#FUCK IT WAS SO HARD TO GET ALL OF THESE CLEAN AND POSTED BEFORE JULY 1st

[underhanded-lamb]

What's up art demons, it's me

ya boi

Y'all I can't tell you how many times I said I'd join Art Fight just to wuss out, this year I'm making the jump and just doing it because cringe is dead live your dreams kids.

I included a little brief description of of my OC's in their Art Fight profiles so you can get more context (except Mede just know they are a bastard)

come fight me nerds

[tarlosweeklyprompts]

THE TORTURED WRITER CHALLENGE

Hello and welcome to Tarlos Weekly Prompts newest event! I know I said that this would come sooner but life has been busy and I didn't have the time to commit to making the event as I wanted to. We know that Taylor Swift is a pretty big musician - love her or hate her, she's written a lot of good songs that can inspire some pretty amazing fics. This event will be taking inspiration from her songs and the general vibes of her music to create breathtaking fics that I know this fandom can create. If you have any questions, please let me know! I know that she has a lot of songs, not all of them will be listed here but I hope that you guys enjoy the ones that are picked! I can't wait to see what everyone writes!

This event will run until July 31st.

Rules:

Accepted works: fic's, moldboards, fanart, gifs, etc.

All works need to be new works.

All works need to be Tarlos centric

All works need to be properly tagged.

All work needs to be posted by 5 p.m. est time on July 31st, 2024

Tag the blog (@tarlosweeklyprompts ) I'm tracking the tag #twpeventttwc

Prompt's do not have to be claimed. Just pick one (or more) and write your fic.

Song Title Prompts (you can use the theme of the song, lyrics, or vibes to create your fic):

Nothing New

loml

Closure

Vigilante Shit

Right Where You Left Me

The Manuscript

Untouchable

Now That We Don't Talk

Call It What You Want

Invisible String

Champagne Problems

Love Story

the 1

Mine

Lover

Lyric Prompts:

I used to switch out these Kens, I'd just ghost / Rip the Band-Aid off and skip town like an asshole outlaw (Hits Different)

No amount of freedom gets you clean / I've still got you all over me (You All Over Me)

The skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up (Cowboy Like Me)

Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere (New Year's Day)

You drew stars around my scars but now I'm bleeding (Cardigan)

Barefoot in the kitchen / Sacred new beginnings / That became my religion (Cornelia Street)

Old habits die screaming (The Black Dog)

I snuck in through the garden gate / Every night that summer just to seal my fate (Cruel Summer)

It never ever occurred to you / That I can't say 'hello' to you / And risk another goodbye (I Almost Do)

You call me up again just to break my like a promise / So casually cruel in the name of being honest (All Too Well)

You dream of my mouth before it called you a lying traitor (Is It Over Now?)

And I wouldn't marry me either / A pathological people pleaser (You're Losing Me)

The altar is my hips/ Religion's in your lips/ Even if it's a false god/ We'd still worship this love... / I know heaven's a thing / I go there when you touch me (False God)

I've been spending the last eight months / thinking all love ever does / is break and burn and end / but on a Wednesday in a cafe / I watched it begin again (Begin Again)

Don't blame me, love made me crazy / If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right / Lord save me my drug is my baby / I'll be usin' for the rest of my life (Don't Blame Me)

[pisupsala]

Wish You Were Here [1] | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | Some things you’d rather not face alone.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings | swearing, explicit smut / 18+ only

Words | 7.4k

Note | Can be read as part of One For The History Books (takes place post-epilogue—chronologically the final part) but also works as a standalone.

Library

When the blob of paint unceremoniously splashes over your bare feet, you feel like your final shreds of sanity have hit the ground with it. You stare intensely at the pale sandy color splattered over the plastic covering on the floor, your legs and the more of outside the paint bucket than the wall at this rate. 

What were you thinking?

Dropping the paint roller in the bucket, creating another wave of splatters for good measure, you sit down in the middle of the room, knees pulled up. Your hands are burning painfully from gripping the roller hours on end—you can see the first blisters forming. You’re not even half-way done yet with painting. And then you need to install curtains. Clean. Wax the hardwood floors. Pack up your house. Clean. Disassemble all your furniture. Move. Order new furniture. Assemble everything. Clean. 

This was such a bad idea.

But you promised. You promised Bradley you would take care of it all, not to worry and focus on the detachment at hand. Six weeks. And you really thought you could do it. 

Now, you’re really not sure.

Your apartment is a mess. This house is an even worse mess. And you feel so incredibly alone.

Hanging your head, you can’t stop the tears from coming. There is no reason on this godforsaken earth this should be so hard. Really, you need to get the fuck over yourself. You rub the heel of your hand over your cheek to wipe away the tears, but you’re probably just spreading still-wet paint over your face. But it’s not like anyone will see you here like this.

Your sobs echo through the empty house. 

After getting engaged last July, you both decide there is no sense in a long engagement. Or a big wedding. Bradley is straightforward about it—you could have whatever wedding you want, but for him, it’s a means to an end. He wants you by his side. But more importantly, he wants taken care off in case anything would happen to him. 

He still hasn’t completely shaken the consequences of facing death so directly as he did on the mission almost three years ago now. Through long nighttime talks, chipping away his and your own walls, you’ve come to understand that Bradley not concerned with his own mortality per se—he is a lot more scared and concerned for what he will leave behind. Who he will leave behind.

You don’t like to think about, but rationally you have to. If—god forbid—anything would happen to Bradley, you would have no say. No rights to anything. Not unless you married.

So right before the new year, scarcely three months after you receive your doctorate, less than half a year after you’ve gotten engaged, you say ‘yes’ to each other in a small mountain chapel in the Rockies, surrounded by your closest friends and family. 

Snowflakes falling from the sky contrast starkly against Bradley’s formal Navy blues as you walk out of the chapel. The sight of him, with a slight blush on his cheeks from the cold as he kisses you under the arch of swords, is one of your favorite memories from that day. 

After that, everything keeps going so quickly, you feel like you still can barely comprehend everything that happened. You’ve had been looking at houses together for a few months already, but when you view the red brick house with hardwood floors and a great big tree in the backyard with a swing hanging from it in Fredericksburg, one look at each other says it all. 

You sign so many papers in such a short time, you might have signed your soul away and not even remember. 

When you get the keys on a strangely sunny late January day, you grab a bottle of champagne, and drink it together in the empty house, dreaming about how it will look when it’s done. It needs a little TLC according to the realtor, but it could be the perfect place to raise a family.

Bradley is pushing you on the swing, as you laugh in the evening sun—your breath coming out in small puffs of smoke. For a moment, it feels like you have champagne in your veins—everything is so light and intoxicating.

“Let’s have a baby.” 

You turn so quickly, you nearly vault yourself off the swing. Bradley pulls back the swing, stopping your motion. His mouth hangs sightly open, the tips of his ears red, like he can’t really believe he just said that. The champagne must be getting to him too.

You discussed having children, although not very concretely—between everything else, you don’t have a timeline. And why would you? Until a few hours ago, you didn’t have a house. You live in a one-bedroom apartment surrounded by mostly books and stacks of paper, and Bradley lives on base (most of the time).

“Now?” You utter, completely stunned. Your cheeks are stinging from blushing in the cold air. Bradley licks his lips nervously.

“I mean- I don’t - If you… Fuck.” Bradley stumbles over his words, averting his gaze from you. There’s a blush creeping up the back of his neck, just peeking over the collar of his jacket. You are at a loss for words, because you don’t know how to verbalize everything you are feeling. The champagnes, early winter sunlight and Bradley’s words are forming a vortex in your head.

You end up just grabbing his hand, threading your fingers through his. Smiling, you pull yourself up from the swing, enveloping his hand in yours.

“I’m going to have to go off birth control first.” You tell him softly. “But no time like the present, right?” 

You look at Bradley to gauge his reaction. He still looks a bit apprehensive, like he’s not fully convinced you’re really on board with this.

“We should also practice a lot.” You add seriously, looking him straight in the eye.

Bradley bursts out laughing, and you can’t help but laugh along.

But you let yourself dream a little too much. As you sit on the floor tearfully, paint drying on your face and feet, you know damn well a large part of your current misery is of your own making. 

Three days ago you got your period.

And it makes you feel like shit.

You dreamed a little too much about surprising Bradley with a house made into a home, and a positive pregnancy test to boot when he came back from deployment. 

Rationally, you understand. It’s early days. You shouldn’t expect it to happen this quickly.  

Rationally, you know. Quitting birth control has been hell on your hormones—you can’t explain why you’re feeling what you’re feeling, just that you are feeling it. Intensely. 

You are just fucking miserable, incredibly lonely, and kind of bloated—and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Power through this, you tell yourself. You’ve faced bigger challenges. You overcame them. You’re not getting defeated by a fucking wall and some paint. 

What would Bradley think? Probably that you’re unreliable. Or worse, incompetent. Just what he needs in a wife.

You are making yourself cry harder now, pathetically sobbing into your hands.

Oh fuck, you really got yourself good with that one. You excel at making yourself sad these days. 

You’re not giving up. No, you don’t think you could face Bradley if you gave up like this.

You’re just giving up for today.

Bradley calls you that evening, quite unexpectedly. You have not managed to get out of your funk, electing to wallow in it as you power down a sleeve of Oreos while binge-watching sitcoms reruns.

“Hey darlin’,” He sounds so cheery. “How are you holding up there?”

“Hey babe, all good!” Your voice sounds strangely out of tune, trying to hide the evidence of your self-pity as you’re brushing the Oreo crumbs on your shirt. “How is it over there?” 

“It’s been busy, lots of hours up in the air,” Bradley replies, sighing, before changing the subject. “How’s it going with the house? Making progress?”

“Oh yeah, it’s fine.” You try to sound at least neutral, but your voice wavers on the last syllable. Swallowing dryly, you hope Bradley didn’t hear it.

“Sweetheart…” His sounds out gently before you start talking again. Fuck. Of course he heard it. You stare at your chipped fingernails, covered in specks of paint you didn’t manage to scrub off.

“No, really, it’s fine.” Willing your voice to be steady. “It’s just a lot of work, and it’s kind of messy…” Hesitating for a second, you hurriedly continue: “But it’s nothing I can’t deal with, I promise, the house will be as good as done by the time you get back—I just need to get those walls done you know? After that, I’ll get the floors polished, and-”

By the end of the sentence, your voice is thick with tears. You can’t stop it now. And you hate yourself for it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” You cry, desperately trying to regain a semblance of control over your emotions. “I just had a hard day today—everything kind of sucked and everything went badly, and I just miss you so fucking much, because you’d know what to do, and it wouldn’t feel so alone…”

You choke back a sob.

