#I feel so ugly right now I’ve never felt so hideous in all my life honestly

[brunetterightsactivist]

Telling myself to stop getting so antsy and excited and wait the full year that I’ve been back on the pill for it to fully take effect and regulate itself and then my body and appetite and brain are going to go back to normal lol

[grace-mint]

A Fate Worse Than Death- Part 3

Finale time!! I'm still working on improving my writing, so thank you to everyone who read! TW: Angst, negative self-talk, mentions of SA and torture. Let me know if I forgot anything.

My life had lost all of its meaning. I didn’t want to care anymore. I couldn’t find it in me to care anymore. Rhys was concerned, I knew. I also knew that I was slowly killing him, the fact that I hardly ate, hardly spoke, and hardly slept. 

My back had healed in time, it had been about a month and a half since that day, and yet the feeling of hands on my body, the male taking advantage of me, and the gaping hole in my chest from the loss of my wings all felt so prominent and recent. 

Now, in place of my once glorious wings, giant, ugly scars lived on my back. They didn’t allow me to fly, they didn’t offer intimate moments with my mate, and they didn’t offer me any comfort. These jagged, hideous things, they were a reflection of my soul. Who I was now. I didn’t try anymore. And just like I didn’t want to care, I didn’t want to try. 

My childhood, which was ripped from my young grasp, wasn’t enough? The Gods had to punish me even more? I felt so completely numb, and I was ashamed of this. I was so ashamed when Mor had to help me bathe when I had gotten back, too weak to even wash myself. Or when Azriel had to help me learn how to walk again, his scarred hand sitting softly on my back was a parallel to what lingered under my shirts. I’m sure I looked ridiculous, like a fawn learning how to use her legs for the first time. 

And then there was Rhysand, my mate. The person who I let down. I knew he assumed that I was stripped of my dignity. I couldn’t face him. I never let him see me anymore, panic raging through my body when I saw him, my father’s words echoing in my head. ‘They’ll all see you let yourself get taken by another man.’ He was right; I didn’t fight hard enough. In the end, I was still just as weak as I was as a child, letting my brothers and father treat me like nothing more than dirt. 

But, by the cauldron I was bored. I lay in bed, mulling over all of these thoughts that constantly kept me company. I searched my mind and soul to find even a modicum of emotion, a single ray of hope, but I came back empty. So, I just lay there, wallowing. 

3 days later, Cassian burst into my room. His face was one of empathy, yet he was determined. This was the General of the Night Court, still a much softer one, but he was in that mind set. He meant business.

“Get up,” he said, “get up out of that bed. You have hardly eaten, I know you don’t sleep well, and we are all worried.”

I rolled over onto my side, my back to him. “You want me to get up, and I want you to get out.” I spit back.

“No.” He plopped himself on the bed, next to my legs. “We don’t have to talk, but I’m not leaving. Cauldron y/n, we don't know what to do anymore.”

I hummed, not deigning to answer. I knew he would stay there, and again, that feeling, that thing in my chest struggled to get out. I smothered it. 

I don’t know how long he sat there, or how long I lay there. I wish he would say something, anything to silence the racing thoughts in my mind. In conversation, I wanted silence, yet in silence, I wanted conversation. I was so pathetic. 

“He has run himself rampant with worry, you know.” I didn’t want to hear about Rhysand right now, but I wouldn’t stop him. “He spent time in the camps, strictly and personally enforcing the wing laws, seeing to it the males treat the females like actual people, not objects.” Anger entered his voice while talking about the barbaric males in those camps. 

“Y/n, he’s so broken without you. My brother has been the strongest male I’ve ever known. He went through hell with Amarantha, his father, and even now, the prejudice he faces from the other courts, it weighs on him. But, when you two were together, no matter what, I have never seen him more joyful. I had never seen him so stress-free, not caring what others had to say.” He brought his hand up to my head, gently stroking my hair. My heart ached, Cassian, the brother I never had, calmed me. Not as much as Rhys could, obviously, but he calmed me just the same. My thoughts slowed down, becoming less and less rapid. “Just see him, once. He needs to see you, and you need to see him. You two have been through so much together, he would never abandon you. You know that right?” 

I didn’t answer, staying silent. At one point of my life, I would have answered this question without a single doubt in my mind, but now I couldn’t. That feeling in my chest tugged again, telling me I was being an idiot. My mate would never leave me, but everyone leaves eventually. 

Cassian sighed, finally standing up and placing a kiss to my head. “Just think about what I said, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

“I will.” The first words I had spoken since I’d tried to kick him out. I still couldn’t see him, but I heard him pause. I understood why, I had been so adamant about Rhysand not seeing me. I just gave him the worst possible thing. I gave him hope. 

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

Rhysand had spent this past month in misery. He hadn’t seen her since a few days after she woke up. He always kept his side of the bond open, hoping she would feel he was there, no matter what. 

“She said she’d think about seeing you.” A voice broke through his thoughts. He was sitting in his office, nursing a glass of bourbon. 

Hope, the damned thing, sparked in his chest. “You think she will actually go through with it?” Rhysand asked Cassian, not wanting to show his disbelief that y/n would actually go through with it.

“She might.” Rhysand’s face fell at his words. He was going to die without his mate another day more. The numbness from the bond made his chest ache constantly. His heart felt as though it was being stabbed over and over. 

“What do I do?” Sorrow dripped from Rhysand’s words. 

“Go to her. You two can’t keep avoiding each other, brother. It is killing you both.”

He knew Cassian was right, as much as he hated to admit it, instead he just nodded my head in dismissal, mulling over his words. 

Rhysand was going to get his mate back. 

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

I slept fitfully. Nightmares plagued the darkness, hands, whips, screaming. It was all the same, every night. I woke up, not even phased anymore, yet still shaken. It was normal now, this is what I had been degraded down to. On nights like these, which had been every one, I missed Rhys the most. 

A knock on my door woke me from my pity party and in walked Madja, the sweetest woman to grace this court. 

She was so grandmotherly and gentle. She truly cared about her patients, treating them more like her own children than simply clients.

“How’s the back?” As kind as she was, she was also a straight to the point, no-nonsense type of grandmotherly. 

“Fine.” My usual answer. I wouldn’t burden her with how sometimes it felt like I could feel the steel of the blade ripping into my skin, the crack of the whip against my wings.

She simply nodded, understanding in her eyes. “Lay on your stomach, I want to get a look at it, make sure it is healing well enough.”

I do as she says. I had been wearing Rhys’ clothes, the sole comfort of him I offered myself. They were large enough to not put too much pressure on my healed, but tender back. It also allowed easy access for Madja’s appointments. She unbuttoned the back of the shirt, pulling it away. 

“Child, you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. You punish yourself, thinking you failed yourself. You are plain wrong.” Her voice was stern but not unkind. “You have healed physically, you are almost out of remission, but the mental has still yet to be touched upon. Why has your mate not been here? Does he not care?” Madja loved her High Lord like he was her own son, but that would not excuse these actions if they were true.

“No. I don’t want to see him.” My words were flat and left room for no argument.

She sighed, “Dear child, I know what happened, all of it. While others may not, you know that you are still here, despite everything. You cannot let those who hurt you win that war that rages in your head. You are our High Lady, or did you forget. You have fought for so much, do not let these demons be the ones who take you down.” 

“Thank you, Madja. Your words mean more than you know.” And I meant it. 

She begins to button up the shirt for me, hardly getting more than a few buttons as the door slammed open. 

And there stood my mate, eyes wild and raging.

Panic flared in my chest, he would hate me. He would see my back and hate me and he wouldn’t want me anymore. 

But as he just stood there, his gaze on my ruined back, I saw his gaze darken with an emotion that wasn’t disgust. He looked murderous. 

“I’m so sorry, I should have knocked.” The words come out of Rhysand’s mouth, dripping with anger and melancholy. 

“Actually, High Lord, if you wouldn’t mind helping her finish up, I fear I am running late for my next appointment.” Madja said, packing her stuff up. She rushed out of the room before either of us could say anything.

Rhys and just stayed there, staring at each other. He finally moved, “Can I help you button these? Is that okay?”

I nodded, relinquishing eye contact and staring out the window instead. He carefully began to button the shirt up, with the gentlest touch I could imagine. He made sure to not touch a single part of my skin, but I could feel his unwavering gaze on my back. 

“Beautiful,” he murmured under his breath, and I felt myself stiffen at his words, not the finger running gently down the scars lingering where my wings should be. 

“You’re delusional,” I hear myself say, my breath quickening at his presence. It wasn’t fear or panic I felt anymore, but longing. Cauldron, I’ve missed him. 

Rhys stood sharply, helping me up and turning me to face him. He put his fingers under my chin firmly pulling it up to meet his gaze.

“Why would you say that about something that’s a part of you. You are the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever had the blessing to set my eyes upon, and these scars do not take away from that. I will make it my life’s mission to let you never forget that.”

I felt a shudder go through my body at his words. Emotions I had kept under lock and key flooded through me. 

“You don’t know what you are talking about, I am ugly. I am disgusting. I am a failure. I don’t deserve someone like you, who still wants me after what I allowed them to do.” And with those words, the dam broke. The emotions escaped the carefully crafted safe, and I cried for the first time since I saw myself in that mirror, facing who I was now. 

“Oh y/n darling,” Rhys placed his forehead to mine, “you are not a failure. You are the most stunning thing I have ever laid eyes on. Nothing can possibly compare to your beauty, not the brightest star on Starfall, nor the most awing beaches of the Summer Court. And you are not a failure. What could ever possess you to believe that.” 

“Rhys, I failed you. I let them touch me, use me. And I didn’t stop it. I ruined what we had.” 

Rhys stilled, his suspicions confirmed. “Your father is going to die an even more painful death than planned.” “He’s still alive?” Fear enters my words. I can hear the shake in my voice.

My mate’s eyes filled with even more anger. “Not for long. He hasn’t been sitting uninjured though, believe me. I would gladly take care of it today, unless you’d like the honor.” He was still in front of me, staring at me. 

I shake my head, “I never want to see him or my brothers again.” He nodded in understanding. 

“It is done then.” He sighed, and took a few steps back, dropping to his knees in front of me. “My mate, my beautiful, strong mate. You are not a failure, you did not fail me. It could never be possible.” 

He gently held my hands, placing a kiss to the back of them. “Those scars you have gained are proof of your strength. Proof that you survived. And I will never, ever allow another male to touch you without your permission.” His words had a dangerous edge to them, one that I knew was speaking nothing but the truth.

“And my love, I am the one who failed you. I wasn’t there to stop them; I let you go on that mission. I am not worthy of your forgiveness.” 

My heart leapt at his words, he thought he was the one who let me down. I tugged my hands from his grasp and placed them on either side of his face, sliding off the bed until I was knee to knee with him. Tears began pouring from my eyes. “Rhysand, you are good. You have been nothing less than perfect to me all these years.” His eyes filled with emotions of his own, and I felt his sorrow on the other end of the bond. The Bond. My mate, I could feel him again. I tugged on it, and felt Rhysand inhale. 

“Y/N, I can feel you again.” His voice cracked, and I felt myself lunging into his arms. Rhysand’s arms, my mate’s arms tugging me impossibly closer. 

“I’m so so sorry, Rhys. I missed you so much; I thought you’d hate me.” 

“How could I ever hate you, darling.” His hand ran down the back of my head in comforting strokes. “I love you so much, I am still healing, and it will take time. But the thing I had felt like I was missing for so long was you.” 

“You could throw me out and take another 6 years, and I would stand at that door waiting for you.” I knew he was telling the truth, a bit exaggerated, but I knew he would be there. I leaned back, pulling my head from his chest. We just gazed at each other for a while, before I slowly leaned up, placing a gentle kiss to his mouth. His arms tightened around me, as if afraid I might be pulled away. 

“I was afraid I would never be able to taste your lips again, feel your embrace, or hear the soft lull of your voice.” My heart broke at his voice, the vulnerability in it. 

“Never again, we will never be separated again.” I placed my head on his shoulder leaning into him. 

“Never again,” He echoed. 

____________________

For the next week, Rhysand was attached to me at the hip, not to say I didn't enjoy it. I missed his presence more than anything. I still couldn’t deal with him sleeping in the bed with me, waking up feeling like I was back in that basement, so he slept in the chair. I felt bad, knowing it couldn’t be comfortable, but he wouldn’t complain. He’d just say he was happy to sleep in the same room as me. 

The day after everything happened between him and I, he walked into the room, hands behind his back. When I’d asked what was wrong, he had simply said he took care of an errand. I knew that meant my father and brothers were no longer living, so I simply just took him into the washroom, helping him wash the blood from his hands. 

Tonight was the first family dinner I would be attending in nearly two months. Rhysand had helped me with my hair, bought me a new beautiful dress to wear, and now stood by my side, holding my hand as we stood on the roof of the townhouse. 

“We don’t have to go, say the word and we can go back down stairs.” His words were soft and gentle. The last time we flew together, I was flying on my own. He would have to carry me now.

I offer a small smile, “I miss my family, Rhys. I have to do this sometime, so why not now.”

With strong arms, he picks me up, hooking one arm under my knees and the other under my shoulders. I wrapped my arms around his neck, with a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be ok.”

He merely nods, stretching out his powerful wings, and I felt a pang go through my chest at the sight. His eyes snap to mine, feeling what I was feeling through the bond. “Darling?”

“Let’s go.” I say, my chin up and determined. I was ready to do this. He shot off the roof with a powerful flap of his wings. I felt the familiar, comforting feeling of my stomach dropping at the movement. My arms tightened around his neck, and I forced myself to look out over our city. It would take time, but I would force myself to be okay with this.

I brought my head up to see my mate staring at me. “You’re the most gorgeous being I’ve ever sat my eyes upon.” I felt my cheeks flush at his words.

“You and your flattery.” I grin at him, looking out over Velaris again. “Our city is gorgeous, Rhys.” 

“That it is,” His words were soft, but his gaze never left my face. “The most gorgeous.”

[queenofthedisneyverse]

When will my life begin - Chapter 1; El camaleón desaparecido au

Words; 3k

Chapter 2

Camilo POV

I shot up in a cold sweat, panting and looking around with wide eyes. That dream happened again…sigh. I can never seem to get a break from it. And it’s always the same old thing. People are chasing me with weapons…

I take a deep breath and shake my head. Get over it Milo, you have chores to do! So, at a quick pace I get out of bed and stretch my back and arms. A good night's sleep to say the least.  My feet meet the soft and fluffy chameleon slippers mi hermana made for me and I smile softly at the texture. 

7 A.M the usual morning lineup!

Behind me, a little yawn could be heard. I turn around and see my pet Chameleon Pepi perched up on my pillow. Her green eyes meet mine and I smile wider. 

“Hola Pepi! Did you sleep well?” I softly pet her small head and pick her up. 

She nodded and stretched as well. 

“Good, now let’s get ready for the day” I say cheerfully as I sit her down on top of my dresser and rummage through the drawers. I pick up shirt after shirt, all of which I’ve worn already. Sigh, guess I’ll have to borrow my sister's old ones again or make more. 

No matter, I know which shirt to go with. In the very bottom drawer, I pull out a multicolored shirt. All the colors of the rainbow. Red, orange, yellow, teal, navy blue, tiffany blue, light purple, dark purple, and magenta. 

