lennadanvers

[lennadanvers]

I'm so happy, I finally had time to sit down and write for a little!!!! (even if it was half an hour). I even had candy. Yay for me

[lennadanvers]

Time to bring this back 🏳️‍🌈

Pride Month just started, and I wanted to take this opportunity to say something I think is implicit but that everyone should be aware of:

You are a person and that's what matters.

There shouldn't be a discussion on whether or not it's okay for people to be happy, live, have rights or have those rights be respected. Every human being (and every being, for that matter) deserves respect. Unless they are harming someone (harming meaning abuse; not just existing), they can and should do whatever makes them happy. No one needs permision to exist.

The only people who can give their opinion about your relationship are you and your partner. The only person who decides what you can and can't wear is you. The only one who knows your gender is also you. How or who you have sex, kiss, marry, live with or love is nobody else's business.

The LGBTQIA+ community is for people who aren't allo-hetero-cis. That means that if you aren't all three, allo, hetero and cis, you belong here. This is a great time to show support, because the attention is on this topic. Take this chance to educate (yourself and others) about sexual and gender identities. Do your research, talk to people in the community. Always be respectful. Ask if it's okay to ask questions, always making sure what you're asking about is something you wouldn't be uncomfortable answering to yourself. Go for general questions ("what does it mean to be [insert identity here]?", "why is [insert topic/person/action here] problematic?", "what can I do to show support?") instead of personal ones, unless the other person says they're okay with it. Remember that everyone (LGBTQIA+ or not) dresses, has relationships, talks, looks, feels and lives differently: we're all just people. If it is not your business when talking to an allo-hetero-cis, then it's not your business when talking to LGBTQIA+ people either.

It is okay to not know. As long as you're willing to learn and educate yourself, to be respectful, and to acknowledge past mistakes, it's okay. I don't know everything, but if you have any questions, I can try to answer them. Send me an ask and I'll do my best.

To any LGBTQIA+ person reading this, I know this month can be complicated. Keep in mind you don't owe anyhting to anyone. The most important thing is for you to be safe. The next most important thing is for you to be comfortable. You deserve to have both and so much more. Yes, the Industry takes advantage of Pride Month to sell stuff and look good. We can use it for visibility anyway. This is your chance to speak up if you're in the right place to do it. If you can't, or you don't feel comfortable doing it by yourself, you can send me an anonymous ask and I'll post it. If there's something you want to talk about, you can send an ask too. This is a safe space (as long as you're being respectful).

Also, this is Pride Month. It is very important to use it for activism, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy it. Have fun. Make art, memes and jokes about it. Wear rainbows and pride flags. Have a good time. Feel pride, happiness, excitement and whatever else you feel. You can be angry, hurt or sad too. You can be all at once, or none.

This blog is a safe space for everyone. If you can't find it in you to be respectful, you don't belong here. Otherwise, you're always welcome.

[lennadanvers]

Hii, I just wanted to check up on you :>

How have you been? How are you doing? Anything you’re excited for? Projects or events? Anything you’re working on or goals you want to achieve? Any interests you have?

Of course, you don’t have to answer any of these questions, I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Feel free to completely ignore this or just talk freely about something you never get the chance to!

Lots of love <33

Hiii! You're a sweetheart!

I've been having some minor health issues (nothing to worry about, I think, but I've been feeling sick for like a month now), so that's why I've been absent for so long.

At the same time, I'm happy bc I'm really close to finishing my thesis!!! It's a huge relief to know that soon I won't have to keep editing the 100 pages or so I've been looking at for the past year. On top of that, I'm starting a small business with my mom, so I feel like I'm finally doing something career-wise, I guess.

I started writing the Simon request and got it halfway done. As soon as I feel better, I'll post it! I really miss writing fanfics!

Apart from that, I had signed up for a writing contest on March, and I did pretty good. I mostly decided to participate bc I used to do it a lot in high school, but also to spend time with one of my friends who also loves writing. I'm happy to report I really liked most of the works I presented. Also, my final text was chosen by my team to represent us, which I'm very proud of! We didn't get into the semi-finals, but I feel like I won anyway.

That's pretty much everything that's been going on in my life! Mental health has been a challenge (anxiety is a bitch), but I'm doing my best. Also, I'll see a new doctor next week, so hopefully I'll start feeling better soon.

How about you? How has your life been? I'd love to hear about anything you want to talk about!

Thanks for the wholesome ask <3 (and sorry it took me so long to reply)

I hope you see your favorite flowers the next time you go for a walk!💐

[lennadanvers]

it's Eddie's birthday. has everyone forgotten? eddie munson x reader, ~1000 words

Eddie’s not really a birthday guy, to be honest.

He’s got too many bad ones under his belt to ever be in a celebratory mood when the day rolls around each year – his dad made sure of that when he was a kid. If – and that was a big if – Al Munson remembered his only son’s birthday, he gave Eddie a too-hard slap on the shoulder and maybe a can of lukewarm beer. A sincere birthday wish? No way. An actual present? You’re hilarious. A party?

Fucking forget it.

He likes his and Wayne’s little ritual, though. The old man will get the night off if he can, they’ll order burgers at the diner, and then split a small cake at home – one from the grocery store, cuz Eddie really likes that thick, gritty icing they use, even if the sugar makes everyone else’s teeth hurt.