“I’m just afraid I’m not going to be done in time, and you’ll be disappointed.” Hot tears stream down your face again, your eyes stinging from the salt.

“Darlin’, look…”  Bradley sounds worried as he hears your cry softly on the other end of the line. “Darcy, listen to me.” His voice is level—not stern, but enough to focus your attention on him. “I truly do not care if you stuff all the furniture in the garage and put garbage bags over the windows instead of curtains. All I need when I get back is food in the fridge and a place to sleep. Because most of all, I need you to be happy.” 

He listens for a moment, your crying now just soft sniffles. “Everything else we can take care of when I get back.”

“You’re right.” You concede quietly. “I’m sorry, I just got so worked up about this—I wanted to surprise you.” 

“Don’t apologize, darlin’.” His voice is warm again and it’s so easily washing away your sadness. “This deployment was extremely shit timing, but I never expected you to do everything by yourself in the meantime. We’ll fix it together.”

Finally, after a long day of unfortunate events, a smile creeps up your face again. Together. Together is always better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Bradley does finally get home after his six-week deployment, spring fill the air. It’s making your head spin. 

You managed to prepare the house a fair bit beyond “food in the fridge and a place to sleep”, but some things are definitely still missing. You need a place for all your books, and Bradley’s steadily growing collection of vinyls is outgrowing the corner of the living room where he’s been keeping them. 

Every day you wake up in a house that feels a little bit more like a home—boxes finally get squared away, and things are finally finding a place. And soon, hopefully very soon, the drill can take a long well-deserved rest in the garage. 

You pack up the last of the bags and suitcases from the bedroom. All clothes have been folded or hung, shoes put away, bedding and towels squared away in the linen closet, and the hopefully final load of laundry is in the washing machine.

You navigate your way down the stairs with the bags, intending to store them away in the garage. You hear music playing downstairs and Bradley whistling along, and you can’t help but peek in on him. He’s in the living room, back turned to you.

There must be something in the air.

But those basketball shorts, that sleeveless shirt, and the pencil tucked behind his ear as he’s drilling into the wall gives you pause. Your heart is suddenly beating so loudly you are sure it’s audible over the sound of the drill.

From your vantage point, you can see clearly how the muscles in his arms and shoulders are tensed, vibrating from the tremors of the drill. 

Fuck.

You lean against the door frame, taking in the scene before you, not particularly feeling the need to announce your presence yet.

Bradley focused on his task. Measuring out where to drill, marking it with the pencil before tucking it back behind his ear, leveling shelves, gently brushing the dust from the wall with his fingers. He grabs one of your books from a pile on the floor, placing it on the shelf as if to see how it would look. With every motion, your eyes are irrevocably drawn to the movement of his arms, the way the muscles of his broad shoulders shift, and the faint sheen of sweat forming at the nape of his neck.

Shit, you need to pinch yourself, because that’s your husband. The words still feel new and almost unfamiliar in your head, like they haven’t fallen into place yet. But it makes your heart skip a beat, much like when you first met Bradley, filling you with exited energy.  

Unconsciously, you rub your thighs together, the fabric of your yoga pants creating unexpected friction, suddenly overcome with the urge of being in his arms. Forget the shelves, you want that attention to detail on you.

You pad across the room, while Bradley still hasn’t noticed you, humming along to the music. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you boldly run your hands over his chest and abs, pressing your cheeks against his back. You feel Bradley chuckle, as he puts away the level before covering your hands with his.

“Can I help you?” He jokes.

“I hope so.” You murmur, bunching up his shirt in your fists and pulling it up.

“You hope so?” His hands grasp your wrists, pulling them away from his shirt before turning around to face you. You waste no time—it’s like a raging fire has been lit in you—pulling free from his grasp, and running your hands over his biceps before grabbing his face, crashing your lips into his.

Bradley doesn’t hesitate, opening his mouth as you lick the seam of his lips for access. He lets you push him up against the wall next to the shelves, kicking away the tool box. Screws get knocked out of their box, bouncing off the floor in a symphony of metal. Bradley knows it’s going to be a massive pain to find them all back, but he really doesn’t care right now. All he can really focus on is your hands, lightly scratching, making their way up his stomach again, pulling up his shirt up as you go.

He doesn’t know what just got into you, and he doesn’t really care either. Since he returned from deployment last week, you’ve been a lot more forward in, well, practically tearing his clothes off when the mood strikes you. Bradley is only happy to acquiesce—normally he would try to tease a reaction this strong from you, but this is even better. It does his ego a lot of good when you want him so unashamedly. He doesn’t think he could ever deny you.

You break the kiss to pull Bradley’s shirt over his head, taking the pencil behind his ear with it. Unceremoniously, both drop at your feet. Meanwhile, Bradley’s nimble fingers are pushing the spaghetti straps of your top down your shoulder. You shimmy your arms out, giving him easy access to unclasp your bra.

You push Bradley back to the small stepladder by the wall. You know what you want, you know what you need, and you are in no mood right now to give up dominance. As you guide him to sit, you clamber into his lap, your hips hovering over his crotch. Bradley’s mouth is on your nipple, not-so-gently tugging at it with his teeth. You can’t help but moan out his name, completely shamelessly. 

Your hips dip down, rubbing your pussy over Bradley’s hard dick through the layers of clothes you’re still wearing. 

“F- fuck, darlin’,” Bradley’s eyes close for a moment, brow furrowed. You grind down again, your own eyes fluttering from the sensation. His lips find your collarbone, nipping at the skin, up the column of your neck. Your hand roam over his shoulders, the back of his neck, nails scratching lightly over his heated skin.

Your mouth finds his again, pulling Bradley’s lower lips between your teeth. There is little romance in the moment, it’s mostly about need. Mostly your need, one that you can’t fight, and don’t even want to fight.

Bradley’s large warm hands are tugging your yoga pants and underwear down your hips. Grabbing your ass, he pushes you up, to tug the fabric down your legs. You kick them off the rest of the way, as he shrugs off his own short in one fluid move. Immediately you are back in your position, your soaking pussy rubbing over his cock, letting out a breathy sigh. 

But the fire in you is still raging.

Grasping his length, running your fingers along the shaft, you delight in the way Bradley’s breath hitches and his fingers dig into your hips. He moves to kiss you again, but you move back with the mischievous smile tugging at your lips. 

“Oh, you’re going to be like that?” Bradley breathes out. His face is flushed, lips parted—you have him right where you want him.

“Like what?” You tease, giggling. 

“Difficult.” 

You shush Bradley gently, grin still on your face. You lightly rub the tip of your nose against his, your breath mingling, but not releasing him with a kiss just yet. As much as you’re burning, you want to blow his mind.

Bending closer, your tongue darts out just below Bradley’s ear, teasing the sensitive spot as your hand is lightly pumping his cock. He sucks air in between his teeth, causing your hips to involuntarily stutter, brushing your pussy against him. You let out a litany of curses—you are so sensitive, just that touch is sending you into overdrive.

Rubbing your cheek against his, you finally let yourself slowly sink down on Bradley’s cock. Just before you sink down completely, your lips find his again. You kiss him hungrily, moaning into his mouth as your hips connect. Bradley’s hand travels up your spine, wrapping around the nape of your neck, keeping you in place.

Starting slowly, you roll your hips, screwing your eyes shut at the overwhelming sensations, Bradley fills you up completely, and at this angle your clit rubs against him with almost every breath.

Bradley’s other hand is rubbing over your ass, helping to guide your pace, as his head falls backwards, resting against the wall. It gives you access to more of his neck, which you gladly explore with your lips, kissing and nipping.

Steadying yourself by leaning your palms against the wall, you pick up the pace. There is a wildfire in you, and it’s only growing—every motion fans the flames higher.

“I need—I need more.” You grind out. “Please, babe-Bradley, I need it all.” You end in whine.

You lower one leg, putting the tips of your toes on the floor for better leverage. The new angle makes you cry out, as Bradley’s head bangs against the wall as he curses.

His hand leaves your neck, his calloused fingers running over your collarbone, pinching your nipple, before grabbing the fabric of your top that has now bunched up around your waist and pulling you closer. His other hand leaves your ass for a second before coming down back on it with a resounding smack. You cry out in ecstasy.

Bradley wants to say something to tease you, but he can’t get the words out of his mouth as you start riding so hard he’s practically seeing starts. His head and shoulder keep colliding with the wall, but he can’t find the presence of mind to care. He needs all his focus and strength just to keep you and himself upright, and not to cum before you do from the absolute onslaught you’ve suddenly unleashed on him.

He spanks you again, delights in the vision before him as you throw your head back, his name on your lips.

The metal beam of the stepladder is digging into your knee uncomfortably, but it’s no more than an afterthought right now.  

Chest heaving, your movements are growing more frantic. Bradley grasps your hip, fingers digging into your flesh, guiding your movement in the unrelenting pace you’ve set. He can feel how you are starting to tighten around him, how your eyes are slowly glossing over and the blush from your cheeks is slowly making it’s way down. He has you close to the edge now, and he knows that when you go, he will go right with you.

Bradley pulls you closer by the fabric of your top, so your clit is rubbing against him harder, bucking his hips to match each movement. You are crying out incoherently now.

Desperately, you wrap an arm around his neck, kissing him deeply, like you want to disappear in him. Your hips are stuttering against his now in hurried, small movements, maximizing the friction.

All the muscles in your body a growing taut, like an elastic being stretched.

“I love you.” You breathe out against Bradley’s lips, unable to form another thought as every bit of your energy is focused on keeping your body moving.

“You’re the love of my life.” Bradley barely finishes his sentence as you scream out, and your orgasm hits you with blinding force. As every muscle in your body coils, your walls clamp down on Bradley’s cock in a vice-like grip. He cries out, thrusting up with such force it has your head lolling backwards.

Completely spent, Bradley collapses back against the wall with you against him. He winces as his right shoulder definitely has a tender sport from where it met the wall before—it will probably a bruise by tomorrow.

The room is filled with your heavy breathing as the record player is skipping, having reached the end of the vinyl. He can hear birds chirping outside. Bradley is content to sit like this for a little bit, enjoying your body against his.

You finally stir against him, lifting your head from his shoulder, trailing kisses along his hairline.

“Was I helpful?” Bradley asks you, unable to hide his cocky grin.