I don’t know why I like these colors specifically…they just feel so familiar. And not in a ‘these are just colors of the rainbow’ sort of way. In a way that…I don’t know how to describe it…they just feel familiar. 

Any who, I put the shirt on and straighten it out. I smile lightly and search for some pants and my pink rauna. After that’s all done I look at myself in the mirror and twirl. I can’t look at it for too long though…this damn scar. 

I’ve always had it. From the top of my scalp, down my eyebrow to eye, to the bottom of my jaw. My mamá said she found me with it at the bottom of a river….that’s when she took me in of course. 

I can’t stand it. It makes me ugly…or at least…that’s what Marcela says. And she’s not wrong, it’s hideous. Not to mention I’m partially blind because of it. I hate it! And Marci or Mama won’t even let me use makeup to cover it up. 

Emilia doesn’t use any so she doesn’t even have some I can borrow…not that I ask her to buy any for me either. 

Any who! I snap myself out of it and search for my sandals. Once I find them under the bed I grab them and put them on. As comfortable as ever…but I may need to tweak them, they feel small. 

I felt like something was missing, though I couldn’t remember what. I scratch my head and feel the curls under my fingers.I look around  Oh that’s right, my headscarf! I search through the third bottom drawer and find it, soon tying it around my hair. 

Pepi squeaks for my attention, her gaze a little angry. I guess I did just leave her there. I chuckle and pick her up, putting her on my right shoulder. 

“You know, any chameleon would’ve gotten themselves down from that spot right?”

Pepi shot an unamused glare at me and I quietly chuckled. “ aw what? did I hit a nerve- OW!” Pepi smacked my ear with her tail. “Sorry! Jeez…so sensitive” 

I walked toward my bedroom door and turned the handle. Time to start the day! 

-

Start on the chores. And sweep till the floors are all clean!

Camilo scrubbed the pink stairs thoroughly. This was one of his many chores he had during the day, but thankfully he had someone to help. His older sister, Emilia, always helped him. If he had to sweep the floors, so would she. If he was tasked to cook dinner, she would help him prepare it. 

She, as well as his mother and other sister, have been there since he could remember. Emi taught him how to sew, how to cook, read, math, just anything she could seeing as he wasn’t allowed out past the mansion gates.

“Hey emi?”

Emilia looked at her adoptive hermanito. Her dark skin and brown eyes shining under the morning sun shining through. Her fluffy curly hair tied back as she sat on the stairs with a broom in her hands. 

“Si milo?” she smiled lightly. Her voice was always soft and welcoming when he was around. 

“Do you have any old shirts for me to borrow? All of the ones I have are old” Camilo pouted and furrowed his brows as she scrubbed. A certain stain wouldn't go away.

“I’ll see what I have. But don’t you dare think I don’t know it was you who ate the last bunuelos from yesterday you little sneak! I wanted those…” Emilia put her hand on her hip as she narrowed her eyes at him. 

“You snooze, you lose sis!” Camilo chuckled, “and from what I remember. I made those bunuelos, so I have a right to eat them.”

(This is an art trade from @gamerbearmira. It fit the scene so well I had to include it)

“I helped!” Emilia playfully shoved him, causing Milo to laugh. “And there were five of them left, you couldn’t leave at least two?”

“It’s called sleep eating! A very serious and sad condition Emi, how could you not understand what I have to go through?” Camilo said dramatically, putting her hand on her forehead as she leaned back.

“You are so dramatic”

“And don’t you forget it!”

Emilia smirked at him, like a malicious cat “...your on laundry duty by the way”

“Noooo-”

Polish and wax. Do laundry. And mop and shine up!

During tedious chores like these, Emi found a way to make things fun. For instance, when it came to mopping the floors. She and Milo would put scrubbing brushes (with soap on them)  on their feet and twirl around with a mop. They even made it a game of sorts. 

“Emilia is far behind the lucky Chameleon, seems like someone is going to be eating some bubbles” Camilo teased as he sped past her. Cleaning the floor as he did so. Pepi stuck her tongue out at Emi as she was perched on Milo’s shoulder. 

“Oh that’s what you think!”

In the blink of an eye, Emilia somehow gained speed. To be a light tease, she spun around Camilo on one foot. Her leg high up as she looked elegant and graceful. While he was stunned she took the chance to grab Pepi, put her on her shoulder, and push Camilo to the floor. 

“HEY! That’s cheating!”

“Come on Milo, don’t be a sore loser!” she yelled out as she skated through the blindingly pink house. 

La casa Baltazar is a very large mansion, somewhat like a mini castle even. What made it stand out?...all the various shades of pink. Their mother, Gabriella, LOVED the color pink in all of its shades. 

That’s why Camilo’s rauna is various shades of pink. It’s a way to appease her and make her happy. He tried to wear other colors…it didn’t go so well. That’s why Camilo wears the other familiar colors, under his rauna. 

Emilia can’t stand the colors but wears them to make her mother happy. Marcela however, loves it just as much as her mother does. Will wear it any chance she gets…which is everyday…like her mother. 

As the child slowly got off the floor, slipping many times in the process, he managed to catch up to her. But she was already to the finish line. In other words the kitchen. 

“You lose! You owe me YOUR desert for the next week” Emilia laughed heartily

Camilo stuck his tongue out at her and took Pepi back. He eyed Pepi and she just gave him a smug smile. “You're a traitor, you know that? You could’ve at least put your tongue in her ear. Like you ALWAYS do to me whenever I wake a second past seven”

“Oh don’t be mad because she likes me more than you!” Emilia giggled as she sat down at the kitchen table and took the scrub brushes off her feet. 

Pepi decided to be petty and stuck her tongue in her ear. She knew he hated it, that’s why she did it. The small creature could only do so much with her body so she had to have her fun in some way. 

“AGH, PEPI!”

Sweep again and by then it’s like 7:15! 

8:56 struck on the clock and so far seven chores have been accomplished. There’s more but it’s still an accomplishment. Now it was time to make breakfast. Something simple and fast of course. Their mother or sister didn’t make any requests, so they just chose anything.

“How about changua?” Camilo asked with bright eyes. It’s his favorite and easy to make. 

“Meh, sure,” Emi shrugged. Who was she to deny him his favorite thing in the world? And it’s not like he asked for it all the time. 

Changua is a typical breakfast in Bogotá, the capital of Colombia. It's a soup made with milk, scallions, bread, cilantro and eggs. Together, Emilia and Camilo did their own tasks to make the meal be done quicker…even though the dish itself barely took six minutes. 

Emi Placed the milk and water in a medium pot and brought it to a boil. Cami added the onion, salt and pepper and let it cook for three minutes. Emi reduced the heat to medium and added the eggs without breaking them.

After the eggs cooked for three minutes, and both siblings were done chopping up cilantro and scallions, added the ingredients in. 

Some familiar mice crawled from under the bottom drawers and approached Camilo with squeaks. One had a small shirt with a teal blue s and the other had a red bow on its tail. Lolo and Mira! The two little mice Camilo liked dressing up. Milo smiled and took a bread slice from the bread box, broke it apart and handed it to them.

Pepi glared at the two mice. She only liked it when Camilo was paying attention to her. 

“Hey girls! It’s funny you two always show up when it’s food time.” Camilo chuckled as he watched the two scamper off with the bread slices. 

Emi rolled her eyes and shook her head, “Hey, Dr. Doolittle! Help me set the table” 

Camilo did just that and made some black coffee for his mama. He knows how irritated she can be in the morning. By the time Emilia finished pouring soup in the fourth bowl Gabriella and Marcela walked into the kitchen looking as elegant and snobby as ever. 

“Morning mama,” Camilo and Emilia said. Though Camilo sounded a little more chipper than her. 

“Where’s my coffee?” Gabriella said, pinching her nose bridge. Camilo quickly came up to her and gave her the coffee.

“Here you go mama. All black with a little sugar, just how you like it”

Gabriella gave milo a sickeningly fake smile as she took the coffee from him. Oh how she hated him…she hated that he belonged to a family that inherited magic...but decided to never show it. Camilo was a people pleaser by nature and Gabiella knew it. That was the only reason why she was “nice” to him.

She always gives him reasons to please her and if certain needs weren’t met, she would pull crocodile tears to make him do it right. Or just fake being upset. It always works. Gabriela would remain on an in-between spectrum of “I’m not disappointed but I’m not proud either” when it came to him. 

“Thank you mijo” she patted his head and quickly shut the smile off. Fully knowing Camilo felt like he did something wrong because of it. 

“Are we seriously having changua for breakfast?” Marcela scowled as she pushed the bowl away from her.

“Yeah, what of it?” Emi shot her a glare, Marcea shot a glare back. 

“Now now ninas, no need for that. I’m sure that Camilo or Emilia can make something else for you" Gabriella said with a voice as sweet as honey. She knew good on well what she was doing.

Emi's widened, "Say what now?!"

Camilo's smile almost dropped but he held it together "I- I guess so. What would you like marci-"

"I would like something else as well" Gabriella added

"Oh well...alright. What would you both like"

He is seriously not about to fall for this, Emi thought.

"I want Huevos Pericos" Marcela said proudly, "And don't burn the eggs!"

" Caldo de Costilla for me," Gabrilla said as she sipped her coffee. 

"Are they serious?! Huevos pericos is easy but Caldo de Costilla takes about 40 minutes to an hour to make. And both these pendeja's know we've been doing nothing but chores all morning" Emilia thought.

Camilo's hands clenched into a fist but he kept a smile, "No problema mama y hermana, right away!" 

oh hell no

"NO!" Emilia shouted. Earning a look of confusion from all three of her "family" members. She cleared her throat and straightened her posture, "I mean, I'll do it! Camilo, you have to go feed the animals anyway"

"Oh but Emi, don't you remember? You have a date with Carlos Santiago today, can't have you being late can we?" Gabriella announced. Her sinister smile was evident as she drank her coffee. 

"oh...right" Emilia's whole body deflated as she sat down in her chair. Carlos was a reminder she had NO control over her life...great. 

"You go meet him, he should be her in-" Gabriela looked at the clock on the wall. It was 9:25 "About five minutes" 

Camilo saw her deflation and put his hand on her shoulder, "It's okay, you can go. I got this!"

When will my life begin?

After all Camilo was done making a second breakfast, he was told to give the Changua to the pigs. Guess he won't be having that for later. Speaking of farm animals, this was his eighth chore. Feed the chickens/take the eggs, pigs, horses, and lastly the donkeys. The stables and coop was on the farther left end of the mansion, a little behind it. 

He always went to the chickens first, paying a visit to his favorite and wildest hen, Isa. She never liked her coop/flock and would always follow Camilo around. And because of that, she became one of his few animal friends. Much to Pepi's dismay. The other chickens liked him too, just not as much,

The young boy walked up to the coop and opened the small door, "alright come on out girls!"

Of course, Isa was out first. She had been waiting for him all morning. Isa honestly hated that coop...and the other hens. 

Camilo laughed heartily as the hen clucked and squawked around him. Colorful powder still decorated her feathers from her and Milo's "adventure" from last week. 

"Hey Isa, you miss me"

"Bawk!"

"Yeah, yeah I know" Camilo knelt down and hugged the hen, soon releasing her and standing back up. As always during these times, he reached his hand into the bucket and sprinkled chicken feed all over the ground. Of course the chickens scrambled over  and started pecking the ground. 

Once that was done he took a basket from the right side of the coop and crawled inside. There were a few eggs in a couple nests, surely enough to last a week or two if needed. One by one, he put eggs in the basket and came out once all of them were collected. 

Ninth task...completed. 

After that was done he went to the horse and Donkey stable. Both animals shared the same space. He knew the drill. Grab a hay bale and get to work. Hay bale here, hay bale there. Why does Gabriella have three of each? Mostly for animal renting services or just in case they need to go somewhere far. 

Three horses and three mules to feed. All six animals were fond of him but there was only one mule he clung to. 

Lulu or Lu, the donkey. He gave her the name of course. He's not sure why he did, the name just came up once she saw her as a foal. Not to mention the name is familiar to him. She was the last one he got to.

"Sorry Lulu, here you go." He walked into her area and sat a hay bale down. She squealed in delight and trot right over to it. This made Milo smile and pet her snout.  

While doing so, a blue monarch butterfly fluttered into the stable and sat itself on Camilo's nose. He was stunned for a second but was a little happy. When do you ever get the chance of a butterfly sitting on your nose?

He stood still and...remembered something.  A memory...something warm. Comforting and...happy?...the memory was from his perspective. He was younger and coloring on a piece of paper on the floor. A girl was sitting across from him doing the same thing. He couldn't see her face but could see what she was drawing.

 On the paper was a drawing of a blue butterfly. The girl took the paper and held it up in front of her face. This memory was clear as day but also had a dream feel to it. The butterfly was teal blue with yellow spots, similar to a monarch butterfly but different. His heart felt warm...did he know this girl?

In the blink of an eye the memory faded and the butterfly on his nose fluttered away. He stood there in shock. He had a memory! But...from such a long time ago. He surely knew her but didn't know from where. She also felt like...family! Camilo hated this. Whenever Camilo remembered something from his past, the memories were clear but oh so blurry. To take the frustration out on something, he blames his right eye. 

But the beautiful creature left something else in his mind. "The Shining Butterfly Migration". It happens every year on his birthday, December 28th. It's so strange yet amazing! Surely it must be for him. The Yellow butterflies swirl around in the sky all night, creating all types of beautiful imagery. No one knows where it comes from...but him. Well...sort of, it's more of a tingling kind of feeling. 

He needs to see them up close. From the direct spot they come from. It's been a huge need for him to see it in person ever since he was a kid. It was about to be his sixteenth birthday in three weeks and four or five days, maybe...just maybe. His mama will allow him outside to see it. 

With a look of determination, he decided to be quick with his chores. He ran out of the stable and grabbed the bucket of cold Changua and ran over to the pig stable. He whistled out for them to come and five little pigs waddled up to him. Camilo smiled and poured the Changua in the trough. 

"Hope you guys like this!"

Without a second thought, Camilo dropped the bucket and ran off to the back door of the mansion. Then he had to run back because he forgot the basket of eggs. He got the eggs and then ran back to the door again. Once he opened it, he saw Marcela standing there with a bucket of paint. 

"You like to paint don't you?" Marcela said in a bitter, jealous tone. 

"wha-"

!SPLAT!

....Camilo was now covered in red paint from top to bottom. And that was new paint...paint that Emi got for him. Before he could say anything Marcela cackled like a witch and ran off. Thank goodness his hands were spared so he could wipe the paint off his face. 

The most he could do was just breathe and walk inside without slipping. His destination was the kitchen. To wash the eggs off in the sink and put them in the ice box. He would clean himself up and the mess later. Marcela was nowhere to be seen but do you know who he ran into? 

Cami was about to turn a corner. Just  a few feet away from his destination when he was met with-

"Camilo! What on earth are you doing?!" Gabriella looked truly appalled and a little angered at the sight. 

"I-" 

"My marble floors! How dare you walk on them with this mess?!"

Oh no, this was bad, very bad. The last thing he wanted was his mother mad at him. She was barely proud of him as it is. 

