jingled when the Sheriff walked in, his bushy, white eyebrows raised into his hairline as the look on your face. It didn’t take an overly in-depth investigation to see that Francisco wasn’t exactly in your good books.

“You never could stay out of trouble, could you, son?” He moved past him to stand at the counter before you, “You want me to come back later, sweetheart?” 

You sighed, doing your best to smile at the older man. 

“Not at all. I have the tonic ready; give me just a moment to wrap it up for you.” You did your best to smile and ignore the big, aggravatingly effective puppy dog eyes shining at you from your peripheral. “Here you are, Sherriff, that’ll be thirty-five cents.” He dug into his pocket, counting out the right amount and handing it over before thanking you and turning to leave.

“You make sure you let me know if you need anything–” He gave Francisco a frown, “-and I mean anything.” 

“Yes sir, thank you.” With another jingle, he was gone, but other customers made their way inside, and Francisco sighed. 

“You can go ahead and leave. I am at my place of business.” 

“I will come and find you later. Then we can actually talk.” He took a few steps back, his hand on the door handle. 

“I won’t hold my breath.”

—

Much to his annoyance, the sheriff was waiting for him outside of the apothecary. 

“Can I help you with something, sir?” He spoke the words through a tired sigh. 

“Boy, I do believe that woman hates you.” 

“No sir, that woman loves me. If she hated me, she would have shot me.” He moved away from the sheriff, ignoring the raucous laughter that followed his every step. He ignored it and set about doing what he needed to do, telling himself that he’d be able to deal with it later when she let him explain himself. It made no matter what he told himself, though, his mind wouldn’t let her go. 

Instead of using the time productively, he found himself counting the hours until she closed up the shop, loitering around the door like some lovestruck teenager. He scoffed to himself, ignoring the cloying heat of the sun. Isn’t that all he was? Just some lovestruck fool? She couldn’t know that, though, not with the way things had gone down. 

Any hope he had of her cooling down throughout the day died at the narrowing of her eyes, her expression now as she locked the apothecary door so different from the one that had kept him going throughout the years he’d spent away. 

“Still here, shocking.” She waltzed past him, “Just leave me be.”

“I can’t do that., I need you to listen to me.” It took him a few long strides to catch up with her, “Can I please just explain?”

“Why? What does it matter at this point? I don’t want to hear you–” He stood in her way, blocking her path on the dusty sidewalk.

“Listen! Please!” He held onto her arms, keeping her still so he could look into her eyes. “I know you aren’t happy with me–” She scoffed, and he spoke over her, “I know, but you have to know that I missed you all this time. I didn’t want it to happen like this, but I can’t help that now.” She shrugged out of his grip, crossing her arms. 

“You okay, Honey? This man botherin’ you?” An older woman shouted from the porch of the brothel, her hand on the gun at her hip. 

“No, Ma’am, I’m fine. I know him–well, I knew him.” She turned towards the madam and smiled, “I got it under control.” She sighed and walked around him, turning to him after a few steps. “You have until I get home.” 

He rushed behind her and kept the smile to himself.

“I see you’ve done really well for yourself. It makes me really happy to see how you’ve been–” 

“This isn’t an explanation. You’re wasting your time with flattery I won’t respond to.” 

“Right, I’m sorry.” He frowned, trying to keep pace with her. “I sent you letters–”

“You sent me a few letters, all of which I responded to.” She spoke loudly, cutting him off. “A few letters in almost fifteen years–”

“I sent you dozens of letters.” It was his turn to frown and her turn to slow down, “I wrote to you as often as I could, even after I stopped getting your responses.” He knew he wasn’t exactly the kind of man her parents had wanted her to end up with. He remembered the sour looks on their faces when he’d come calling.

“I got a few letters the first year and then nothing else.” Her expression was wary, her eyes narrowed. “Did you really write to me? Or are you saying that so I’ll forgive you?” She crossed her arms, stopping to gauge the truth in his words. 

“I wrote to you for years, figured I would have to come and talk to you in person, but then I thought maybe you’d met someone else, or moved away, or worse. Then I told myself I’d come and find you, but life is the way it is, and things got in the way. When I heard they needed a new sheriff, I sent word to Carson to see if he’d consider hiring me–I was shocked when he responded yes.” She stared at him, eyes bright but mistrustful. “I swear on my mother's grave.” He took her hand, holding it to his heart. “I should have come sooner-” She pulled her hand away gently, fire still burning in her gaze, but now it was coloured with sadness as well as fury. 

“Yes, yes, you should have.” She sighed and continued walking towards their homes, “I am so angry at you, Francisco. I am angry you left and angry you came back.” She looked away from him, her hands flying to her face momentarily before facing forward again. 

“I know.” His house came into view, and he fought the urge to invite her in. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.” She didn’t respond, only kept her eyes forward. “What time do you leave in the morning?”

“What?” She frowned.

“What time do you usually leave? I’m not sure what time the Apothecary opens–”

“It opens at eight, but I like to get there early. Why?” 

“May I accompany you? I would like to walk with you if I could.” He knew she wouldn’t forgive him so quickly. Her fiery temper was one of the things he’d always loved about her. 

“You want to walk me? I am fully capable-”

“I never said you weren’t. I would still like to walk with you. I’ve missed talking to you, it would be a nice way to…reconnect.” He chanced a smile, hoping it would still have the effect it used to. 

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t smile in return. Her house was closer now, his time with her coming to an end for the day. 

“I suppose I cannot stop you.” It wasn’t a yes, but it definitely wasn’t a no.

“See you tomorrow then, goodnight Bluebell.” He stopped a few yards from her door, waiting until she was safely tucked inside before turning and going home.

-

The moon was high when you finally dug out the letters you’d hidden away deep in the chest at the end of your bed. The paper had yellowed, and you didn’t even bother getting up off the floor. With shaky hands, you untied the little bundle and spread them out in front of you, trying your hardest not to tear up at the little hearts and flowers he’d drawn in the curled-up corners. 

My Dearest Bluebell, 

I cannot even begin to tell you how much I miss you. Things here move so quickly, but I’m doing so much, making more money than I’ve ever seen! More than enough for us to start our lives together–

You pushed the letter away, finally letting go of the sob that had been squatting in your throat since seeing him earlier that morning. The love he’d had was so evident in his scratchy script, and the pain of his apparent silence reared its head in your soul to see it again after all of the years you’d survived without him. The last letter he’d sent held no clue as to why he’d ever stop writing, and now a nagging suspicion filled the corners of your mind. 

Your mother had made it more than clear that Francisco wasn’t her first choice for you. She’d treated him less than kindly whenever he came calling, would turn up her nose at him whenever she’d seen the two of you together, and had smiled a big, cruel smile at the news that he’d be leaving. Would she have gone so far as to hide letters from him? Something in your heart said yes. 

Suddenly, it was too much to see his words surrounding you, and you gathered them up hastily, tossing them back into the chest before surrendering to the exhaustion in your heart and in your bones and getting into bed. You tried to think about something else as you lay there, anything else–but he kept popping up, making you wonder–against your will–whether or not he’d actually be there in the morning.

-

He didn’t let you wonder.

His heavy knock made you practically jump out of your skin as you did your best to tie the laces of your corset. You chewed on your bottom lip, annoyed with how you rushed to throw on your dressing robe, sighing at the speed with which you made it to the door. 

He smiled as you opened the door, testing every measure of self-control you’d built up in his absence with a single dimple. 

“You’re here.” 

“Yes, just like I said–I figured it would be best to be early.” His gaze raked over you in your half-dressed state, “You look lovely.” 

“Sure I do.” You scoffed, “I need more time. I usually leave a little later.” He scratched at the back of his neck, unsure what to say, and you had to work extra hard to keep from laughing at him. “Come in then. You can wait in the kitchen while I finish getting dressed.” You turned and left then, leaving him to close the door. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You kept the door slightly ajar in your bedroom, your heart racing to know that after all this time–he was in the same house as you. You shook your head, shooing away the novelty of his presence to call up the anger and the fury that had kept you from falling apart in his absence. 

“The house looks great!” He called from the kitchen, “You shoulda seen the state of mine when I got here.”

You bit your lip, relishing the deep tones of his voice as they filled the house. 

“Still haven’t been able to fix the windows–had half a desert's worth of sand in the house. Took me forever to clean it.” He continued speaking as you finished dressing, completely unaware of the way you contemplated whether or not to use some of your very pricey, very precious perfume. You ignored the disappointed little voice in your head as you dabbed a few drops behind your ears and on the inside of your wrists. 

“-hopefully, they'll come in by the end of the week-” He was still speaking when you made your way back into the kitchen where he sat at your little table, the long lines of him entirely too big and too wonderful for the tiny space. 

“Have you eaten?” You cut off his speech, pulling down the cast iron pan from the rack above the woodfire stove.

“I, uh, I had some coffee.” 

“So, no?” You shoved some kindling into the open door of the oven, striking a match to light it. 

“Well, no–”

“Okay then.” There was enough time, and you got to work. 

“Can I help?”

“No–actually, yes. You can go fetch some water from the well out back.” You shoved the big kettle into his hands and sent him on his way, where he went without comment. 

Soon enough, you had biscuits baking and coffee brewing, and the house smelled better than any perfume you could buy. You once again ignored the little voice, the one that curiously sounded like your mother when you put out both the butter and the jam. 

When they were out of the oven and steaming, you couldn’t help but smile at how well they'd turned out. 

“It smells like heaven in here.” You could practically hear him drooling, and it was with a great sense of both satisfaction and pride that you watched him throw caution to the wind and eat one without waiting for it to cool down. He moaned at the first bite, making your heart soar and silencing the mean little voice. 

“You like them?” You had to hear it, had to hear the words in his voice.

“Like them? Honey, I’d kill for them.” You narrowed your eyes at him but let the endearment go without comment. Already, you were softening up for him. “I could eat this whole goddamn plate.” He pulled another one open, no doubt burning the tips of his fingers but continuing on just the same, slathering it with both butter and jam before taking a huge, steam-filled bite. 

You ate yours slower, unsure what you liked best, the biscuit or watching him eat. 

He poured you a cup of coffee before pouring one for himself, and for a moment, your heart shattered at how right it felt to have him here. For the first time since he’d left, you let yourself feel just how lonely you’d been without him. 

“I know you’re angry with me.” He put the remnants of his biscuit down, “I know you think I abandoned you, picked up and found a new life outside of this place, but you have to know–” He reached over, taking your hand in his, “I never stopped thinking about you.” The tears flowed without your permission, what felt like years worth of them dripping steadily onto the bodice of your dress. “I have loved you since I was a boy, and I should have come back the second I thought something was wrong. I’ll never forgive myself for letting you worry or letting you imagine for a single moment that you weren’t everything to me. I know it’ll take time for you to trust me again, but I’ll work as hard as I can.”

You wanted to rip your hand away, to scream in his face and tell him to give you peace, but you couldn’t. Instead, you let the tears fall, let him stand and tentatively pull you towards him, let him crush you in the first hug you’ve had in years. For a moment, it’s as though you cannot get close enough, your hands like claws digging into the fabric of his overcoat, knuckles cramping from the force of your grip, and he sighs into your hair. The relief of the painfully familiar smell of him is so great that it almost knocks you off your feet. 

When you finally push him away, you know your eyes are puffy. 

“I believe you–” He smiles through his own tears, “-but I am still angry. I cannot just let go of my hurt. Not so quickly.” It takes everything in you, but you untangle yourself from him softly. “I have been living in this for so long, I don’t even know how to stop feeling this way.” The handkerchief that usually lived in your pocket made itself useful now. “I don’t even know where to begin. I loved you so much–” His face contorted in pain, the use of the word in the past tense like a stab to his heart. “-I don’t think I ever stopped. It’s the reason it hurts so much.” He let out a shaky breath, smiling a watery smile. 

“I know, I’ll work for it, I promise.” 

“I know.” 

–

He felt like he was flying. His steps were so light, surely he’d grown wings. He knew it was going to be a long road for them, but for the first time in years, he had hope. 

He couldn’t keep the smile off his face throughout the day, the feel of her in his arms, the smell of her in his nose, all of it made him feel like any errant puff of wind would blow him away. He had a skip in his step as he made his way over to the Sheriff's office, uncaring whether the man wanted him there or not. He had to keep his time away from her occupied with something, and learning what it took to do his job effectively was the next best thing. 

“I haven’t seen that look on your face in years, it meant trouble back then, and I doubt it’s changed.” Sheriff Carson frowned at him, “Your house all fixed up then?” He didn’t stop what he was doing, instead continuing as he spoke. 

“As fixed as it can be, sir, until the replacement window panes come in.” He sat in the chair in front of Carson without invitation. The man only grunted in response. 

“I want to start early, get a feel for what you do so I can do it properly.” At this, the older man looked up. 

“I know I wasn’t the easiest kid–” The older man scoffed at that but let him continue. “-Yes, yes, I know. I was a helion. I’m a man now, and I’ve grown up. I just want to keep this town safe, want to do my job.” The older man's eyes narrowed, and Francisco frowned. “Why did you say yes when I applied?”

“Part curiosity, part hope, I guess.” He set the pen down, leaning back in his chair, his arms coming to rest crossed on his belly. “You’ve always been a smart kid, Frank, and if you really are as grown up as I think you are, I think you got the makings to be a great sheriff. Especially if you’re anything like your daddy.” It was probably the nicest thing Carson had ever said to him. He didn’t know how to respond. 

“I just don’t want you to hurt that girl–” He raised his hands to forestall any response, “I know what you felt for her was real, but she was a shell when you left, and I don’t want to see her like that again. We clear?”

“Yes, sir. I’m here. I’m home for good.”

“Good, now let's get to work.”

-

Francisco was no stranger to hard work, but Carson seemed determined to make him jump through every single hoop in order to prove he could do this job. It didn’t deter him in the slightest, not with the promise of the life he’d always wanted so close on the horizon. Instead, he took notes, followed Carson, did everything he asked, and paid as much attention as he could, but secretly counted the hours until he would see her again. 

He heard the gunshots as he organized the disaster that was Carson’s filing system. 

“Suppose you oughta come with.” Carson slipped his holster on, handing a gun to him before leading the way toward the sound. 

A half-naked man was rolling around on the ground just outside the brothel, clutching at a blood-soaked arm. His eyes were wild with pain and anger, and he only seemed to get more frantic at the sight of the two of them approaching. 