“What?” You seem genuinely confused for a moment, eyes wide. “Oh, oh…” You burst into giggles as it dawns on you. 

“Yes, although I could really use another hand later.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on, come on.” You almost beg under your breath. At least you don’t live in your old second-floor apartment in Arlington anymore, where the lack of an elevator meant you would have to drag your exhausted body and groceries up the stairs. The only stairs you need to climb in your new house in Fredericksburg are the ones to the master bedroom, where you can collapse in peace. Gracelessly, you stumble into the hallway as the door finally swings open. Almost there.

Dropping your keys in the bowl by the coat hanger, you blindly kick off your shoes, before haphazardly stuffing the perishables into the fridge. It will have to do.

You cannot remember the last time you were so incredibly tired. Not when you were writing your PhD thesis into the early hours, hell, any all-nighter you’ve ever pulled, or when you painted the whole house and coordinated the move when Bradley was deployed. Maybe it’s the last few months finally catching up with you. It’s been a lot, and you haven’t had the chance to stop a bit, and actually enjoy life as newlyweds. You are barely done with the house—most rooms still have some unpacked boxes, and not everything has a place yet. A honeymoon would be somewhere on the horizon ideally, but you haven’t even picked a destination yet, let alone a time.

You hope you’re not coming down with something. Like the flu. Regardless of the fact that it’s May – it’s probably from the climate control in the archives. It leaves the air so dry and arid, the chill settles on your throat and lungs easily. 

You have an hour before Bradley gets home. You have both been busy, and commuting is a bitch (when Bradley has early formation he still stays on base), but tonight is for you, finally spending time together without any external pressure. Just a homemade dinner, a movie and each other. 

One hour. That’s plenty of time for a nap. Just a nap. You’ll be ok after a nap. 

Not even bothering to get changed, you collapse face-first on the bed. God, it’s so soft and nice, exactly what you need. With your last bit of energy, you set a thirty-minute alarm.

Just a nap.

When Bradley opens the front door, he immediately notices how quiet the house is. Too quiet. Usually, you’d have music playing as you’re busy in the kitchen, calling out to him as he walks in the door. Your shoes are here, in the middle of the hallway, like they just dropped off your feet. 

That’s not like you.

“Sweetheart?” His voice echoes through the house. No reply.

Carefully, he walks into the kitchen, looking around for you. The grocery bag sits  half-unpacked on the counter, like a still-life of non-perishables, but no sign of you. Bradley frowns.

Again, that’s not like you.

You leave a quite literal paper trail behind in the form of books throughout the house, but you don’t really make a habit of just randomly throwing things down. Are you upset? Is something wrong? You didn’t mention anything. The last he heard from you was when you were shopping, asking if he needed something.

Carefully, Bradley walks up the stairs. He strains his ears—but he can’t hear the shower running, or any indication that you are up there. What the fuck? You must be home. His heart is starting to beat louder. Did something happen? Did you hurt yourself?

He quickens his pace, almost running up the final steps, barreling into the bedroom first. “Darce? Sweetheart?”

You are so dead to the world, you don’t even stir at the sound of his voice. Bradley stills, finally taking a deep breath. It’s kind of cute how you are sprawled across the bed with your socked feet dangling off the side. Your hair has come loose from the braid, strands framing your sleeping face. Gingerly, he approaches you. 

“Darlin’?” Voice soft, his hand dips under the hem of your blouse, fingers lightly running over your spine to rouse you. You groan in response without waking. Carefully, Bradley climbs into bed next to you, kissing you along your hairline, his fingers dancing in delicate patterns over the skin of your back.

Instinctively you cuddle up to him, your nose nuzzling his neck, arm draped loosely over his waist. Somewhere far away, your consciousness is piecing together Bradley is there with you, pulling you out of your slumber step by step—you can feel his skin on yours, the warmth radiating off his body. His breath is caressing the shell of your ear as he talks to you in velvety tones of which you can’t make out the words, but it’s like being wrapped in a warm blanket. You can smell his cologne, he is so close. 

Lids heavy, eyes stinging, you finally stir. Your brain is managing to finally fire back up again.

Fuck.

You overslept.

You try to sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, anxiety suddenly rising. “Shit, babe, I’m sorry. I meant to get up before you got here. I need to start dinner -” You croak, sleepily.

This was supposed to be your evening together, and you fell asleep before it even started. Great going, you fucking dork. You start to move, struggling to untangle yourself from the remnants of your deep sleep and Bradley’s arms.

But Bradley pulls you back wordlessly, tucking your head under his chin. He just shushes you, as he starts running his hands over your back again. Your palms rest on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. 

“Don’t worry about that, darlin’,” His voice is warm. “I want to make sure you are okay first.”

You nod. “I’m good. I just suddenly felt so tired.”

“Do you think you might be coming down with something?”

“Maybe.” You cuddle up closer to him. Bradley feels so good, and his body fits against yours like a glove. The steady rise and fall of his chest against your palms as he breathes grounds you from your sudden surge of anxiety. “But I feel better now I’ve slept a bit.”

“You sure?” Bradley’s voice is neutral, not wanting to pressure you, but he knows you are quick to say you’re okay. You sat awake the whole night before your PhD defense, mumbling through your presentation, but swore up and down you were fine in the morning as you kicked back countless coffees with shaking hands. 

You ended up doing great at the defense. Although, Bradley doesn’t think he’s ever witnessed tension leave someone so physically as when you were in the waiting room while the commission debated your defense. You kept repeating you were fine, just a bit tense (although being completely wired from caffeine didn’t help). When the door opened, you sat rooted in place, wide-eyed, barely even breathing, fingers digging into your cheeks. A simple nod, the confirmation: “Doctor Williams.”, had you physically deflating so much, Bradley thought for a second you would collapse out of your chair from joy (and exhaustion).

After that, your brilliant smile skillfully masked every bit of suffering you had gone through in the past years, culminating in what were the final 24 hours from hell for your nerves. He noticed how you were unsteady on your feet after your third drink, the hors d’ouvres not being enough to stave off the alcohol on your otherwise empty stomach. But you would never admit you were feeling anything less than perfect, ecstatic even—but really just fine. But Bradley likes to think he had you figured out by then. So the moment it was appropriate, like a good fiancé should, he bundled you out of the stuffy academic after-party and to a large order of fries and a peanut butter milkshake.

“Yeah.” You confirm. “Let’s do something easy for dinner, though?” You dread how late it already probably is, and having to start dinner will eat into your time with Bradley tonight. 

“How about I just make us some grilled cheese?” He offers, picking up on your anxious thoughts. “You go freshen up, chill out and pick a movie for us.”

“I’m sorry for falling asleep and making you miss out on the homemade dinner I promised.” You mumble guilty. 

“I’m not missing out on anything.” Bradley counters immediately. “I don’t care about dinner, I care about spending time with my wife.”

You chuckle as you look up at his handsome, grinning face.

“And I make a mean grilled cheese, wouldn’t you agree?”

“The best.” You smile back. 

Throughout the evening, it’s like the fog of tiredness just won’t lift. You struggle to keep your eyes open as you watch a movie together, the grilled cheese heavy on your stomach.

Bradley is peeling a tangerine, plucking the white threads off the flesh carefully before feeding you the slices. He is pretty convinced you are getting sick, so extra vitamins can only help.

You think a good night’s sleep, cuddled up to your toasty warm husband, is all you need to feel better. But you are not going to complain about Bradley taking care of you, especially when he’s so good at it.

As you predicted, you feel better in the morning. Giggling, you pull Bradley into the shower with you. He fussed over you last night, so it’s only fair you show him exactly how much you appreciate it. Any protest from him dies away the moment you sink down to your knees, his rapidly hardening cock sliding into your wet, warm mouth. 

After that, you are both hurrying out of the house, travel mug of coffee in your hand. You blow Bradley a kiss as you slide into your little compact car (which Bradley still thinks you should upgrade to something he considers safer), as he gets into his Bronco with a wink. He has a safety brief this afternoon, which always runs late, so that means he’ll be home late. But he will be home, and you will be awake for it, even if it means drinking the Pentagon’s entire supply of coffee.

As you pull away, heading north towards D.C., you reach for your travel mug. Bradley made coffee this morning as you tried your best to dry your absolutely sodden hair. As you hold it up, and gently blow through the opening, you realize it smells… off.

It smells like coffee. Without a doubt. But it doesn’t smell good. Can coffee go off? Surely, but that pack you have a home is fresh. Bradley makes good coffee, you doubt he fucked something up. But why does it smell so nasty?

Maybe you’re just being weird this morning. Carefully, you take a sip. As the hot liquid hits your tongue, you realize without a doubt: you are going to throw up.

You force yourself to swallow, accepting how uncomfortably your stomach churns. Fuck. Taking the nearest exit to a gas station, you pull into a parking spot and immediately throw open your door, unclicking your seatbelt.

You breathe heavily as you limply hang from your driver’s side door, but nothing comes out. Sitting back up, the smell of coffee is suddenly overpowering. You need to get it out of here.

You dump the contents of your travel mug in the grass next to your parked car, the soft breeze mercifully carrying the heavy smell away. Taking a second you catch your breath, you dig out a pack of chewing gum for your bag. The minty taste erases the acrid taste of coffee from your mouth, and settles your squirming stomach.

Right. So you’ll just have water today. 

You fire off a text to Bradley. “Bb, is there something wrong with the coffee?”

You know he won’t reply for a while, but there’s no hurry. For today, you’ve gone off coffee anyway.

Bradley confirms his coffee was fine, and that your travel mug was freshly washed that morning. You try not to dwell on it, deciding it was probably a fluke. Maybe it’s a stomach bug? At work, the smell of coffee doesn’t actually bother you, but you still decide not to have any. Just in case. You used to live really close, and could be home in no time, but now you have to drive for almost an hour to get home. Not something you’d like to do when nauseous. 

When you get home, you can’t stop yourself from inspecting the bag of coffee like some sort of maniac. It doesn’t smell off, it’s not past it’s best by date, it looks completely normal. Your mug doesn’t smell weird, either. 

What the actual fuck?

In the next few days, you feel fine. You’re still tired, but you tell yourself it’s not more or less than usual. Your days at work are long, your weekends are busy finishing up things about the house, shopping, chores. You’re bound to feel tired, right?

Bradley eyes you wearily as you hurriedly clamp a hand over your mouth when you pass a fish restaurant on your evening out that Friday, the smell hits you so strongly you think you might pass out. He isn’t bothered by you not being able to stay awake through a movie anymore, but it’s the sudden, quite frankly bizarre reactions to food that concern him. 