"It wasn't me mama! It- It was Marcela! she poured paint on me and ran off" Camilo's eyes were wide with fear. He prayed to God she would believe him. 

Gabriella's eyes widened more and her fury was about to bubble over. "You dare accuse my daughter of such a thing?!"

It's a quiet rule among Camilo and Emi, never mess with Marcela and don't accuse her of anything. Even if it was her fault...which is 99 percent of the time. 

Camilo quickly thought of a way to save himself "It's a prank war! We've been pranking each other here and there. A prank war!..and, she got me this time!" the young boy smiled nervously, truly hoping she believed him. 

Gabriella narrowed her eyes at him. Searching for any sort of lie. There was nothing she could see that seemed like a lie. He looked too panicked and she knew he knew better than to lie to her.

"Hmph! Well, I would like for you both to call this prank war OFF immediately." The older woman spat out. "And clean yourself up!" 

she stared down at him with disgust. And Camilo hated that, he wanted to make her proud...not this. "Si mama"

Gabriella stepped away from him but before she could walk away further, Camilo stopped her. "Mama, wait!"

She turned to look at him, her scowl prominent. "Que?"

"M- Mama, I- I um...I- I just wanted-"

"Oh enough with the stuttering and mumbling, spit it out!"

"...I want to see the mourning butterflies!" Camilo regretted those words as quickly as they came out. 

"oh...do you know?" Gabriella crossed her arms and held her head up high.

Camilo gulped, "Yes. They appear every year on my birthday and...I would like to see them...just this once. I won't ask again, I swear just...please mama. I'll do anything!" 

Gabriella thought about it. Those butterflies happened in the very place she wants him to stay away from...why would she let him leave again?

"Anything?"

"Anything!"

"Hmmm, alright. On one condition. You will do your chores as told BUT...with no help from your sister. You will cook breakfast, lunch, AND dinner for the next three weeks. As well as making your own outfit so you can at least look presentable outside." Gabriella smirked as she stared down at him, waiting for his response. 

This...this was happening?! This is really happening! She's letting him go out! 

"Of course mama! I'll do it! Thank you, thank you so much" He was so excited and grateful. Milo was about to hug her but she stopped him before he could with a single hand raise. He backed away but still thanked her, "thank you mama, I'll clean everything up."

 "And remember, the place you want to go to is a week long trip. You better pack for that as well" 

Ok, so that meant he had two weeks to get all of those chores done, and a week of traveling. That’s fine, he can work with that. 

Camilo's eyes held genuine joy and happiness "I- I will, thank you. I love you mama"

Such a gullible creature he is

"I love you most"

When will my life begin? 

Family designs

Au inspired by @/midcanto

Comments, re-blogs, and likes are appreciated. Feel free to ask questions as well or send in ideas!

[hockeyboysimagines]

number 17 with Matthew and Hallie? (I'm mildly obsessed with them) something like one of them insecure/jealous of the other because someone is hitting on them?

Love this. I’m highly obsessed with them so it’s okay, and I’ve gotten three requests for them just today so apparently others are too! I will never stop writing about them. Thanks for the request Nonny!!

Hallie was having a bad day.

One of her worst in recent memory if she was being honest.

If you’ve ever been pregnant you know that there’s a plethora of things that come along with it. Happiness, excitement, joy. But it also comes with sickness, exhaustion and a ton of insecurities. Your rewarded with a cute baby at the end for withstanding all of those things, but it can be brutal in the interim.

What made it worse was that Matthew attracted a fair bit of attention from girls pretty much everywhere they went. It was annoying under normal circumstances, but when she was pregnant it made he want to scream.

She was tired, hormonal and feeling insecure about her pregnancy body, all while having to watch girls throw themselves at her fiancé.

It just wasn’t fair.

“Don’t be silly.” Chantal had said, patting her knee “Matthew would never. He’s so in love with you.”

“I think she knows that.” Emma said from across the table “I think she just doesn’t appreciate girls obviously flirting with her man while she’s standing right there and clearly pregnant at this point.” She said gesturing towards Hallie’s baby bump.

“ I do not miss those days.” Chantal mumbled “I know it’s hard, but try to remember that those girls don’t mean anything to him.”

Hallie knew that of course.

He’d been devoted to her since day 1, even when she tried to push him away he never really left. And now that she was on her second pregnancy it was no different. He went above and beyond for her. But it did make her wanna die a little each time she saw some half naked skinny girl smile at him and ask for a picture.

As the months wore on, and she got to the tail end of her pregnancy with baby girl Tkachuk, she couldn’t take it anymore. The strength she’d maintained for the last 8 months had run out.

She’d been home, and happened to catch a photo of Matthew, posing for a photo with three bikini clad girls in front of what looked like a sporting goods store, and she lost it.

Thomas was at school thankfully and wasn’t home to see it, because once she started crying she just couldn’t stop. She cried and cried until she started heaving and felt like she couldn’t breathe.

She was crying so loud she didn’t hear Matthew come in the house.

“Hallie-“ she heard his keys hit the floor and he hurried over to her “Hallie what’s wrong? Are you hurt are you-“ he glanced around and noticed her phone laying face up, picture across the screen and sighed.

“Hallie. What’s going on?” He asked gently, wiping the tears off her cheeks “Do you need to talk about something?”

“I just feel so gross.” She choked out “And I see how these girls look at you and it makes me feel so ugly.”

“Hallie. You are not ugly. You’ve never been ugly.”

“I’m so insecure Matty. I feel like I’m huge and hideous. My body is weird right now.”

“Your pregnant. There’s a whole other person in there, of course your body is weird right now. It’s supposed to be. But when did this start? I don’t remember you being this way with Thomas?”

Hallie shrugged “It was during Covid. There was no picture taking with your “fans”.” She quoted.

He pursed his lips and she sighed “I know I’m being dumb.”

“You aren’t dumb. But if you felt this was why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t wanna bother you with it. I just- I’m afraid maybe you see these hot, skinny girls and wish you had them instead of your whale of a fiancé at home.”

“Come here.” He said, pulling her to sit closer to him. He pulled her on to his lap and let one hand fall on her knee.

“I will never ever think that. Do you wanna know why?” He asked gently. She nodded and he continued “Since the day I met you, my whole life changed, and for the better. And now not only are you the mother of my first child, but we’re about to have a second one. Your the love of my life Hallie.”

“Do you still think I’m pretty? Like this?”

“I think your gorgeous no matter what you look like, but especially this way.”

“And you don’t want someone else? Someone thinner or hotter?” She had tears in her eyes still and he shook his head, gripping her hand in his.

“It’s always been you, and it will always be you. Please never forget that.”

She took a deep breath and nodded “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just promise me next time you’ll come and talk to me before we get to this point okay? Now why don’t you go get yourself cleaned up, and we’ll pick up Thomas from school and go out for dinner. Sound good?”

He kissed her on the cheek and helped her up, and she took a deep breath and smiled.

She really was so lucky to have him. He was a gift she hadn’t seen coming, and it made her happy to know that even at her lowest, he would always be there to lift her back up.

[razorsadness]

My life is pretty good, these days. Not perfect, of course, but I’ve had a lot of moments recently when I’ve been in the middle of doing whatever and said to myself, a la Kurt Vonnegut: “If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.”

For a while I was going through an “ugly phase,” where every time I saw myself (in photos, in the mirror), I’d go uggghhh. I felt old and hideous. But I’m past it now. I got over it partly by focusing on other stuff that makes me happy—when I’m focused on other stuff, I care less about how I look, but what ends up happening is that the happier I am with other aspects of my life, the better I think I look.

My gender has flipped again, and I once again feel like a woman. I’ve also gone back to using both they/them and she/her pronouns (like, officially; unofficially I’m okay with they, she, and he, especially if people switch them up a lot), for several reasons which I don’t feel like enumerating right now. Every time something like this happens—meaning I change pronouns or genders, particularly when the pronouns or gender align with my AGAB—I go through a brief crisis of: “Oh my god, I’m not really nonbinary, I was just fooling myself the entire time.” And then I remember that I’m genderfluid, and pronouns =/= gender, and even calling myself a girl or a woman doesn’t have to mean just one thing. Like I wrote in my recent novel-related zine, about the character Whiskey (who is me and not-me): ‘Girl’—or any other gendered term—isn’t a box, it’s a signifier. When you call Whiskey a girl, you’re pointing toward a set of characteristics they have, which may or may not be the same characteristics any other ‘girl’ has. You know what you mean when you say Whiskey’s a girl. If the reader doesn’t get it? Fuck ‘em. That’s their problem.

Saturday night was the big Literacy Council fundraiser at the Roma Lodge, which I was an invited guest at, along with some of the other previous and current Writers-in-Residence. And I got a plus-one, so P. went with me. The dinner was good; they served it family-style for every table, so we passed around salad and bread, followed by fried chicken, mostaccioli, and meatballs. The best part of the evening was the timed Scrabble tournament. Our table won, and they gave us all these really nice journals as prizes; but just the playing itself was so much fun, and full of hilarious moments that I was laughing about for days afterward. And it was great to be around so many of my friends, and to have my husband with me—most times when I’m at an event, he’s home with the kids.

Sunday night I attended an online (Zoom) poetry open mic. A lot of my friends and acquaintances read that night, and it was great to hear them, but then there was this mix-up with the sign-up list so I ended up never getting “called to the mic,” and I was bummed. But then the next day I got a message from the host—he felt so bad about the whole thing that he offered me the feature slot for April. I accepted!

And speaking of April… For years now, I’ve thought about applying for [redacted], and I finally went for it, and I got accepted! So in April I’m doing [redacted]. I’m excited, and a little nervous, but mostly excited.

Monday and Tuesday were super warm—in the sixties, which is incredibly warm for the upper midwest in March, especially here by the lake. I spent a lot of time outside, both days. Monday, C. and I took a quick trip downtown, to get this year’s veggie garden seeds from the library; afterwards, we got gelato at the cafe. Tuesday, we took a long walk, and I got to have my first iced coffee of the year.

Wednesday, late afternoon, the temperature dropped, and I got a massive sinus headache (as I often do when the air pressure changes rapidly). It hurt so bad I got nauseous and shaky and wanted to cry; I had to lay in bed for a while with my heated sinus mask on just to make it even somewhat bearable. Sometimes I think my sinus issues don’t count as a real disability, but then something like that happens and I’m like: wait, the pain is sometimes so bad I can’t do anything? Yeah, that’s a real disability.

Yesterday I hung out with my mom. It’s so weird. Half the time she stresses me the fuck out and I don’t even want to be around her (like—half the time I love her but I don’t like her, ya know?), but the other half the time we have a blast and I’m really glad she’s my mom. Yesterday was a lovely day. We went downtown. She treated us to brunch. I had a twist on an Irish coffee, what they call an “Irish Americano”—a cafe Americano with both Irish whiskey and bourbon in it—and the Mediterranean skillet (eggs served over hashbrowns mixed with red onion, tomatoes, artichoke hearts, kalamata olives, feta cheese, and hummus). We sat there for a long time, even after we finished eating, and had a great conversation. Then we went to the art museum, and I saw a lot of really amazing pieces, and got inspired, and got emotional, and gosh I just love art so much!! And I’m so happy our town has not one but two art museums! And then I splurged a little in the gift shop. Oh, yeah: I have a credit card now! My first-ever credit card, at age forty fucking two, because I never qualified for one before. My bank offers secured credit cards to help people build their credit, and I applied for one earlier this month and got accepted. I purposely set it for the lowest limit possible, and believe me, I’m being very careful not to overspend to the point where I’ll never pay it off. But if I never use it at all, I’ll never build my credit, so…yeah, I splurged just a tiny bit. I bought a gorgeously illustrated book of excerpts from Pablo Neruda poems (that one’s for me and the kids), and a card game that involves both visual art and poetry, which, well, sign me the fuck up.

We also had a neat interaction with one of the gift shop cashiers—he’d seen the umbrella I was carrying when we walked in, a University of Michigan umbrella, and told us he’d recently moved here from Michigan. We asked him what part, and he said Flint, and we were like hey! We lived there, too! He’d lived there his whole life up until six months ago when he moved to Wisconsin, whereas we only lived there for six years (and left 34 years ago), but still. Small world.

Last night, P. and I had some wild, passionate sex.

On the not-so-good front: this morning, P. started coming down with some unspecified yuck. He’s testing negative for CoViD so far, which is good, but I know there’s a gnarly non-CoViD chest cold floating around right now, too, as I have some friends who’ve had it. Unfortunately, this means we can’t go to the St. Patrick’s Day parade tomorrow, which sucks, but what’re you gonna do? I’m trying to take precautions—I’ve changed out the sheets and towels, aired out the bedrooms, wiped down surfaces, and taken Emergen-C. P. is keeping to himself as much as possible. So far, the kids and I still feel okay, so hopefully we don’t get whatever it is (or that it’s mild, if we do).

I had to go out and run some errands today (post office, grocery store), so I masked up and went out (I’m not perfect about masking 100% of the time, but I always mask if I have any symptoms of anything or if I know I’ve been exposed to something). I had a lovely interaction with an old woman at the grocery store. (I say she was old not as a pejorative, but because she was definitely in her late eighties or maybe even in her nineties.) We were both entering the liquor department at the same time, and she said: “I love your hair! I used to be a redhead, too, before it went white.” “Thanks! This isn’t my natural color, though.” “I know,” she said. “No one’s hair is that shade. But it suits you! And I love your boots, too!” (I was wearing my tall black boots with all the buckles, that I got for my birthday.) “Thank you!” I said again. “And I love your jacket!” (She was wearing a very pretty yellow jacket.) Then we happened to both be going for the Jameson. She laughed and said: “I can’t drink like I used to—I used to be able to put ‘em away with the best of ‘em—but you have to have a little Jameson on St. Paddy’s Day!” “Or just because it’s a day that ends in a ‘y’!” I said, half-joking. She laughed and said: “Oh, I love your spirit, too! Perhaps I will just take you home with me!” I don’t know if she meant that in a queer way or an “you’re the granddaughter I never had” way, but either way, I appreciated it. I love encounters like that with elderly folks; I like knowing that one can live that long and still have that kind of energy.

What else? It’s Pisces season, still. Which means I have strange, intense dreams nearly every night, and during the day I’m either horny, or sad, or both. I know, I said I’m mostly happy these days, and I am, but I’m still sad a lot, too. Maybe ‘melancholy’ is a better word for what I mean.

I have a crush, my first proper crush (i.e., not a friend-crush, and not a crush on a celebrity) in a while. Her name is K., I first met her back in November, and for a while I tried to convince myself it was just a friend crush. “No no, I don’t have a crush on her,” I’d say to myself, “I just think she’s neat and wanna hang out with her.” But then when I compared how I feel when I run into her or see pictures of her, or just even think about her, vs. how I feel about my friend-crushes, I was like: “Ooooh, okay, no, she definitely gives me pants feelings and a little flutter in my tummy. It’s a crush crush.” Nothing shall come of this crush, but that’s okay. I’m fine with casually crushing on her. It’s nice just to feel those feelings again. Gets the blood flowing, makes me know I’m still alive, y’know? Plus, since she’s also a poet and spoken word performer whose work I love, I’m using some of the crush energy to try and impress her with my literary artistry.