“Sheriff! Arrest that woman!” He pointed with his good hand at the young woman on the porch. “Crazy bitch shot my damn arm-” 

“You put your hands on me, and you lose your hand! Them’s my rules!” She was screaming mad, a painful-looking shiner blooming on her pale face. 

“Enough!” Carson’s voice rang out loud enough to silence everyone within earshot, “Now–Who’s gonna tell me what happened? I can listen, or I can arrest the lot of you and be done with it.” He rested his weight on one leg, hand resting on the gun at his hip. 

The madame stepped out from behind the younger woman, her face austere. 

“I think it’s pretty obvious; he took a liberty, smacked my girl around, and he got bit.” She put her arm around the younger woman's shoulder. “Ethel is one of my best. Now she’s got this to deal with. He’s lucky she didn’t shoot his pecker off.” The man scoffed, pulling his shirt on as best he could before moving towards the women. 

“I don’t think so, pal,” Francisco spoke directly to him, pulling his own gun and holding it at his side in warning.

“I got witnesses, Carson. Lock this fucker up, and let us get back to work.”

“I’ll need to come in and get some statements, Mabel. You know that as well as I do. Frank, take this moron over to get patched up.” 

“So I’m just gonna lose my fuckin’ hand!?” He was incensed. 

“Lucky you didn’t lose your life. Now get out of my sight. I’m gonna give you until sundown to be out of here; if not, you can spend an undetermined amount of time in my jailhouse.” Carson’s voice held no room for anything but complete obedience, and after a tense moment, all of the air went out of him, and he let Francisco lead him toward the town physician. 

-

You tried not to be upset when he wasn’t waiting for you outside the apothecary at the end of the day; after all, he hadn’t said he would be. Instead, you locked up as usual and set about making your way home.

“Bluebell!” His voice rang out from behind you, making your head whip around. Your frown turned from annoyance to worry at the sight of dried blood on the white of his shirt. Your hands clutched at the collar of his shirt before you had a chance to catch yourself. 

“What happened?” Any and all propriety went right out the window with how frantically you pulled at his layers to see where the blood had come from. “Did you get hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine–it’s not mine.” there was something in his voice that brought you back to your senses, a tenderness that pierced the very heart of you. His hands held onto yours for a moment before you pulled them away slowly. 

“Oh. I’m glad.”

“There was some trouble at the brothel. One of the girls shot some idiot who got handsy. I had to bring him to the physician.” The thought of him anywhere near the brothel made your hackles rise. You stamped the feeling away and continued your walk back home. He fell into step beside you. “What was that?” His smile was big now.

“What was what?”

“That look you just gave me.” He bumped his shoulder into yours, and you frowned. 

“What are you talking about? I didn't give you any look.” 

“You gave me a look, Blue, when I said the word brothel, a jealous look.” His smile was so wide you wanted to smack him. 

“I did not. You are free to do as you please. We aren’t married.” You kept your eyes on the horizon and did your best to ignore the bark of laughter he let out beside you. 

“Fine, I’ll drop it. I got no business in a brothel anyway. Even if I’m not married, yet.” 

You sighed, ignoring just how right he was. 

There was a man with a wagon waiting just outside his house as you passed it. 

“Can I help you?” He called out to the man outside his house. You can’t help but notice how he put himself between you and the stranger. 

“I have some window panes to deliver.” He walked around to the back of the wagon, uncovering it to show the cargo 

“Oh! Yes, I’ll take those.” He jogged over to the man, helping to bring the glass inside. You followed him despite yourself, unable to keep the frown off your face at the state of his home. You were still looking around when everything had been brought inside, and the man had been sent away. “It still needs work, but at least the windows will be intact.” You could see how he surveyed his home, his eye just as critical if not more than yours.

You set down your things. 

“Need to boil some water.” You hauled out the biggest pot you could find. 

“What?” He came over and took the pot from you, putting it onto the stove for you. 

“We need to boil water to clean these floors, and we should wash these windows too.” 

“Yes, but I can do it–” 

“Francisco. Go get water so we can boil it and get this place in order.” You raised your eyebrows at him and relished the way he watched you. He’d always liked it when you were assertive. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled before heading out to his own well. 

Once the water was boiled, you got to work with a stiff brush while he set about replacing the broken windows. It wasn’t easy work, getting down on your knees to scrub the years worth of dirt and dust out of every nook and cranny embedded in the floorboards. It was worth it, though, to look up every so often and see the hard lines of him working, both his jacket and waistcoat shed and thrown onto a chair; his shirtsleeves rolled up. 

He’d always been beautiful to you, with his big brown eyes and his golden skin, the maddening dimple, even the curve in his nose. He was even more gorgeous now, with age and experience etched on his face, even hardened, he could still make you swoon. 

You gasped at the sting, snatching your hand back cat-quick. Blood beaded on your finger and dripped down onto the freshly washed floor, an errant piece of broken glass sitting on the floor. It was a few seconds before he was gathering you up from off the floor and guiding you to one of the chairs. 

“I’m okay, just a little cut.” He moved away for a moment, moving towards the back of the house. “Really, Frankie, I’m fine.” He came back with a few pieces of clean linen and a little jar of something clear; you can only imagine what it is.

“I know. I still want to clean and wrap it, though.” He set his things down, moving to the remaining boiled water on the stove to dampen one of the pieces of cloth, using it to clean the wound before opening the little jar. His eyes found yours then– ”You gonna be brave for me?” He held it over the cut, waiting for you to answer. “It’s going to hurt, but I know you’re gonna be good for me.” He winked and then splashed a little bit of the moonshine onto it. He may as well have stuck a hot poker into your hand. “There there, Blue, almost done.” 

By the time the stinging abates, your finger is wrapped up, and any evidence of injury is gone. 

“Thank you.” You held your hand close to your chest, ignoring the way it shook a bit. 

“Of course, I think we’re done for today. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I would like for you to eat something.” He pulled out what looked like some crusty bread and some dry meat. “It’s not much, but it’s what I have for right now.” He set it down in front of you, giving you everything he had to offer, and for the first time in years, you smiled at him. 

“Are you done with the windows?” 

“Yes, I just need to get rid of these broken pieces.”  He gestured to the pile on the counter. 

“Okay, let's go back to my place. I can make us dinner.” You stood to move, and he followed you, protesting for a moment. 

“But your hand–”

“My hand is fine. Let’s go.” You moved to pick up your things, but he stopped you, gently knocking your hand aside to carry them for you.

-

The stew came together as quickly as it could with the way your hand throbbed. The bread, too, and soon enough, you were both sitting at the table eating the steaming food quietly. He ate with gusto, and you wondered briefly if he’d been eating well in his time away. He looked strong, but then again, he’d always been broad. 

He pushed his bowl away with a dreamy smile, his hands coming to rest on his belly. 

“That was the best thing I’ve eaten since I left. Aside from the biscuits this morning, I mean.”

“I’m glad.” You finished eating as he sat there, enjoying his company far more than you’d ever admit. Once you were done, he grabbed your bowl and put it into the sink, pouring some of the leftover well water to begin cleaning up. “You don’t have to do that–”

“I know. You don’t have to feed me either. I’ll just clean these and then get out of your hair.” You sighed, knowing you wouldn’t convince him otherwise. 

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you, you’ve fed me better today than in the whole time I was gone.” You smiled to yourself, half exhilarated, half annoyed at just how much your anger at him had crumbled. “Okay-” He set the last plate on the drying rack before drying his hands, “-I desperately need a bath. I’ll get out of your way. See you tomorrow morning?” 

“If you want.” You followed behind him, trying your hardest to keep the hope out of your voice. 

“Of course, I want to see you tomorrow.” He moved in quickly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before you had time to protest. “Goodnight Blue.” With a smile and a wink, he’s gone. 

-

Weeks passed, and it could not be said that Francisco Morales wasn’t a persistent man. No matter how hard you tried to hang onto that anger, he excelled in chipping away at it. He was true to his word about working on building back the trust that had been lost, spending any time away from his work with Carson split between you, and working on his house. 

He’d become quite the handyman in his time away, and he showcased that in the work he did in both his house and yours. He’d noticed your laundry line had broken and fixed it aggravatingly quickly. He spotted a few leaky spots in your roof and had them fixed at no cost to you, making you wonder just how much money he’d made while away. Aside from the windows and the cleaning you’d both done at his place, he’d replaced the more rundown furniture, and while it was missing some of the personal touches of his mother–it was definitely comfortable and livable once again. 

The intense loneliness and craving for intimacy had also hit you full force with his return. You found yourself thinking back to how things had been when you’d been young and wildly in love with each other. How his mouth had always found yours, how he seemed to need to be close to you, his arm often around your shoulder, his hand always finding a way to clasp yours. 

It was worse at night when other memories floated out of the isthmus of your mind, filling it with the visions of him above you, his tongue in your mouth, and his cock deep inside. You’d been young but eager to explore one another, and he had been nothing if not resourceful in finding any and all opportunities to get you out of your clothing. Now, the days were filled with new tortures, and you found yourself feeling jealous of the beads of sweat that rolled down his back, envious of the way his shirts seemed to hold him so tightly. 

The way his eyes tracked you didn’t help the situation; they were just as wild, just as beautiful, and just as open and honest as they’d always been. His desire for you shining out at you through their honeyed gaze. 

He’d been busy that morning, well and truly the sheriff now, and with that came more time away, giving you, in turn, more time alone. Or so you’d thought. The knock was loud, solid, and instantly, you knew it was him. You groaned, staring at the perfectly steaming water of the tub surrounding you. 

“Not now, Frankie!” You called out to him from the back of the house–hoping for a moment he’d let you enjoy the sweet steam surrounding you. His knock came again, and you huffed, stepping out of the oasis and wrapping yourself up in your dressing gown. “Frankie, I’m kind of in the middle of something–” You opened the door to him, and instantly, his gaze raked over you, no doubt seeing the way the damp fabric clung to your body, leaving nothing to the imagination. The dumbstruck look on his face filled you with such satisfaction that you let him look his fill before moving your eyes to bring his attention back up. “Can I help you with something?” 

“Uh–” He stumbled for a moment, his eyes moving back down to where the gown split, to where your leg and most of your thigh peeked through. “Um–I uh…”

“...You…?”

“Um…Sorry. I brought you a gift.” He shook his head for a minute before decidedly looking you in the eye. “I remember I took your copy; brought you a new one.” He held the book out to you, and for a moment, you forgot to be alluring. 

“Jane Eyre?” You grabbed the book, opening it up quickly. 

“I remember you reading it to me; thought maybe I could read it to you sometime.” His dimple shined, and you couldn’t help but leap into his arms. 

“Oh, Frankie, I love it! I have been looking for a copy forever!” You pressed your face into his neck and relished how tightly he held onto you in return, relished the feeling of his nose buried in the crook of your neck.

“God, Blue, you smell good enough to eat.” His words, his voice, they ran down your spine like a drop of ice on a hot day, hardening your nipples and making you ache for him. You pulled away, biting your lip as you stared at his mouth.

“You could come in… and read to me?” He smiled and closed the door. “I was just in the bath. I could get in and cover myself with a cloth. You could read to me while I bathe.” He nodded slowly, gulping before following you, making sure to grab a chair on his way. 

“Give me one minute to get in.” You closed the door, heart thumping at how the colour had gone out of his eyes, leaving them blown black. Within a few tense moments, you were back in the tub with the hangover of the lining cloth covering you under the milky, soapy water. “Okay–come in.” 

He looked almost pained as he pulled up the chair beside you, his eyes once again greedy in their quest to map whatever part of you he could see, which admittedly is more than you planned to show him with how transparent the lining is. 

“Shall I start at the beginning?” He flipped open the book, but his eyes were still locked on you. 

“Yes, please.”

“Very well.” He took a deep breath, and began, his deep, soothing voice the perfect accompaniment to the steaming water.

“Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the drear November day–Oh, sorry, I already read that.” You smiled to yourself, enjoying the way he couldn’t seem to focus, the way he kept losing his place, and admittedly, it took everything in you not to pull him into the tub with you. 

“That’s okay. Can you help me with this?” You offered him the soapy washcloth, “My back? It’s so hard to get it on my own.” You batted your eyes at him, smiling the smile he’d never been able to resist, hoping it still worked its magic on him. 

“Let me rinse my hands first. I don’t want to muddy up this paradise.” He knocked the chair over in his haste to reach the washbasin you had on the counter. By the time he was finished and righting his seat, he had shed his topmost layers and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his biceps. 

You leaned forward, giving him access to the skin of your back and sighing at the closeness of him when he pressed the soapy cloth to it. 

“God, I missed you, Blue.” He rubbed at your shoulders slowly, his other hand slipping around to hold the top of your chest, just beneath the dip at the bottom of your throat. “Missed touching you, feeling you, kissing you.”

Your eyes closed, and you thought surely he must feel the way your heart raced just under your skin when his fingers curled softly around your neck. 

“Been dying to kiss you for years.” You felt then how the cloth had been discarded, and his bare hand spanned the smooth skin of your back, massaging at your shoulders and the top of your spine. “You ever miss me like that?” His voice was a soft rasp now, lulling you up and back into his hand, letting the linen go and looking up into his eyes. 

“Yes–I do, Frankie–all the time.” You bit your lip, staring at his mouth as he spoke. 

“Can I kiss you?” He moved forward an inch, leaning in as his hands worked their spell against your skin. 

“Yes-” You barely whispered the word before he pressed his mouth to yours softly. It was tender and oh so familiar, the way his lips moved against yours, his tongue seeking entrance and gaining it just like he’d done so many times before. Your kiss was a dance, the steps of which neither of you had ever forgotten. It ached, the way his mouth claimed yours, and you couldn’t help but lean into him, to reach up and hold onto him as he groaned into the kiss. 

“I have been dreaming about this since I left–” He spoke between kisses, pressing them to your face, before licking into your mouth once more, “Can I touch you?”

You nodded, chasing his mouth again. His hand slipped down, slick with soap, and then he held onto your breast, kneading one and then the other, his thumb strumming against the sensitive buds while your cunt leaked for him. His eyes moved, watching himself touch you, his lip caught between his teeth,and all of a sudden, it was too much, and you move, pulling away and standing, naked as the day you were born. 

“Take me to bed, Frankie.” He stared up at you from his place on the chair, and from the look on his face, you’d think he was looking at an angel. It didn’t last, though; within seconds, he was up and pulling you out of the tub, practically dragging you towards your bedroom. 