First it was coffee, then potato salad, sweet and sour noodles, even peanut butter—you suddenly turn white as a sheet, practically dry heaving from just the smell, barely able to even look at the food.

You keep insisting you’re fine, that it will pass, you never liked potato salad to begin with, it just needs a few days, and then you smile that brilliant smile of yours. Nothing to worry about. But Bradley worries.

On Sunday night, he goes to a Korean barbecue place with fellow aviators—you excuse yourself from the evening, feeling too tired. Bradley tucks you into bed with your laptop, promising not to be late and let him know if he can pick you up anything.

“I’m fine, really.” You say between kisses. “I just really need to catch up on sleep.”

“I worry about you, darlin’.” Bradley looks at you pensively. 

“I know.” You smile up at him. “If I’m not better by next week, I’ll go to a doctor.” “Promise?” His lips hover over yours.

“Promise.” You press a final kiss on his lips.

You fall asleep before the first episode of the show you started watching (have been sleeping through?) is over. You don’t hear Bradley come home. You barely stir when the mattress dips under his weight as he leans over you. It’s only when his face is close to yours, pressing a kiss on your temple with a quiet “I’m home”, your senses are absolutely assaulted by the pungent stench of alcohol and barbecue coming off him.

You shoot up so quickly you nearly fall off the bed, not sparing a second look for a completely bewildered Bradley, still kneeling on the bed, as you sprint towards the bathroom, barely making it in time to the toilet, before the contents of your stomach splash against the porcelain.

Bradley has witnessed women having some strong reactions to him. Hell, you’ve had absolutely buckwild reactions to him, ranging from trying to punch him to almost fucking him through the wall of your new house. But never—absolutely never—has anyone reacted to him by violently throwing up.

He’s almost too stunned to move until he hears your cries echo from the bathroom. Bradley hurries to the bathroom but stops dead in his tracks in the doorway. You are crouched down, hunched over at the toilet bowl, hand clamped over your eyes as sobs wrack your body. 

“Darlin’...” He trails off, worried. You cough loudly, uncovering your eyes and pressing the back of your hand against your mouth. Finally, you look at him, your face tear-stained and eyes bloodshot.

“Bradley… I feel so sick.” Your voice is raw, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

He starts to walk to you, reaching out to you, but you motion him back, waving your hand urgently.

“Please… please.” 

Bradley stops again, completely unsure of what to do now. He wants to comfort you and help you, but you don’t want him close.

“You smell like barbecue.” You utter weakly, feeling completely defeated and embarrassed to hell. What kind of fucking reaction is that? To Bradley, no less. Yes, food has been setting you off, but it hasn’t made you throw up, never mind so suddenly and violently. You would have rather vomited in the middle of the street at this point than in reaction to your own husband.

Flushing the toilet, rest your eyes against the heels of your hands, letting yourself fall back on your ass. You hear rustling from Bradley moving around, his footsteps going back and forth. Curiosity wins out over your embarrassment as you peek over your fingers to see what he is doing.

While you are wallowing in self-pity and embarrassment on the bathroom floor, Bradley started to strip off his clothes—he’s just now pulling his shirt over his head, throwing it out the bathroom door into the laundry room across the hall.

The moment you mentioned the smell, Bradley felt like slapping himself. He was so preoccupied with checking up on you, he didn’t think of taking a shower first, not realizing the barbecue smell would wake you up. Like that no less. He wants to help you, hold you, and it’s driving him crazy that you’re sitting there on the floor, and he can’t come near you.

Shrugging off his jeans and sending them sailing out the door, he hops on one leg to take off his socks. Bradley finally notices you looking at him, knees pulled up, head leaning on your hand. He stops. Your face still looks pale and drawn, but he thinks there’s the smallest of smiles on your face.

“Don’t stop on my account.” You joke, voice still raw. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

Bradley chuckles. Of course, you bounce back quickly. He loves that about you. And he never doubted your resilience—you power through most things with a smile on your face—but that same resilience comes with a special brand of pigheadedness.  

He turns on the shower to warm it up.

“You coming to supervise?” He jokes back as he slips off his underwear, balls it up, and throws it outside before closing the bathroom door and turning on the fan. He hears you giggle. Good. A much better reaction to him than crying and throwing up.

Bradley makes sure to lather up liberally and scrub his skin and hair to get rid of every bit of food smell that still lingers on him. Rinsing off, he turns back to you, wiping the fog off the glass. You are brushing your teeth, back to the sink, eyes roaming over him appreciatively. 

“Will there be an inspection, Dr. Bradshaw?” He asks, mischievous grin on his face as he sticks his head out of the shower. He cannot get enough of calling you that—he liked you just as much as Miss Williams, or Dr. Williams, and now as Dr. Bradshaw-Williams. But secretly, he likes Dr. Bradshaw best.

“Brush your teeth, lieutenant commander, and I might consider it.” You reply, mouth full of toothpaste.

Turning off the shower, Bradley dries off before wrapping the towel around his waist. You are rinsing your mouth as he steps out.

Gingerly he walks up to you and runs his fingers over your back lightly. When you turn to him, he finally sees you up close, it’s clear how tired you still must be. As soon as the adrenaline from feeling intensely sick died down, exhaustion settled back onto you like a heavy blanket. You look up at him with bleary eyes, stifling a yawn.

“Go lie down darlin’.” He tells you warmly. “I’ll be with you soon.”

“Better be ready for inspection.” You yawn, a smile tugging at your lips. Bradley doesn’t reply but just taps your butt playfully. Entire body heavy, you make your way back to the bedroom. You collapse back onto your side of the bed, not even pulling the covers back over yourself. 

Already dozing and your stomach finally settled, you feel how Bradley climbs into bed with you and pulls the covers over your body. He smells so good now, you happily wrap yourself around him. Your lips immediately go to Bradley's—the minty toothpaste that still lingers is making you feel even better.

Bradley cradles your face in his hands.

“Promise me you’re seeing a doctor tomorrow.” He implores you, voice soft, but urgent.

“I promise.” You nod.

“No more ‘I’m fine’—call in sick if you have to.” Bradley sounds so serious, you feel ashamed you’ve been putting it off for the whole week. This isn’t going to go away on its own, and you’ve been making him worry. That was really the last thing you wanted, which was exactly why you kind of kept brushing it off.

“I’m sorry.” You sigh, dejectedly, as you cast your eyes away from his intense gaze. 

“You don’t have to apologize, sweetheart.” He tells you gently, brushing his nose against yours. You look back up at him again—his eyes are so soft and warm, it’s melting your insides. When Bradley looks at you like that, with so much love, he makes you feel like the center of the universe.

“I just want you to be okay.” He concludes with a kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

note | Yes, it's truly the last Bradley and Darcy story. But to celebrate 300 followers, I decided to make it a two-parter ✨ Read part 2 here.

taglist | @ponyboys-sunsets | @thatchickwiththecamera | @littlewhiterose | @katieshook02 | @straightforwardly | @zazzysseoul | @rororo06 | @datingbtr | @notalxx | @fresh-new-yoik-watah | @gretagerwigsmuse  | @swthxrry | @joshkiskasbunion | @caelipartem | @blackbrownie | @yanak324 | @unluckymonaghan | @letusbewildflowers | @ticklish-leafy-plant | @alana4610 | @eg-dr3amer3 | @turningtoclown | @mell-bell | @mak-32 | @avis15 | @helplesslydevoted | @benhardysdrumstick | @chaoticversion | @cherrycola27 | @roosterschanelslut

[eshtaresht]

guys how are we feeling? in pain, devastated, or screaming crying throwing up, what's the consensus here? spoilers for ep 11 under the cut (and minor spoiler for manga)

first things first, my theory from the last week is proven wrong. still don't know what the red plants were for (safekeeping? protecting from the last run?), but nai ain't gonna exploit them to "fix" vash. instead he EXPLOITS HIM AND SUBJECTS TO MENTAL TURTURE AND WIPES HIS MEMORIES CLEAN TO ACCES A HIGHER DIMENSION and create more independent babies ig

(yep the plant mpreg moment is sure a thing... for the next week, get ready for mass abortion)

finally, a gate that's an actual GATE. I think the plants lore was pretty self explanatory, but I'm so happy we're getting it and it's much more comprehensive that the manga, even(and 98' anime basically didn't explain anything and I had to spoil myself through fandom wiki to understand who vash and knives were). like, it's changed A LOT but it's in the same lane

this knives is so capable, holy shit!! everyone was already joking that he would put kniveses of the past to shame, and it's so true... he knows what he wants and how he wants it done and when he just goes ahead and does it. what a giga chad, honestly

I'm a bit disappointed they didn't keep the manga version of knives pre-tessla (that was softer than vash and wanted humans to like him), but it's definetely better than the old anime. like, he's colder due to him being the stronger twin, but he's still playful and doesn't hate ppl. he kinda distrusts rem, but they fucked around out of curiosity rather than malice. also, and I can't be the only one who noticed, his file name said "kni"? mmm ok interesting I'll have to think about it

that probably was the sequence code knives was talking about in ep 8, he used it again for the great fall. I wonder what it said, had to be something important to rem that vash could guess. geranium? their birthday?

the tessla sequence was quite short, but DAMN. status: alive. after all they've done to her. they put her on ice in this condition so they can keep studying her later. and the twins made her come alive. I'm gonna be sick it's so much worse..... no comas or suicide attempts this time, but these kids were still traumatized as hell (vash looks worse, like he haven't slept or probably eaten in a couple of days)

it was a serious moment but when nai revealed he was reading THE BIBLE I can't ahajakahajajahah... like, NO WONDER HE STARTED A RELIGION omg... pls put that book down you've got the message wrong

and or birthday boy vash... oh babygirl I'm so sorry. when I said I wanted to see him going through this I didn't mean a literal mental torture gaslight dimension!!! like, it's SO crucial to his character to REMEMBER all the good and terrible things he went through.... to have it taken away while he can't do anything, even when he clings to the memories as hard as he can, knives still takes EVERYTHING away from him, until he's the only thing tying vash to this world.

again, any other knives could never! and even before tearing apart all those memories, he gaslights vash even further, saying that he did the fall for him (which is true) and so it's basically his fault (which is very much not true)... and this BREAKS him quite literally... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

on a brighter note, loved that goofy meryl & nico interaction, remember, when we could still laugh? now it seems like meryl is gonna manage to reach vash in his infinite soup of despair, and that breaks his gate?? I'm so thrilled for the finale it's not at all like I imagined already said this in my previous post, but the flowers are a consistent theme for stampede instead of angels and, like... it's just makes sense for a plant to be a plant, yk. also it's pretty. july is already being destroyed by the roots, I wonder if that's gonna be it or there'll be a big kaboom (in this case it would be hard for meryl to survive, but potentially vash could make a root cacoon to protect her)

also this ep gets bonus points for showing what's going on in the city with the police guys and civilians, 'cause usually stampede isn't great at background and side characters

now making theories about the (potential) second season. amnesia aspect is getting established rlly hard rn! the only question is whether vash gets to remember key moments (like rem, meryl, wolfwood) or if he only retains the vibes of "someone important who said I shoud protect ppl". because it's gonna be interesting if he forgets everyone completely and when nico and meryl (and milly, fingers crossed) eventially find him, he''s like "hi, have we met?"

oh, the POTENTIAL! I think he's gonna get his 98' characterization as super goofy, borderline annoying, because he just doesn't remember all the pain! at least, he doesn't remember the details and fills the blanks with astonishing amounts of cope. and when he's finally able to remember, oh boy, he's gonna crumble.......