And no matter how tight money is, he always gets him something thoughtful. New guitar strings, or a cassette he’s had his eye on. One year Wayne had a lucky scratch-off, and used it to splurge on a Boss TU-12 tuner for his nephew. Eddie could have cried when he unwrapped it.

But his twentieth birthday is looking to be a solitary affair this time. Wayne catches him before he leaves for school, looking apologetic as all hell, and Eddie knows the score before even he opens his mouth.

“Sorry, kiddo.”

Eddie shrugs it off. “Aw, don’t worry about it.”

“Next night I have off, we’ll do it up right.”

“Sure.” Eddie gives him a little half-smile and a salute before heading out the door.

Morning at school passes by rather eventfully, and Eddie almost forgets what day it is, until he sits down for lunch.

And listen, he’s not expecting anything – his friends are well aware of how apathetic he is towards his birthday, and he’d prefer no one make a big deal of it anyway, but for no one to say anything about it at all, he can’t help but feel...disappointed.

Jeff and Grant carry on as usual, complaining about their shared math class. Gareth yawns. Dustin and Mike discuss their upcoming campaign. Even you don’t mention what day it is. You just chat away to him about the movie you’re seeing this weekend.

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest, willing himself not to be upset, but he’s slightly crestfallen.

“Helloooo?” You wave a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Eddie.”

His head snaps back up, and he blushes slightly. “Sorry, I’m listening.”

Your eyes widen with concern, and he tries not to focus on the way your eyelashes bat when you blink at him like that. “It’s like you’re not even here today. Everything okay?”

He coughs into his fist. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Your face brightens. “Do you wanna hang out today? You can show me that new record you were telling me about. Only, um, I have to finish up my chemistry project, so it’s gonna be like an extra half-hour or so before we can leave school.”

Eddie perks up a bit at that. Spending time with you will be a nice birthday gift, even if you don’t realize that’s what you’re giving him. “Sure.”

The rest of the day drags on. Eddie focuses on shoving his hurt feelings down, chagrined that he should even need to do so in the first, but assuaged slightly by the comforting prospect of an evening spent with you.

When school ends, he waits politely while you put the finishing touches on your project. It looks fine to him, he’s not sure why you keep fussing with it. But as he’s in his third senior year, he supposes he’s not one to judge.

“Okay,” you finally sigh, rising from your chair. “I’m gonna stow this in my locker and then we can go, alright?”

He flashes you a thumbs up. “Whenever you’re ready, boss.”

You keep up a steady stream of chatter all the way to Forest Hills, amusing Eddie. When he helps you hop out of the van, he tells you hesitantly, “Hey, thanks for hanging out with me today. I’m kind of…” he trails off. “I just need it, I guess.”

Is there a hint of mischief in your smile? “Of course. Why, is something up?”

Eddie turns the door handle, pushing into the trailer, “Oh, no, I just –”

“Surprise!”

Eddie nearly jumps out of his skin at the chorus that greets him, further backed by noisemakers and incoherent hollering. Wayne, the Hellfire guys, a smattering of other characters from Eddie’s life – even Rick came out, holy shit – are crowded in the Munsons’ tiny living area, grinning and wearing party hats.

It takes Eddie a second to process what this is. There are streamers hung to and fro, balloons drifting towards the ceiling, a handmade banner strung up on the shelves holding Wayne’s beloved mugs -

HAPPY BIRTHDAY EDDIE

He starts laughing, touched, shell-shocked, embarrassed but thoroughly pleased. He feels a squeeze on his upper arm.

“Happy birthday.” You kiss his cheek. “Did we fool you?”

“You got me.”

Wayne’s eyes gleam impishly. “Hope you weren’t too upset today, Ed. But if you were, just know this wasn’t my idea.”

Eddie turns to you, and raises an eyebrow.

You laugh shamelessly. “Guilty.”

Someone drops the needle on a Dio record, keeping the volume low, the music a hum in the background. Eddie’s friends move in on him with birthday wishes, giving one-armed hugs and pats on the back, and the conversation grows louder as everyone starts talking over one another.

“You looked so sad at lunch today, Eddie, did you really think we forgot about you?”

“We ordered pizza, and got one of those cakes with the nasty frosting you love –”

“And there’s a few presents over here –”

“And booze!”

Eddie gets lost in a sea of arms, but he twists his head so he can look back at you and wink.

so apparently it's the three year anniversary of ST4? how else can I celebrate but with an Eddie birthday fic? ohmygod I haven't finished anything in so long. thanks for reading!

[lennadanvers]

soap who's got a little crush in the intel office

Soap, who isn't processing a word out of your mouth as you explain the complicated geometrics of this base, how normal detonations wouldn't would because of something longwinded and boring but goddamn if you didn't have the cutest face he'd seen in a while.

Soap, who sheepishly had to walk his distracted ass back to your office to ask if you could please jus' explain it one more time, i wasnae payin' any attention last time, muttering an excuse about a migraine. You didn't say anything about the demolitions expert being distracted at a demolitions debrief, welcoming him in with an eye roll.

Soap, who'd get distracted every meeting going forward if you could pull him into your office, sit so close he could smell your shampoo, and explain to him patiently the objective and geography and the coordinates and hell, you could explain year 8 geometry and he'd hang on every word. Your office was nice, cool and cozy. He didn't like group debriefs; he needed to stand up and pace or fidget with his velcro vest, or ask too many questions than Price thought appropriate.