Your breath came out in a huff when you landed on your back, smiling breathlessly at the look of pure hunger on his face. He chewed his lip as he pulled off his layers, going through them quick enough that you genuinely worried he’d rip them. The water that had clung to your skin from the bath, now seeped into the sheets underneath you as you watched him undress. 

“I’m so fucking hard for you, Blue.” He kicked his denim off, tossing everything every which way, “So hard it hurts.” His cock bobbed as he finally crawled his way over to you, and it was then that you saw it, a significant scar on his side, like a starburst. Your hand reached out, and you pressed your fingers to it, looking into his eyes for an explanation. 

He pulled your hand up and kissed the tips of your fingers, “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He continued his pilgrimage across your body, stopping only to kiss your sternum, your hip, and the soft skin of your belly. “I missed seeing you like this so much-“ he opened your legs, groaning at the way your cunt glistened for him. “-I missed how fucking wet you get, how good you taste-“ he barely finished speaking before he dove in, his tongue parting you further, gliding over your clit with desperation. 

“I missed you-oh-“ his hands clutched at your thighs, pulling you closer to his mouth, pulling the strings of your arousal to pool for his tongue. “That feels so fucking good, Frankie—“ Your hands found the short crop of his hair, unsure of whether you wanted to pull him up or grind against him. He huffed a cocky laugh into your skin, doubling his efforts and tightening his grip on your thighs, his fingers indented into the skin. The steady glide of his tongue against your clit, up and down, up and down, has you falling over the edge of the cliff and your thighs clamping around his head.

It didn't stop him; his tongue kept moving, slower as you rode out your high. He bit at the plump of your inner thigh as you relaxed, smiling and shiny with your arousal.

“I missed that too.” He moved, pressing his lips to your belly again, moving up and licking a hot stripe between your breasts before slotting his hips between your legs. His skin was so warm, so welcome, that you couldn’t help but sigh and pull him close, your fingers curling into his hair. 

“I wanted you to come back so badly-“ You covered every inch of his face in kisses, “Wanted you to stay with me, love me like this.” You licked into his mouth, tasting yourself in the kiss.

“I’m here, Honey, I’ll never leave you again-“ You can feel just how hard his cock is as it pressed into your belly, the two of you clinging to one another in the dying light of the day. 

“Promise me, promise me you won’t leave me.” You reached down and wrapped your hand around the sizable heft of him, stroking slowly while positioning him at your entrance.

“Fuck-I promise baby, I promise you-“ His sentence ended in a filthy moan as you pulled him in with your heels, pressing into the meat of his ass, finally having him inside you again after everything. 

You moaned at the way he filled you.

The last fifteen years melted away, the long stretch of loneliness feeling more and more like a dream with every deep stroke of his cock. 

There were no more words, only whimpers from you and deep groans from him. There was the rhythmic rocking of your bed and the slick sounds of him moving between your legs. His hips snapped faster and faster as he chased his release, burying his face into the crook of your neck to feed all the delicious sounds he made directly into your ear.

“I’m so close, touch yourself—“ his voice sounded wrecked, moving his hips like a piston, his cock kissing that one spot only he ever found. You obey and reach down to swirl your fingers around your clit, rocketing yourself closer to another, more intense orgasm. 

He moved his face down, holding onto your breast to suck on your nipple, and then the dam broke, and you clenched around him, moaning his name as you reached your peak. 

“Fuck, that’s it, that’s so good, oh god—I’m gonna come-“ his hips sped up, the wet sounds of his thrusts louder after your second climax. You opened your legs wide, giving him space to move, but he stayed put.

“Frankie-“ You started to speak, trying to guide him to spill on your belly; still, he didn’t move. Instead, he pushed in deep, groaning loudly, and it was with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you felt him twitch inside. 

You were frozen in place, momentarily shocked into silence.

“God—I’ve been dreaming of that for years.” He sounded drunk, pulling out of you with a hiss to take a good look at his handiwork. 

“Francisco, did you just do what I think you did?” Your tone was devoid of any sweetness. “Did you just spill inside me?” 

“Yes—“ he frowned, confusion colouring his face along with the flush of his exertion, “—I thought you’d forgiven me? We’re together again-“

“And me forgiving you means risking a baby?” You pulled away, wiggling out from under him to grab a linen shift from your drawer. 

“Wait, Blue, come back.” He moved to sit at the edge of the bed, “I’m sorry I didn’t think. It just felt right.” 

“Of course it felt right to you. You have no regard for how I might feel.” Your anger burned through you, where once there had been passion, it was now replaced with fear. A deep fear that the next time he decided to up and leave, it might not just be you waiting for him. 

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart, that’s not true-“

“I’d like you to leave.” Hot tears flowed down your face at the thought of being pregnant with his child, and alone, waiting to see how long it took him to return the second time.

“Baby, please—don’t make me leave, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that—“

“Leave! I want to be alone. Please just–just go home.” You wiped at your eyes before crossing your arms, doing your absolute best to avoid his gaze. He sighed loudly, moving slowly to gather his things, stopping only to put on his pants and his shirt before tucking tail and heading home.

-

He’d fucking blown it. 

By some miracle, he’d managed to get into her good books, his persistence and determination to show her just how madly in love with her he was–how in love with her he’d always been–weeks worth of it, and he’d messed up in a few minutes. A few glorious, amazing minutes. 

He couldn’t help but groan in annoyance with himself every time he remembered it, the euphoria of being with her again, being inside her, of having her wet and needy and so eager for him only to get lost in it and risk a baby they hadn’t yet discussed. Hadn’t even really discussed getting married, not since he’d come back. 

He didn’t even know why he’d thought it’d be okay. It had been purely instinctual but also irresponsible and disrespectful. It shamed him that he couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop craving it. He ignored it, though, continued on with showing her his reliability and hoped she understood that she was all he wanted. 

-

Sleep eluded you for days, refusing to find you until the blood came. It wasn’t much better when it finally did, though. There was the initial relief, of course, there would be no child born out of wedlock, and you would not be treated like a pariah, but where did that leave you? He apologized for it, constantly. He groveled, he begged for your time and for your love and forgiveness, and it was his. It was there–ready for him, but the fear hid it away. 

No matter how consistent he’d been in his time back, no matter how much he’d assured and explained that he wasn’t going to leave, it still felt like there was a clock ticking somewhere you couldn’t see, counting down the seconds until you’d be alone again. 

You tried to focus on other things, filling your days with organizing your home, with clearing out things that no longer served you, things that you had brought over from when your mother died and had actively ignored or hidden away until genuinely forgotten. There were old, moth-eaten rags that had once been her clothes, a few books, and an old hairbrush. Amongst her things, though, was a bundle of paper, a fat wad of it. 

Confused, you pulled it apart and very quickly realized that they were letters and they were addressed to you. It was jarring to see your name in Frankie’s script and harrowing to realize that you’d had them the whole time without knowing. 

With shaking hands, you opened them one by one, and by the third, the tears obscured your vision. 

My Dearest Bluebell, 

I know you must be angry with me, things aren’t moving as quickly as they should, but this changes nothing–I’m still coming home to you–

He talked about his time in the war, about how differently they did things where he was, and about how much money he was saving, but between all that was the same promise of return. It was everywhere, that–and his pleas for a response from you. 

Please sweetheart, I need to hear from you, please let me know you’re okay, and that you don’t hate me–

You sobbed into them. The words were like wounds, the pain of being alone for so long is even sharper now than it had been before. He had been true to his word, writing letter after letter without a single word from you, and despite the pain of knowing that fact, you read every single one. The dates were consistent, every week, almost like clockwork, except for once–when there were a few months between two letters. 

Bluebell, my love, 

I am okay–but I was hurt. I barely remember what happened, but one minute I’m in the middle of it, fighting, and the next minute I was screaming and then blackness, until I woke up in a hospital. Nurse says I’m lucky to be alive and that I’m going to be okay–

It was too much, all of it, and despite the fact that it was late and he was most certainly asleep, you had to see him. 

The moon followed you on your walk towards his house, lighting the path and keeping you company. There was a soft glow shining out from one of his windows, and it inspired hope, making it easier to knock on the door despite the hour. 

There was movement on the other side of the door, his heavy footsteps padding across the old floorboards.

“Who’s there?” Suspicion threaded thickly through his words, and you couldn’t blame him; this was no hour for anyone to come calling.

“I need to talk to you. Can I come in?” Your voice was shaky, the tears had abated while you made your way over, but the worried look on his face when he opened the door threatened to let them flow once more.

“What’s the matter? What happened?” He was shirtless, holding his pistol at his side while he looked beyond you to inspect the horizon. “Come in, come in—“ He closed the door behind you, setting the pistol down with a frown. “What’s the matter, Blue? Why are you out at this hour?” 

“I—“ you choked on the word, clutching at his letters, “Frankie, I found them, my mother—“ you sobbed out words, choking on them before he sighed. 

“Oh Honey, please don’t cry.” He gathered you up, pulling you into the strong cage of his arms, and it was like the floodgates cracked open wide. One palm held the back of your head, and the other was wrapped around your waist. “You didn’t know, it’s okay.”

“I, I don’t even know what to say. I’m sorry,” your voice cracked with the agony of all of the lost years, “you wrote so many letters, and I never answered any of them, and you got hurt—oh god, you could have died!” It was hard to tell if you were screaming or sobbing anymore.

“Hey! Hey! Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” he rubbed your back, a soothing gesture, “Hey, stop, stop, take a deep breath, I’m fine. I survived. There was nothing you could have done. I know you would have written to me if you’d gotten my letters, if you knew.” He pressed his lips to your temple. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner. I shouldn’t have left without you.” 

“I should have known she’d do something like this. I–” You pulled away to look up into his eyes, “I am so angry at her. She let you carry on, just hid them without a care–even though she knew I was heartbroken.” You brushed his hair back before hugging him again. 

“She never did like me. It was pretty cruel of her to do that to both of us.” He was being much more gracious about it than he should have, a testament to his love for you that he didn’t want to bash your mother despite the damage she’d done. 

“Miserable old bitch.” You had no qualms about calling her what she was. 

“Forget about her. It’s okay now. Thankfully, we’re together again.” He grabbed his pistol and led you further into the house. 

-

Your fingers drew the shapeless pattern onto the warm skin of his chest for what must have been the hundredth time since the both of you tumbled into his bed an hour ago. It was still pitch black outside, the only light being a candle on his bedside. The sun would creep in soon enough, though, and when it did, it would find the two of you clinging to one another. 

“I hate that you went through this alone.” Your fingers migrated down to the starburst on the side of his lower stomach, tracing the edges of it softly. 

“I’m lucky, I made a full recovery.” His voice was soft, “I saw others get much worse.”

“That doesn’t minimize this, Francisco, you could have died out there, and I never would have known.” You squeezed your eyes together for a moment, ignoring the implications, “Can you ever forgive me? For not writing?” 

“Only if you can find it in you to forgive me for being away so long and for what happened.” He pulled your hand up, pressing your knuckles to his lips.

“You’re forgiven for everything.” You frowned, “We hadn’t discussed our future, everything was still so up in the air, and I was terrified to get pregnant. Not because I don’t want to have your children, I was just terrified you'd leave me again and then I'd be here, alone and with a baby.” His face fell, guilt swirling around his features. “That was before. I believe you when you say you won’t and that you’re here for good.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, then to his lips.

“I understand why that would have scared you. I shouldn’t have done it without permission, though. It was careless of me.” He pulled you closer, relishing in the contact just like he had in the early days. There was a beat, a comfortable silence, and it stretched on for a while, the two of you content to lay there until the stiffness of your dress pulled you away. He helped you take it off until you were in your simple shift, and then you took your place beside him once more.

“Francisco?” You murmured, wondering if he’d fallen asleep.

“Yes?”

“I never said, but I’m sorry about your parents.” He’d been gone for years when they passed. 

“Me too.” He didn’t say more, and you didn’t press. “You should get some rest. Will you stay with me?”

“Yes, I don’t want to go.” He got up for a moment, pulling the rest of his layers off before blowing out the candle.

“Good, I didn’t want you to leave.” He slipped into the bed, pulling his sheet over the both of you before pulling you in close. “Goodnight, Honey.”

“Goodnight, Frankie.” 

-

The sun shone bright enough to shoo the last vestiges of sleep away. It found you warm and comfortable under the comforting weight of his arm over your belly and his leg tangled with yours. He looked younger, asleep and you could almost see him just as he was when he’d left, fresh-faced and eager to see and do as much as he could. That fire for life and all it entailed, burning brightly in every expression. 

Your thumb traced the line of his jaw first, sweeping up his chin to glide across his pursed lower lip. He twitched but didn’t wake, only tightened his grip on you. Your thumb slid up, following the curve of his nose, up to smooth across his brow. 

He stirred again, humming softly before pressing closer still, burying his face into the crook of your neck and tickling you with his moustache. 

“Is it morning already?” His voice was sleepy but laced with pure joy. 

“Yes, it is. How did you sleep?” Your tone matched his, his joy was contagious, hope and happiness swirling in the air much like the dustmotes that danced in each shaft of light. Your hands had migrated down, fingers flitting across his broad back, relishing every inch, every errant freckle. 

“Better than I have in years. How about you?” His lips made their own pilgrimage, from just below your ear, down the column of your neck, and down to your shoulder; each press of his lips widening the smile on yours. 

“I slept really well. I forgot how warm you get when you sleep.” He laughed at this, good-hearted. 

“Good, means you don’t need to wear this–” His hands slid under your shift, grabbing greedily at your thighs, then your backside. 

“Very clever. Don’t you need to get up and go to work, Sheriff? Or am I under arrest?” There was no real bite behind your words. 

“Hmm, I don’t know, are you? Are you here to confess to a crime? Aside from stealing my heart, that is.” You let out a bark of laughter, rising slightly to let him take the shift off of you despite the game. 

“Is that what I’ve done? Stolen your heart?”

“Oh yes, years ago. First day you smiled at me, come to think of it.” He nodded sagely for a moment before pressing his lips to yours softly, making you both melt and drip for him. 

“Well then, I guess I deserve my punishment.” You reached down, shimmying out of your underthings to bare yourself to him. He bit his lip before dipping low to lick at the stiff peak of your breast, soft as his kiss, before taking your nipple into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks. You moaned, watching him enraptured. 