[bolontiku]

"FUBAR"

Avengers AU - Chapter 1

Characters: Brock Rumlow, OC!Reaper, Jack Rollins, others mentioned

Posted: July 12th

WARNINGS: Canon typical violence, cursing, guns, knives, aliens, tagged per chapter

A/N: yup a new one. I might be a little obsessed with him. Anyhow, couldn't stop thinking of "Save Her" and this was born. No idea where it's gonna go but...

Like, Comments, & Reblogs are always appreciated and loved.

**Please Do Not Repost or 'Fix' My Work**

Read On Ao3

They had worked with other teams before.

More often than not they had been the ones to clean up after them and drag them out of alien infested FUBAR situations.

Brock's strike team was made up of five.

Jack: second in command, communications, reliable

Elliott: jack of all trades, the guy was the second MacGyver.

Kevin: medic and their personal miracle

Joshua: demolition and explosives expert

Ben: sniper

What else did he need?

They didn't need anyone else, they worked perfectly together.

*

*

It was the millionth op out, two teams had gone into the HYDRA facility, the Avengers would be in next but his team had been closer. Jack had nodded agreeing they should go in.

How else could they collect a paycheck?

They were four floors down when they found themselves backed into a corner. "These things stink-"

"Sulfur," Brock bit out.

"Great, fucking demons?" Ben's voice rasped.

"Too many coming in–"

"Elliot?"

"Just a hit to the head, good thing he was wearing his helmet," Kevin supplied, still kneeling next to the larger man.

"This isn't gonna be pretty," Ben said.

"How far out are those damn Avengers?" Brock asked, gun up at the ready.

"Fifteen minutes," Jack supplied.

"Shhhh," Brock hushed and the group went silent. He sucked in slow precise breaths, watching as the enemy came around the corner, the same way they had come only to find this dead end.

Ben had been right, Brock noted as the ugly creatures entered, claws clanking against the flooring and wings fluttering out behind them. They snapped at each other, chattering, and glancing around. Brock itched, body tense, he knew the fight was gonna be hard, he would be surprised if they survived fifteen minutes.

He signaled to those behind him, Jack inches from him, that their enemy was making their way closer.

As the group closed in on their position he was ready to move– but Brock saw a body come flying from above them, he briefly remembered why they were here- two previous teams had entered the HYDRA base as he watched the fully masked agent slam into the body of one demon, knives sinking into the back of its neck with satisfying squelch.

"Contact–"

"REAPER!! REAPER GET THE FUCK BcACK HERE!!" came a booming voice.

"Get out of here–" the agent cried, the demon they crouched on blindly reached back as its legs buckled under it, the agent dug their knees in before managing to straighten and kick off as another swiped where they had been, the demon under them slamming into the ground, the fully geared agent slamming into another body and stabbed blindly.

"FUBAR," Brock breathed as he watched this rogue agent wreak havoc, ugly demons scattering from the grouping as the small body ducked under a swipe of claws. Jack chuckled beside him. "Jack on me, Joshua keep an eye out," he felt the men nod before he stepped out gun raised, shots firing off and echoing through the room. He kept an eye on their new friend and made his way out, Jack came up beside him, both of them dropping their guns and switching to hand to hand when in close range, Brock came to a halt staring down at the young man that had so recklessly come flying out. Vibrant green eyes stared up at him in bewilderment. Did he even know they had been there?

"The fuck did y'all come from?" came the distorted voice from behind the mask, they shook their head suddenly, "doesn't matter– time to go!"

"STRIKE TEAM MOVE IT!" He shouted out.

Green eyes widened as they watched his team come barreling out. "A team of five?"

"Avengers inbound," Jack bit out.

There were two teams, just not the full roster.

Brock met the lead for the second, keeping an eye on the short guy that hurried to where the squad was grouped.

"Pollaki," he said by way of introduction.

"Rumlow, quite a handful you got there." Brock nodded at the kid, Jack snorted behind him, knowing for Brock to say such a thing meant he had been somewhat impressed.

Pollaki nodded, "that's Reaper," he paused, eyes flicking over Brock's team, "they're gonna need a new home. Just two of my team made it out– I'm headed out for retirement," he added with a bone weary sigh.

Brock squared his shoulders.

Jack leaned into him, "could use a good fighter. He handled himself well enough."

"He's insane," Brock bit out.

Pollaki shrugged, "Just an offer, the kid will likely end up with Fredericksburg."

Brock growled at the name, he knew that idiot and glanced at the kid that had literally given them an opening to get out. Shock of green hair looked out from over the top of their gaiter mask, helmet having been pulled off. He watched the kid follow a teammate into the safe zone the medics had set up. "I'll put in for the kid, what's his name?" Fredericksburg would get the kid killed and replace him in days, Brock could at least look into it.

Pollaki looked surprised but grinned, "call 'em Reaper, I'll get the paperwork started once we get back to base, have it done in a few days."

[luvwich]

2023 in review

(for real this time)

the short version: i started writing fanfic this year. it's been lovely. i've written two longfics with some spinoffs, all collected into two series, plus a one-shot. i wrote 242,000 words.

91.9 Royal Blue is Valerie and River being angsty idiots

Hypercritical is Vania and Tiny Mike being angsty idiots

and Red-black is an ultra-short oneshot about Songbird; no idiots, just angst

this is also my first time even engaging in a fandom in this way, and i've been delighted to become acquainted with you tumblr folks. i'll echo the sentiment i see a lot: that even if all we've done is reblog each other a few times with blathering tags, i see you as a friend, and you have done me an enrichment.

much longer version under the cut:

before this year, my only experience writing any kind of fiction was roleplaying - ages and ages ago, but something of an illustrious career, looking back. it was actually not bad practice when it came to flowery description, dialogue, and characterization. it was horrible preparation on the matter of actually constructing a plot.

then i saw River Ward's arms and realized i needed to figure out how to do plot, and quick!

Arpeggio

so like many of us, i thought river was dreamy and his quests totally unsatisfying. i also saw someone shit-talking River somewhere complain that their corpo V would never want to hang out with river because he’s an unemployed cop living with his sister, blah blah blah classist tripe, don’t get me started, but it did get me started thinking about what it would look like for a bitchy corpo V and river to fall in love. Valerie sprang from that; Arpeggio sprang from Valerie.

hi, Valerie.

so, i thought i just wanted to write a steamy river ward romance that was more satisfying than the meatless canon plot. it turns out i wanted to write an ode to everything wrong about myself, and to every shitty relationship i've had, and to death and loss. it happens. here's how it starts:

Thwap-bap! Synleather on synleather: two strong, clean hits to the punching bag. Thwapbapbap. A sandstorming morning, or afternoon — hard to keep track of time with the sun hidden and the world bathed in rust. Days like this you couldn’t even see the skyline out there; all you had was a twenty-foot radius, and within that you could imagine yourself just about anywhere. River had always kind of enjoyed the storms for that reason.

i pumped out the first eleven chapters in like a month (?!), posting as i went, from late march through april. i was shocked to get even one reader, and didn't get a lot more than that for a long while. then i fell off for a little while due to work. but then i received a single, innocent comment asking when the next chapter would be posted, and that was apparently enough to make another thirteen chapters fly out of me just in june and july.

around then i hit what i think of as the third and final "act" of Arpeggio, and the wind fell out of my sails again. i'd hit the 100k mark, had no idea if anyone was even reading it, and convinced myself the last ten chapters i'd posted were garbage and everyone had fallen off. i still loved my story & my characters, i was bursting with ideas, but felt the sudden pressure of needing to wrap everything up in a way that did justice to my vision and didn't waste anyone's time who'd bothered to read that far.

as with everything in my life, i had only the vaguest idea of how i was going to get to where i was going. i decided to batten down the hatches and actually try to plan how to get there, which slowed my pace some.

i also decided to start something new, with the express purpose of giving myself something light-hearted, sexy, and most importantly way the fuck shorter than Arpeggio to work on while i was finishing up the latter. i'd limit myself to ten chapters. i'd keep the plot tight and focused. there'd be a lot of fucking. yay! and a big part of the intent was to "prove to myself" that i could finish something. and so i started on:

Jaded

Arpeggio featured Tiny Mike as a fling, and it was played for awkwardness and absurdity, but i found him really fun to write. i had also just started a new playthrough with a new V (still a corpo — i'm really just a particular kind of bitch, truth be told), so i thought i'd throw her into some mischief.

hi Vania.

if Valerie is the parts of me that suck and are chaotic, Vania is all the scared and cute parts.

man, look at them!! *throws them both in the bug zapper*

i managed to finish Jaded in the space of about a month, from july-august. i thought it turned out wicked fun, and clicking "post" on that final chapter gave me a taste of satisfaction and accomplishment that was enough to see me through to the end of Arpeggio.

here's an excerpt from the first chapter.

Sundays always mean something. They mean something even to a dropout merc who hasn't seen the inside of a house of God in years. The last time Mike had been to church, the price of a can of ChroManticore was in the single-digit eurodollars. Even so, Sunday's no day to spend propped against a bathtub that's coated with a half inch of unidentified bio-pudding, no day to spend wheezing at death's doorstep, no day to be wondering where the smell of yourself ends and the smell of the squalid safehouse begins. Sundays are for family, beers, cleaning your guns. Not this shit.

then PL came out and i wrote a quick oneshot about Songbird.