But you used better explanations, sat through his often stuttered questions, and let him play with the pencil holder on your desk while you spoke.

Ghost had taken to finding him there in moments of downtime, listening doe-eyed to you murmur about a mission that didn't even belong to them. He snorted. Soap darted to his feet, stumbling over the rug.

"I...I was..." he gestured vaguely, neck purpling with embarrassment. You swiveled in your chair, grinning.

"Hi, Lieutenant," you greeted Simon, waving pleasantly. "Johnny just wanted some alone time."

Soap gaped at you because that's how you decided to phrase that?? In front of his LT?

Not even addressing the elephant in Simon's mind - Johnny. You called him Johnny.

"Price needs ya," Ghost said gruffly, disappearing down the hall.

Your cackling echoed in Soap's ears as he followed grumpily. "Sweet boy," you murmured, going back to your notes.

It was another late night of Soap's pestering. Please, bonnie, jus' need ye to explain tha' again, my ears, ye ken, all screwy from the bombs n' shite. You raised your eyebrows, surprised that, again, a detonations expert needed review on C4 placement for a relatively low-stakes assignment.

He was sitting too close again, knee brushing yours. The low lamplight shone in his dilated eyes, baby blues wide with adoration. The overt affection in his gaze made your cheeks burn a bit, until you noticed the circles growing beneath them. Soap was exhausted; the lines of his stout shoulders sagging into your cushy armchair.

"Johnny," you said when he asked another frantically inane question. He clamped his mouth shut at your tone, hands yanking on the pockets of his pants. You chose your words carefully.

"Are you sleeping?"

He blinked. "Eh? I'm- what sorta question- Yeah. Course," he blustered, puffing up a bit.

Your chin tilted. "Y'sure?"

Johnny nodded, but you saw the falter in his gaze. The bags were prominent now. Deep purple beneath his dark lashes.

"Why don't you head off to bed," you said quietly. "It's late. You've got early rollout tomorrow." You handed him a manila folder of notes to review and a tired smile. He stood quietly, head heavy with a sorrow you hadn't seen before.

You didn't see him for a while after that. It made you a lot more productive without the nagging or constant whassat? whassat? whassat? aimed at every piece of intel you had spread on your desk. But the armchair looked lonely, and you missed his cheeky teasing.

A knock startled you from your pondering. Eyes flicking to the clock - 1:00 - you frowned, opening the door a sliver.

A mountain of grime and sweat pulled you into a hug, muffling your surprised squawk.

"Johnny?"

He sluggishly dragged you into your office, finally releasing you when the door was shut. You struggled to regain your footing. Head reeling, you scaned him for injury. But...he was in pajamas?

"What..."

"Went...running," he said hoarsely. You nodded slowly, piecing apart the lie. Barefoot, dirty hems. Night terrors, probably, coupled with an unlocked door. It made your heart ache.

"Sit...sit down, Soap," you whispered, coaxing him by the shoulder. A meaty hand clapped over yours and were alarmed by the intensity in his bloodshot eyes. Too crystal to be drunk but too crazed to be...here.

"Sit, Johnny," you said, firmer. He sank shakily, keeping his eyes on yours.

"Nay...nay, nay, I can explain, I jus'...had a question a-about tha last thingie you were...you were..." he trailed off, seeing the pity in your face. "Don' look a' me like that," he muttered.

A moment as your hand shifted down his arm, fingers still laced with his. A gentle motion, petting the gooseflesh rippling over his musculature.

"You wanna hear somethin' funny?"

His eyes shot to yours, pleading. Johnny scooted closer, almost falling into your lap. A reminiscent smile flitted over your face as you continued to stroke him.

"A few recruits, while you were gone, got ahold of one of those mop buckets. Big yellow one. Well," you cleared your throat, muffling a giggle. "Well, one of the pipes burst upstairs, and the whole hallway flooded. So one of them got the great idea to make a slip'n'slide..."

You giggled at your retelling, quietly imitating the characters in your little tale. Johnny had edged closer, head inches from your chest. Not pausing your whispering, you pulled him to you. He draped over you, absolutely massive over your tiny desk chair.

It was unbelievably uncomfortable. Your legs were numb in two seconds.

The story was over, but Soap squeezed your waist the moment you had the thought of moving. "Grabbin' a pencil," you soothed, patting his sweaty head. His heart was pattering slower now, breaths coming easier.

"Can...can ye explain it again?" His forearms tightened a bit, relaxing when you stroked his hair.

You grinned. "Yeah, Johnny. Sure I can."

not as good as i wanted it but it was cute in my head.

[lennadanvers]

Hihi!! I’m that anon w the Simon request

I’m glad you got your glasses and hopefully your headaches do get better now <33

Please take all the time you need/want, writing is supposed to be fun and I appreciate you taking my request in the first place. Don’t feel pressured at all, I’m looking forward to whatever work of art you make whenever you do, wishing you the best!!

Hiii! You're so sweet!🥹🫶🏼 I'll take my time just to make sure I write something I'm proud of. But I do really miss writing fanfiction, so maybe it'll be done this week.