“I’ll be just and fair.” He smiled, after letting go with a pop, moving to the next one to give it the same treatment. Your fingers curled into his short crop while your thighs pressed together to alleviate the aching at your core. He sucked harder, frantically, and then there was the edge of pain when he bit softly, making you gasp for a second before he once again soothed with his tongue. 

“God, woman, you make me crazy.” His eyes were wild for a moment before he claimed your mouth again, his tongue plundering without mercy. 

“I want you, Frankie–give it to me.” You reached down to grasp him in hand, but he moved away, denying you. 

“I want to make you feel good. Let me taste you again.” He moved down, his lips mapping a course down to where you wanted him most. 

“I want you, though, Frankie, want you to make me sore. You can use your mouth later.” You held your arms out to him, and although he stared at your mound with hunger, he obeyed. 

You spread your legs for him, and he slots his hips, pulling your legs high onto his thighs for a moment before sheathing himself in you with one brutal, delicious stroke. 

“God, Frankie, you’re splitting me open.” You moaned the words into his ear, and his head dropped into your neck, groaning at your words. 

You reach down to hold onto his ass, grabbing onto it as he thrusts. 

“You want me like this? Or you want me on my knees like you used to like?” You whispered, and he moaned, his hips stuttering for a moment before pulling out. It was the only answer you needed before you moved to get into position, presenting yourself to him. 

His thighs pressed against the backs of yours, his hand landing heavy on one ass cheek before he entered you from behind. He felt deeper this way, hitting something otherworldly with each press. 

“That’s my girl, you gonna take my big dick Honey?” You moaned into your forearm, arousal burning bright as a coal in the pit of your belly from his words, from the slick sounds of your joining, from the way your nipples grazed against his bedding. 

He bent forward, pulling at your arms to hold them behind your back, and once he did, his efforts doubled. He was a piston, ramming into you hard enough to make your breasts bounce, hard enough to make you scream for him. 

He moved you again, pulling you up to meet the solid wall of his chest, his chin hooking over your shoulder, one hand holding onto your breast, the other sliding down to swirl around your clit, shoving you headlong into a blinding climax. 

“That’s it, baby, God, I can feel you squeezing my cock. Where do you want me to come? Can I come on your ass?” His words sounded frantic, and you nodded, barely whispering the words. 

“Yes, Frankie–” He let you go, and you pressed your face into the mattress once more, spreading your legs a little wider before you felt him pull out, feeling the way his hand grabbed and spread you open while the other one pumped between your legs. You felt the hot spurt of him on the cheeks of your ass and the small of your back just as you heard the filthy groan he let out. 

You both caught your breath for a moment, riding the wave of release before he moved and within a few minutes, he passed a cool, wet cloth across your skin, cleaning his mess off before discarding it and falling into bed beside you. 

There was sweat on his brow, there was sweat on yours, too, but it didn’t matter, the euphoria was rich and sweet as fresh cider. 

“I missed you so much, Frankie.” You turned to face him fully, the two of you naked and comfortable. 

“I missed you too, Honey.” He pulled you close, wrapping you up in his arms, where you belonged. 

–

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[tgmsunmontue]

Saw this post about a retired NHL goalie turning up for beer league games and then thought Hangster of course...

--------------------------------------------

                “Nah man, I put an add up on Facebook for a goalie…” Javy says and Jake rolls his eyes.

                “People still use Facebook?”

                “Oh my god, we’re going to end up with some dude in his fifties wanting to relive his glory days.”

                “We could get a woman.”

                “True true.” “Are you saying more woman use Facebook?” “Yes, of course.”

                “Any goalie is better than no goalie. A warm body in net will stop some goals.”

                Jake pulls a face, and he know as captain of their beer league team that he should have maybe been more onto it, but work has been absolutely crazy, Javy had offered to take care of it and Jake had trusted him. He’s starting to second guess that decision.

…            …            …

                However the game rolls around and Javy says he’s secured a goalie, one who also has all his own gear, which makes Jake hopefully that at least whoever it is knows what they’re doing in net. Sure enough, when he enters the locker room there is a guy he doesn’t recognise with has back to the room, arms stretched above him as he pulls a jersey over his pads. Then a name is stretched across the guy’s shoulders.

                “Bradshaw fan huh?” Jake asks, letting his own bag drop to the ground in front of his usual stall just two over from the goalie stall where Bob usually sits.

                “Yeah, something like that…” the guy says, then he’s turning to Jake and -

                “Oh holy shit. You’re actually Bradley Bradshaw.”

                “Yeah. Heard you needed a goalie.”

                Jake can’t say anything, his breath and heart have somehow merged into one mass caught in his throat. Need. Yeah. He needs.

                “Uh, you okay?”

                Jake nods frantically. Swallows roughly.

                “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Just uh… wasn’t expecting you.”

                This makes Bradshaw frown and Jake immediately wants to fix that.

                “Javy didn’t tell you I was coming?”

                “Uh, he said he’d found a goalie. Not that you were that goalie.”

                “Oh. Uh. Do you want me to go?”

                “No! With you in net we might have a chance against the reigning champs. Holy shit… Vezina winner Bradley Bradshaw is going to be our goalie.”

                “Yeah. I mean, I’m a little early. Needed to warm up and was hoping someone could shoot a few pucks at me…”

                “Oh hell yes, I am totally up for that.”

                He can plot Javy’s demise later.

[blommp717]

i guess you don’t answer anymore but i’m hoping you at least read this because it’s genuine and i feel like i have nowhere else to post this. i just want someone to hear me. ignore this if it’s too long. i want to thank you for your posts. they are the only writings that have truly resonated with me ever since i discovered the law, neville, states, being, whatever we call this thing. but i’ll be honest i’m giving up today. i discovered the ‘law of attraction’ in 2019 when i was 18 years old. it is now getting to the last quarter of 2024 and i am 23 where i’ve evolved in understanding to where i found ‘nondualism’. i went from law of attraction -> law of assumption & neville goddard -> robotic affirming -> mindset fixing & joe dispensa -> states & edward art -> nondualism. however… i have never manifested a single thing in my life. i used to be filled with anxiety when i said this. fearing these words would cause it to keep going on but i don’t even want to fear anymore. it’s just the truth. your posts taught me that i don’t have to fear my words anymore anyways. i’ve had a dream for a long time. i don’t believe i will ever reach this dream anymore. along with that dream i also just really wanted good for my family and i. you know the basics like financial freedom, happiness, mended relationships. but throughout everything i’ve learned i could never make it work and i’m just done. i guess i will return to living a normal life and just hoping i make it. i hope i find happiness or just.. anything. i’m just letting go of it all because i feel like things shouldn’t be this hard. even going to caleb’s channel and watching his recent ‘your manifestation isn’t taking long, you are’ video…. i’m just… exhausted. i just dont know how to do this and i don’t think i can take life anymore anyways. but yeah i just wanted to say thank you. even though i could never find success, you taught me who I Am. and i’ll forever be grateful for your wisdom even though you’re a bit younger than me. i hope you find continued success and live a happy life. sincerely

THIS IS JUST THE FIRST PART TO THE HUGE POST, PLEASE TAKE YOUR TIME

After what felt like months away from tumblr I really dove into self-inquiry fully, and of course still am, and I promised you guys a mega post so here’s the initial information so far. There is more to come.

IM SORRY IF THERE ARE ERRORS IN GRAMMAR OR SMTH I WROTE THIS AT MANY DIFFERENT MOMENTS THROUGHOUT THE DAY!! FEEL FREE TO ASK QUESTIONS, ETC BUT PLS DONT ASK BY RESPONDING TO THIS POST, ITLL CAUSE SO MUCH SPAM ON THE FEED AND MY ASKS PAGE

Hello! Yes I have started looking back into my inbox (THERE ALLOT OF ASKS 😭😭🫶) but I absolutely plan on answering as many as possible, and because your post resonated with how I used to feel, I want to answer yours first.

So to begin with, It makes me so happy to know that what I’ve written has some kind of affect (that being positive). I can’t remember if I told you guys how old I was but I must have cus you seem to know 😭😭, yes I’m 19 we’re very close in age, this moment in life is when allot of us who figure out this stuff lean into it more because we realize how much of a leg up we have if we just “apply” the teachings this early on.

So first what I want to say to you is, no, your not giving up on a dream and neither are you going to live a normal life, I’ll make sure of that, this beautiful world that we step into gives us so much insight on what we inherently are. But I need to remind you and everyone else, this is not some big secret that has to be practiced, it’s a look at what we are and always will be. You have purpose and you deserve to be happy and enjoy a life that’s easy and fulfilling. I apologize in advance because this is going to be a pretty long post!! 🫶🫶

Let’s get rid of the labels and titles we’ve given these understandings as if they are for someone to learn and master. No one masters manifestation, no one will ever master manifestation and I truly don’t care for how many “success stories” they have, it doesn’t hold proving value of what they are (notice how I didn’t say who), we are not who’s, but that’s for later in the post.

The reason I’ve stepped away from the concept of manifesting is because it is inherently lack and separation based. No matter the teaching, they all seem to glorify the idea of getting and achieving which puts great pressure on success stories and all that rubbish. (Not me turning British) 😝😝, okay sorry, so yeah this also goes for nondualism, I don’t associate a title with what I learn, it’s not NonDualism it’s actually just self discovery in disguise of a teaching. But for this exact reason I don’t think to myself “I need to learn NonDualism better”, nononooooo I made this mistake wayyy to much due to the sole fact that I came in with the expectation that this would now teach me the secrets of manifesting. This is kind of the set up to more desire and lack, which is actually the opposite of the self-realization “journey”.

So, when you say you have never manifested anything in your life, I say this with incredible pleasure, that this is impossible, I know I know, before you start thinking to yourself that youve heard this before but I don’t think people go that in depth as to what that even means. So, your life and your problems, are not actually problems.

Self-realization is not the journey for the person to become consciousness, but to understand that you ARE consciousness to begin with. You does no reference a someone, but “ “.

This is going to be, quite a post so PLEASE hang in there. And I just want to add in, this is still not a seperate being trying to understand that it’s connected to conciousness, no, you as conciousness, infinite knowing, are so involved with the content that you appear as, you’ve tricked yourself into thinking that you are just 1 thing of the content. Let me use my first example.

We have given ourselves the greatest interpretation and key to knowing ourself, and that’s dreaming.

Every night, we sleep, HOORRAAYYYY, now let’s get into the details because this is where the magic happens and it clicks.

Take the moment before a dream appears, recognize that when the eyes are closed there’s this presence. Not the darkness, the presence. Something, but not a thing.

Stay here and forget the rest of the world exists for a moment. Now there is only this presence, it’s knowing, it’s being right? Now there’s no actual material but regardless, it is, something. This isn’t something out of this world it’s literally, you. From this, knowing or no-thingness, comes expressions, absolutely infinite potential, this is registered as a dream, but, before the dream in any way can be experienced, there always has to be some type of interpreter/lens, this comes in the form a person or better yet, senses. Of course, there’s nothing to the senses or the person but whatever it’s formulated from, which was that presence/knowing. The activity of this infinite potential that is the knowing, (you asleep) appears, only with the help of a pov/sight.

Nonetheless, it plays out, it plays stories of absolutely anything, for no reason at all, and as it does, we get lost to it, it starts to become real, and without even realizing it, it’s no longer a dream but something we’re experiencing, now you are the character in the dream and you naturally play out the dialogue and storyline and explore the fields, magic towers, and laugh and dance and make friends, and then you wake up.

When you wake up, you recognize “oh, nothing was actually happening”, now of course, when your the person in the dream it is very real, but even then, is it? Knowing what you know, there wasn’t actually a place with dialogue, no character of its own experience or life, no actual forests or fields and magic, no one actually laughing and dancing or friends, but simply the appearance of that. The illusion.

And it’s not that it’s only a formulation of you when you realize it is, but it always is, the dream doesn’t only become an illusion or “fake” when you wake up, it’s naturally just fake, REGARDLESS of how it seems to be. And regardless we sleep every night knowing that we’ll forget it’s a dream.

So I think you can see where I’m headed with this, I’m going to use the example Rupert Spira uses but twist it a bit.

You go to sleep in Australia and dream yourself in the streets of Paris, and you take on the identity of John, you don’t actually become John and experience the streets of Paris.

Now, John drinks coffee and he feels the sunlight warm his skin, sees the greenery, feels the wind, all of it. But despite the way it all seems the sunlight, the sensations that John has, is not actually real, and neither is John. John isn’t actually feeling anything, he doesn’t exist and there is no Paris being traveled. And it’s not John that realizes/awakens to the understanding that he’s fake and this is all a dream, it’s you, asleep in Australia that realizes it as you modulate/formulate as the streets of Paris, the coffee, and the greenery, and John, understand?

The activity of that presence, if you recall when we talked about closing your eyes, formulated as something that seemed so real, and that doesn’t give any reality to the dream itself, because there is no separating the knowing from the content known. Without the “space” for it to appear or form from, how on earth would there be the content? A bigger step forward is to realize that there isn’t even an actual dream occurring but it’s all the self knowing presence of, well, knowing. I want to add something very important before moving on.

Knowing does not happen for the purpose of pleasure, we naturally deconstruct false ideas like this as we go, but something you MUST understand about the nature of existence is, none of this is appearing for the purpose of ant experience, there isn’t actually an experience. No one is enjoying nor hating the illusion, it is simply an appearance.

In the same way that the aware/presence before the dream appears from it simply is, in this way, we are. It’s like saying the TV screen plays a movie and experiences it, or does it for the purpose of experience, no that’s silly, knowing has no inherent motive, it is, you (infinite knowing) don’t “happen” for a purpose, never mind happen at all, you are, and in this do you take form of something, your self aware nature of course knows the content of your own being, but that doesn’t mean the illusion can enjoy itself, or that you enjoy or experience the illusion, it’s just a plain appearance, and that’s it.

For example, when you close your eyes on this next demonstration, truly try to grasp the essence of what I’m trying to explain.