Red-black

i could easily write more about Red-black than there are actual words in the thing, but i won't. it's a bittersweet 69 sesh with a cyborg. it's about betrayal and bodies. i'm pleased with it. i might expand on it one day, but to be frank, i don't think i can write extensively about Songbird in a way the character deserves without my life being in a way darker place than it is right now. so if you see me add a second chapter to this fic, maybe check in on me.

i finished Arpeggio in october, seven months after i started posting it. 154,347 words. i like how it turned out. i've finally stopped going back to make tweaks (although just the other day i was re-reading a chapter and was like what the fuck is this word choice? what did i even mean here? and i changed it, so i guess that was a lie. Valerie is based on me, folks!).

i'm proud of it and everything else i've written, even in moments when all i can see is flaws upon re-reading. some people read it all the way through, which is wild to me! some of them even say they liked it! world's a crazy place.

here's an excerpt from toward the end.

Wind gathered over the churning Pacific to chap her lips and ruin her hair, snarling it like the waves which crashed the battered wood. Soft gusts billowed through her jacket, touched the base of her spine, and reminded her that everything was so very enormous, and that she was yet alive, and that a great spirit ruled this ocean and always had. This is lovely, Johnny said, resting an unreal hand on her shoulder. But we gotta get back to work, princess. “Yeah. Well, let’s go check out some shops, first.”

in 2024 i probably won't write as many words, but i have a few things planned:

more Vania: Crescent & Redwood is an ongoing sequel to Jaded and a fix-it for one of the PL endings

weatherman says there's an 85% chance of more Tiny Mike porn appearing under Fixer-uppers (and obviously a 100% chance of it in Crescent)

more Valerie: i have some more Val and Riv plotted out — mostly casefics and slices of life — but i need to be in a real fucking mood to write her these days

a really quite raunchy romp with President Myers is almost done baking

i have a Solomon Reed ditty on the backburner

who the fuck knows

anyway, even if all you've read of my writing was a snippet or two i've shared on tumblr, thanks so much for reading. seeya in '24.

[zero-braincells-left]

..hey, im cleaning my room for real this time, that’s good! (yeag this ends up being a vent post cause i stumbled upon some silly things)

i never noticed how close together July and august are. one month im having my birthday party with all my friends, next month they won’t even talk to me, haha.

i found a bag from the party, and the card my old best friend wrote. almost like a tribute to everything she’s seen of me and I’ve seen of her. “2021 was a hard year for everyone, but you got me through it. you have been getting me through it.” that’s fucking sweet. she’s been there for me too. but i pretty much skimmed over it that day

so much for that? and that was just a fucking month before i lost that friend group holyyyy shit.

also we went go-karting, but forgot to give out the 1st 2nd and 3rd place metals before everyone had to leave. my mom just said i could give them out next time we met up somewhere, probably at the mall again.

that meetup never happened and now it.. never will. that’s fucked up man how did i get myself into thisssss

[oriley42]

Ahhh I just finished The Marrying Kind and it's amazing!!! I have many questions about missing scenes or alternate paths but I'll keep it to one question first: what would have happened do you think, if Julie hadn't been at Cuddy and Stacy's wedding when Wilson had his epiphany?

hello anon, thank you so much!

ho ho ho, let's see... well, my first thought is also House's first thought, which is that after the tarantula clean-up, he would've snatched Wilson up to go make out in the bathroom (*cue Cuddy coming through the door with an axe, The Shining style*) EXCEPT that House may not have felt confident making himself vulnerable (re: having evidence of Feelings) by making a move, and Wilson may have been too shaky (re: recent revelations of love) to make a move of his own. Without the mix of both time and abruptness (Wilson needs time to think things through, House needs things to happen fast before he can overthink them), they definitely wouldn't have got to ~marriage~ any time soon in this universe, I don't think.

In which case, Wilson might have gone home to work through his revelation/his divorce/the relationship between his revelation and his divorce, while House would probably default to his classic of waiting until Wilson was sad and desperate enough to show up like a whimpering puppy on his doorstep. I think House would have been very pleased by the symmetry of getting Wilson post-Sam and post-Bonnie, and the evidence that Wilson would Always Come Back to him, but it also would have put their relationship back in the place of almost-maybe-sort-of-cheating (depending on Wilson's separation status) which def makes him feel unhappy and second-place.

And Wilson...whew, that guy. I think soooo often of kingfag's post and agree entirely, which means the question becomes: is Wilson in his "grimly aware" of House-feelings phase or has he managed to sneak back into repression mode, in this case, all wrapped up in being a Twice Divorced Man? The latter case would be a bummer, but also might give them both time to actually...just hang out. Maybe try the living together thing again for a while. Basically be dating ("we're not dating, we're not high schoolers, fuck off. Also, pass the popcorn and hold my hand, this is the scary part of the movie.") while not *actually* dating (Schrödinger's fuckbuddy may be the technical term). Whereas if Wilson has actually processed his 'oh fuck I'm in love-love with House' epiphany, then he might start trying to Make House Also Acknowledge Feelings, which could go very badly. House might kick and try to run (hard to do from his own apartment), but especially if Wilson had laid some ground work/gotten Stacy to do a little feeling out of the terrain for him, maybe he could have the Feelings and Commitment conversation without having to handcuff House to the radiator.

But cuffing House to the radiator would certainly be more fun ;)

[returntosaturn271995]

Saturday, August 10th: A sentence or two for the last 11 days- because the faintest of ink is better than the best memory

God once offered me perfect breasts or a perfect memory- I forget which one I chose.

All jokes aside- here's a vague social calendar for August so far. The vibes have been immaculate but could use some of the basic organization and self-discipline I occasionally dabble in.

Wednesday, July 31st: Ran 4 miles, made Keith schnitzel before he headed off to Vegas

Thursday, August 1st: I honestly can't find any evidence this day even happened, which is ironic because the quote I wrote down for it was "accountability is power". I assume I paid some bills, which is nice.

Friday, August 2nd: Haley, Monika and I went out drinking and dining downtown at Lumi and I lost my car keys like a fucking idiot. Didn't let it ruin the night though. I wore a hot pink dress with a gold clasp in the front and Monika wore a crop top to distract from her peg leg- it's giving pirate wench chic.

Saturday, August 3rd: Got my car keys back! A very annoyed uber driver delivered them unto me. Thanks Tile! All the fake nails I pressed on fell off. Went on a long walk with Maddy in a baby blue outfit to get smoothies. Posted on IG: "Is there a clean girl aesthetic where two showers later your eye-makeup is still on?". Made a peach and goat cheese pizza while Keith sent me filthy texts from Vegas.

Sunday, August 4th: According to my to-do list, I walked to my car and incurred the wrath of newly purchased vans blistering my heels. (Nate actually noticed my car across from his house because it's beat up, 25 years old, a BMW and not at all a metaphor for my life). I wiped down the bathroom and my dressers and took out the trash. Keith came over and we grabbed sushi in PB, the waiter winked too much. I wore a graphic tee, black slip dress, and carried cherry red handbag.

Monday, August 5th: Finished House of The Dragon, read, caught up on the news, and made Keith and I tomato basil pasta with breadcrumbs and parmesan. Kirby called asking to hang out, apparently he's doesn't want the current girl he's dating to be his gf, is it wrong that I'm oddly relieved?

Tuesday, August 6th: For lunch I made myself spicy quesadillas with sour cream. Then after some mild peer pressure I went out to the ball game AKA the VOLO team that so far has broken Monika's ankle and Brielle's arm in three places. We just sat there, drank wine, and DJed. After some swift losing, we went to the Old Town Saloon afterwards and Keith ended up joining us. Turns out he knows Eli from a business lunch in SF years ago. The world is tiny. Keith and I ended up getting Taco Bell and I introduced him to the Cheesy Gordita Crunch.

Wednesday, August 7th: Canceled my plans because holy fuck was I tired. I made some black bean and veggie stuffed peppers, cleaned the kitchen, read, grocery shopped, started birth control, and took a very nice shower.

Thursday, August 8th: Kirby came over for fried chicken sandwiches and the sunset at Wind and Sea. Wore a white denim dress and he took photos of me at golden hour. I gave him some books I thought he'd like: Mathew Perry's autobiography and David Sedaris's "Naked". He asked if I ever gave back his sunglasses. "No." I lied. Then I changed in to my, "Play Something Emo" shirt, Keith came over, and we watched the beginning of the final season of The Umbrella Academy. Our Chemical Romance.

Friday, August 9th: A lot of sleeping with vivid dreams. Not sure what any of it means or why I can go down so hard. Factory re-set. Kind of nice. Keith texted to let me know that he paid for an elderly women's flowers in line at the grocery store (where he was probably buying Kombucha or a twisted tea), but she welled up and said thank you. I believe that he did it, there's something romantic and generous to his character- even if he's still kind of a douche in a bunch of other ways. Why must people have layers??

Saturday, August 10th: I woke up ready. Threw on my yellow work out set, did some skincare, and the walked to grab breakfast supplies for the week. I took my meds, went on the briefest of runs (it all counts!), and meditated on pattern interruption. Why stumbles don't have to become falls. I did the laundry while watching My Lady Jane, began planning next week, and ate at home. Bonnie's second baby was born, a girl named Solvei ("Sunny" if she ends up cheerful). Tala's reaction to having a baby sister? "I'm so mad right now, cause I love my baby so much".

That's a she wrote, folks! For now.

[sunnisurrealism]

Hi Timmy. Okay I’m realizing how ridiculous it’s getting that I still make endless posts on this account everyday and it’s not that much different than messaging the finsta but at least I can’t send voice notes! That shit is so exhausting af.

Our Secret Garden party is starting in about an hour! I still need to clean my room (too many clothes fml 😔 how many tennis skirts can a gal have? I have like 15 literally) and do my makeup and then… wear my magic Disney dress for Sunnï! I just wanted to let you know that Jacob is coming to the party but I have absolutely no interest in the slightest hooking up with him. You might see pictures of him on the grams. I know you might be in Europe and that by the time you read this it may have happened. Your emotional well being is my priority in life and I don’t want you to have anxiety EVER. Idk if he permanently moved back or if he’s traveling again, but I just feel the utmost importance to let you know that I am fully one hundred billion % committed to you and he annoys me anyways 😅 he didn’t even listen when I read him the TFBOD! trust me my king, you do not need to worry. One day I might feel comfortable kissing someone, but if I do it’ll probably be a girl just for fun, and when I’d close my eyes I’d pretend it’s you 😅 my heart is still aching hella from the past few months tbh, like recovering from water of life equivalent shit, and it feels very very closed apart from imaging us hooking up when I listen to the lucid podcast. Depending on my mood sometimes I still have a hard time even there, but again please understand it’s not personal. Again it’s like Nic at rock bottom he wouldnt want to make out. Sometimes I’m sad and just need cuddles. And I will tell you tho I will always in any mood appreciate forehead kisses because they make me feel healed and protected. Other times when I lose myself imagining us kissing I’ve found my body is… nvm. Hehe. You are always so kind and gentle and talk to me with Willy’s demeanor 😍 imagine if Willy as a man was on his boat with his mom and saw on the River bank Sunnï. I feel like he would approach her with immense kindness and curiosity. And she would instantly be hella friendly and keen back, for obvious reasons 😍 anyways those are the vibes I feel. I’m gunna delete all of this one day don’t worry and for other people reading this like MB or Grimes maybe Elon I’m sorry for the tmi. Idk what I’m doing!