Thanks for your kind message, I hope you're having an amazing weekend!💖

[lennadanvers]

Hiiiiii!! I'm back (hopefully). I finally got my new glasses!!! I can see and I'll stop having headaches every day (like I've been having for the past couple weeks).

There are so many things I want to write. I'll try to finish at least one of my wips sometime soon, and then I'll start working on that one ask about Simon that I have pending (I didn't forget about you anon, I swear! It's coming).

I hope everyone is having a good day!🫶🏼

[lennadanvers]

i've been binging your works and just wanted to say i love your writing 🥹

Hii! This is so sweet 💗 thank you!!!🥹🫶🏼

[lennadanvers]

posting niche fic on ao3 is like releasing a small creature into the wild and hoping it survives and finds sustenance

[lennadanvers]

Thanks for the tag!🫶🏼💗

1. My friends say I have a cat-like personality, and I wouldn't mind being agile like a feline (probably a black one). But I think I'd rather be a bird, I'd love to be free and able to fly. Maybe an owl.

2. A dress! Always! No need to match anything, just grab some shoes and you're ready. If not a dress, then a black tank top and some black wide-legged pants.

3. Witch but also maybe mermaid. Ocean witch.

4. Honestly, whatever I like. Tends to be witchy, but also librarian core sometimes. Lots of skirts, plain black clothes, open backs and hair usually down.

5. I never drink milk, so neither. For cooking and baking, regular milk.

6. No.

7. Poetic death that looks like karma got them. Or paying a hitman to do the job but poison them at the same time, that way the hitman can testify it wasn't me bc I failed.

No pressure tags: @ali-r3n @jadeylovesmarvelxo @hellfirenacht

(previous reblogs) thanks for the tag my beautiful besties!!!! @ennabear and @orphicsun

get to know your mutuals ♰

if you could be any animal which one would you choose to be? (can be fictional) (and you can explain why if you want to)

what would you choose when you're in a hurry and have nothing to wear?

are you a witch, vampire, fairy, dryad, siren or a mermaid and why do you think so?

what is your style?

regular milk or plant based milk?

which one do you put first milk or cereal?

fav way to kill someone? (idgaf if you never thought of it now you have to think of something and make it at least a bit cool I'm begging)

i would want to be a very chunky house cat who does nothing but sit in the sun all day and get pets from my very kind human

leggings and a tshirt always

fairy cause they're cute and live in the forest. yeah

erm when i actually try its like if grandmacore was goth

im not a fan of milk in general but i love cashew milk

cereal first

large table, rope, circular saw

and i tag.... @comatosebunny09 @archangeldyke-all @vaaaaaiolet @mandalhoerian @lambilegs

[lennadanvers]

Hey so I can't stop thinking about Eddie going to his first uni party on Halloween and stumbling upon someone dressed as a witch and falling in love instantly. Because he's that kind of a nerd. And seeing a girl in a black corset and a skirt made of like a million different fabrics and dark colors all the way down to the floor makes his eyes sparkle. And he'd try to make her twirl just to see how the skirt moves around her ankles. And he'd see the pointy boots with laces and kinda wish she'd kick him with them just to know how it feels.

Oh and she's wearing black lipstick and Eddie can't help but blush. And maybe next year he'll dress up as a mime and commit to the bit so he can just stare at her instead of trying (and failing) to befriend the weird little witch who stares at him as if he was funny. He knows he's not because did not tell a single one of his jokes with the right punchline, and he's tripped three times already, and he wasn't even walking-

[lennadanvers]

Oh how I love cod neighbours

To me, Simon has the dumbest hair 90% of the time because he just buzzes it himself (I cannot believe that man pays money to one, do something he could theoretically do himself, and two, spend time with a stranger). The other 10% it's good -- when he first cuts it, an eighth of an inch of pale fuzz left behind, and when it just starts growing out, that's fine. But a lot of the time, especially when he's at home, he just lets it go.

And you, his next door neighbor, will never not give him shit about it.

"You look so goofy," you tell him when you see him in the hallway, one arm holding your groceries and the other fiddling with your keys. "Just cut it, Jesus Christ."

He rolls his eyes or tells you to fuck off, because you've known each other long enough for that kind of thing. He's lived in the building for years, never having seen a reason to leave, and you've been there for a few yourself. You're friends in the way that you may not call or text or schedule time to hang out, but you can scarcely think of anyone you see more often.

"Seriously," you go on, unlocking your door and speaking louder so he can hear you when you go inside. "It's just like two inches sticking straight off your head, why are you walking around like that?"

"Doesn't bother me," Simon answers, moving to lean against your doorframe and watch you as you put up your things. "Seems to bother you an awful lot though."

Your back is to him while you move around your kitchen, but you can tell he's smirking, and you scoff.

"Yeah, it bothers me. You get a face like that and you go and screw it up with the dumbest excuse for a haircut I've ever seen."

It's not the first time you've flirted with him, or even the most direct time, but it still gives him pause. He doesn't wear his mask when he's not working, most of the time anyway, because he thinks it draws too much attention and he'd prefer to just slip into the shadows wherever he goes. But you seeing him, and you letting him know that you like what you see, it does something to him, every time.

"You cut it then," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're the one so torn up about it, you fix it."

You snort, finally turning back to him, saying, "I'm not a barber, stupid."