Bring from the nothingness/knowing when you close your eyes, a blue vase, know it in every aspect you can, incorporate every sense you can (even taste if your a little freaky 🫦🫦😭) and make it as present as possible. After you open your eyes I have a question for you. (I’m serious, do the damn practice it’ll help you) please take as much time you need to truly get in there (not too long I can’t wait all day)

okay hey, your back, now answer me this, from what did this immersive appearance take reality from? You and I know that there’s no actual vase despite its presence, no matter the vibrant or dull colors, no matter the feel, rough or glossy, its taste 🫦😭, its feel, etc. So what was the substance that formulated this? If you guessed knowing, your soooooo correct, if you didn’t it’s okay you get brownie points 🫶. But yes, now I need you to understand this verrrry clearly, the vase was not real!!!! Yet it appeared that way! This is AN ILLUSION SURPIRISISIEIEIEIEIEIEISISBWHH- yes. No matter how much you want to convince yourself and go back to the vase and its appearance and its feel or colors or any aspect of it, it wasn’t ACTUALLY happening and that means it didn’t take place for anyone or anywhere!!! All there was present was knowing, from knowing forms vase and every seemingly alternate way that it is known, feeling is a form of knowing, literally every sense is just a form of knowing. Every sense that was “used” to understand the vase was all just aspects and appearances of knowing, the color, the sounds, the taste, the feels, they didn’t formulate anywhere else, but nonetheless appeared as immersive and real because YOU BECAME FOCUSED ON THE CONTENT OF THE APPEARANCE RATHER THAN RECOGNIZE THAT IT WAS JUST APPEARANCE. And even though the content of the appearance you formed as became the focus, it still didn’t change the objective fact that there wasn’t someone actually there and experiencing it in any way.

The knowing in/on which appearances formulate is not something different than the appearance, there is nothing to the illusion but its reality, and its reality is knowing. In this way, the illusion couldn’t even be described as something real or taking place, as if it could exist apart from the source of it.

Knowing this is also knowing there is no such thing as the knowing OF, we never know of things or of experiences as if they are something seperate and exist seperatley from knowing itself, that’s literally impossible. Moving forward

You are not the person/character, and it’s not that you are a limited being and you have to wake up to the idea that you are infinite knowing, you have to realize that you were never something seperate, and that this is simply the modulation of your being, and it’s not a someone it’s more of a something.

Let’s starts stabilizing this.

To all of the experiences across centuries, theres one constant amongst the billions of people who’ve lived and are now and that is, I Am. We might not know for certain about anything else ever in this entire universe, and we might not even know who or what we are but for a fact we can say, yes, I am.

There’s no true word that can describe the infinite essence of being, so we use knowing or conciousness or god, all completely the same.

So, to every experience, without an ounce of doubt, there can be the claim, I am. This is knowing, and only from knowing comes the statement, because we must know we are in order to claim that we are. I think something that can capture this is a newborn, imagine yourself to be newly born, mere seconds I mean, eyes closed. You have no understand of anything, no thoughts, no memories, no identity, your pure experience is simply being/knowing, and I don’t mean the action of knowing, that’s not a real thing. Knowing is inherent, you don’t force it.

Going back to experiences. Any experience that is recognized, any seeing, and hearing, tasting touching, and of course feeling, is assumed to be the experience of the body and this is therefore falsely established as “me”, in doing so, we forget our true nature of freedom and limit our understanding and abilities to the limitations of the body.

I’m now going to help you realize the body is an interpreter, and not of a world that’s happening somewhere in time and space, but that the world is the interpretation/modulation/illusion/dream/appearance of our shared infinite being, AFTER being recognized through the interpretations, (sensations and perceptions). This also means that it’s in no way an actual measurement to what you fully are.

What experience is there to seeing? Better yet let me narrow it down, there is nothing to seeing as if there is someone doing the seeing. Seeing simply is. There’s no one to do it, just what is. There is sight, how is there an acknowledgment of the sight/seeing? There must be something to it that gives the understanding “oh I’m seeing this”. (Hint, it’s the same thing that let you know, that “I Am”). Knowing, yes, not knowing as an action, that’s not real, people don’t know, knowing is the essence of what we are (we are not people). But just wait for that. So all there is to sight is knowing, and I don’t think I have to do this but you can say the same about absolutely every other sense, because every single “experience” absolutely requires knowing. Without knowing, “experience” never is, I think we can all acknowledge that.

There is no such thing as the experience of being a human, Why are we deciding that this is what’s it’s like to be humans, we know humans we acknowledge humans but there is no such thing as being a human, in the same way that there’s no true way that there is something to being a fox or a bird or a rock, it’s only with labels are these ideas decided.

The only thing you’ll be able to muster up is memories, emotions, etc, but that doesn’t make it the inherent experience of being a human. Our first and only experience of what we are is knowing, and then knowing that we are, that’s it. In the same way that a babies first experience is not “I am a baby” or “I am a human”, rather it’s just knowing. If being human was our nature, that’s all we’d recognize, and from the very beginning. Our experience does not actually change from being/knowing, we simply forget that there is the knowing, and decide to focus on the body to be “me” or “human”.

You don’t need senses to know you are. Knowing is something unimaginable. Go ahead and try to find it by closing your eyes or even with them open. Can you grab or touch the knowing. Can you recognize its dimensions or what its appearance is? How old or young is it?

Do me a favor and find the edge where knowing starts and stops.

Let me know when you find it because you never will.

Even when you try, it’s only conciousness itself that searches for its own parameters.

By recognizing that your truly not the body, or this person you as knowing have pretended to become, the made up problems of the person disappear, well actually, you realize that there is no person that has problems, only an idea. Only the idea that I am someone and something is happening to me, I am something seperate and need saving. There isn’t actually a seperate self, the seperate self is the activity that you as knowing are, when you become involved with the content and forget your true nature. And what’s truly the main takeaway from this is that, even when it seems like you’ve lost it and now you have to restart and understand it all over again, you as knowing haven’t gone anywhere, your the one pretending to be something lost, and not on purpose, but because you involve yourself too heavily in the appearances without recognizing where they originate from.

From what we know so far, I hope in some way you’re able to recognize that there is no one doing manifestations and having success stories. You ARE the manifestation and it will NEVER be any other way, whether we recognize it or not, that’s the beauty. So no matter if we go on about this appearance of life and say we don’t get it and move on, you as conciousness will continue to play the roles, because there is no off switch to this.

I’m hope this has been able to start untying the blinds over your “eyes” and you’re starting to somewhat understand the truth of what you/we are. This is only the beginning and it’s only going to get more incredible and beautiful from here. But for now I’m shleeepy hehehe, I’ll talk to you soon, never ever give up on your dreams!!!! 🫶❤️❤️

[autistichalsin]

Two questions because I like hearing your thoughts:

What do you think Halsin's biggest flaw is?

And

Is there anything in his writing that you just don't vibe with / would like to see changed?

So, I am going to put two here for his flaws, just because what I perceive to be Halsin's biggest flaw is something a lot of people don't like being stated as such, because it's an extension of something that can actually be a good thing.

Halsin's biggest overall flaw: he is self-sacrificing to his own detriment, which also results in him brushing off his own pain/trauma. As a result of this, he also has a habit of developing hero-worship for those care for him the way he cares for others, I.E. the player.

Halsin's biggest flaw that can't be seen as an extension of a good trait: He can't control his basal instincts/urges very well. Not only can he not control his bear (the transformation into it and his actions in that shape) very well, but he also has lines in combat that rival the Dark Urge's in bloodlust; "let our enemies' corpses nourish the ground!" "May the carrion birds grow fat on you!"

Things I would change about his writing:

So... Most of the things I would change, I would not because I have a problem with them, but because I'm tired of others complaining about them (I.E. make his flirting banter with SH in act 3 only trigger if you're polymanced, make the Drow orgy start only at your invitation instead of his suggestion, etc). The highest on this list for me is the Minthara ultimatum (which still hasn't been implemented). I would like to see them make Halsin's case stronger; point out the Absolute still hunts him, make it clear how much Minthara triggers his trauma, let him talk more about things that happened to him in the goblin camp because of her- with her continued lack of remorse (she never even as much as says she sympathizes with what happened to the Grove) helping make his case. Also, make it more clear that what happened to the Tieflings was the result of this (because this scene was written to only trigger if the Rite of Thorns happened); show how haunted by their deaths Halsin is. People wrongly think Halsin had no stakes in this argument, when the truth is that they just didn't remind the audience what they were.

For things I actually would want changed... well, I'll put that in two categories, the things that could be changed while keeping the game mostly the same, and then my "pie in the sky" things.

Realistic changes:

-Halsin's post-Drow dialogue is tweaked just a bit more to fix a line from Tav that comes off as condescending, and to clarify some things (did Halsin's captors' house fall out of favor, or were they attacked by a lower house that wanted to unseat them? Halsin says both, but these are two different things in Drow culture). Maybe the house and the house that wiped them out get named, as well.

-While Halsin's act 3 arc was good considering how little time there was, I feel that there needed to be more highlighting his transition from nature-focused to people-focused. We see his anguish at the failures of the city, and the early stages of him dreaming for better, but I wish we could have had more of a bridge to him deciding his commune is the answer. I'd like to see a scene with Halsin adopting Yenna/inviting her to the commune once he starts it, a scene with Halsin's decision to found his commune and inviting the first group of refugees, that sort of thing.

-Make a quick tweak to That infamous party banter that makes it clear chimeras pass the Harkness Test in this setting so that people stop using it as justification to claim Halsin fucked the boar at the Grove (yes this is a thing). Or cut it entirely, I guess.

-Go back to the planned concept where Halsin's scar was in fact from a battle. It being from a shebear doesn't inherently bother me, but I liked the idea of it being a reminder of how badass Halsin is.

-I wish we had more lines reminding us what an amazing healer Halsin is past act 1.

-Fix a few of Halsin's lines so that he sounds as concerned about the Shadow Druids' influence as he should. He brushes them off a bit too easily, especially in the line patch 6 added where you could show him the note sent to Kagha.

-For the love of God, let Halsin get pissed off if you as a Drow Tav/Durge threaten to sell him back into slavery. Make him break up with you on the spot, maybe even leave the party- and if not, lose a huge chunk of approval at least. Players who make Astarion bite Araj rightfully get chewed out- Halsin deserves the same. It doesn't have to be rage, either; it could be hurt, or fear, or some combination of the above. But please, a line that evil deserves something more. They would never pull that on any other character.

Pie in the sky things that would probably never happen but I wish they would:

-After Halsin's Drow confession, we get a chance to suggest to him he might want a turn as a consensual submissive, complete with a sex scene of the player dominating Halsin.

-A scene with Astarion and Halsin bonding over their shared trauma.

-Reintroduce parts of the original concept for the Shadow Curse plot. I don't have to have the Halsin accidentally killing Isobel bit, but I liked the plot with the Promise dagger and him using you as a beacon to find you once he goes in the portal. It was so romance-coded; I'd argue it was even more romantic than Halsin's actual romance plot!

-Let us watch Halsin win over the orphans going to his commune. For pure self-indulgence reasons, make at least one of them a baby.

-A resist scene for Durges. I don't care if it would always be platonic, and yes, go ahead and give Minthara one too. Just please?

-MOST OF ALL, Origin Halsin.

[wh0relibrarian]

sunshine

a/n: a continuation of this post, although altered to be a summer break instead of winter. completely got lost in that 😭 please excuse any informalities, i’m still getting used to writing in second person (or smut for that matter), and tumblrs post format! so don’t be mean ;(

context (if you don't want to read the previous post): Reader is visiting her hometown for the summer. A rising grad student who just so happens to bump into Sukuna at the airport. After quick introductions, he gives her his number in case she gets too lonely...

content ahead: southern sukuna au, black coded!reader, afab!reader, d referred to as dick bc i don’t like using “cock”, v referred to as cunt or pussy, age gap (reader in her early 20s, sukuna is in his early 30s), cowgirl, daddy kink, rough!sukuna (but he’s still a softie), needy!reader, clit stimulation, nicknames such as sweetheart, princess, baby/babydoll, creampie, ass/face slaps, lots of praise, a decent amount of plot

word count: 3.9k

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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You’ve been texting Sukuna for a week now. Off and on, trying not to seem too interested, but interested enough to keep his attention. It sucked that he was a man very obviously out of touch with technology, because you can’t find pictures of him anywhere. Not even a Facebook page. You’ve just been grasping at straws, trying to remember each detail of his face. Each tattoo. You didn’t even get enough time to admire the one’s on his face, way too engulfed in his general appearance.

And oh, Sukuna. That poor man. He knew from the moment he saw you that you’d keep him up at night. From the curvature of your lips— only being the opening act to the beautiful smile you had hidden beneath. He tries to remember what color your shirt was, but can only remember how plump your tits looked. Practically spilling out of a… tank top? Or maybe it was a crop top. You had a jacket on, which he knows was gray because you kept trying to wrap it around your waist like you were embarrassed by your body. He couldn’t figure out why, though. You’re beautiful from head to toe, every part of you.

But today, today was the day you’d ask him to take you out. Or just ask to go out in general. Hell, you’d take anything at this point.

You: Hiii Sukuna. How’s your wrist feeling? I know a couple days ago you said it was progressively getting worse, any updates?

Sukuna: Hey babydoll. I think it’s all good now. Nothin a lil icyhot can’t fix. How are you?

You: I’m happy to hear that :) and I’m okay, just bored, per usual.

Sukuna: Ya know I’m always around.

You: It’s funny you mention that… I was wondering if you were busy later today? Or tonight. Either or, whatever works best for you. If you would even want to do anything of course.

Sukuna: City girl finally ready to get some sunshine?

You: Don’t make fun of me 😑

Sukuna: Oh I’d never do such a thing. Are you free right now? My lunch break’s comin up, could use the company.

You: Yes I am! I can be ready in 15, I’ll send my address.

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You weren’t as nervous as you thought you’d be. You know you looked good, you felt good. You put on a casual outfit, just a pair of bell bottoms and some old t-shirt your mom left around. This wasn’t a date, and you didn’t want to scare him, so you treated it like a normal hang out with a friend.

He picked you up in an old pickup truck, run down from the years spent riding on dirt roads and an occasional swamp. (Things can get messy the further south you go.) It was normal where you’re from to have at least one beat up truck per household, so his car was not a problem. You were all smiles, nearly skipping your way to the passenger side. Sukuna rolled down the window and he too had a bright toothy smile plastered on his face. It almost looked malicious, but you overlooked it once you got in. Something about his presence had you in a trance, you couldn’t focus on anything else but him.

When you opened the door, he stretched his arm out to help you into the chair. You made it a point to act as if you were struggling to get in and shut the door, nerves suddenly keeping you from wanting to look him straight in the eye. “Damn sweetheart… just look at you,” he said while leaning his body back, taking a moment to take in your appearance. “Hiii Sukuna, you aren’t too bad yourself,” you said giggling.