This is so how I imagine you listening to me rant all about all the shit 😅 I LAV LAV LAV u MY TIMMY😍😍😍

(Ps. I really wish you could give me a deep butt massage rn cuz I think I pushed myself a lil too hard in my workout yesterday and my glutes fucking hurt. I can’t find my roller! It’s going to be just my dad and I for like 5 nights at Assinaboine before our family and friends come up, I think it’ll be some good healing time low key, not that anything is that bad. Glad we are helicoptering and not hiking, I don’t think my body is ready considering how sore I am today. Going to be away July 28th to August 5th, I hope you look forward to your break from me! Still figuring out how and if I’ll retire this tumblr. Idk what I’m doing!)

[diarydialect]

hey y'all (by y'all i mean the bugs in the carpet because nobody reads these shitty confessions)

my last post was 10 minutes before he texted me to say "i think it's better if we stay friends" and that he wants me to promise me that i won't hurt myself. (yeah right okay bud lmao)

needless to say, i relapsed.. hard. i was a wreck and couldn't even look at him the next day i saw him. oh and that day? it was his fucking birthday. i had to pull myself out of bed, pretend i wanted to live, walk past his huge birthday present, and force myself to walk through the dark doors of that horrible school. all without breaking down. he never got his gift.

i was so unstable and would reread our texts constantly. i was so obsessed with that asshole that i would spell his name in my blood so that i could forget about him by the time it soaked into my skin.

i was just starting to get over him and i was clean from cutting for 39 days, i was finally starting to like myself and not care about what anyone else thought.

then i go back to see my mom. her and her husband are arguing daily, my poor baby siblings sit there and listen to it, and all i could do was imagine them ending up just like me.

i told my therapist i felt empty and like there was nothing left for me. she told me that she isn't equipped to deal with patients who self harm and she's threatening to abandon me just like everyone else.

my dad tells me i'm overreacting to everything that happens. i don't think i react at all. i couldn't cry over a dead pet, why would i overreact to someone breathing loudly? (he was right, i "overreacted" because i'm an asshole who hates her family and needs everything to go my way. definitely not because of sensory issues and the fact that everyone pisses me off)

i fucking lost it when i saw a picture of my loving and ever-so-charming boyfriend and another girl sitting under the fireworks and doing everything we used to do. hug, hold hands, lean on each other, everything that made me so happy two months ago. i remembered everything he did to me and freaked out. i started relapsing every day, sometimes every couple hours. it hurt so bad but i couldn't take it out on the people who hurt me so i had to do it to myself.

i still feel so empty and even my best friends can only temporarily fix me (and it doesn't even feel real when i laugh with them)

but i'm 14 now so that's great, happy birthday adelaide/alexandra/whatever the fuck you think you are right now

11:46 pm - saturday, july 6th, 2024

[fragileswift1313]

Saul!

Kia ora, team!

Welcome to July! We are officially half-way through 2023, which feels bonkers to say because it feels like it’s been so much longer than that since the beginning of the pandemic, and yet somehow like time is flying. I don’t know about you all, but I am really starting to feel my age. 😅

Okay so: I had a random idea for a guy when I woke up on Saturday morning, so before I did anything like take my medication or eat breakfast, I sat down at my computer and wrote 2000 words about the guy, his girlfriend, and some people he knows. It’s not finished, and to be honest I’m not really sure where it’s going, but I had fun writing about Saul and his daily life. The more I wrote, the more I realised he is kind of based on someone I’ve known for a long time but haven’t really been on contact with much lately. I’m obviously not going to say outright who he is, but I would like to think that if he read this he would find it endearing rather than sad. It was not my intention for the reader to feel sorry for him - Saul knows who he is and what he’s about, and while he is very jaded, but he loves his work and he loves his friends. Saul is a good guy who would do anything for you if he thinks you’re worth it, and he’s loyal to a fault. Saul is the kind of guy who smokes weed and is covered in tattoos, but you’d still feel comfortable bringing him home to meet your parents.

I love Saul so much, you guys.

I’m only sharing here about 750 of the 2000 words I wrote this past weekend for a couple of reasons, but the main one is because it would make this post very long and potentially make it too long to send in email. The other reason, though, is that I just want to keep a little bit of it to myself for now. You’ll more than likely see it somewhere eventually, though!

Before we get into it, I want to make mention here that there are mentions of alcohol and drug use in this story - it's nothing hard core, but it's there and I wanted to let everyone know in case these things are a trigger for you! Okay, with that all out of the way, let's dive in!

Saul quietly stirred from his slumber and slowly opened his eyes. At first everything was a blur, but things gradually came into focus. His sense of smell was returning to him also. The room smelled of stale beer in beer cans, cigarette ash, and weed – but it was a comfortable cocktail for Saul. Safe, predictable. He had a slight headache, but not so bad that he immediately reached for the ibuprofen; that would come later, once he started moving, he thought.

Saul sat up in his bed and surveyed the mess that was the usual state of his studio apartment. Dishes piled on the small kitchen counter. A mound of empty pizza boxes from the week-long Domino’s binge that had just, hopefully, ended. An upturned ashtray that Saul figured must have been sitting on the bed when he passed out the night before. His exes clothes in a pile in a corner, waiting to be picked up. Saul grunted as he raised himself up to put his feet on the floor. “There it is,” he winced as his headache instantly worsened. He picked up the plastic strip of ibuprofen tablets off the floor beside the bed and popped three out, placing them on his bedside cabinet.

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He looked around his immediate vicinity for some kind of liquid to wash the pills down with, but all he could see was a half empty can of strong lager from the night before. “Hmm… nope,” he muttered to himself as he gathered the will to stand up and walk to the kitchen counter. He shuffled across the room and looked through the cupboards above the sink, searching for a clean glass – but they were all empty. “Fuck,” Saul then began looking over the pile of dirty dishes to find one that was the cleanest and could be easily rinsed off and used again. It took him a moment, but he found one, ran it under the tap and wiped it off, then opened the fridge, took out a bottle of some flat orange soda and placed it on the bench. After filling his glass, he poured the rest of the soda down the sink, murmuring about not being entirely sure where it came from, and then sat back down on his bed. Saul took the pills, and almost spat them out with the taste of the soda but controlled himself long enough to swallow. He sat, motionless, for a moment, hoping for an instant effect. It didn’t come, so he groaned and lay back down.

An hour or so later, Saul awoke again, feeling slightly better, to the sound of his phone vibrating somewhere his bed sheets. Eventually he discovered it just in time for the caller to hang up. Saul looked at the name, “Ugh, Sarah. Work.” He shook his head a little, “fuck that,” and put his phone down beside him. The phone began to vibrate again, same caller. “God damnit,” Saul hit the answer button followed by the speaker button, “What?” he grumbled, his phone held out limply in front of him while he sat, eyes closed.

“Hey Saul, it’s me. How are you doing?” “What do you want Sarah?” Saul groaned, knowing what she was going to ask. “Sorry Saul, I know you had a big night. Andy called in sick.” “That motherfu-“ Saul’s voice trailed off. “He was here last night.” “I know.” “He’s not sick, he’s hungover.” “I know.” “I am also hungover.” “I figured,” Sarah paused a beat. “Can you come in tonight?” Saul grumbled as he gave the question a moment’s thought. “Please?” “No.” “Pretty please?” “No.” “Anna is out sick too-“ “She was here last night.” “I know.” “She’s hungover too.” “I know. But I’m covering for her, so I’ll be here with you for moral support all night!” Sarah had a twinge of optimism in her voice, feeling certain that her presence would make Saul reconsider. “Fine.” “Yay!” Sarah squealed in excitement. “I’ll see you at six, okay? Bring your happy face!” “Fuck you, Sarah.” Saul did another grumble. “You know you love me! Bye Saul!” Saul hung up his phone and threw it across the room at a pile of dirty laundry and missed. “Fuuuuuuuuuck!”

It was almost 5:45pm by the time Saul arrived at the restaurant, The Smoking Gun. Sarah had been stalking his phone so she knew when he was almost there, and she had made a coffee for him, just the way he liked it, ready and still hot when he arrived. “Saaaaaauuulll,” Sarah sang as she heard the door open before she could see him. “I maaaaade you cofffeeeee!” Saul sauntered over, clearly still not having a great day.

“Hey Sarah,” he winced as he walked up behind the bar. “Thank you for the coffee.” Still in her sing-songy voice she replied, “You’re welcommmmmeee,” and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for coming babe.” “You’re welcome, but you owe me. This coffee doesn’t absolve you of the misery you are putting me through tonight.” “Put it on my tab,” Sarah laughed. Saul gave her a wry little smirk and headed for the kitchen. “Asshole.” “You love me!”

So what do you think? Do you want to know more about Saul? I would love to write about him more whether anyone wants to read it or not, but I’d love to know how y’all feel about my new guy that I made up.

As always, thanks so much for reading. If you want to read more stuff written by me, you can check out my movie reviews over on Letterboxd! I recently reviewed Queen of the Damned (2002), Poseidon (2006), and Single White Female (1992), and I’m hoping to do a few more this coming week. If you have comments, questions, suggestions, or just want to say hi, please hit me up in the comments or at any of the socials in the links below.

Stay safe out there everybody and have a great week. I love you! Ka kite anō au i a koe. 💚

Rebecca

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[mikasa-imadebiscults]

Past Injuries/Accidents I have had.

So you guys have spoken..

I will make a post about all of these eventually but today I’ll be talking about all of my injuries/accidents I’ve had in my life so far.

(WARNING: Swearing, Includes mentions of razor blades, and injuries/accidents.)