"No, you sure seem like a coward though."

A few minutes later, you're both in Simon's bathroom. He's got his shirt off, straddling the toilet so you can reach his head, and you're behind him with clippers in your hand, looking down at him. You've never seen this much of him, never even seen the place where his tattoos stop on his arm, and it's a lot to take in.

You want to take your time, commit every scar, every freckle to memory, but he turns his head, smirking again.

"Told you you were a coward."

Without a word, you turn on the clippers and get to work.

It's not hard, it's just a buzzcut. The hard part is in touching his ears, gently pushing the lobes down to trim around them. It's in sneaking glances over his shoulder to watch his chest as it rises and falls while you work. In trying not to notice the tiniest little hitch in his breath when you lean in closer and rest your hand on his back while you get the hairs on the back of his neck.

The worst part though, is the beauty mark that sits perfectly in the place where his neck meets his shoulder. Specifically, the worst part is the strong, almost uncontrollable urge to bite it.

When you're done, you turn off the clippers and set them on his bathroom counter, then dust off his shoulders for him. Just before he stands, you can't deny yourself any longer -- you won't be able to reach it when he's not sitting so perfectly like this -- and give a quick, soft kiss to the mark.

During all the time you've known Simon, he's barely responded to your flirting. To you, he doesn't seem interested, and to him, you don't seem serious. But a kiss, faint as it may have been, is different, and before you can register it, he's on his feet, turned and standing over you.

"Hair looks better," you say softly.

He grunts in response, and before you know it, his mouth is covering yours, hot and insistent. It's a heady feeling, having him so close, and before you can get used to it, his hands are on you, first on your waist, then on your hips, then on the backs of your thighs as he lifts you up and holds you against him.

He maneuvers you both out of the bathroom and towards his bedroom, where he unceremoniously tosses you on his bed. You look up at him, letting your eyes trail freely over his body now, going down when you see him place his hands on his belt.

"Not so mouthy now, are you?"

[lennadanvers]

Reminded me of His Home (if it was romantic and a lot more angsty), really loved all the yearning!❤️ Soap is so terribly friends to lovers coded it's not even funny

Heaven Incarnated

ASK REQUEST: find original post here

ᯓᡣ𐭩 SUMMARY

Johnny has loved you for a long time. Only he thinks he doesn’t deserve to be more than a friend because of the nature of his job. Eventually, he’s going to have to confront the truth he desperately tries to keep hidden.

FANDOM: Call of Duty 

PAIRINGS: John MacTavish x reader

WORD COUNT: 3,560 words

WARNINGS: Deep mentions of suicidal thoughts, self-deprecation, not a lot of dialogue, Johnny is reflecting a lottttt, angst with implied happy ending

◇ Notes: I had so much fun writing this. I think I popped off quite honestly. Though I did start crying a bit because halfway through, I started thinking about Johnny being canonically dead, and now I’m even more distressed. Get distressed with me by reading this!

○●○ NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

JOHNNY KNEW HE WAS SCREWED THE MOMENT YOU WALKED INTO HIS LIFE WITH YOUR STUPID LITTLE GRIN.

Even before he mentally knew that the flutter in his stomach and the warmth that spread through his growing muscle was that act of falling in love, he instinctively knew that you had burrowed your way like a thick vine around his rib cage until you pulled taunt. You were like another sentient piece of his soul that broke free from his physical self and wandered the earth. You always came back, though. And when you came back, his weary heart stitched itself back together.

You were a stable tangle of emotional health. You encouraged him to do better, to worship the very foundation of his essence. When he returned home from purgatory, clawed his way way with dirtied fingertips through the tar, you had draped yourself over the chasm and offered a hand. When his soul ripped in bitter halves, you manually threaded the blood and bone back together.

You were never not his pillar of strength. You melded into the role naturally without complaint and without prompting. Once you were there, you were the infestation that wouldn’t stop gestating. An invasion full of lively fullness that eased the weight on his back until it was time to fly free again.

You were his home.

The first time he realized he loved you, it was the simplest of affairs. There was no beat drop. No record scratch. There was a calm realization that twisted at his stomach when his gaze softened. It was so natural that once he acknowledged it, he never questioned it. However, once he let the thought germinate, he did feel fear.

Loving you wasn’t the issue. It was the staggering realization that he could lose you one day. There was no permanence in anything. There was blissful enjoyment until some aspect of the relationship dusted away. Physically, he could not take stock that he would hold his heart forever. Hell, there wasn’t even a guarantee he could emotionally cherish that which softened those ridged edges of his flesh.

So he vowed to just love you the best way he could.

He always imagined how sweet you’d be once you finally got locked in. He would be so good to you. He would be at your beck and call until you forgot what it was like to take care of things yourself. You were his universe full of vibrant iridescence.

Only, he couldn’t have you that way.

You were an ethereal being sent down to earth to be his guiding light. He was a mess of violence and guilt. He didn’t shy from the sting of warfare. He relished in the humanistic manifestation of hell. He shed blood until it caked and dried underneath his nails. The only time he would touch you was after he vigorously scrubbed himself down to the bone.

That first time, the steadying hand of love caressed his face he knew he could not be selfish. He could love you, but it could never taint your rich soil. Your garden was to be preserved until it bloomed and thrived with beautiful buds.