“We’re just goin’ up to Milo’s, hope that’s luxury enough for ya.”

“You think I came dressed like this for somethin’ luxury?”

“Well if that ain’t luxury, I’d be curious to see what is.”

Smirking, Sukuna went back to putting his full focus on the road. The butterflies in your stomach had died down, finding his presence incredibly inviting and safe. You were looking out the window for a while, until his hand found yours which was resting on your thigh. You turn around to him surprised, only to see his eyes still trained on the road in front of him. His hand clasped yours and gripped it tight, and you found the silence warm, like a gentle hug you wanted to last forever.

The lunch date was sweet. You both ordered cheeseburgers, fries, and a large sweet tea; reveling in its taste since it had been some time since you had genuine sweet tea. He started asking you about your schooling, learning that you’re majoring in business and will soon start working on your master’s degree. This charmed him— you were both alike even if it was in different ways. You’ve always provided for your mother, and so has he. You won’t stop reaching new opportunities, and neither will he. As the date went on his attraction only grew deeper. Your physical appearance did not mean much to him, you were to die for, but right now he wanted to know every single thing about you and didn’t care about anything else.

But… this wasn’t to say he’s not a curious man.

When ordering the food, you took a step back to look at the entire menu. This caused your skin tight shirt to rise up ever so slightly, showing off your cute tummy and belly button piercing. You noticed him staring, and he was never one to lie.

“Sukuna, order some damn food and stop looking at me like that,” you slapped his large bicep jokingly, making that same smirk from earlier slowly grow on his face.

“Mmm, you hidin’ that accent from me girl. Soundin’ so pretty bossin’ me around.”

You could tell the cashier felt a bit awkward at this point, so you pushed Sukuna in front of you to get him to focus.

Even though he would have moments like those, you didn’t feel like he was objectifying you. It never became the focal point of your conversations. It seemed like he was genuinely interested in getting to know you and it made you feel so… different. Sure you were young, but you’d never experienced such a natural yet interesting conversation with a man. You were shocked by it, to say the least, and it only made you want him more.

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After that day, you two were basically inseparable. He made it a point to try and see you after work, and if there was a day where he couldn’t do it, he’d make it up to you x2 the next day. He immediately started spoiling you, whether it was food or sending you money for new makeup, it’s like he couldn't do enough for you. You were always beyond grateful, and would even tell him to tone it down a bit, but he’d always say, “Princesses deserve princess things.”

It’d been around four weeks of this, the dates would get more romantic, and his time with you only more cherished. Although the flirting continued to grow, he never made a move on you. You definitely didn’t want to be the one to initiate anything. Maybe there was a reason for him not wanting to get physical, but not even a kiss? It was killing you at this point, every night you spent just dreaming of what his pretty lips felt like on yours. Not being able to help your hands traveling down to your aching pussy. You were so horny it hurt, and nothing you did could satiate the feeling; knowing good and well that his fingers— let alone his dick could reach spots you didn’t even know were there. Your own fingers would suffice for now, but you would be leaving in just a few weeks, you needed to know what Ryomen Sukuna was like in bed.

So, the next time he picks you up, you make sure to look drop dead gorgeous (not like he didn’t think that about you regardless.)

A few days ago, he paid for your hair and nail appointments. Large knotless braids with curly pieces coming out of them, and the prettiest french tip set you’d ever got done. You told him you wanted everything to be a surprise, and that you were planning to get a new outfit as well AND that he didn’t have to send you money for that. But you know he did anyway. The plan for this night was a drive-in movie closer to the heart of the city rather than where you both resided. There was a wing place you loved, different shops, and the movie would be the last activity.

After picking up a new sundress, a black one with thin straps and a slit at the bottom, you felt confident enough that tonight would go well. You took a shower when you got home, lathered your skin with shea butter from head to toe, and put on all the gold jewelry you owned.

There’s no way he wouldn’t want to fuck you dumb.

As always, dinner with Sukuna was to die for. He was such a gentleman, making sure to pull your chair out for you, telling you to get whatever you wanted from the menu. “Don’t be scared sweetheart, want you nice ‘n full.”

You shopped for a little while after, well, it was really window shopping. You felt so bad that Sukuna was paying for everything, even though he always insisted. You decided to just point out all of the things you liked, kind of like a test— if he really liked you then he’d remember all these things for a future event.

The drive-in was dead. Which I guess isn’t too surprising, you can’t remember the last time someone talked about seeing a movie here. Nonetheless, this was your dream scenario. With basically no one to catch you guys, it was the perfect breeding ground (literally.) The movie was some rom-com looking thing in black and white which you begged to watch, only because you knew neither of you would want to pay attention. Once he grabbed some popcorn and soda from the concession stand, he pulled up in front of the big projection, claiming he needed to be as close as possible because of his eyesight. After a few minutes of pretending to be interested, you turned to him and finally broke the ice.

“‘Kuna, do you like me?” Sukuna couldn’t believe the question.

“Of course I like you baby, why else would I be here?”

“Well,” you started, “I don’t know…”

“Oh, you know.”

“I know you like me, it’s just like— we aren’t like… you know.”

“Gonna have to use your words sweetheart.”

You looked forward as you tried to find the best way to say this, you decided to just rip the bandaid off.

“We haven’t kissed! Or anything! You just hug me or wrap your arm around my waist, but we haven’t done nothin’ ‘kuna. And I’m not sayin’ that’s any indicator of how much you like me, I’m just sayin’ it’d be ni—”

You anticipated this kiss, not only because you did everything in your power to set it up, but you could feel Sukuna’s eyes latching onto the way your lips moved while talking. His lips were just as soft as you imagined, tasting like cherry carmex and popcorn. His hand found its way to the side of your face, cupping it gently until he moved it to tilt your chin up towards him. Your mouth opened a little from the change in angle, giving Sukuna’s tongue access to the warmth yours had to offer. He melted deeper into the kiss, and so did you, as it continued to get more sloppy and wet. You could tell he was eager, swirling and dancing on the tip of your tongue, sucking it harshly like he was trying to gather as much saliva as possible. Just to pull back and have it leak out of his mouth, dripping down both his and your chin. It was downright nasty the way your fluids were colliding, but it turned you on an unbelievable amount. Whining and groaning into him, rubbing your thighs together, lacking the correct amount of friction from wearing a dress instead of pants.

Your hand started traveling to his chest and lower, and he could tell you were really riled up at this point simply from the way you were tugging on his shirt. He pulled his lips off yours, making you reach out for him still since your eyes were closed. When you opened them, you were able to see the true mess you two caused. Sukuna was drooling, his heavy lidded eyes not daring to move from your frame. His hair was everywhere, and you couldn’t be happier with your hairstyle of choice.

“Fuck baby,” he said while rubbing on the sides of your stomach, “I really need you. I’ve been needin’ you. Yer just so damn sexy, of course I’ve been wantin’ to do stuff. Just didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.” He leaned in to kiss your cheek and up to the shell of your ear, “Never want you uncomfortable.”

And that sent you over, you cupped his face with both of your hands, kissing him hard. He growled from your sudden dominance, and with a few swift movements, pulled his seat back and slid you over the middle console and into his lap. Your dress hiked up to your thighs once you straddled him, allowing Sukuna to feel just how wet you were. With one hand on your face, and the other on your waist, he slowly made his way down to your cunt.

“So fuckin’ wet for me,” he whispered against your lips, making slow circles on your puffy clit. “This f’me? Say it’s for me babydoll.”

“It’s for you ‘kuna, it’s all for you. Please–” His fingers slid your panties to the side, revealing just how sticky you were for him. Your pussy was basically crying to be touched, and Sukuna was a gentleman, of course.

His mouth never left yours, left hand now resting behind your neck, while his other is furiously rubbing your bare clit. Your moans were being swallowed by Sukuna’s mouth, and when the pleasure finally got to be too much, you suddenly threw your head back with a yelp. Catching yourself immediately, you press your forehead into his.

“‘M sorry, fuck, ‘m sorry— it’s t-too much.”

“Don’t apologize princess, I love seein’ you act like this. So slutty.”

Your tits have barely been able to stay concealed in your already showy dress. They spilled out on their own from your sporadic movements, and once Sukuna could see one, he dropped everything to unveil the other and fondle them both. You kept grinding on his very hard dick, keeping up the rhythm he set up for you while he went to town on your boobs. Massaging them, pinching and flicking the nipples, mumbling things like “fuckin’ shit they’re so soft,” and “need to fuck you.” It wasn’t long before he popped one into his mouth, sucking on it, making it soo much more sensitive. You were squealing at this point, Sukuna looked up at you to see the tears forming at the corner of your eyes. With a ‘pop’ he brought his attention back to your beautiful face. Somehow fucked out just from dry humping. How cute, he thought to himself.

“Look at me, princess.” You struggled, but your eyes met his, still striving for your release. “‘M gonna fuck you, okay? Is that what you want?” You started nodding your head yes like a damn puppy.

“Need to hear you say it princess. Tell me you want it.”

“Wan’ it s-so bad baby, fuck me, I need you to fuck me.”

The thing about pick-up trucks is that there’s not really a backseat, which means you’d have to ride him right where you were. This wouldn’t have been a problem, until Sukuna quickly pulled down his pants and boxers, revealing probably the biggest dick you’ve ever seen. It was the fucking length that scared you. It wasn’t too thick, but girthy enough that it, plus his length, would have your legs shaking for days. He gave his dick slow strokes while you took off your dress, suddenly feeling embarrassed from being the only one naked. He could see you get self conscious by the way you try and hide yourself like the day he met you.

“Whatcha lookin’ at me like that for,” his eyes were still focused on yours while he prepared himself, licking his lips like he was genuinely going to eat you later.

“I can’t look at ya? You just look so damn good sweetheart. Can’t believe yer all mine.”

“You don’t have to gas me up now,” you said looking away.

“Nuh-uh,” he grabbed your cheeks and turned your face back to his, “I’ma always tell you how good you look. Don’t act so shy now baby.”

Your pussy clenched around nothing at his statement, still leaking from the previous foreplay. He pulled your forehead to his lips, kissing it tenderly, and when he let go of your face he asked you one last time if you were ready. You whisper out a shy yes and grab his dick cautiously, lining it up with your entrance as you slowly lower yourself onto it. You let out a sharp grasp as Sukuna rests his hands on the sides of your hips, trying to assist in any way he can. Once you’re close to bottoming out, he starts whispering praises.

“Doin’ so good babydoll.”

“Look at you takin’ me so well.

Every time he spoke your pussy would clench around him, making him hiss and choke back a whine. Once he was all the way inside you, you let out a breathe you didn’t realize you were holding. You raised your head to look at him instead of the way he was stretching you out. There’s that smirk again. One of his hands finds it’s way back to your clit, rubbing slow circles like before to help you relax. You were so tense but you tried to keep a level-headed face, even though it literally felt like you were being split in two.

You felt your walls get used to his size and shape, feeling them contort and mold into Sukuna’s cocksleeve. With that, you start riding him slowly, using his shoulders to stay balanced. You got the hang of it quickly and began picking up pace. He was still stimulating your clit, using his other hand to keep guiding your body up and down. It was clear that you were struggling to take him all in though, pausing every few seconds to catch your breathe or readjust yourself. And this would just not do for Sukuna.

He gripped and slapped your ass hard.

“Gotta do better than that baby.”

Smack

“C’mon sweetheart, put your fucking. back. into. it.”

Each emphasis on a word was coupled with a hard thrust and loud whines coming from the depths of your throat. The sounds you were both making at this point bounced around the truck. There wasn’t a moment of silence and you felt blissful. Lulling your tongue out just for Sukuna to catch between his teeth; moving his hand back to bully your clit, and using his free hand to grab your face and continue fucking his hips up into yours. He was growling obscenities into your ear, “Yeah baby, just like that keep fucking me like that.”

“Sukuna, please! Fuckfuckfuck I can’t,” you were bouncing on his dick beautifully, tits bouncing in unison and he truly believed you were unreal.

“Yes you can baby,” he gave your face light slaps, “keep those eyes open, keep lookin’ at me baby. Doin’ so good, I promise.” You were leaking like a faucet down his dick and balls, and with a certain thrust, you were sure he was hitting your cervix. The string of cries that came out of your mouth made him go faster, harder, knowing that he finally found the spot that makes you weak.

“Am I makin’ you feel good baby?”

“Mhmm, y-yesss, so so good.”

“Yes who?” Your eyes were crossing trying to look at him, confused at what he meant at first, but as his thrusts got rougher you knew exactly what he was getting at.

“Y-yes daddy, it feels so good.” You were slightly embarrassed by the things you were saying, the noises too. You felt so dirty, but in a good way. Searching for your release that was so close.

Sukuna was close too, but he didn’t want that to come before he made you gush all over his dick. When he found his way to your neck, kissing and biting and sucking on your precious skin, you were done.

“Fuck daddy right there!”

“Here sweetheart? You like this?”

“Yesyesyes don’t stop please don’t stop–” and with a cry you were creaming all over Sukuna’s dick. Your pussy clamped down on him so tight, he couldn’t help but look down at the beautiful mess you made all over his thighs. He kept fucking you through your orgasm, causing you to become incredibly overstimulated. Sukuna was getting close, you could tell by his relentless strokes, forgetting any type of consistent pace. His hands were on your hips now, pistoning up into you as your head rested gracefully on his shoulder.

“Mm babydoll gimme a kiss, c’mere.”

When your shaky lips met his, he was sent into overdrive.

“Fuck ‘m gonna cum. Fuck baby, where do you want it.”

Absolutely fucked out, you tried to come up with some sort of cohesive thought. “I-insi..de ‘kuna. In m-me.”

“You sure? Tell me you’re fuckin’ sure, yer milkin’ me baby.”

“I’m s-sure. Please please just cum inside me!”

“Oh, fuckkk…” Sukuna’s load filled your pussy to the brim, leaking out to coat the sides of his dick. He made you feel so full and warm. Finally stopping his thrusts, you hunch over his shoulder and he begins rubbing what feels like hearts on your back, humming into your ear how good you were for him, dick never leaving your pussy.

“Did such a good job princess. So fuckin’ good, are you an angel? Must be an angel, the way you dropped into my life like this.”

“Mmmm I’m your angel ‘kuna. I was made for you only.”

Although the moment was wholesome, your mind immediately flooded with the thought of you leaving in a few weeks.

How were you supposed to leave after this?