When I was in preschool, I was at home and I remember I was sitting at the table by myself playing with those ink stamps things (idk what there called). I decided to put ink on my fingers and then after I was done, I went to the bathroom and was looking for something to clean off the stamp ink and I saw a razor on the sink. I didn’t know better and my dumb brain thought that the razor was meant for removing ink. So I took the razor and scrubbed the blade against my fingers, obviously my fingers started bleeding a lot. I don’t remember much, but I remember that I didn’t need any stitches.

When I was in 3rd grade, I was in my parents van playing on my tablet and I decided to switch seats because the sun was reflecting off my screen and it was hurting my eyes. So when I was moving seats I saw in the corner of my eye, a semi truck heading towards the van. I remember I couldn’t look away, and I was frantically trying to put on my seatbelt then I can’t remember anything else I guess I blacked out. But from what I was told my leg was centimeters close from being completely crushed.

When I was in 4th grade, I went to my friends house for the Fourth of July and we just chilled and hanged out. We were outside and his dad got drunk and lit those sticks you use to light fireworks and he was next to me. All the sudden he swung his arm that was holding the fire stick thing, and the fire hit my right arm, my arm making a small sizzling noise. I also remember it hurting but not enough to make me cry, but still to this day I still have the scar on my right arm.

When I was 10 years old I was in school at the playground, and I remember I was wearing a jacket, running around. I eventually stopped and just started walking, then I felt a pain on my left hand. I looked at my hand and saw that it was a bit red, then I noticed something moving up and down in my jacket sleeve. I didn’t have time to react and something flew out of my sleeve and stung me again for the 2nd time, turns out it was a ground hornet. I couldn’t move my left hand so I went to the nurse and the nurse gave me a packet that said sting relief. Once I put the sting relief on, my hand felt INSTANTLY BETTER like it’s like God himself just snapped his fingers to make it better.

When I was in 7th grade, I was in gym class and we were running and this dude fucking tripped me. When I fell, my right knee hit the hard ass ground first and scraped against the ground. Luckily while I was falling I quickly noticed that the way my left arm was positioned, about to hit the ground, my arm was going to break so before my left arm could hit the ground, I slammed my right hand against the floor to somehow cushion the fall. So luckily I wasn’t injured, but for 1-2 years whenever I would stretch my right knee would hurt a lot but now it doesn’t anymore so that’s good. Finally I can stretch without it getting ruined by an annoying ass pain in my right knee.

(I hope you enjoyed these stories, this might be updated if I remember more stories)

[deactivated-deadpool-anon]

Tw: heavy vent, topic of suicide, and self harm

I’ve had this in drafts for a few weeks just added on as I felt sad so if it seems jumbled that’s why

Idk how to add the little page break thing on tumblr mobile so if you’re sitting here scrolling for a minute I’m genuinely so sorry

So every winter my depression gets extremely bad as it does with most people so it’s no shocker that I’ve been in a slump for the past month but it’s bad this time the last time I could remember it being this bad was when I went through with my first attempt in 7th grade and I’m ngl I’ve heavily been thinking about trying to make another attempt on my life I don’t only for my younger siblings I can’t handle the thought of them walking in on my dead body which they inevitably would (my brother wakes me up every morning) and everytime I think about this scenario I start spiraling it’s hell but yeah not gonna kill my self ig. I’ve been using quite literally all my strength not to relapse and start self harming again I’ve been clean since November and I’m really trying to break the addiction but it’s so hard and I don’t really have any other coping mechanisms. In all honesty tho the real reason I don’t go back to cutting is bc I threw away what I was using to do it and I have like actual knives but I’m scared of going to deep (kinda ironic ig). So I’ve had a group of friends since last February (feb 2022) there’s been 3 main people with others along as well I don’t feel like going into our whole history but a cliff note version of it is we started hanging out in feb in may I started dating person B in July I broke it off with B and ever since it’s basically been me vs B (the others occasionally joining me) well I started talking to B in November after not talking to him for 2 months and shit was great it was basically how it was back before we got together he even got me a shiny Pokémon for my birthday (which means a lot to me) but practically since it’s been new year’s he went back to how he was in September (when we first stopped talking) just an asshole we obviously were annoyed by each other then we got in a “fight” so we stopped talking again anyways so that was Sunday I didn’t have school Monday but Tuesday and Wednesday he’s still been hanging around my group which is fine they’re his friends to but like I hate it bc they’re not talking to me pretty much at all throughout the day bc the only time I see person A and C person B is also there… it feels like he’s stealing my friends from me even my moirail (person A) is hanging out with him more and they don’t even like him so I feel left out completely I feel invisible and alone but not alone bc when I was alone it didn’t even feel this painful I just sit there in silence tears in my eyes but not letting them fall I stare off into space with one AirPod in trying to now ignore the outside world making little stories in my head with my f/os but in reality I just want my moirail to hug me and let me know everything’s alright and that I’m not losing anyone and that if I were to kill myself they would care they would be upset by it stuff like that but no nothing. I haven’t been able to do any school work bc of my mental state even if I take my meds (adhd meds I should probably clarify) which is weird bc my meds always keep me on track but not now ig fuck for example I have like 6 algebra assignments that become 0s tomorrow and I frankly just don’t care. When people I know tell me they don’t have tiktok i always laugh at them like c’mon it’s not that bad but it is it is that bad for example I posted a few videos of my face today and I got tons of comments fat shamming(which really helps my eating disorder but whatever),being called poor, and genuine trans + homophobia I have some pretty tough skin when it comes to these comments usually but if you haven’t noticed I’m a single problem away from violently killing myself so these comments got so bad that I had to private my account which in my 8-9 years on the internet i have never had to do. I think that’s it idk.

Oh there is actually one more thing I want to mention this happened months ago but has been pissing me off since so to put this lightly I had a dream where Murdoc from Gorillaz sexually assaulted me (yes Ik he would never do this but I can’t control my dreams) I have trauma when it comes to stuff like this bc I was sa’d as a child and I’m on the asexual spectrum so I don’t like to think of my f/os in a sexual light anyways I go to vent in my discord server that has all my friends in it looking for support (even though they were all asleep venting then makes me feel better) so I feel really dirty and sad bc again this was a sa related dream I post a kinda detailed version of the dream in #venting channel then Person B starts typing and replies with “nice fanfic” and I wish I fucking screenshoted that bc wtf dude it’s bc he’s never had/really heard about a sa situation i understand that but still why?

Vent Over

if you read this thanks ig it’s just nice to know an another living body knows my problems so I’m not necessarily suffering alone <3

TL;DR I really need a hug ffs

[haeroniel-doliet]

Why am i a 22 yr old adult scared of moving back in with my parents???

Lmao accidental vent in tags cw.

[once-upon-a-stolas]

CONTENT WARNING: This post discusses alcohol and rape pretty heavily.

So. It’s been a while, and a lot of things have happened.

To make a long and short of it, Vivzie did something that all available evidence leads me to believe was both extremely premeditated and astonishingly cruel. I can no longer in good conscience support her, don’t really believe anyone else should, and seriously debated whether to continue this blog at all. I still don’t know that doing so is the right thing, but at the end of the day, I don’t believe I can say a proper goodbye to my time in Hazbin without first saying a proper goodbye to Stolas. 

So, that in mind, we’re not going to talk about Vivzie as a person or her crew or Taft-Hartley orders. We’re going to talk about July 4th, 2020.

July 4th begins on a light note, a Friday night, with Blitzo dressed up in fishnets and tight pants and ready to party. Stolas, who’s in an amorous mood, makes zero effort to hide how much he approves of this, inviting him over to discuss some “personal business”, which Blitzo doesn’t reply to. 

Things take a rapid turn, however, when Blitzo’s date for the night bails on him because he’s taking too long to get to “the good stuff”, which one can assume to mean sex. The comments seem concerned about Blitzo’s eye makeup and wonder if he’s been crying, but Blitzo mentions his date snapping his picture and the picture shows him in the process of holding up a drawing of what looks like Spirit, so I think the implication is that Blitzo was drunk and talking about/drawing his favorite horse movie when all his date wanted was to finish their meal of not-Wendy’s and for Blitzo to put out. He takes off, Blitzo’s upset, and Stolas pounces, actually overstepping his bounds by inviting himself over to Blitzo’s place.

Now, mind you...this could have gone very badly. Blitzo doesn’t seem receptive at all, and Stolas goes to his house, breaks out the rose petals and candles, and parks himself naked in Blitzo’s bathtub. This is actually kind of not okay. But in the end, narratively, it breaks even due to what happens next.

Blitzo bursts in and throws up “everywhere.” Stolas carries him to bed, tucks him in with some aspirin and water, gently tells him to rest, very possibly cleans up -- or magics away -- his puke, and then goes home. “Da_fan_boi”’s comments have since been deleted, but if memory serves, they said something to the effect of Stolas topping heavily drunk Blitzo -- in other words, raping him -- and how does Stolas respond?

By getting frostier than we’ve ever seen him up until this point.  

He’s absolutely not having this. He resents the very suggestion that he would do this. Blitzo, for his part, chimes in to make sure this person knows that Blitzo is the one who doms Stolas (which also seems contrary to his usual insistence that they’ve only ever hooked up once) and that da_fan_boi is a dumbass.

I don’t know how present day Stolas would have responded in this situation. Maybe it’s a scenario that will show up in canon someday and he’ll make the same choice his predecessor does here. Right now, however, given how many times Blitzo has given Stolas a hard no and how consistently Stolas has ignored him? I don’t think a lucid, but heavily inebriated Blitzo would have been safe with that Stolas. I definitely don’t think for a single moment that the Stolas of Murder Family would have put Blitzo to bed with water and aspirin.

On July 4th 2020, Stolas began his Friday evening already aching for Blitzo. Blitzo was scantily clad and gorgeous, and smarting after being rejected by someone who wasn’t willing to put up with his horse infodumping and only wanted to fuck him. Stolas went too far in swooping in to pick up the pieces, but the moment it became clear that Blitzo wasn’t in his right mind, Blitzo’s well-being came dead first. Before!Stolas was flawed, but what he did wasn’t just gentle, as one commenter suggests...it was the right thing to do. It was human and decent. It was the only thing.

So whatever you think of Vivziepop as a writer, or a person -- whatever you think regarding the choices she’s made, or will make -- I think it’s important that once upon a time, someone on the oftentimes mysterious Instagram team made the decision to portray Stolas as someone who would make this kind of a choice. I think it’s important to remember that character, as brief lived as he was. 

And that’s why I’m going to keep doing this.