So he watched you with a softened gaze as you meandered your chosen hobby. His fingers stilled around the wooden shaft of his pencil as he watched you. He knew the exact second you became a sweet muse, an existence he wanted to immortalize forever. Every bend and God-given edge was stored in his mind.

He watched you closely, blue eyes scrutinizing every feature with awe. He knew perfection was an idealized pipe dream that was impossible to achieve, but you were his definition of the closest representation he could conjure. It wasn’t perfection in any standard term, but it was a hell of a lot close to what he perceived it to be.

What a sappy, lovestruck man he was.

That night was the first time he captured the way he saw you through his sharp eyes. But it wasn’t the last. In the recesses of worn down journals and past thoughts, you were constantly the center of attention. The leather bound books were stored far away, but his love was honored and bound to the earth from the moment he allowed graphite to mark the pages.

Only for him, yet all for you.

♡◇♡

You were always there like an answered prayer for the man who lost his grip on religion.

It was bad. The storm cracked in Johnny’s mind. A dreadful, destructive thing that billowed out clouds of gray over the synapses of his brain that produced serotonin. There was a thick, tar-like sludge that he struggled to even trudge through. He was dead weight, a husk of a man who didn’t know how to stop getting knocked down.

The hazy gloom settled deep in his bone marrow. His joints all creaked as he stepped foot off the plane that brought him home. He wasn’t built for this monotonous lifestyle, and he felt disorderly as he heaved himself on weary feet down the terminal.

And there you were.

You did not bring theatrics. You did not parade around him like some agitated monkey. You were the calm kiss of the waves against a shoreline. The gentle summer breeze during a warm evening. You were the peace that seeped into his bloodstream like a drug. Better than any drug, really.

His throat closed with guilt when he was enveloped in your embrace once more. How could he justify his place in your life when he only ever returned a small bit more damaged every time?

He was not a steady beat in a ballad. There was no harmonizing that occupied his throat when he looked at you. There was an off-beat staccato that thrummed beneath clenched jaws, aching body, and bitter resentment. He was the violence and anger that manifested in his periphery.

But he was also selfish.

He took greedily from the unwavering love you offered. Picked and picked like it was a milky chocolate that melted so perfectly on his bone-dry tongue. He should’ve left, yet he was a gluttonous man that wagged his tail whenever he had his maw enclosed in something divine.

If only he could dig deeper into the honeyed essence that made up your DNA, he would never starve. Though, he would not destroy you so completely. He was selfish, but he also was a professional in taking only what he deserved. Where you wouldn’t notice his thick claws as they sunk into soft skin.

You knew it was bad. You always did. Could catch the sorrowful lilt of his words. The faraway glances out the windows as your car glided down the road.

You didn’t press. Didn’t request a recount of what happened. There was no pleading to rip through classified information and digest the horrible reality of his life. You never demanded anything. Maybe that was why he desired to open up his heart and let it bleed out on the ground. Confide in you about the sickness that infested his brain.

But he wouldn’t taint you completely.

The two of you lived together in a little slice of heaven. The flat was his sanctuary. But that was mostly because of you. Evidence of your sweet existence was everywhere. He drowned in the reality of you. What a lovely thing.

He was exhausted. It was not the quiet ache in his lower back nor the heaviness of his eyes anymore. It evolved and splintered out into a full system catastrophe. He was weary, muted, and numb in the very muscles of his soul. The longer he worked, the further he fell into the void.

He muttered something about a nap as soon as he discarded his duffel on the floor. You held no surprise and calmly sent him off to the seclusion of his room.

He slept for a long time. His eyes crusted, his body was clammy, and he felt like he woke up in the pit of hell. He groaned and creaked as he came to, the vestiges of sleep slipping away as he wet his mouth.

But that was when you wandered into his orbit.

You climbed into his bed with ease, and he watched you like a hawk the whole time. This was not new. But like the lovestruck fool he was, his stomach unsettled every time. The besotted Scot was rendered useless by your mere presence. He was good at navigating the bloody battlefield. He was not good at knowing how to look you in the eye and lie straight to your face.

He was a filthy liar. He wanted to drag you down into the sticky tar he was bound to. He wanted to be irrevocably selfish in the way where he got his bloody paws all over you. He would layer your flesh in his personal signature until there was no doubt that you were entwined with him.

And you would probably let him, which is why he had to practice restraint so consistently. You were always so sweet and pliant. There was no doubt about that when you never noticed the tar pool he brought home with him. Didn’t notice how it seeped through the insulation and walls. One day, you would be stuck, your shoes glued to the ground, and you would be eternally sequestered in the hell he created.

You lay yourself out on your side, one hand holding your head up as you stared at him. He wanted to puff up like a peacock, preening under your intense stare. He relished in the moments you had your attention on him. It was a sweet treat, and he had always had a sweet tooth.

Silence was your game. That was the second time he confirmed what he already knew. There was something about sharing your space that made him get tortured with that reality. It was not a grand affair where he watched you laughing or having fun. It was just simply you that jolted his heart and sent him spiraling into this intense emotion.

Your existence alone could single-handedly crumble entire civilizations.

You smiled at him and reached out to fix his sleep addled mohawk. He leaned into your touch instinctively. It was safe. You were safe. Just as easily as you ignited his brain into a full shutdown and made a mess of him, you eased the nightmarish thoughts that ran rampant. He was so reliant on you to dictate his mood. It was a dangerous game.