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hope you enjoyed ;) and let me know if i missed anything as far as my content ahead section goes!

tags: @aiyaaayei

[recurring-polynya]

In one of my other fanfics, I made an allusion to a story from Rukia and Renji's youth where she got nervous about the size of her chest and made Renji give an opinion on the matter. I was always very charmed by the idea of it, and earlier this week, I felt like writing it, so I did. Originally, I didn't intend to post it, because it skirts a little close to underage sex stuff, but a) they're immortal ghosts and they live on their own and become child soldiers like two years later, and b) it's really nothing. Teens, even human teens, can see a boob. It's fine. Don't read it if it bothers you. Also, if this bears resemblance to multiple stories I have written in the past, it's because I think Rukia is just like that. This will probably not be the last one, either.

Rated a hearty PG-13 for cussing, partial nudity, and some adolescent sexual awakening

| read on ao3 |

"Renji," said Rukia. "I need your opinion on something."

Renji had been breaking up sticks to dry out for firewood around the backside of the broken-down squat he and the gang had been trying to get into shape for their winter digs. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm. "My opinion?" he grumbled. "Is everyone else off somewhere?" It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't heard anyone else's voice in a while.

"Well, yes," Rukia mumbled. "They went into the woods to try and set some traps and maybe do some foraging. But I'm not asking because you're the only one around. I was waiting to ask you until everyone was busy."

That got Renji's attention. This was not the first time Rukia had cornered him like this. He assumed she did this to the other guys, too, but he didn't actually know for certain. Renji tossed the stick in his hand back onto the pile and turned to give Rukia his full attention. She was standing in a funny way, her arms crossed awkwardly over her chest. She looked almost like she was cold, except that it was early September and still sweltering.

"What's up?" he asked.

"You're going to wonder why I am asking you this," she said, her eyes fixed somewhere off to one side, "and it's because I'm trusting you not to be weird about it. Everyone else would try, but then they would be weird about it, and I know you won't be."

Renji continued to regard her silently. She wasn't asking anything particular of him, just stating what she expected. Renji decided he liked the idea of being a guy who wasn't weird about stuff, and decided he would do his best to uphold that trust. He was also prepared for whatever she was going to say next to be spectacularly weird. This was Rukia, after all.

"Also," she said, "you go around with your shirt off all the time. You're the least self-conscious person I know about. You know. Body stuff."

An alarm signal went zinging through Renji's nervous system. It was true that he wasn't all that concerned about bodies, his own or other people's. A long time ago, he'd had to make a decision about Rukia's body, which he sometimes had to touch and slept next to at night and had seen naked more than a few times. She'd become a little secretive about that recently, and he'd taken care to respect that decision and avert his eyes when he needed to and made sure all the other guys did too. The decision he had made was that Rukia's body was exactly like Fujimaru's and Mameji's and Kosaburou's, which was to say, it was a thing that existed but was none of his business, unless say, she needed an injury patched up or something like that.

"Something wrong?" he asked gruffly.

"Not-- well, I don't know. That's what--that's what the opinion is for."

Renji rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm really not sure I'm the right person to ask. I know the old herb lady is pretty deep in her own brain most the time, but if you catch her on a good day, she knows a lot of stuff about--"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Renji, I just want to know if my boobs are good or not!"

Renji stared at her. Rukia's face was beet red now.

"Uh…what?"

Rukia made a little huffing noise. "Look. I know you know I've been binding my chest for a while now."

Renji shrugged noncommittally. Rukia hadn't been particularly shy about letting them see her in her chest wrap. A lot of girls in Inuzuri did. Usually, it was a safety measure.

"I think they might be done growing. I'm worried they're…well, they're kinda small."

Renji ran his fingers through his hair and tried not to look at her. "Seems like that would make them easier to bind, no?"

"Well…yes, that's true."

"It's not like it's something you can control. You shouldn't worry about it."

"I just don't know! Maybe they're fine actually! I'm the only one who gets to see them and I think I may have gotten too wrapped around my own axle about it and I just wanted a second opinion, okay?"

Renji sighed. "Okay. Sure. If it'll make you feel better."

Rukia took a deep breath and then lowered her arms. Nervously, she tugged at her yukata below the sash to get it adjusted properly.

There was now the slightest curve in the fabric between her shoulders and her waist. Renji wasn't sure he even would have noticed it if she were just some girl he saw on the street. But that curve was there, and it was doing something weird to the pit of his stomach.

Cleavage was no rare sight in Inuzuri. Both in the streets and the gambling halls, plenty of women kept theirs on display for, uh, business reasons. Renji could tell the difference between the more and less attractive sets, but he'd never been quite as excited by the prospect of a hearty set of tits as some of his peers. He didn't think this constituted any kind of moral high ground. The fact was, he was just mostly into dudes. A pair of well-muscled forearms or a particularly sharp jawline was usually more likely to do him in. But there was something about that mysterious curve, the suggestion of tits, of Rukia's tits…

"They look fine to me," he announced.

Rukia looked down at them and frowned thoughtfully.

A strange, slightly foreign thought, possibly a stray memory from his human life, popped into Renji's brain. "Isn't there even--like with fancy kimono--aren't you supposed to make a smooth profile? Maybe you've just got a fancy-lady figure."

Some of the color had receded from Rukia's cheeks. "Why do you always know these things? Also--fat lot of good that's going to do me."

Renji shrugged. "What kinda good were you hoping they were gonna do you, anyway? I mean, you wouldn't wanna-- that is--" He grimaced, thinking about business reasons again.

"I might like to kiss someone, someday!" Rukia declared, cheeks going hot once more. "I'd like…to be worth looking at. You're going to be ten feet tall and have shoulders for days and you've already got that hair, so I realize that's something you've probably never once thought about."

Renji stared at her uncomprehendingly. "You think I'm good-looking?"

Rukia seemed to be staring at something over her shoulder. "You're certainly striking."

Renji had honestly never thought about himself in that way before. Mostly, he thought he'd stuck out in a way that was mostly pretty inconvenient, given their skulking and pickpocketing lifestyle.

"You have an interesting voice," he pointed out, drawing the words out as he tried to think of more things a theoretical person who was not him might find attractive about Rukia. "And you're good at a lot of things." She also had a pretty face, maybe the prettiest face he'd ever seen in Inuzuri, with big blue eyes that you could just fall into. He couldn't say all that shit, though. It would just embarrass both of them, plus she would think he was lying to make her feel better. He wasn't. It wasn't even, like, his opinion, it was just the objective truth.

Rukia huffed again, clearly unsatisfied.

Renji threw up his arms. "They're under your clothes! Wouldn't you rather kiss someone who likes you because you're cool, rather than because you've got a nice pair of knockers? Which isn't even to say they aren't nice! You just can't tell! They could be great under there. That's it's own kind of allure. The-- the, uh, mystery." He regretted saying it the moment it was out of his mouth. This always happened with Rukia, though. He was always telling on himself.

Rukia stared at him for a long moment. Then she hooked her finger over the closure of her yukata and pulled it away, staring down into the depths.

"Are we done?" Renji asked, trying to sound bored and failing when his voice wavered on the last word.

Rukia looked back up at him. "You've never even see a naked girl-tit, have you, Abarai?"

Renji wrinkled his nose. "Not…not really, no. Not…head-on."

Rukia set her jaw. "Okay. We're doing this."

"What--" stammered Renji. "What are we doing? We don't need to--"

Rukia pulled her yukata wide and shimmied her shoulders loose.

Renji swallowed thickly.

He had changed his mind. He did, in fact, like girls. Fuck, did he like girls.

Rukia's breasts were small, that was just a fact. They were also gorgeous. Smooth and straight on top, ending in a sharp, rosy nipple. They curved gently on the underside back to where they rejoined her body, like two ripe, blushing pears. Renji could imagine cupping one in his hand, the way it would fit in his palm perfectly. He squeezed his hands into fists, reminding himself that they were dirty and covered in small bits of bark from breaking the sticks. He absolutely could not reach out and touch them, even beyond the possibility that Rukia would murder him if he did (would she, though? He wondered). It turned out this was a mistake, because now he was thinking about kissing Rukia's breasts, about the way they would taste, how he could take nearly the whole of one in his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Fuck, Rukia, put your shirt back on!"

"They can't be that bad," Rukia grumbled.

"They're not, they're really good! Surprisingly good! You should save them for whoever it is you want to kiss! Please put your shirt back on!"

"You're so weird," Rukia laughed, and he was glad to hear the ring of relief in her voice.

There was a long pause with a few rustles of fabric being adjusted. Renji chanced to unsqueeze one eye to see if she was dressed again. He was just in time to see her cross the second side of her yukata over the first, catching a last glimpse of a pretty little tit before the fabric settled over it. A secret once again, but no longer a mystery. Fuck.

"You can open your eyes now, you big baby," Rukia announced, reknotting her sash. Evidently she hadn't noticed him peeking. She wasn't even blushing anymore. "Thank you."

"I don't know why you asked me," Renji mumbled. "You know I'm no good at being reassuring and shit like that."

"I didn't want you to be reassuring," she replied, looking up and favoring him with a brilliant smile. "I wanted you to be honest. Which…clearly you were. I don't know what else that could possibly have been."

"Shut up," said Renji.

Rukia snorted softly. "Do you wanna go find the others and fix their snares for them? I'm sure they've set them up wrong."

"I wanna finish dealing with these sticks first," Renji replied. It took his entire strength of will to unclench his hands and pick up a stick, a long, heavy one. He winced when it broke much more easily than he had expected it to. The sound of it was deafening.

"I can help," Rukia said cheerfully, picking up another stick and snapping the side branches off it expertly, humming while she worked.

Renji picked up another stick, and suddenly wished the pile was bigger than it actually was.

"Hey, Renji?"

"What now?"

"They really are--?"

"Yes. Don't ask me again."

Rukia gave a little chuckle, and so softly that he almost didn't hear it, added, "Huh. Who knew?"

[jp---v]

Part of me wishes that Midoriya never received One For All. As a disabled person, it always seemed like Quirks and the lack of Quirks were (in some ways) a metaphor for disability. The whole "Can someone be a Hero without a Quirk" just read as "Can I be Someone if I am disabled". And the answer was no. The answer was "You're useless, but I can fix you". I know that it would make so many arcs and part of the story either way more difficult or probably just impossible, but I wish that Midoriya stayed quirkless. He was built up as being incredibly smart and I wish we got to actually see that instead of. Big Punch. Big Kick. Fight Win. I wish that instead we saw him be resourceful and intelligent, I wish he was a bit more like Eraserhead or Nighteye, where they have weapons to help them fight. I wish we saw him fall behind physically and get support from teachers in the areas he was failing, see him go from just barely scraping by to succeeding because he has support, anything other than just handing over the cheat code to being a "Good Hero". I wish Midoriya's story was actually about if it's possible to become a hero without a quirk, and I wish the answer was yes.

Sorry for the big chunk of text, I've been thinking of this for. A while.

Ok, first thing first. Minor notes.

Paragraph breaks are your friend

You probably could've made your own post and more fully fleshed out your thoughts without having to worry about the ask character limit.

Now onto answering.

Yes. The series would've been completely different if One for All wasn't in play. Several arcs would have been impossible for Midoriya to participate in the Big Final Fight, and an action series where your protagonist can't join the fight, isn't set up for success.

But there are different avenues that could've been taken. A bigger focus on Underground heroics. Behind the scenes info gathering, undercover work, stake-outs, and all the dirty side of heroics people don't get to see. Eraserhead is an Underground hero himself, there's no way he couldn't have done with a quirkless Midoriya what he did with Shinsou and more, because he's his homeroom teacher. Weapons, tactics, Underground contacts. Then there's Midoriya getting to use his brain to design support gear and strategize his way around his opponents. Why set him up as this super analytically-minded person if it rarely comes into play? He's just another 'hit 'em till they stop fighting back' hero in the end.

But him losing One for All sucks too because he never even actually got to master it. The thing he's been trying to do since he got it. The series set this huge, important goal with easily trackable benchmarks(the percentages) and tosses it to the wayside, only for him to still fail at saving Tenko(because Tenko's been gone for years. A memory isn't a person).

On a wider scale, the series could've explored the themes of discrimination against quirkless people instead of brushing them away almost entirely. The fact that by the end of the series everyone was acting like quirkless discrimination never existed, and were instead focused on heteromorph discrimination, may have partially come from the fact that Bakugo is a 'fan favorite' gag me and Horikoshi didn't want to acknowledge him being the bigot he was pretty clearly shown to be early on. So it all got swept under the rug and "never happened." Because that would also require recognizing Midoriya's trauma, and the series has never once acknowledged it or taken Midoriya's pain seriously. Like honestly, Midoriya being so starved for human contact that he let's Uraraka call him Deku, even after explaining that it's an insult with years worth of weight behind it(and her still calling him that after he explained it), then making it his hero name? This terrible insult you've been called for pretty much your entire life, that's what you want to be known as for the rest of your life and beyond? And after Bakugo's alleged "apology" he switches to the overly-familiar Izuku, as if they're actually close friends and he still isn't violently screaming and insulting him like he has for years.

And as far as "support from the teachers" goes... UA actually sucks, just, as a school. He couldn't get support when he had more power in his pinky than most teachers have combined, even when he kept breaking that pinky. Eraserhead doesn't want 'students' to make into 'heroes' he's making paranoid little child soldiers. Despite having high grades, a 'saving people' mindset instead of wanting to be a hero for fame or money, which should put him pretty high on favorability compared to most of his classmates, but no, he's the Problem Child because he can't control his quirk. But does he ever get any actual help? Extra training? Quirk counseling? Nope! He gets thrown to the fucking wolves until Gran Torino sees what's happening and comes out of retirement to help this poor child no one else is helping. Crazy how Midoriya spent a couple of months at UA and his control never got any better, but just a week with someone actually training him and he can finally use OfA without hurting himself.

I forgot where I was going with this tbh.

Anyway... the story could've been completely different if Horikoshi acknowledged Midoriya's trauma, showed the effects of quirkless discrimination, and actually let the teachers teach in a series with the word 'Academia' in the name.

If Midoriya had had any kind of suppprt from anyone in his life, and was less hyperfocused on quirks specifically so he could think about support gear, then yes. He could've been a hero. Not the bright, shining spotlight kind of hero, but still a hero.

[scooburst]

So here’s everything you need to know about the current situation.