And I have been missing past loves, what else is new. I’ve been missing A.D. and A.C., my two boys with the same first name from the same Chicago suburb. I’ve been missing "Sullivan," and S., and F. And of course other than the two A.s, I haven’t seen or spoken to any of them in years and years. And even with the A.s… I realize that I don’t know them anymore, so when I miss them I’m missing who they were—and I’m also missing who I was back then. What’s that quote about desire? About how it’s not just a desire for a person, place, or thing, but rather a desire to be the person who fits with that person, place, or thing? It’s like that. When I miss old loves (or old friends, or places I once knew, etc.), I don’t just miss them, I miss being the person who fit with them, once upon, however briefly.

But then there’s the flipside to all the yearning for new crushes and old flames, and that’s realizing: I do have a lot of amazing people in my life. I’ve lost a lot of friends over the years, but I still have so many wonderful friends, both old and new. In the past year, I’ve even reconnected with some people whom I thought were out of my life for good, and it’s just good to know—though some friends may leave my life forever, others will come in and out of it. Maybe "Filia" was right, all those years ago. Maybe some “see yas” really do mean “see ya down the road,” not “goodbye forever.”

And romantically—every day, I look at P. and am just so happy he’s my person. We’ve had a lot of ups and downs over the course of our relationship—as of June, we’ll have been together fifteen years—and I know we’ve both had times when we’ve thought of calling it quits. But we’ve always managed to work it out, and our relationship has gotten stronger and stronger, and I just love him so much. I can’t imagine having anyone else as my primary partner.

The kids have been flooring me lately, too, in the best possible way. Again, there are struggles, but overall I’m just amazed by them and love them more every day. Especially as they’ve both been getting into music—both playing it and listening to it. D. has gotten really into Pearl Jam, which is so funny. Partly because until fairly recently, he was ambivalent about rock music, and was more into techno and hip hop. Which is obviously fine; I like music in both those genres, and I’m definitely not the type of parent to force my kids to like what I like. (I introduce them to stuff I like, but I don’t make them like it, y’know?) So it’s kinda cool that he’s coming around to rock and its various subgenres on his own. But it’s also funny because he’s twelve, and it was around that same age that I first got into Pearl Jam.

I’ve been rekindling my love for Shakespeare’s plays, recently. Not that it ever really goes away completely, it’s just that it’s such a long-running special interest of mine that it’ll go on the backburner for a while, and then something will spark and it’s like oh no, I’m obsessed with Shakespeare again. Which is what’s happening currently. I’ve decided that I’m going to study Shakespeare with D. as part of his curriculum next month. We’re going to cover one comedy and one tragedy. I’ve already chosen Hamlet for the tragedy (he’s a moody tween, I think it’s perfect), but I haven’t chosen a comedy yet, because I love all of Shakespeare’s comedies so much.

On a related note: my mom recently had me go through the few things of mine that were still at their house, and one was a book called Shakespeare for Beginners, which I got when I was 15 or 16. I wasn’t even really a beginner at that point—I’d already seen many Shakespeare plays, and had been in A Midsummer Night’s Dream twice!—but I think I got it for a school project because it does have pretty good summaries of all his plays and a bit of his poetry. Anyway, I was flipping through it, and I found a letter inside, from the American Birding Association, thanking me for registering as a Young Birder of the Year, from the year I was 16/17. I laughed my ass off, and thought of that quote from Tight Pants zine about being the strange, smart kid. Because that time in my life was full of similar dichotomies. Yeah, I studied Shakespeare and was an amateur birder. I also had sex with boys and girls, went to punk shows, and got stoned. Punk? Punk! Or, you know, to quote Whitman: Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself.

The other week, in my Facebook memories, I saw a post I made in 2017: I declare this year my year of writing like hell and resisting despair. I reposted it, saying that I was gonna try to match that same energy this year, and so far I have been. I’ve got my novel in progress, I write 1-2 mini-zines a month for my zine subscription thing + the occasional installment of my Substack newsletter, and I’m still averaging 1.5 drafts of new poems per day. And then, Wednesday, I did my weekly tarot and oracle draw. This time, I drew one card from the Art Witch oracle deck, and one from the Rust Belt Arcana tarot deck. Both the cards I drew have to do with abundance, fertility, inspiration, and creativity—the Rainbow from the oracle deck, and The Empress from the tarot. I reread the chapter about The Empress in The Creative Tarot by Jessa Crispin, and in a creative sense, The Empress is all about having the ability to take creative ideas and bring them to fruition—and not only that, it’s all about being able to work on many different projects at once, successfully! So, that’s excellent news. Guess I can continue working on my novel, mini-zines, and Substack and still manage the [redacted] in April.

There is one project I’ve decided to…well, not give up on, just approach differently. I’ve decided not to pitch my book idea about [redacted] to [redacted]. I talked to a friend who has published in the [redacted] series, and… For one thing, they no longer offer advances, so even if they did accept the pitch, I’d have to bust my ass for six months to write it and not see a dime until it was published—which could be two years from now! And for another thing, based on what he said, I don’t think I’d have enough creative freedom with it. So I’m still going to write something about [redacted] eventually, but I think I’m going to self-publish it in zine form or as installments on my Substack (or both). Basically, I have such limited time these days, and so many projects I’m already working on, that I’m not going to take on another one unless it pays incredibly well (and fast) and/or I’m super passionate it about it. So I don’t want to start on a project that I wouldn’t see any money from for years and that I wouldn’t get to write the way I want.

Funny side note: The last time The Empress was coming up for me a lot was in early 2017. And yes, that year was incredibly fertile, in a creative sense. I did write like hell, and resist despair. But it was also the year I got pregnant with and gave birth to C. Thankfully, since P. had a vasectomy, I know that this time it means only the creative sort of fertility.

I made coconut curried salmon for dinner tonight, and it was awesome. Now I’m in bed, drinking a lil’ Jamo with ginger ale and lime, about to watch a movie, and crossing my fingers that I don’t come down with the yuck.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hello! A request for Sad from Boozoo's ghost with a female reader. Reader is a murder clown (a gorgeous one 😤) and gets a visit from Sad but when mortality kills her, she becomes a demon and she's just that short, funny but obnoxious person that follows him around everywhere. Like an apprentice :D!!

"Why..Why do you cause all of this terror? Do you not realize the consequences of your actions?" Blue tears rolled down the ghost clown's face as he stared down at you.

"Me? Consequences?? Pffft, I stopped caring looooong ago, Saddie." You grinned twirling the knife in your hand, stopping only to glance up at Sad.

Somehow this guy just winded up in your home, claiming that he knew every awful deed you've done. But you've never seen him before in your life, so you called his bluff.

"But long ago..y-you weren't like this. Please let me show you-"

"No thanks. I've seen my past. It's ugly and I'm happy with myself now." Shooing him away, you turned around to leave, trying to ignore the sobs that were increasingly growing in volume. They were eerily uncomfortable to listen to, but you tried not to show it.

"Y-You know..I thought you were a beautiful clown when I first watched you..p-perform in the circus. Making children smile and laugh."

You stopped in your tracks as a thought bubble-shaped cloud appeared in front of you, showing a small screen that played a movie. It was one of your performances back at the local circus. The film entranced you, and for a moment it made you reflect on how much you've changed..for the worse.

"But then they all grew up and stopped coming. Now that people found ways to entertain themselves, they didn't need you to do it for them. And that made you...angry."

As Sad spoke, the crowds turned to black and white, with you alone as the only one in bright colors. And your smile gradually turned into a frown...then a deep scowl...

Before your whole face was distorted to inhumane proportions, but only for a split second before the cloud vanished.

"You see, you were beautiful then. You've always been beautiful on the outside...but inside you've become such a hideous person. You can't bring back those you killed but..y-you can still turn your life around. It's not too late, [y/n]."

"[Y/n]? Who's that?" You scoffed yet again, shaking your head as you adjusted your clown hat. No way would you let some sentimental crap sway your decision. "She died with the circus. There was never any [y/n], only-"

"You're lying."

"...I'm not Lying, I'm-" But as you turned around to sneer at Sad, you were startled when he grew taller, his torso stretching out of the box as long spindly arms appeared on both sides of him. Looking up, you saw that his face was practically melting, a deep frown settled on his lips as he loomed over you.

"Sheesh, sheesh..calm down, Saddie. 'twas just a joke!"

"You won't be joking when you're six feet under. Make the right choice before it's too late."

"Oooooh, shiver me timbers." You rolled your eyes. "Listen I appreciate the compliments, but you ain't gonna change my mind. The name [y/n] is just as dead as all my victims..those traitors...so just leave me alone."

Sad seemed shocked that you weren't fazed by his transformation. Though seeing that he couldn't convince you to change for the better made him shrink in defeat--quite literally, for that matter. He gave you one last pout before disappearing into his box, the lid slamming shut.

"Well that was quite an act he put on." With a giggle, you knocked on the lid playfully. "Thanks for the show, Saddie. No hard feelings~!"

No response. Of course.

You made a small "hmph" noise before turning on your heel and leaving, trying to find a way out of this darkness.

A few steps later, though, you heard other voices.

"Impressive. Shall I show 'er how her actions affect the present?"

"No need..she seems well aware. That may not scare her but perhaps the future will.."

"Scare me? C'mon. Don't make me laugh again." Stopping once more, you took out your knife and tossed it playfully in the air. Just to intimidate whoever dared to insult you-

Only for it to explode into Christmas ribbons.

"H-Huh?! That was my favorite knife..."

"That's not the only thing I'd be worried about, my dear."

You were still pouting as you turned to the source of the masculine voice, finding a tall lanky rabbit approach you. His body was stitched together like a doll with matted fur and wrapping paper.

"You one of Saddie's friends?" You sneered, hands on your hips. "What're you, an elf's half-assed project?"

"I am Mortality." He stated, forming a grin that showed off his yellowing teeth. "You have no fear in taking the lives of others before their time comes...but what about you?"

"..what do you mean, Morty?"

Like before, in the blink of an eye, Mortality's form shifted into something horrific: his body melting and his eyes stretched out, glowing brighter as he looked down at you.

"What if I told you that YOUR time is already up? The way I see it...YOU HAVE NO FUTURE."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"You ain't still taking my insults to heart, are ya?"

"..n-no."

"You're lying, Saddie...you reek of hypocrisy."

"A-Are you saying I smell, now??"

"Awh c'mon. Ya gotta learn to take a joke sometime. Clowns are good at those." You patted Sad's back in pity as he cried, handing him a colorful handkerchief.

In short, after a rather violent and gruesome death thanks to Mortality, you were basically a demonic clown now, condemned to hell or whatever. Though you already knew you were going there anyway.

But because of that, he saw that you didn't care at all. So he gave up on scaring you and allowed you to visit him, Sad, and Jolly anytime you wanted. You hung out with the one you first met mostly, tagging along in whatever he did and even learning to sing.

As for your role in the trio..you're the one who threatens mortals to be kinder and less selfish--lest they turn out like you--if they chose to ignore or mock Sad. And you were successful in getting the message across even without transforming into some melted abomination and distorting their reality.

Sad remained conflicted about his feelings for you. He felt honored to have an "apprentice." but on the other hand...he was the most sensitive clown paired with the most insensitive clown.

At the same time, your talks of the circus, your acts, and your beauty..all made him grow quite bashful in your presence.

You may have not changed at all, even in death.

But now he didn't mind it.

[missjaystone]

Coming Home

Summary: After a year alone, your lover finally comes back home, but he’s not the same. Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader Word Count: 2,270 Warnings: Vague-ish smut, angsty-ish, meh

You stared at the naked man behind you in the mirror with a surprised grin on your face, a quiet laugh leaving you "you can't be serious, Billy." He chuckled and nodded, his own grin adorning his face as he rested his head on your shoulder and pulled your back into his chest "I'm one hundred percent serious, baby, I want you to marry me." "Weren't you ever warned about marrying strippers?" You asked with a hum. "I was, but I know you aren't after my money, and I don't mind your job, makes me feel proud knowing other guys can only look at you and dream, while I get to fuck you senseless every night," he said as he ground his hips into yours. "So you wanna marry me to stroke your own ego?" You asked sarcastically. "And because I love you. You're not only the most beautiful girl I've ever seen but you're smart, funny, and I always feel like the luckiest guy in the world when I'm with you. Not to mention, we'd have some pretty fucking cute babies, I mean, look at us," he pecked your neck softly and grinned.

He picked the ring up from the box on the counter and slid it onto your finger "what do you say babygirl? Wanna be Mrs. Billy Russo?" "I say fuck yes," you said excitedly. You turned around to kiss him and giggled against his lips when he quickly picked you up and set you on the counter. Another round of gleeful, celebratory sex followed before you two showered, which led to another round before he left for work. You found yourself looking forward to planning the wedding. Unfortunately, he went missing five months later. He never came back to your shared apartment, you found his car with several parking tickets, and god knows the NYPD wasn't any help at all, the entire city knew that.

Life without Billy took some getting used to; you weren't even sure it was something you could get used to. It hurt, coming home to a cold bed in an empty apartment. What hurt even more though, was having to watch your stomach grow in the months that followed. Being handed the small brown-eyed bundle with his tuft of dark hair nearly made you break. You heavily contemplated giving the child up for adoption, but when you thought of Billy, you knew that's not what he would have wanted, especially given his own experience in the system. You also thought about quitting the gentlemen's club, finding something more suitable for a mom, you did have a computer programming degree, your student loans were the reason you started working at the club, but nothing paid as well and offered the flexibility you needed. You got back to work when he turned a month old, the elderly woman in the apartment next door offered to babysit him while you were gone.

"Hey, Kitty, you've got a guy in room three asking for you," your manager said as you made your way off stage, giving a small hum in reply. You sighed quietly on your way to the room, already counting down the minutes until you could leave; 43 minutes and 21 seconds. How is it that almost a year since he vanished, he was still so prevalent in your mind? After closing the door behind you, you took in the man's appearance. He wore loose jeans and a dark grey hoodie that obscured his features. You sighed to yourself and thought 'oh great, another creep'. This wasn't a new thing, men in their thirties and forties came in dressed like this all the time, trying to obscure their features so nobody could ever identify them in case any snooping wives came around.

"Did you have a specific song in mind for your dance?" You asked as you picked up the tablet that connected to the room's speakers. "It'll be a bit of an unusual request but, you know that song 'Baby I'm Yours'?" He asked awkwardly. You nearly dropped the device in your hands, biting your lip as tears already began to well; the voice sounded familiar but you couldn't turn and look yet, you couldn't get your hopes up. "There are a number of songs with that name, can you be more specific?" You asked in as steady of a voice as you could manage. "The version by the Arctic Monkeys," he clarified, clearing his throat some. This time, you did drop the tablet; you suddenly felt unsteady in your platform stilettos.

You didn't even hear him get up but you felt his hands on your arms when you started to turn around "don't, please, don't look at me. I need you to remember me as I was." You exhaled deeply and shook your hand, slapping his hands away "no. I deserve to be looked in the eye when you tell me why the fuck you disappeared." When you turned to face him, you were greeted with a white mask that had cracks and breaks drawn on it. He shook his head, gripping your wrists when you tried to take it off "I didn't mean to. I-I was meeting with someone and it turned ugly and next thing I knew, I was in a hospital with memories missing and nightmares. I was there for six months before things started coming back and then I remembered you. I've been trying to find you and say I'm sorry, beg for you back but I'm-I'm not the same man you were engaged to. I barely recognize the man in the mirror now."