“What’s going through that brain of yours, Mac?” You asked.

How could you not know? You were so bloody smart. You were bound to notice just how much of a fool he was. He was this puffed up man looking for a fight in every other situation. He could never sit still. Anger was usually the primary emotion that he used to filter out the noise.

But when you were around, he was docile. He played the part of an obedient mutt as he perched at your feet.

He met your eyes, his blue softening and the lines around his face easing.

“Ye are, love.”

That was as close to a love confession as he could get. And yet you seemed oblivious still. You didn’t ask what about you that he was filtering his mind with. You didn’t press the issue more than with what you said next.

“I hope I stay there for a long time then.”

His cheeks heated up, and he found himself stiff as a board in the wake of that. He pretended that you, too, were putting face to some secret in the matters of your heart. When he said that he loved you, you reciprocated in your own way.

What a fool he was.

♡◇♡

Death used to be a luxury John craved. When the flames got too high and smothered his being, he went kneel to the ground and begged for God to just let him be free. In his darkest moments, he expelled his faith from his trembling hands. He denied it. When he saw a yard full of slaughtered children, he cursed the omnipotent being and slashed the cross he used to bear without shame.

Yet it was also in that same darkness that he pleaded for the god that he separated himself from. He found offense in the way God wouldn’t grant him what he desired most. But should he have really been offended? He only knelt when it convenienced him. And every time, God turned a blind eye.

John wanted to be free, and God shackled him deeper on to earth. He wanted you, and he only got 50 percent of you. God was playing tricks with him, and John cursed him for that as well.

You didn’t meet him at the airport this time around. You didn’t even know he was home prematurely. He slinked into the hospital silently and begged the nurses, too. Dinnae call them. Dinnae want them tae see me like this. Eventually, they complied and left him to melt in the hospital bed.

His mind was an inferno. You did not deserve to be tainted by this. It was a raging storm. His synapses were shot, and he was a hollowed out body of flesh and bone.

But he was desperate for you. And it was after one specific fit that he took his trembling hand and dialed your number. He went against the rules he had set up for himself just because he needed you to battle and beat back the tsunami that was hurtling towards him.

And you were there like you always were.

You idled in his bubble for a long time. You grinned and bore the debris that smacked against you now that you had dove head first into the rushing water with him. He panicked and retreated as soon as he realized what he had done. The mess he made. He had almost died, and instead of keeping you at arm's length, he pulled you further into his crippled embrace.

He left handprints of tar on your cheeks, and you let him. While he spiraled into madness, you kept your softness and held his hand. Why? When had he ever been worth that effort? You willingly ruined yourself just because it was him. He didn’t understand.

And now he didn’t even have the military to fall back onto. He sucked the last remaining salvages of that life until he was cast away to search for more sustenance somewhere else. It was humiliating. That he could strip himself for so long, tear off pieces of his wounded heart, and still end up with nothing.

Was he just a puppet on a string? His puppeteer must’ve despised everything he represented because nothing that loved him would ever leave him flopping lifelessly in the middle of the desert.

You didn’t.

This time, his misconstrued anger was launched at you. He spit and hissed at you because you were the only physical manifestation in his life that he could bend. His maw was deadly, his words venomous.

And yet, you still stayed.

Why were you on a single track mission to crumple his mind? He assumed before that he was unworthy of your golden love, but now he knew for a fact that you were meant for grander things. You were meant for a life where you were whisked off to the dance floor and pursued without restraint.

But you chose to stay with your defeated best friend, who grieved and deteriorated away. Insides first. There was rot in his body, his lungs filling with black tar. When would he suffocate?

He prayed to God once more that you didn’t try to save him.

His head was full of maggots. He could feel them gnawing on his spongy brain. They chewed through wire and blood, finding out that underneath was hollowed out. Because he didn’t know who he was now. He bled profusely for a life that was only ever temporary. He never held stock in anything else.

The days were long, and Johnny found himself back at the pew for the first time in years, kneeled before the physical representation of God. It felt wrong to be under his wing again, and part of him felt repulsed.

He closed his eyes and prayed that God did something about this pain because he didn’t have the heart or gumption to do it himself.

♡◇♡

Johnny broke six months later.

He hated when you wandered away from him. When you crept beyond the threshold of their idyllic home, he grew faint and resentful. He was a mutt that didn’t know better. He looked for guidance in you selfishly, and when you naturally flew from the roost, he heaved up his insides.

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.

Johnny was a simple man. He loved you so fiercely it made him sick. He was rotting his own mind just to keep tasting what little slivers of food you let him lick from your fingers. He didn’t ask for seconds and instead kept laying at your feet like that obedient mutt. Waiting patiently for the next bit of scraps.

He loved you. He always did. He wanted you so badly.

He was a puny man. A sad excuse of what it meant to be masculine. He lost the livelihood that murdered him, and he was still indulging himself in the same habits that had been instilled in him. Don’t take what’s not yours. Don’t demand for more. Don’t expect that you can have that happy life? Stop yearning.

He wanted your golden light to capture him and infest his weary soul. He wanted to be happy.