My whole phone is on lockdown. I’ve been told when it finally comes back, I’ll have to delete tumblr and discord. Hopefully I can use the website and get around it. My parents are looking at blocking it on my computer as well. I don’t think they can, but thier also monitoring it so I’ll have to be very careful. I have five minutes after 7:00 AM EST to be here before it’s over. Throughout the day, I will be on for one minute twice (two one minute sessions) just to check in. From there I might be able to answer one or two asks and quickly peak at my notifications. I’ll say in the mornings a few things; what happened yesterday, updates on the situation, and if I’m okay. That will be all I’ll be able to post. Sometimes if I have it at night, I’ll come on just to say goodnight or answer a few more asks. But again, it’s only a minute. I’m trying my best to stay calm for this but it’s not going great.

What exactly happened is a bit more complicated. I’ll recount it for you all just so it’s understandable. My parents at some point looked over my computer, which was logged into tumblr and discord, and decided I was talking to complete strangers and being dangerous. Yes I was talking to people online but I was being safe, and I don’t think they’d listen to that. But that isn’t exactly stopping me from talking to those “strangers”. I don’t think my parents really even see you people as humans that are good people. But. You know. I can’t fix that. So now my phone is locked down. I can only text them and one of my friends. I can use the bare essentials. All I know is at some point it’ll be unlocked, and I’ll have to delete these sites. I’ll try to plan for that best I can. But that’s essentially what’s going on.

As for the discord if anyone’s on that. The management of it is being handled by people I trust most there. Use it however you like, and to those two: Do whatever you want with it, but keep it free and open to anyone. All I want is for you all to continue making sure the people there are okay. I will pop in every day and say I’m alive, but really not much else. And yes I will read the messages, as much as I can.

Now that that’s over, onto the newly scheduled post.

Date of writing: 11/1/24

Am I okay: not really, but I’m alive and “healthy”

Things that happened: today, I have a hockey game, and we got evacuated early from school because of bomb threats. At home I kinda just walked around. I played a little bit of guitar, I’ve been listening to music and built legos. I’m doing some puzzles as well. I’m trying to take care of myself to hopefully get my parents to let me back here.

Log: today, I was taking the chance I had to look through my notifications. And I cried. At everything you all wrote to me. I’m going to miss you all so much. You all are such amazing people. I can’t say I didn’t think you’d all say that, but it still caught me off guard. Thanks. I’m glad you all are still going, as far as I know. Keep that going. Dying isn’t good for you! I also saw someone made a whole blog of days without me. That’s insane. I don’t know what to say to that. Hopefully, it doesn’t have to count to high. I’m gonna write your urls all down so I can visit you all when I can finally be back officially. I know this is all probably really confusing with me still responding to things, but it’s just a very complicated situation right now. It sucks tp not have things like this to vent and feel better, but I have started to keep a journal so I can place my thoughts somewhere and I’m going to eventually try to open up to one of my close irl friends to hopefully have someone to talk too. I’m probably never going to just move on from this, it’ll always be something I remember and maybe something that still hurts, but it’s still some of the best memories I’ve ever had even if I cry thinking about it. I’m doing my best here to distract myself, get back into reading, maybe slowly try to build my parents trust that I can handle my phone, even though I could already. But it’s fine. Ive found a lot of entertainment in the photos app recently. Maybe when I come back I’ll share it all with you. Sorry these posts are so long. I’m just trying to stay here as much as I can. But jsut know not to worry, becahse I’m still okay, and I’m alive. Apparently I’m going to be talked to about discord and tumblr. There is some hope I can stay, but we’ll see. Either way im a sneaky boi :)

The last thing I want to say is that whoever made that blog counting how long I’m gone, you are so appreciated. I appreciate all of you really. And all of you who’ve made a post tagging me about whatever experiences you’ve had with me or put it in my askbox, you’ve made me feel so much better about this just knowing I didn’t fuck it up with you. If you didn’t make anything like that, don’t feel obligated to. Just knowing you’re alive is the best thing for me right now. Stay safe, if not for yourself, for me, and if not for me, then for someone else. I’m doing the same for all of you.

ALSO! Ima probaly make a tag list for this so you can get this as soon as possible! I know this is almost becoming a newsletter but hey that works. So if you wanna be on it, just say so (preferably in a reply or reblog to this post, with nothing but that you want in, separate from any comments about the post itself. It helps!)

[i-politely-disagree]

Sprace- Call

MODERN AU TW: Swearing??

(I've never posted on here lol)

Spot cringed as his phone call was answered. Usually, it just went straight to the far too familiar  “Hi it’s Racetrack! Don’t leave a message!” voicemail to hurt him even more with the fact that he was either blocked, or Race was declining all his calls. A harsh ‘What do you want?’ may not have been ideal, but Spot still smiled softly at the sound of his ex’s voice.

"Hey…Race," He started. The same words he had said almost every day a month ago. Throwing his bag down as he got back from work, striking up conversations at 2 a.m even though they both needed to be up early, Starting a call much like this one if anything happened. "Do you still have my white shirt with the sleeves?" 

When Race’s phone displayed Spot’s caller ID, he didn’t know what to expect. Maybe yelling, maybe an explanation that it was a dare, or maybe some tearful confession about how his love never died. Anything with more emotion than requesting an old shirt.

“Um… I’ll look around.” The conversation was too stiff, too formal. Race fiddled with the cuffs of the white shirt that definitely wasn’t Spot’s (it was) that he was wearing and paced around the couch he slept on. 

“What do you need it for?”

He’d never admit it, but Race missed Spot more than he could tell. Hearing his voice again was painful, but something to feel. He had been a mess the last month, living with his best friend, missing sleep and working his ass off to help pay the rent when it was paying the rent that got him into this mess. Spot had walked out after the topic of money had come up, only after many anger-clouded words had been thrown between him and Race. Just thinking about it, Race could taste the regret and adrenaline and feel the knot of codependency tighten as it had done that night when he realized how alone and helpless he was. Even though he hadn’t anticipated a break-up, it wasn’t like Race was expecting-

“A wedding,” Spot answered coldly and quickly. Dwelling on love around him wasn’t going to help him swallow the lump in his throat.

He regretted walking out every day. He knew deep down, that he could’ve walked back in at any moment with nothing fixed, another argument ignored, but weeks passed and Race lost the apartment he could only afford with Spot’s help. Spot lost the one stable thing in his life, the one person he felt like he could talk to, the stupidity, wittiness, energy and affection that came with Race and he missed it more than he was willing to admit. He knew it was his chance to salvage any scraps of a relationship but didn’t know how to begin. 

“I’m sorry.” It was a struggle to force the words out of his mouth, but Spot managed to sound a lot more stable than he felt. 

Race’s reply was so emotionless it hurt. No sadness, not even a quiver in his voice, no hope. Just a bland question reminding Spot he’d made more than enough mistakes;

“About what?” 

“Um, This. Calling you, acting like nothing’s happened, acting like I don’t care.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone and Spot knew he would have to address the elephant in the room.

“...And leaving. I was- I am so stupid for walking out. It sounds pathetic but I didn’t mean any of the things I said. I really lo- I really loved you.” 

Race’s soft smile threatened to fall at the use of past tense.  His mind tried to object, but a smirk tugged at his lips and words crawled out.

“You miss me.”  He observed, a mix of teasing and astonishment now unmistakable in his voice

“No, I just really want my shirt,” Spot said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as if Race could see him over the phone.  “Yes, I fucking miss you.”

Spot hated himself for giving in that easily. But at the same time, he knew lying wasn’t going to get him anywhere or anyone for that matter.

Warm hope bloomed through Race at the less-than-heartfelt confession, sudden longing for the one person he thought he’d never be allowed to long for again. A million hazy emotions flew through his mind but he couldn’t articulate everything he was feeling and couldn’t force every heavy sentiment through the phone. He needed to know this was genuine before pouring his heart out. 

Spot’s finger was over the ‘End Call’ button when Race interrupted their silence, “But you said-”

“I said a lot of things,” Spot cut him off, “We both did. But I’d bet this month's rent you didn’t mean half of it.” 

Race wanted to object, but it was true. He hadn’t meant anything close. And while he prayed to every god that he wouldn’t regret it again, heavy words slid off his tongue;

“I miss you too. But look, we can’t just…go back to whatever we had a month ago.”

“Bad communication and not-yet-healed commitment issues?”

Race exhaled deeply, “Yeah, that. But I can’t- I mean- I’ve got your shirt. Please just come and get it so we can at least talk in person.” 

Spot running down apartment stairs full speed to reunite with his ex-boyfriend was probably something countless medical professionals would advise against but, quite frankly, he was more than willing to break a wrist or two for another shot. He managed a couple of breathless words that were essentially just ‘See you soon’ before falling into his car in a haze of nerves and emotions pretty damn close to excitement. Serious conversations weren’t his forté but were better than a familiar voicemail.

[sundays-sims]

× NAVIGATION ×

patreon   |  TOU  |  instagram  |  download section

× FAQ ×

“This link is broken or doesn’t exist anymore” and “Where can I find X set”

head over my blog’s download section to have access to a list of all my free content; this is an easy-to-navigate list, with direct download links (mediafire or patreon) & includes all my older sets that had broken links.

→  download section  ←

“This bed is broken”

when the game adds new features through updates, it can break certain type of content; to update my beds & have them work properly again, you will need to re-download them here :

→  beds update  ←

“Where can I download your builds?”

my builds & rooms are not available for downloads because I do not keep them myself. I usually create simple rooms only to showcase my content & take pictures, I then delete them.

“What ReShade/GShade do you use & where can I download it?”

my GShade presets are all my own personal presets. I think that one’s preset is such nice way to add a unique touch to pictures & I won’t share any of my presets for that reason.

“Do you allow recolors & conversions to other Sims games?”

yes. I allow recolors & conversions (to Sims games ONLY), as long as my content is already released for free & out of early access. For more information, please read my terms of use;

→  terms of use / t.o.u  ←

“I just downloaded X set, and my game won’t start”

this can happen for a few reasons; your game isn’t up to date, you have a lot of duplicate packages, or files got corrupted while downloading. If you download a lot of fully finished builds with merged cc (or into different files), you could end up with a lot of duplicates of the same object. This could cause your game to be slower or even not start at all. Secondly, downloading a lot of files at the same time, especially on patreon, seems to be causing problems & corrupting files. The corrupted files will cause your game to either crash at start or give you an error message. Try taking the last files you downloaded out of your Mod folder and re-downloading the set, or sets, only one part at the time. This seems to always work for me. My content is tested by multiple people (and me) before uploading & I would not upload broken content. If you are facing issues with an older set of mine, it is most likely a problem that occurred while downloading or with your game/mod folder. I am always happy to help when it comes to my content, but I will not “fix” any other creator’s content. In short, make sure to check for: - batch fix (e.g. broken beds updates) - game updates - cc duplicates - corrupted files Lastly, if you did all the above, and are still having problems, do not hesitate to send me a direct message (DM). When it comes to troubleshooting, I will not answer comments below posts for the simple reason that it makes it difficult to have a conversation. Going back and forth with replies into a comment section makes it too difficult since it will most likely require going through a few steps to solve any further issues.

"Do you do commission work?"

no, I dont. I often take suggestions or make small polls on my social media (insta & patreon), feel free to follow me & participate in those, send me pictures of things you like etc.

"Are you WCIF friendly?"

yes. I will do my best to remember where it was from, but since I don't keep any builds in my game, it can sometimes be difficult. Also, please note that I often write a small WCIF section at the end of my posts, take the time to read all the way down!

Thank you all for being here, supporting my work & taking the time to read.

S. xx

[ash-says]

Saviour Complex Fever:

Let's address the saviour Complex today and no I am not talking here only in the romantic sense but also in platonic, familial,etc ways.

Ohh my traumatized girlies you better get your attention piqued up here cause this can be a call out or triggering post.

Speaking in my corporate babe language I am going to adopt both top to bottom and bottom to top approach to make sure you understand the problem. So without circumventing much I am going in for the goal.

1) Top to bottom Approach:

Starting with the OG," I can fix them" attitude.

Calm down babe, you can't. How about first fixing your sleep schedule for the starters?

We usually see this attitude being discussed a lot in the romantic hemisphere but I profoundly believe it plays a pivotal role in other bonds we have with people and tend to bleed into our romantic life so on and so forth.

Example: Take a child who is five years old and the parents are irresponsible. The child learns early on not only to look after itself but also acts as a therapist to his parents if one of them has zero sense of emotional boundaries and tends to trauma dump on the child. The child will look for ways in which he/she can make things easier and happier for the parent. In a way try to fix the parent and take on the role of being an adult.

How does it affect the bonds you create as an adult?

You become the mom friend.

The mama duck of the group who is always making sure everyone is taken care of properly.

You go above and beyond your comfort to help your friends out.

Take responsibility for your immediate surroundings.

Always trying to be the best and act like a saviour.

Last but not the least, people violate your boundaries time and time again but you forgive them and treat them like a child despite them being functioning adults.

So your homework is to assess your friendships, familial relationships, romantic relationships and check whether you are babysitting a adult?

If yes, are you getting paid for it enough?

No, drop the role.

2) Bottom to Top Approach:

Even the saviour dreams of being saved at times.

One of the potent reasons we tend to pick on the saviour role is because deep down we want to be saved. Salvation is what we desire.

Someone to lean on. A rock solid support. To lower our guards and be present without a worry.

Then we are faced with the harsh realities and realise it's not as simple as we think it is.

Therefore, whenever we see someone in need our instinct activates and we automatically start babysitting. We fill the void by embodying the persona that we deeply crave in our life.

It's the Chiron in us. We take on the role of the wounded healer.

That's where you need to remind yourself you don't need an external person or support to protect you. Many times we are sold this idea that we are fixed by someone else.

It's your job to fix your own house. Not your neighbours.

Your body, your mental health is where your spirit lives. Others can aid you but at the end of the day you won't be trusting your house to a total stranger. It's you who takes control and dictates the course of it.

So kill this idea that someone out there is going to walk into your life and then everything will be rainbows and roses.

Fine, if you believe life is a Disney movie you can go ahead and kiss a couple of frogs to find your prince charming. Your life, your rules.

But don't be surprised if you catch a disease or two while kissing the frogs .

After all, I always say:

There are no fucking saviours in real life. You are your own saviour, darling.

And if you do want to be a mother badly there are plenty of orphaned kids out there you can spend some time with them rather than those ungrateful, therapy inducing, namesake adults.