Before you had time to think, you yanked one of your wrists out of his grasp and slapped him, the mask falling to the ground. A shocked gasp left your lips as you took in his scarred features, his eyes immediately screwing shut to avoid seeing your expression. "Billy, I-what happened?" You asked quietly. "I was fighting with Frank and uh, he thought this was a fate worse than death. I guess he was right," he answered with a dry chuckle. When you remained speechless, he kept talking "I just wanted to see you one last time, to tell you how much I loved you, but I'm not gonna make you be with someone so hideously, grotesquely disfigured." The way he spoke about himself sent pangs of sadness to your heart. He may not have looked the same but he was far from hideous or grotesque. You were pulled out of your shock when you saw him reaching down for his mask, presumably leaving.

"No." You finally said, looking at him with an angry frown. "I'm sorry?" He asked, his own expression turning shocked when you snatched the mask from his hands. "I said no. You don't get to make that fucking decision for me, Billy! You don't just get to decide if I want to be with you or not! How fucking dare you just show up and decide for me! Do you know how much of a fucking nightmare this past year has been?" You asked, shoving his chest as angry tears began to roll down your cheeks. "I'm just trying to save you the embarrassment of-" he started to say before you started again "I wouldn't be embarrassed because I didn't love you for your looks you egotistical asshole! I loved you for who you were! Even when you were gone, when I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere, I loved you. Every time I look at our son, I think about how much I love you and would give anything to have you back, only for you to come here and tell me you're leaving to spare me the embarrassment. How fucking dare you," you shoved him again, paying zero attention to how he reacted to anything you said.

Your hand was raised to slap him again but he caught your wrist, eyes widened some "we have a son?" "Yes, Billy! And every time I look into his eyes, I'm reminded of everything we shared, everything I'd give up just to have you back in my life, because I loved you with every fiber of my being. I never cared about what you looked like, you made me feel happy and safe and loved and I thought I made you feel the same but I must not have if you think so little of me, that I'd bolt at the sight of you right now." His stance noticeably softened at your words and he frowned at you "do you really think you could spend your life with someone who looks like I do, now? Children are always gonna point and stare when we walk down the street, men are never gonna leave you alone, your girlfriends are gonna tell you you can do better than someone who looks like Frankenstein."

You sighed quietly and gently cupped his cheeks, frowning at the way he flinched before you even came into contact with the marred flesh. The edges of your mouth curled up in a tiny smile as you looked into his eyes "Frankenstein's monster would be lucky to look like you, Billy." A small groan escaped him at your subtle correction. His hands came to rest on your hips. "You fucking nerd," he mumbled with a chuckle as he let you pull him into a kiss like your life depended on it. His lips only left yours when you fell onto the room's couch, quickly pulling him down with you. Your minimal, barely-there "outfit" was quickly gone, leaving you in only the heels while he shed his layers. The minute he was free, he was back on you, two of his fingers teasing your entrance while his thumb circled your clit, pulling soft, needy noises he'd missed oh so much, noises that got him through the nights he spent alone before finding you again.

And when you finally told him you were ready, it took all of his self-control to go slowly and savor the feelings he'd miss; the way your channel squeezed his member like a vise, the way your legs locked around his hips, and his favorite was the way you peppered kisses along his chest, neck, and face before finally meeting his lips. There were tears in your eyes as he slowly moved his hips, tears he kissed away lovingly while holding you as close as he possibly could. "I missed you so much, angel," he whispered against your lips, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. "I missed you too, Billy," you whispered back as your fingers tangled in his hair.

Once the moments of adjusting to each other's bodies again passed, Billy started moving his hips roughly, almost angrily like he was trying to make up for lost time (which he was). Each moan he pulled from you gave him a little more confidence and made him go faster, harder, deeper; sure, he was seeking his own pleasure, but he was searching his still-scrambled brain for what got you off before. Finally, he recalled the special spots that made you lose it; he angled his hips up a bit so he was repeatedly pistoning into your g-spot, smirking as you louder moans and swears that escaped you. He began kissing just above your collarbone too, sucking and nibbling on the soft skin until a nice, visible lovebite could be seen.

His lips crashed into yours when he felt you tightening around him right before your climax hit, muffling your moans and his as your release triggered his. His hips moved lazily as you came down with him, both of you panting slightly. He looked down at you adoringly after planting a kiss on your forehead "when are you finished with work?" "Any minute now, I bet," you answered happily. You gave him a quick kiss before lazily getting dressed. You checked the time on the tablet and hummed happily "I finished three minutes ago, apparently. Hurry up and get dressed so we can go home." You playfully winked at him before you left the private room. You quickly went to the back and changed into your street clothes before clocking out, meeting Billy by the door.

With your hand in his, you led him to your car and drove him to your tiny apartment. He hung back while you picked your son up from your neighbor, thanking her repeatedly before you led him inside. He followed you to your son's room, swooning over the chubby infant who babbled in his sleep "what'd you name him?" "William Russo, but I call him Will," you answered with a tired but happy smile, moving the tuft of hair out of the baby's face. "Can I-can I hold him?" He asked nervously, hesitantly. Every single one of his muscles tensed as you carefully put the child in his arms. More tears rolled down his cheeks and he bit his lip to stop from crying out loud "he's perfect." You just nodded in agreement as you watched, leaning against Billy's side some. Suddenly, Billy looked at you with watery eyes and whispered "can he sleep with us tonight? I never want to put him down." You smiled at him and nodded "of course he can, baby." You led Billy back to your room and let him get comfortable in bed while you did you changed into your PJs and did your nightly routine. When you stepped out of the bathroom less than ten minutes later, Billy was already passed out, firmly holding the infant on his chest. You smiled fondly at the sight; your love finally came back home.

Taglist: @bdffkierenwalker​

[darthkruge]

Could you do an imagine where Anakin comforts an insecure reader

Anakin Skywalker x Reader ~ Insecurities 

Summary: Anakin comes home to find the reader drowning in their own insecurities and does everything he can to make it better.

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Heavy talk of insecurities, including the reader feeling insecure about their body, personality, relationship, basically themself in general. A little bit of blood and some injuries but nothing major. Angst to fluff, I’d say?

A/N: Hi anon! First off, I hope you’re okay. Secondly, thank you for requesting! And ofc I’ll write this, comfort fics are my shit! I tried to get this request out as quick as I could and it did take a tiny bit longer than I wanted, but I wanted to do it justice. Also, y’all are beautiful and perfect and I love each and every single person reading this. If anyone ever needs anything, I’m here always. If you wanna talk or vent or just share some of your thoughts, I got you. 

(not my gif)

It was just one of those days. You weren’t a stranger to them but, nonetheless, you always felt unprepared when they hit. The feeling where you wanted to crawl out of your own skin, your own mind. Where regardless of what clothes you wore, you hated how you looked. The thoughts were the worst part, telling you lies that felt terrifyingly like truths. 

You’re worthless. You’re unlovable. You’re ugly. Everyone else can see it. They all know. No one really wants to spend time with you. You’re annoying. You’re stupid. You’re a bad person. 

The thoughts spiraled and spiraled and spiraled until you were lost in your own head. When it came to this, you frequently fell. It was too painful to hold onto your consciousness and fight it, so you let go. The thoughts continued as you curled back up in your bed, in the apartment in Coruscant that you shared with him, the one that normally brought you such comfort, and stared blankly at the wall. Tears streamed down your face and you didn’t even have the energy to wipe them away. 

Truly, the worst part was feeling so defeated. You were a strong Jedi and you took your training seriously. You’d fought in countless battles, you should be able to handle one in your mind. You wished you were strong enough to fight against these thoughts. The shame you felt around your insecurities only made you feel more alone. Instead of reaching out on days like this, you just forced yourself into silence. 

You were especially afraid to tell Anakin. Your beautiful, perfect, kind, loving boyfriend. He didn’t deserve to deal with you. He had enough on his plate, it wasn’t his job to comfort you because you weren’t strong enough to deal with your own shit. You were scared that once he saw how you viewed yourself, he would come clean and admit to seeing you the same way. I mean, you were so obviously hideous, how could he not see it, too?

Meanwhile, Anakin was finishing up a training session in the Jedi Temple. Normally he’d train with Obi-Wan, but today he wanted to focus on himself. Honestly, he was a bit distracted. Since he had a busy day today and you had the day off, he had to leave before you woke up, which he absolutely hated. He loved being there when you woke up and cooking breakfast for the two of you. You’d been dating for a few months and he was truly shocked that you’d kept him around for this long. You were everything he’d ever wanted. 

He realized he was smiling as he thought of you and decided to reach out with the Force to be reminded of your presence. He knew it wasn’t what the Force was supposed to be used for but he honestly couldn’t help it, he missed you. You were a comfort to him and he liked to check and make sure you were alright. 

Anakin’s brow furrowed as he searched for you. Normally, you were meditating at this time and he could feel a sense of serenity and contentment around you. Today, however, he was met with pain. Pain, and fear, and hatred, and sadness, and anguish, and loneliness. Anakin braced himself against the wall, stumbling back at the severity of your emotions. Right after, he composed himself and took off in a run, trying to get to you as quickly as possible. 

“Y/N? Y/N?!” Anakin yelled, bursting through the door. He was immediately taken aback when he noticed that all the lights were off. Walking quietly, he heard your sobs coming from the bedroom. He went in and felt his heart shatter. There you were, his angel, curled under the blankets, sobbing. He looked around and noticed the mirror in your room smashed. He walked over and gently placed a hand on your back, trying not to startle or upset you more. 

You looked up at him and started crying even harder. He pulled you into his arms and noticed how you fell limply into his chest. The fight seemed to have extinguished from your eyes, causing him to hold you even closer. Your arms weakly surrounded his middle as his hands stroked your back and gently combed through your hair. 

You felt lost and trapped, the world around you fuzzy and distorted from the tears. Even so, you felt him. You breathed him in, inhaling his comforting scent and feeling his warmth. He helped you ground yourself, the broken wails eventually quieting into soft cries. Anakin didn’t try to shush you, he just whispered reassurances into your hair, let you get it out, and held you. “I’ve got you, love. It’s alright, get it out. I’m here, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

You listened to those affirmations as you sagged into him, taking a few more minutes to just lay there. Softly, Anakin pulled you away from him so he could study you. You saw his face contorted with worry and immediately felt guilty. Great, Y/N, now you’ve made him upset. Fuck, he doesn’t deserve this. Why did I have to be so fucking needy?!

Your thoughts were interrupted by him. “What happened, angel?”

“I-” You trailed off, not sure what to say. “I just had a shit day”

You could tell he knew it was more and, feeling vulnerable under his intensely caring gaze, brought your hand to move the hair out of your face.

Quickly, you heard Anakin take a sharp inhale of breath before grabbing your hand. Ouch. You looked down and noticed the cut on the back of your hand. It had mostly dried by now, thankfully, but the pain from punching that mirror earlier was definitely still registering. 

He wordlessly went to the bathroom and brought out some gauze and anti-bacterial medicine. When he returned, his eyes drifted to the mirror and you saw him putting the pieces together. He spent a few moments in silence, his expression downcast. He worked quickly, bandaging you up and collecting his thoughts. “Why?” He asked, softly.

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stand to look at myself anymore” You whispered, wiping away some residual tears from your eyes. 

“Y/N, you’re gorgeous, love. Please, angel, please look at me.” He cupped your face and moved you so you were in his lap, making sure you heard every word. “You are truly the most breathtaking person I’ve ever met. You’re ethereal.”

Anakin’s voice was quiet as he told you these things. Quiet, yet powerful. Almost as if it was the gentle caress of his innermost thoughts. Completely honest and raw, yet too intimate for anyone to hear except you.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry your brain is lying to you. That must be so hard, fighting against your own mind. Baby, you’re brave. You’re so, so brave.”

You were shaking your head, “Ani, no, no I’m not. I’m not brave, I didn’t fight. I let them consume me. I was drowning and I couldn’t breathe until you came in. I couldn’t anchor myself at all, I was so weak” You said, disgusted with yourself. 

“Shh, shh, Y/N, listen. You are strong because even though you felt the weight of everything on your shoulders, you didn’t drown. I know you felt like you would, but look! You’re here. You didn’t drown.” He took a second to pause, kissing your forehead lovingly. “Do you want to talk about what brought this on?”

“If I tell you, promise you won’t think differently of me?”

“I promise. Nothing could change how I feel about you.”

You inhaled deeply, hands shaking slightly. Ani took them in his own, steadying them while looking at you deeply. “I’ve been dealing with some shit for a while and I think it all kind of caught up to me today? I hate how I look, Ani. I look in the mirror and I can’t handle it. That’s why I broke it, I just, I couldn’t. And then I was just thinking of how you don’t deserve to deal with someone like me. You shouldn’t have to come home after a day of training and deal with my breakdowns. I know I should have told you I’ve been feeling like this. I just was terrified. I was terrified you’d agree with me. I’m terrified you’ll leave me. I’m terrified you’ll wake up and see how you deserve so much more than the shitty fucking messed up person I am.” You trail off and meet his eyes, tears glistening in both of yours, “Ani, I’m so terrified” You finish, voice wavering. 

Anakin rests his forehead against yours, pressing kisses to your hands. He lets his eyes close and tears fall down his cheeks. He couldn’t believe you were in this much pain and he never noticed. You were the love of his life and he felt like he’d failed you if you feel like this. 

“Y/N, I’m not gonna leave you. I’m not going anywhere. You are the best person for me, hell, you’re the best person in the entire fucking galaxy. Everyday I wake up and think about how lucky I am to call you mine. You’re smart, you’re kind, you’re compassionate. You’re stubborn as hell and I love that about you. You challenge me and you’re a damn good Jedi. You’re strong, stronger than anyone should ever have to be. Your heart inspires me everyday. Simply, you’re good. And I know I said it a bit earlier, but I’m gonna say it again. You are stunning, love. Truly.” Anakin said, pulling away so he could really see you. 

“Look at your legs! They’re so pretty, baby. Especially when you jump up and wrap them around me after I get home from a mission? That’s the best feeling in the freaking world! And your stomach! You always let me rest my head on it when I’m tired and I know you think it’s weird but it’s such a good angle because I can lay there and play with your hands. And, baby, your arms!! You give such good hugs and you when wrap them around me?? It makes me feel safe in a world full of chaos. And at night when you use them to curl into me, or when we’re dancing together? Fuck, I just love them.”

Anakin trailed off for a second. He held your face in his palms and you leaned into their warmth. “And you’re face, Y/N. It’s just so perfectly you. When I look into your eyes, I know I’m home. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. I don’t understand how you can hate your body when it's the body that makes me feel like I’m going to be okay. You make me feel like I’m going to be okay. I’ve always felt so out of control, so lost. But you ground me. Please, come to me if you ever feel like this again? You are not a burden or a messed up person. You’re everything. I’m here for you. I know my words won’t fix anything overnight. Even so, I promise you, I will repeat them everyday until you believe them and, after that, I will continue to remind you until my last breath.”

You hugged him and nuzzled into his chest, overcome with emotion. “I’m trying Ani, I’m really trying. It’s not easy for me to come to people when I feel like that but I promise I’ll try.”