When you came home, he was there. His spine was ridged and straight, his mind was fuzzy and faraway, and there was an infection of frustration brewing in his belly. His existence at that moment was tunnel vision. He was on autopilot, and his blood was pumping aggressively beneath his flesh.

And you noticed, you always did.

“Johnny? Hey, what’s wrong?” You asked softly as you discarded your keys and shoes at the door.

There was something heavy clawing its way up out of his throat. He was stone cold, his thinking process snuffed out as he just stared blankly. You were growing concerned. He saw the soft pout of your lips and the shifting of your feet. He knew your mannerisms down to the last atom.

You were always so bloody worried about him. And he still didn’t understand why.

Johnny broke then. He was a wounded man who was rendered useless to your orbit as he collapsed to his knees. He was shattering finally, his body taking a heaving breath as he went through the motions. It was the sob that ripped through his parched throat that rattled the house.

His tears were boiling as they trailed down his cheeks, a testament to how crippled he was inside for so long. He didn’t even exactly know what it was that broke the dam, but once the dam broke, then all that festering self-deprecation surged forward.

He was flooding the oasis you two crafted together. Neither of you were equipped, thrown brutally back and forth through the rushing water. He choked and spluttered and reached for you.

Your hand was there, gripping tight and steady. You acted hastily, making it to his keeled over form in record time. You pulled his head into your stomach, planting a gentle hand on the back of his neck. He spluttered into your flesh, nestling himself there desperately.

“I love ye,” he rasped. His words were untethered and lacked the agency he wished for, but he couldn’t take it back. He couldn’t take it back.

And he knew you knew what he meant. What manifestation those words were forming. A man did not break down at the gates of heaven if he meant it any other way. He could tell you easily that he loved you in a platonic manner. He did. This version, he could not express so effortlessly.

He was a cadaver on the examination table. You would find his entrails all blackened and lost to disease, but his heart would be left alone. Because that is where you slumbered and made your stake. You nurtured his heart until it became your own. Because his rot refused to travel where you laid your claim.

He understood that now.

He melted under your gaze when you pried his face from your body. Your hands were his undoing as you cradled his cheeks. He was unraveling, chest heaving as he sought life sustaining air. A floundering fish on the deck of a ship. Only a siren operated the wooden vehicle.

You uttered those confessional words back to him in a honeyed tone. Suddenly, he could breathe again and saw the world clearly for what it was. Maybe this sweet rapture of bliss was what God kept him alive for.

He let out a soft exhale, breathing coming a bit easier than it ever had. He blinked slowly at you, blue eyes full of child-like wonder and fascination. He wanted to be reborn under your gaze, baptized in your waters forever.

He always knew he was screwed the moment you walked onto his life. That damn smile of yours was his beginning and end.

[lennadanvers]

reblog if you’re a writer who’s very terrible at responding to comments from your readers, but has read them all and loves and appreciates each and every single one of them very dearly

[lennadanvers]

Dear fellow fanfiction writers:

As a member of the glasses wearing group, I beg of you to stop using the small text for the whole story. I get the aesthetic needs, I really do. But it feels like the more I read the less I see, and it's a struggle to understand the carefully chosen words that make up your work of art.

Please consider using normal sized text in your next work🙏🏻

Att.,

A fanfiction-loving, nearsighted mole.

[lennadanvers]

hey, did you know that the world is a better place because of your creations and art and writing, no matter how niche or how many people see it

[lennadanvers]

Hihi!! I absolutely adore the way you write comfort (his good girl became my no.1 h/c fanfic <333)

Sorry in advance if any of this in worded off or incomprehensible, English isn’t my first language 😅but if you don’t mind, I have a request please /nf

This is more ‘out there’ premise, so if it’s not something up your alley please don’t feel bad for not writing it!!!

So you know how there’s a machine that stimulates period pain? What if there was a similar machine that stimulates chronic pain and Simon decides to try it out of curiosity, wanting to understand the pain his partner deals with? (Preferably gn!reader but I don’t really mind, whatever you’re comfortable with <33)

I deal with chronic pain all throughout my body, especially cluster headaches, that leave me incapacitated for days. Sometimes it’s comforting to imagine Simon taking care of me lmao

You can whatever you like in this request as it suits you, Idm /gen and again, please don’t feel any pressure or obligation, I completely understand if you don’t feel comfortable writing this or simply don’t want to at all. I appreciate anything and everything you post regardless <33

Hope you have an amazing day/evening and I wish you the best of luck!!

Hiii! It makes me so happy to know people love Good Girl as much as I do, it's one of my favorite works along with His Home!!!

I'm sorry it took me so long to reply to this ask, I had some trouble with my wifi. On top of that, I've been having a lot of headaches (like every day/every other day)- I need to get new glasses, my graduation changed and it's become a problem now. All this to say it'll take me some time to get to writing this one 😅 (it'll be like 20 days till I have the new glasses), but I'll do my best to deliver!

I really like this idea btw! The idea of him stepping into his s/o's shoes, trying to undestand how it feels to be in that kind of pain is something that I'd love to write about. I'll do my best to do it justice, but I don't have any kind of chronic pain so I don't have any first-hand experience.

Thank you for the lovely ask! Hopefully you'll see this! 💗

Pd.: your English is flawless as far as I can tell, and I'm a native Spanish speaker in case it's easier for you to write in Spanish <3