His arms tightened around you and he placed a kiss on the top of your head. “That’s all I could ever ask of you, love. Thank you for being willing to try”

“Thank you, too, for talking me down today. It doesn’t normally get that bad. Some days are worse than others, you know? But you really helped me. I love you more than anything. I love you for loving me when I feel unlovable” 

“I will always be here to remind you how deserving you are of love, happiness, and every other positive thing in the universe. I love you, too. I’ve loved you for years, I love you now, and I’ll love you forever”

Anakin hadn’t really let you go since he returned to the apartment. He was naturally a protective person and hated to see you hurting. He was so soft, so comforting. Although vulnerability is always hard, he made it so much easier. You knew he would always validate you, comfort you, and be there without judgement. He was everything you could possibly need and more.

Eventually, your breathing evened out as he rocked you in his arms. Anakin layed you back under the covers and went to pull away to sweep up the broken mirror’s glass. As he attempted to release himself from your arms, you whined and only tightened your grip on him. Anakin smiled and chuckled quietly, laying down and pulling you on top of his chest. You hummed contently and he placed a few more soft kisses onto your hair, your forehead, your shoulders, everywhere. You were his top priority always and he wanted to keep you safe physically, mentally, and emotionally. He could never deny you comfort, especially not in this state. After waiting a few more moments to ensure you were truly at rest, Ani closed his eyes. The glass could always wait until tomorrow...

[2tired2study]

hi! i’ve recently finished the picture of dorian gray so let’s go over my favorite quotes (in order from the ones that appear in the book first to last)

if they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat

being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose i know

and as for believing things, i can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible

when our eyes met, i felt that i was growing pale. a curious sensation of terror came over me. i knew that i had come face to face with someone whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if i allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself

he, too, felt that we were destined to know each other

laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is by far the best ending for one

a man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies

i like persons better than principles, and i like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world

every day. i couldn’t be happy if i didn’t see him every day. he is absolutely necessary to me

he is all my art to me now

it is only the intellectually lost who ever argue

and the mind of a thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing

there is no such thing as a good influence, mr gray. all influence is immoral; immoral from the scientific point of view

he becomes an echo of someone else’s music

but the bravest man among us is afraid of himself

nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul

some day, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion branded your lips with its hideous fires,you will feel it, you will feel it terribly

man is many things, but he is not rational

examinations, sir, are pure humbug from beginning to end. if a man is a gentleman, he knows quite enough, and if he is not a gentleman, whatever he knows is bad for him

behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic

there was something fascinating in this son of love and death

really! and where do bad americans go to when they die?... they go to america

well, the way of paradoxes is the way of truth

all i want now is to look at life. you may come and look at it with me, if you care to

punctuality is the thief of time

it is only the sacred things that are worth touching

when one is in love, one always begins by deceiving ones self, and one always ends by deceiving others

there is always something infinitely mean about other peoples tragedies

how different he was now than the shy frightened boy he had met in basil hallwards studio! his nature had developed like a flower, had borne blossoms of scarlet flame. out of its secret hiding-place had crept his soul, and desire had come to meet it on the way

it is personalities, not principles, that move the age

people are very fond of giving away what they need most themselves

he lives the poetry that he cannot write. the others write the poetry that they dare not realize

human life—that appeared to him the one thing worth investigating

to note the curious hard logic of passion, and the emotional coloured life of the intellect—to observe where they had met, and where they separated, at what point they were in unison, and at what point they were at discord—there was a delight in that! what matter was the cost? one could never pay too high a price for any sensation

with his beautiful face, and his beautiful soul, he was a thing to wonder at. it was no matter how it all ended, or was destined to end. he was like one of those gracious figures in a pageant or a play, whose joys seem to be remote from one, but whose sorrows stir ones sense of beauty, and whose wounds are like red roses

the senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade

all that it really demonstrated was that our future would be the same as our past, and that the sun we had done once, and with loathing, we would do many times, and with joy

it often happened that when we thought we were experimenting on others we were really experimenting on ourselves

the joy of a caged bird was in her voice

she was free in her prison of passion

i love him because he is like what love himself should be.

he was like a common gardener walking with a rose

he had the dislike of being stared at, which comes on geniuses late in life and never leaves the commonplace

to be in love is to surpass ones self

my wonderful lover, my god of graces

i wish i had, for as sure as there is a god in heaven, if he ever does you any wrong, i shall kill him

whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives

i don’t want to see dorian tied to some vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect

we are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices

and unselfish people are colourless. they lack individuality

you are much better than you pretend to be

of course, it is sudden—all really delightful things are

he is not like other men. he would never bring misery upon any one. his nature is too fine for that

but i am afraid i cannot claim my theory as my own. it belongs to nature, not to me

no civilized man ever regrets a pleasure, and no uncivilized man ever knows what a pleasure is

there was a gloom over him

he felt that dorian gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the past

any one you love must be marvellous

it is not good for ones morals to see bad acting

there are only two kinds of people who are really fascinating—people who know absolutely everything, and people who know absolutely nothing

you taught me what reality really is

you had made me understand what love really is

you are more to me than all art can ever be

there is always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has ceased to love

a faint echo of his love came back to him

we live in an age when unnecessary things are our only necessities

when we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us

i cant bear the idea of my soul being hideous

one can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing

nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner

it is only shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion

you were the most unspoiled creature in the whole world

of you wish me never to look at your picture again, i am content. i have always you to look at

from the moment i met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. i was dominated, soul, brain, and power, by you

i grew jealous of every one to whom you spoke. i wanted to have you all to myself. i was only happy when i was with you

i only knew that i had seen perfection face to face

i grew more and more absorbed in you

you are made to be worshipped

in every pleasure, cruelty has its place

but it was to teach man to concentrate himself upon the moments of life that is itself but a moment

out of the unreal shadows of the night comes back the real life that we had known. we have to resume it where we left off, and there steals over us a terrible sense of the necessity for the continuance of energy in the same wearisome round of stereotyped habits, or a wild longing, it nat be, that our eyelids might open some morning upon a world that had been refashioned anew in the darkness for our pleasure, a world in which things would have fresh shapes and colours, and be changed, or have other secrets, a world in which the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate, in no conscious form of obligation or regret, the remembrance of even joy having its bitterness and the memories of pleasure their pain

yet, as had been said of him before, no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself

he saw that there was no mood of the mind that had not its counterpart

art, like nature, has her monsters

is insincerity such a terrible thing? i think not. it is merely a method by which we can multiply our personalities

and mind you don’t talk about anything serious. nothing is serious nowadays. at least nothing should be

i am tired of myself tonight. i should like to be someone else

sin is a thing that writes itself across a mans face

you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite

that is the reason why i want you to be fine. you have not been fine

you have a wonderful influence. let it be for good, not for evil

i wonder do i know you? before i could answer that, i should have to see your soul

my god! don’t tell me that you are bad, and corrupt, and shameful

so you think it is only god who sees the soul, basil? draw that curtain back, and you will see mine

each of us has heaven and hell in him, basil

you are the one man who is able to save me

don’t speak about those days, dorian—they are dead... the dead linger sometimes

lord henry, i am not at all surprised that the world says that you are extremely wicked

life is a great disappointment

i like men who have a future and women who have a past

moderation is a fatal thing. enough is as bad as a meal. more than enough is as good as a feast

you always want to know what one has been doing. i always want to forget what i have been doing

his soul, certainly, was sick to death

he was prisoned in thought. memory, like a horrible malady, was eating his soul away

ones days were too brief to take the burden of another’s errors on ones shoulders

it is a sad truth, but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely names to things

to define is to limit

to be popular one must be a mediocrity

romance lives by repetition, and repetition converts an appetite into an art

i am searching for peace

the appeal to antiquity is fatal to us who are romanticists

sick with a wild terror of dying, and yet indifferent to life itself

horror seemed once more to lay its hand upon his heart

how terrible it was to think that conscience could raise such fearful phantoms

he had a wild adoration for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art

when you and he ceased to be great friends, he ceased to be a great artist

if a man treats life artistically, his brain is his heart

art has a soul, but that man had not

the soul is a terrible reality

to get back my youth i would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable

but a chance tone of colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play—i tell you, dorian, that it is on things like these that our lives depend

life has been your art

the books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world it’s own shame

the world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. the curves of your lips rewrite history

it was the living death of his own soul that troubled him

as it had killed the painter, so it would kill the painters work, and all that that meant. it would kill the past, and when that was dead, he would be free

[woeisme-iamwoe]

an absolutely massive Haikyuu!! fic rec pt. 2

IwaOi this time around. My favorite ship. The world’s favorite ship...there’s so many

Undecipherable, by ioo (4k. G. canonverse)

 I’m pretty sure the author meant ‘indecipherable’, nevertheless! I am appalled that this work doesnt have more hits. Y'all are sleeping on it and that's not okay. 

The sound of the door slamming against the wall has Hajime startling back to the present. He looks at the source of the disturbance and finds himself face to face with Oikawa, red in the face with breathlessness and a leather-bound notebook tightly clutched in both of this hands. When he spots Hajime, he makes a beeline for the bench and slaps it down right next to him.

"Koi no yokan," he says. "The sense one can have upon first meeting a person that the two of you are going to fall in love."

 primavera, by tothemoon (8k. T. canonverse)

All of tothemoon’s works read so beautifully 

They say it takes twenty-six years, for certain breeds to fully bloom. 

Learning to Walk (So That We Can Run), by ricekrispyjoints (27k. M. canon-divergence)

I've read this work so many times. Like, so many times and I’ve never tired from it. Gorgeous. The shift from friendship to romance felt so natural, love it. 

"I'm not healing like I should be."

In his second year of university, physical therapy just isn't cutting it. Oikawa's knee is getting worse, and he can't hide it anymore.

Or: the light angst, project-your-own-life-experiences-on-Oikawa knee surgery fic you didn't know you wanted.

 Priorities, by weirdmilk (2k. T. canonverse)

Kissy, kissy. 

‘I just -’ Oikawa begins, ‘it might be difficult to get married, sometimes, I think.’ He chews on his lip.

Iwaizumi makes a questioning noise.

‘Ah,’ Oikawa says, and then, in a rush, ‘if I didn't want a wife at all - what then? If I said that to you. If I told you I can’t see it. Like - the wedding dress. The bride. I just can’t see it.’

Iwaizumi swallows again, his heart beating much faster than the conversation warrants. He wonders whether Oikawa can hear it. ‘You’re eighteen. You aren’t supposed to see it yet.’ He snorts. ‘I mean - if we’re sharing shit, I’ve never even kissed a girl.’ He doesn’t mind admitting it. It’s not something that bothers him - he’s never prioritised girls very highly, and despite Oikawa’s largely undeserved status as Miyagi’s most eligible teenage bachelor, he doesn’t think Oikawa has ever wanted a serious relationship with any of his fan club, either.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi can't sleep before their first practice match with Karasuno.

 Before Midnight, by fathomfive (2k. G. canonverse)

Reads like a fairytale. 

The sky turns, the seasons turn over, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa track the movements of the stars. Nothing is ever quite constant, but it's close enough.

The grass is stiff with frost. They walk in silence past the raked-over vegetable garden and up the back hill, footsteps crackling, and stand side-by-side at the top of an incline that used to seem much bigger. Iwaizumi glances over but Oikawa’s already gone, eyes searching the sky with no hint of hurry, just a kind of reverent patience.

 make a bet, keep a promise, by raewrites (13k. M. canonverse)

Bet still on. 

Sometimes, in still moments, Iwaizumi wonders why out of all the people on earth he ended up with Oikawa Tooru. Why it’s his face that lingers on his fading conscious in the last moments before he falls asleep, in the first blurry seconds upon waking up again. Why when he looks to his side, he expects Oikawa to be there in the same way he expects to see five fingers on both hands, a natural extension of himself, ever present.

Why he can’t imagine a future without Oikawa in it.

It begins with a bet made between the two boys in the mid-summer of their eighth year. It starts with volleyball, but like with most things involving Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime, things are never quite that simple.

 our hearts still beat the same, by knightswatch  

 two birds, by thelittlebirdthattoldyou (5k. T. canonverse)

Of heartbreaking letters and paper crane wishes. 

Five months into the term, two months after he’s stopped replying to Oikawa’s texts, the first package arrives. A small square box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, and Hajime almost trips over it on the way to his dorm.

There’s a letter attached.

Oikawa doesn’t know how many times he’ll have to put his feelings down on paper before Iwaizumi believes them. 

Through My Eyes, by anchoringsouls (2k. G. canonverse)

Okay! Okay, we were doing great with the soft, happy love up until the last part! That's great, just great!

“I think if you ever saw yourself through my eyes, you would fall in love with yourself the same way the way I did with you.” 

in time it could be ours, by deusreks (3k. T. canonverse)

Anyone wanna go back in time and make a time capsule with me only to dig it up years later and we’re actually in love?

Set post Seijou's match with Karasuno. There's a moderate amount of rolling in the dirt. No pajamas were hurt in the writing of this fic.

There, in their joint backyard, was Oikawa Tooru, clad in his silly luminescent space pajamas, digging a hole near a cherry tree.

“What the hell, Oikawa.”

Tooru stubbornly continued digging. He looked pitiful in that moment; everything that was grand about him in daylight was meaningless in the darkness. He was only a boy with a shovel whose broken heart mirrored Hajime’s own.

 we can do better than that, by spaceburgers (16k. M. canonverse)

Of course, of course, the IwaOi road trip fic. AnD thErE wAs ONly OnE bED!

Oikawa and Iwaizumi go on a road trip during the summer after their high school graduation. It doesn't go as expected, but maybe that's not such a bad thing after all. 

They Say it Rains Diamonds on Jupiter, by exsao (35k. T. canonverse)

I don't know, just gorgeous. Hajime’s so in love. 

"You're in love with him."

Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.

"Yeah," he says instead.

He's never been good at lying, anyway.

 Midnight boys/sunset town, by carafin (10k words. T. Housemates AU):

The author says they played off of the fact that Oikawa oftentimes forgoes his sleep in order to work, and wrote it so that he doesn't sleep at all. This was so cute, kinda sad, mostly not. Love how Iwaizumi just goes along with whatever crazy stilch Oikawa is on. 

In which Iwaizumi Hajime grows a few chili plants, participates in an eating contest, breaks into a park, and falls in love with a man who doesn't ever sleep - not exactly in that order.

5 Reasons Why Iwaizumi Hajime's Flatmate Is A Complete Weirdo (An Incomplete List)

1. He's obsessed with that stupid bucket list of his.

2. He's the proud owner of seven truly ugly, criminally hideous movie posters with aliens on them, which he insists on pasting all over the damn living room.

3. He's always stealing Hajime's sweatshirts.

4. Sometimes, he wakes Hajime up for breakfast. At 5AM. On Saturday mornings.

5. He literally never, ever sleeps.

 The Best I Ever Had, by FindingSchmomo (62k words. T. Canon-divergent):

You’ve read it, your mum’s read it, your dog has probably read it (you really need to take facial recognition for him off your phone, he’s got some weird nighttime habits). So basically this fic caused me physical pain and then pumped me full of morphine and now I’m good! Beautiful read, hated Oikawa for a while, Iwaizumi is the only boy I would ever feel safe alone with. 

A story of separation and time lost. Oikawa and Iwaizumi lose contact, and life goes on. Now, a decade later and back in Japan, Oikawa wonders if he can pick the pieces back together, despite knowing Iwaizumi has moved on. A story of their past, present and future, pieced together by shaky hands.

 darlin', your head's not on right, by aruariandance (13k words. T. canonverse)

Again, I’m pretty sure anybody who's anybody has read this fic and for good reason! Super sweet realizing you're in love fic. Makes me reconsider wanting to get married. 

'“Our wedding,” Oikawa says by way of explanation, tapping his finger against his magazine more emphatically. “What colors should we use? Color scheme is important, apparently.”

Iwaizumi feels his lifespan shortening.

“I was thinking our Aoba johsai colors to go for more, you know, softer tones? Besides, I’ve always looked great in that sea foam green color. Oh, and I guess you look decent in it, too.” He grins, saccharine sweet, and Iwaizumi has never been so tempted to knock one of his perfect pearly white teeth right out of his stupid mouth."

or,

Oikawa teases Iwaizumi about a childhood promise he made to marry him when they were older, except suddenly it's not really a joke at all.

 the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle, by kittebasu (66k. T. canon divergent)

Is this one of the most famous Iwaoi fic? I don’t know. Looks like it, I know it's my personal favorite. Where Oikawa studies bugs for a living and can’t seem to come to terms with his feelings. Very angsty, love that in a fic. 

Tooru is pretty sure he could manage the mating habits of a mosquito. It’s the mating habits of people he can’t seem to get right.

 Terrarium, by sausaged (11k. T. Post-canon)

Honestly, I’m so surprised this fic doesnt have more hits! It’s so good! Made me ache! I love the memories and character growth shown through the growing of the terrarium, absolutely adore that kind of symbolism. So beautiful, give it some love because it's one of my absolute favorites. 

He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).

At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?

Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?

 A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.

 Lips like sugar, by ohhotlamb (8k. T. canonverse)

Why did my childhood best friend never offer to help me practice kissing only for us to realize we were only interested in each other? I had a fake high school experience. 

Hajime is offered to learn the art of kissing from a true professional, one Oikawa Tooru. It's not as bad as he thought it would be.

 Falling Slowly, by bravely (commovente) (3k. T. canonverse)

So special, imagine loving one person, and one person only like this for the entirety of your life. This is getting too sappy, I want off of this ride. 

over the years, some things change; but over the years, some things stay mostly the same.

(alternatively, mornings with oikawa and iwaizumi over the years).

 No sleep in the city, by loveclouds (7k. T. canonverse)

Mass/volume = Iwaizumi, apparently. (Please. If anyone gets this absolutely horrific joke, lets elope).

Along their journey to find Tokyo's best ramen, Iwaizumi finds himself asked again and again why Oikawa is still single.

 Time, by surveycorpsjean (5k. E. canonverse)

Growing older together. 

When they're twenty-three, their story only begins.

 Everything With You, by Ellessey (14k. E. canonverse)

Came damn near to crying, you can just feel Iwaizumi’s pain. Fight scene was probably the most emotion evoking one I’ve read in a long while. 

‘Hajime still loves Oikawa, but he understands now. Oikawa can't look at him and see someone he could potentially date.

And that makes it easier to not focus on the little things that used to drive him crazy—Oikawa's long legs, the way he's always hanging off of Hajime, how his whole face changes when he gets ready for a jump serve, and he looks like he could take on the entire world and win.

This new arrangement though, this living together situation, is presenting a new set of variables that must be adjusted to, and the nakedness is one of them.’

--

For years, being Oikawa’s best friend has worked out fine. Hajime is hopelessly in love with him, but it’s enough. Then Oikawa—who, by all accounts, has never been anything but determinedly, assuredly straight—gets a boyfriend. Or a boy friend-with-benefits. Hajime doesn’t know, and he doesn’t give a shit about the definition.

What he knows is that remaining best friends is starting to seem a bit too painful (way too painful) to be considered a solid option.

 The Best Best, by rikke (12k. T. canonverse/future fic)

Takeru is a whole mood. Don’t want kids, but I do want domesticity and this fic feeds me well.

“Congratulations, Iwa-chan! You’re a dad!” Iwaizumi hears as soon as the door opens. He’s dealt with Oikawa for all of his twenty-one years of age now, but this declaration is still sufficiently disturbing enough that he turns from his place on the couch and braces himself for whatever Oikawa has done this time.

 Or the one where Iwaizumi and Oikawa babysit Takeru for a week.

 cheek kisses, by ohhotlamb (G. 3k. Future fic)

Sooo cute!! 

“Every time,” Hajime murmurs, “every time I see you again I remember how fuckin’ crazy I am about you.”

 Routine, by snoqualmie  (2k. T. canonverse)

Again, anyone wanna be my childhood best friend so we can put face masks on each other and fall in love? I died, truly. 

Iwaizumi is fourteen years old, horny too often and angry all the time, and he’s just starting to notice that Tooru’s legs are really long, that his lips are kinda soft looking, and his fingers feel good pressed under his jaw.

 Thirty Years and Change (the Games of the XXXIII Olympiad, by sunsmasher (19k. G. canon divergence)

Be wary, I would give this fic an upper rating to probably Teen and the follow-up fic is Explicit. But, Oikawa on the Japanese national team is just a dream as is, but add in a rekindling friendship and an angsty make out sesh? Mwah, delizioso. 

It’s July 10th, 2024, and Oikawa Tooru is an Olympian. His smiling face airs on an NHK promo every 45 seconds. He’s captain of the national men’s volleyball team, reigning star of the professional leagues, and he hasn't spoken to Iwaizumi Hajime in two years.

He has, however, sent Iwaizumi tickets for the 2024 Los Angeles Summer Games.

“So go,” says Matsukawa's voice. “It’s only a few weeks. You’ve got a whole city to hide in if it gets awkward, and if it doesn’t get awkward, well…”

It’s like watching the future reconfigure, like being in high school again, watching team after team fall to Oikawa’s faultless planning and shameless charm.

“I’ll get to watch a whole lot of volleyball,” Hajime says, and resigns himself to fate and/or Oikawa Tooru.

“Hey, when you get there, can you bag a gymnast for me?” Hanamaki asks, and Matsukawa squawks.

 Chasing Paper Suns, by carafin (10k. T. Future fic)

Again with the growing up and coming back together, this time with more angst than the last. Lovely, really lovely read. 

Post-high school, Oikawa makes it to the national volleyball team but Iwaizumi doesn't. The next three years become an exercise in growing up without growing apart.

Some days Hajime likes to think of himself as Oikawa’s counterpart—the two of them blending into a single devastating unit, the invincible setter and his unyielding ace, the bond between them unbreakable and true. Other days he feels like he is chasing after a rising sun, always running and running with his eyes fixed on the distance, trying to cross a chasm that stretches on without end, caught in an endless and exhausting pursuit.

 the yellow room, by ohhotlamb (14k. T. canonverse/future fic)

Makki and Mattsun see bullshit and call you out on your bullshit. 

“I told you, we broke up like six months ago. We’re not dating anymore.”

Hanamaki eyes him suspiciously. “You live together.”

“Yeah, so?”

“There are pictures of you two kissing stuck to your refrigerator.”

Hajime shrugs. “That wasn’t my idea. Anyways, they’re good pictures. Good lighting.”

 the river runs, by tothemoon (11k. T. post-breakup)

My heart ACHES. Happy ending, promise! Just read it. 

One year since their breakup, Oikawa Tooru starts a list of daily reminders, tips, and tricks called HOW TO FORGET ABOUT IWAIZUMI HAJIME, and he’s determined to make it stick.

—

This is a firsthand account of how to deal (and rather spectacularly, at that).

 I sure hope that guy gets fired, by Xov (29k. T. canonverse/time loop au)

The only thing better than one confession, is MULTIPLE confessions. Oikawa trusts Iwaizumi unshakably, and that's beautiful. 

It was the fourth time experiencing the exact same day that Iwaizumi Hajime reluctantly admitted to himself that something was very wrong. 

 my only friend was the man in the moon (until i met you), by ohhotlamb (7k. T. canonverse)

Just so innocent and sweet. Oikawa said ‘effort’.

In which Oikawa has a life-altering revelation, and Hajime is starting to think it involves him.  

 Bet On It, by originalblue (13k. E. canonverse)

Tooru being nice for a week? That can only end one way… with a d*ck in Hajime’s mouth. 

Hajime knows exactly how shitty Oikawa's personality is, and has no scruples whatsover about betting Oikawa six thousand yen that he can't be nice for an entire week. 

 especially for tender ones like us, by viverella (17k. T. canonverse/post break-up)

Gods! See? See what I mean? How could I forget about a work as heart wrenchingly beautiful as this? Give it some love, actually, all of the love. 

The worst part of it all, Tooru thinks to himself sometimes, is that even as they fought and kicked and screamed and tore each other to shreds, it was never that Tooru stopped loving Iwaizumi any less. The worst part of it all, he thinks, is that loving Iwaizumi turned out to not be enough.

(OR: on finding the right person at the wrong time and learning how to pick up the pieces)

 sunset town, by skiecas (33k. T. canon-divergent)

Another work that I just CANNOT understand why it doesn't have more hits. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. I almost cried. 

In the summer of 2020, Oikawa Tooru returns home from his first successful stint as captain of Japan’s national volleyball team. In one hand, he holds the undisputed weight of an Olympic medal, and in the other, his unresolved feelings for a childhood best friend.

Two years down the road, reconciling his lifelong dream with his lifelong love proves to be the greatest challenge.

 of odd numbers and intimate regrets, by bravely (commovente) (5k. T. post-canon/one night stand au)

Basically, Tooru and Hajime sleep together after not speaking for seven years and of course there’s feelings and angst and a belated chance at happiness and a life together. 

Tooru’s spent the last seven years of his life in a carefully constructed schedule that is, he realises now, as much a habit as it was a way to forget about the person in front of him.

[or, the one night stand AU between two people more than friends but not quite lovers, measuring the passage of time in distance and long-gone memories, the expansion and contraction of the spaces between their fingers each time.]

 cross my heart, open wide, by acchikocchi (7k. T. canonverse)

Super cute, super short. Realizing you're on a date with the wrong person one-shot. 

For a minute Hajime doesn't know what to say. Everything and nothing crowds his mind, leaving no room to think. That he's never tried this. That volleyball's over. That he's graduating in five months. That it would be really nice, at least once, to go on a date with a good-looking guy.

 Hajime goes on a date. It's not with Oikawa. 

 Fernweh, by oikawashoyo (19k. G. canonverse/post time skip)

A mature(ish) Tooru?? I love works that show Tooru growing and living happily in Argentina and this one is just beautiful. (Plus! Plus, Skai did a piece on it as well and I love ALL their work so you can visualize everything). Love it. 

Argentina is stretching out before him, an opportunity, a challenge. He is reminded of his losses, his insecurities, his disappointments; sees them form a tall, tall wall blocking his path to success. He takes a deep breath and knows he is going to shatter it.

In which Oikawa's whole life is spent longing for the horizon — in the form of a dream, a home, and a boy.

 i breathe easily in your arms, by orphan_account (2k. M. canonverse)

Soft, soft sex

When, after completing their high school graduation ceremony and heading home to enjoy their freedom, Oikawa had pulled him into his room and pressed his lips hesitantly against Iwaizumi’s own, it seemed an inevitable development in the unfolding narrative of their shared existence.

Despite years of having a bed to himself, the sensation of another body taking up space in his sheets, curling against his chest, creating warmth, feels natural in much the same way.

 old and new, by Mysecretfanmoments (5k. T. canon divergence)

Finally a fic where they don't freak out on confession and it's sweet. 

“You seem—sad.” Was that the right word? Others sprang to mind: desperate, lonely, anxious.

Tooru looked away. “Are you going to make me say it?”

“Say what?”

Tooru folded his arms, sighed. “I missed you, of course.”

Hajime swallowed.

“No need to look that way. I told you, I’m not one of your macho man buddies. I’m allowed to say stuff like that without being embarrassed—”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Hajime complained. “No need to be so defensive. I’ve missed you too.”

“Oh?” Tooru seemed to get a little of his own back, leaning forward on his elbows. “What about me did you miss?”

((Going to separate universities, Hajime and Tooru learn the true meaning of "distance makes the heart grow fonder"))

 all i wanted was you, by spaceburgers (6k. E. college/fwb au)

This was more emotional than I thought a 6k friends with benefits fic could be, okay? Okay. 

Wherein Hajime and Tooru are fuck buddies, Hajime curses his treacherous heart, and Tooru is bad with feelings. 

 we shine like diamonds, by whitemiists (26k. T. canon divergence)

I couldn't not include this work. It deals with internalized homophobia so well and I really resonate with it. 

In all seriousness, I’m very lucky to live in a country where my sexuality is widely accepted and my heart goes out the LGBTQIA+ peoples who are forced to hide themselves. You are loved and your sexuality and gender-identity are not wrong and never will be.  

Oikawa is nine when he first hears the word. The boys on the playground whisper it like it's dirty, like the way they daringly mutter the word fuck and then look over their shoulders to check their parents hadn't heard.

"You know Abe-kun from class?" they snicker, hands cupped around their mouths like they're passing along a filthy secret. "I hear his older brother is... gay."

 Look For Him, by Leryline (18k. E. canonverse)

A collection of kisses. I love Hajime’s grandmother. 

She laughs gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so heartbroken before, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi sighs and prods at the mackerel with a chopstick. “Sorry. I can’t help it. It’s just different, you know? Like Oikawa pissed me off so much that now he’s not here I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“But you weren’t always annoyed with him, were you?” his grandmother smiles serenely and takes a sip of her tea. “My, my, Hajime, old women see everything. I saw you out there with my finches, when you were kissing Tooru’s nose. Your mother and father used to do the very same thing, you know, when they were younger. And look how long they’ve lasted. I hope you and Tooru last, Hajime. He’s very good for you.”

-

Oikawa has kissed Iwaizumi more times than either of them can count; it’s a constant thing, their lips never really leaving the other’s skin. There are, however, times when they’ve kissed that are burned into their memories. Eight of them, to be precise.

 film reel life, arsenicjay (8k. T. canon divergence)

Such a unique and creative idea! Reading from the eyes of a camera, so beautiful!

The only person Iwaizumi is lying to is himself, when he insists: I am not in love with Oikawa Tooru. 

 how to let your planets align, by tether (tothemoon) (15k. T. end of the world au)

This is the only remotely non-happy ending fic I will be including on here, and it's purely because it's a gorgeous read. And yes, I ached. Your lips, my lips, apocalypse. 

It is the last day on earth, December 2nd, 1985, when you realize you're in love with him.

[blackcherrykiss]

ending scene— p.sh oneshot.

Pairings: Sunghoon x Reader Genre: pure angst Word Count: 1.1k

WARNING(s): No happy ending, breakup, loneliness, self hatred

A/N: I wrote this during a super dark tim , it’s kind of messed up to even publish this. But I remember putting a lot of emotion into this, I wanted to turn some of my pain into literature. This story trust me, it’s full of ugly thoughts. I sincerely hope it doesn’t trigger anyone. I have a couple more angsty oneshots from this time period, won’t upload if this recieves bad feedback. Enjoy.

Inspired by the lyrics of Ending Scene by IU

“Do you even really love me?” Sunghoon’s voice finally broke after fighting back tears for thirty heavy and sufferable minutes. You two had been together through some of the most bliss and ugly moments of your entire lives but this moment was different. This moment was something that would live deeper than any other moment you had with Sunghoon. It was the first time in your lifetime to see Sunghoon cry out of frustration and pain that more importantly you caused.

“I really do Sunghoon...” Your palms dug painfully deep into your thighs while avoiding the eyes of your lover. It was always hard for you when it came down to expressing how much you loved him or really anybody. You loved him but you were the worst at expressing your affection verbally and physically. You only reflected on your actions at that very moment as the hideous thought occured to you that Sunghoon felt unloved being with you. He felt lonely with you and this bitter realization would only eat at you until the day you died.

“I’ve been waiting three years for you, hoping, praying, wishing!- Wishing you’d truly be in love with me.” Sunghoon was yelling and it left you wide eyed as he said everything out of pure agony.

The three years you had been dating were really just three years of you not showing him the love he wanted, needed, deserved.

He just needed the small things from you like a time where you could just admit when you missed him or let alone say the tough words “I love you”. He never questioned your reserved personality and thought it was just a barrier that could eventually be broken, but instead you remained locked up in your tower of ice. It was just the simple things that you never did that made him believe you didn’t love him. He never felt enough for you and you wondered how long he had been carrying such baggage.

Was it really that hard for you to do such small things for him?

“Sunghoon what are you even saying right now?” Your voice was all scratched up from the guilt of how blind you had been all this time. For some reason everything your heart was screaming could not leave your lips. You loved him but why couldn’t you just say it?

“Am I really not enough for you?” His stare was something you had never seen on anyone in your entire lifetime. His eyes reflected so much disappointment yet so much love. Even if he felt his love wasn’t reciprocated he could never hide how fond of you he was.

“Hoon it isn’t that...” It really wasn’t. Sunghoon was everything and more than enough for you. He was practically the only person to give you purpose being the only one to slowly but carefully melt your heart of ice. As cheesy as it sounded you were truly lonely in the world. He was just the first to make you experience feelings that you never thought you could get from others. You never knew what it was like to miss someone, get jealous over someone or find home in someone other than family. You loved him enough to let him in, kiss him and even make plans of growing older with him.  

“It isn’t? So then what is it? Because I’m starting to believe you’re tired of me.” His voice was so hostile and so unfamiliar it made you lose your train of thought. The rise of emotion in his voice just created such loud blockage to your thoughts and it was all because you really hurt him over the years without realizing.

“It isn’t that. Can we just continue this tomorrow I can’t think straight.”

He scoffed over his tears, “It’s really over huh? You don’t need to explain tomorrow, I get it.” He sighed and began calming down. Every bit of frustration beginning to leave his body as he said that. He had always waited for you to ask him to stay and let yourself go. He wanted you to cry in his arms for once but he was tired of hoping.

“Sunghoon please...” Is all you could say. You didn’t know how to stop him from leaving. You were so unconfident in your words or anything you really did. As selfish as it sounds, you only wondered when the moment would end. You could never keep relationships with anyone because of your lack of confidence and reassurance but you had genuinely believed something would change in you that would enable you to be with Sunghoon until the very end.

“No, I’m not going to disrespect myself like this. I can’t be with someone who isn’t going to love me in the same way I love them.” He exhaled all of his accumulated frustration toward you, stopping himself from blaming you. However everything he had just said hurt you more than ever. You’ve never hated yourself more in your life and you weren’t sure if you would ever recover from whatever just left his mouth. You didn’t even know how to respond or have the balls to even stop him from leaving. You also believed he deserved better and having him think he was leaving for the greater good of himself was the best way to set him free from you.

The silence you were giving him only made him think that you really had not even an ounce of love for him. You weren’t stopping him and instead using the same robotic face like you always did whenever you’d get into arguments.

“Please find someone who can love you more than you love yourself. I’m sorry  I couldn’t give you enough. ” And with that he gave a weak smile that masked his worn out expressions. He was slow to grab the door handle as he turned to look at you with dried tears on his porcelain cheeks, stretching his slender hand to caress the side of your face, allowing you to feel his warmth. It soothed your wintry face.

“You deserve to be happier.” He whispered, the sound of his voice disappearing out through the windows and into the night sky followed by the cold door shutting.

“But how could I ever be happier without you?”

And it was the loss of his presence in your apartment mixed with the thought of him never returning that made the atmosphere much more empty than when he’d go home. The happiness of being with someone, having someone was now over. Now the loneliness you suffered before meeting Sunghoon had now returned to haunt your apartment. You were going to pay the price of making someone emotionally suffer by having this horrible memory be remembered even in your next life.

You finally dropped to your knees by the door in hopes of him knocking. Praying he’d return just seconds later so you could yell at the top of your lungs how much you needed him.

You had never let yourself cry until that very night and many nights to come as he was gone on the prettiest days, hardest weeks, coldest seasons and loneliest years.

[pianomanblaine]

Healing Scars

Being intimate with Erik is more than Christine could have ever dreamed of, but when she realises how insecure Erik feels about his body, she is determined to make him see how much she desires him.

AO3 FFN

They had only been intimate a handful of times since their wedding, but Christine was addicted already. His hands on her skin stoked a fire inside of her that she would gladly be consumed by. She would burn for all eternity if it only meant he never stopped touching her.

Inexperienced as he was – as they both were – Erik was a quick study, cataloguing every breathy moan and whimper for future reference, finding those places on her body where she liked most to be touched and kissed, and lavishing attention on them until she felt she would explode with pleasure. He worshipped her as if she were his personal goddess.

She wanted nothing more than to return the favour, mapping his body with her hands, her lips, her tongue, to discover all the delicious sounds her Maestro could make. Whenever she attempted to start her explorations, however, he would always find a way to stop her. Most of the time she didn’t even realise it was happening. Before she even had the time to think about it he had her pinned underneath him, distracting her with his mouth and his talented musician’s fingers until she couldn’t remember her own name, let alone what she had been planning to do.

Tonight was turning out to go down a similar path.

Christine was completely naked already, but Erik had yet to shed any clothing apart from his vest, shoes and socks. Determined to rectify the situation, she started to unbutton his shirt. She had barely reached the third button when she felt his hands cover hers, guiding them away from his chest towards his face. It was then, when she felt the twisted skin of his unmasked face beneath her fingers – it had taken some convincing before he agreed to leave off his mask during their lovemaking – that she realised how desperately he wanted to keep her attention away from the rest of his body.

‘Erik, what’s wrong?’ she asked, straightening up on her knees where she was sitting on the bed to look at him.

‘Nothing at all, my love,’ he replied a little too quickly, not meeting her eyes as he spoke.

‘Then why won’t you let me look at you?’

‘My dear,’ he chuckled nervously, ‘you are looking at me.’

‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’ She winced slightly at how harsh her voice sounded to her own ears, but she couldn’t help feeling a little hurt by his constant rejection of her touch.

Erik remained silent, restlessly kneading the fabric of the mattress beneath his fingers.

Very well then, she thought, it seemed like action on her part was needed to draw him out.

She moved to straddle him, and when he still refused to look at her she brought a finger under his chin, softly pushing up his face in a gesture he had used on her so many times before until he couldn’t avoid her gaze any longer.

‘I can tell something is wrong, love. Please tell me what it is. I promise I won’t judge, I only want to help.’

Erik sighed deeply, taking her hand and placing a soft kiss on her palm before finally answering.

‘I haven’t let you look at me because… Well, frankly, because I’m ugly.’

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she kept quiet, allowing him the chance to elaborate.

‘You have been so extraordinarily kind as to allow me into your bed. You continue to insist that you want to see my face, which I still find hard to fathom, but I cannot deny you if that is what you truly wish. However, I simply cannot bear for you to look upon this hideous body, Christine.’

Her heart broke a little at his admission. She grabbed his face with both hands and tried to pour every ounce of love she felt for him into her eyes and into her next words.

‘Darling, how can you think your body would disgust me? You’ve told me that you have scars, but I honestly wouldn’t mind them. They’re simply another part of you, just like your face, and I’ve told you time and again that I don’t want you to hide your face any longer. I want to see the real you. No masks. No barriers.’

‘Oh Christine,’ he murmured, closing his eyes briefly before continuing, a pained expression crossing his features. ‘You say that now, but you don’t understand. Your body is so smooth and soft and beautiful.’ He gently trailed a hand from her breast down to her waist to emphasise his words and her breath hitched at the featherlight touch. ‘Mine is hard and sharp, every inch of skin covered in scars. And unlike my face, which has been my burden since birth, these scars have not always been there. They were put there deliberately by people who wanted to harm me but didn’t live to tell the tale. Every single one of those scars is a reminder of a monstrous past that haunts me, no matter how badly I want to forget.’

Christine was lost for words. She knew about his past and wished more than anything that she could take all that pain away, but nothing she could do would erase what had happened to him.

She had to swallow the lump in her throat before she could say anything.

‘I’m so sorry you feel that way, but I need you to know that I meant what I said. I hate that the scars are there because it means you suffered physically as well as mentally, but they don’t disgust me, Erik. The past is behind us, and right now I am only interested in the present and the future.’

He looked at her disbelievingly, although Christine thought she could see hope begin to shimmer through in his gaze. ‘A future with me, scars and all?’

‘Of course,’ she assured him. ‘Erik, I love you. I’ve told you so before and I will keep telling you until you’re sick of hearing it.’

He scoffed at her words. ‘Even if they were the only words you spoke to me for the rest of your life, I could never tire of hearing them,’ he swore, his eyes burning through her with that same passion she had seen there every time they had been intimate since their wedding night.

‘That might be true, but no matter how many times I say it, I’m still not convinced that you believe me.’

He opened his mouth to protest, but she brought a finger to his lips to silence him.

‘I think there’s a part of you that still believes I will run at the first opportunity. That you are undeserving of love. But you’re not, Erik. So please, let me show you how much I love you, as you have showed me.’

A single tear rolled down the deformed side of his face, telling her that he had recognised the truth in her words, and she bent down to catch the little bead of moisture with her lips. She continued to cover his face with kisses until she felt him shudder underneath her. Her fingers sought out his on the mattress, giving them a little reassuring squeeze.

‘Trust me,’ she whispered, her warm breath tickling his ear, ‘please’.

Trust was a hard thing for him to learn given his past, she understood that, but she also knew that he was unable to refuse her anything and she was proven right when he indicated his assent with a single nod. His golden eyes pleaded with her, for what she did not know, but she made a silent vow there and then that she would do everything in her power to be worthy of his trust.

Christine kept looking him in the eye as she continued to undress him. He didn’t try to stop her again, but shrugged off his shirt when she was done unbuttoning it, dropping it on the ground next to the bed. She recalled how he had described his body as hard and sharp, and it was true. Erik was terribly skinny, so thin she could easily count his ribs. But beneath all of that lay an incredible strength, and so much passion it took her breath away. Skinny he might be, but weak he was certainly not. There was nowhere on earth she felt safer than wrapped up in his arms. If only she could make him see that.

She captured his lips in a soft, reassuring kiss, but when he moved to deepen it, she leaned back.

‘Lie back for me?’ she asked and as he obeyed without complaint, an idea struck her and she guided his hands above his head. ‘I want you to keep your hands here. Don’t move.’

‘What?’

She felt him tense beneath her, the initial confusion in his eyes quickly transforming into panic.

‘No. No Christine, please, don’t ask this of me,’ he begged, ‘I can’t.’

‘Shhh, don’t worry, love,’ she murmured, interlacing her fingers with his, ‘I’ll take care of you.’

‘But I – I need to touch you.’

It was true, he always had his hands on her during their lovemaking, squeezing and caressing every bit of skin he could reach, as if to make sure that she was still there. As if he needed to be certain that she would not simply disappear into thin air. But if she allowed him to touch her, he would certainly use it to distract her whenever he started to feel self-conscious under her ministrations and that is exactly what she did not want to happen. Tonight would be about him.

He tried to wriggle his hands free, but she pushed them back down unto the bed.

‘I know, and you will,’ she promised. ‘Just not yet.’

For a moment Erik looked as if he would object further, but no words left his lips. He simply gazed at her with a mix of fear, hope and adoration. Christine continued to whisper soothing words in his ear, rubbing gentle circles into the palms of his hands with her thumbs until the tension slowly seeped out of him.

Finally, finally she could explore her husband’s body like she had always wanted to, but she had to take things slow for his sake. She wanted him to feel every bit as loved and wanted as he made her feel every day.

Arms were a safe place to start, she decided. She let her hands wander from his palm to his wrist and down his upper arm, following a prominent vein with her fingers, keeping her touch light and soft. She noticed a few scars here and there, but there weren’t all that many. The majority of them must be situated on his torso then, she suspected.

She kept her focus on his arms for a while. When she looked up after a minute or two, his eyes were closed, his limbs loose, body practically melting into the mattress. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him so relaxed. It was such a difference compared to his desperate, panicked state mere moments ago and she silently congratulated herself on the progress she was making.

She mapped out the same trail her fingers had followed with her lips and Erik let out a contented hum. While her mouth left little kisses across his upper arms, her hands continued their path downward until they reached his armpits. He hissed at the tickling sensation, but didn’t otherwise protest as she explored further.

After his arms, she concentrated on his neck and throat, committing to memory the beautiful moans he uttered as she grazed her teeth across his skin before soothing the sting with her tongue. ‘I love this spot,’ she murmured, placing a lingering kiss on the bit of skin between his jaw and his earlobe. ‘I love how sensitive you are here.’ He didn’t reply, but tried to push closer to her lips, wordlessly asking for more. It was all the encouragement she needed.

From there, she let her hands and mouth wander lower, towards his chest, and that’s where she started encountering more scars.

He opened his eyes and tensed slightly when her fingers brushed the first one, watching her intently. She felt the rough ridges of flesh beneath her fingertips, but they didn’t evoke revulsion as Erik expected they would. All she wanted was to caress them until they became a source of pleasure rather than pain. She skimmed her fingers over every scar that came across her path, coaxing little whimpers from his lips, and then kissed and licked the marred skin until he was writhing with need underneath her. ‘I love you,’ she whispered into his skin in between kisses and hoped he understood how badly she truly wanted him, with or without scars.

When she thought he was starting to feel overwhelmed, she shifted her focus to his nipples instead, watching with fascination as they hardened at her touch. The needy moan that escaped his throat as she swirled her tongue around the little buds made desire pool hot in her stomach. She knew from experience how incredible it felt when he did that to her, but she hadn’t expected it would be just as pleasurable for a man. This was definitely a spot she would come back to in the future.

As she scooted down to focus her ministrations on his stomach, she felt his hard length, still caught beneath his trousers, brush against her naked buttocks and he bucked up against her.

‘Please, my love,’ he panted, ‘please, I need you. Let me touch you. Let me have you.’

She had originally planned to move on to his cock next, using her hands and mouth to pleasure him before letting him into her body, but he seemed so desperate already and to be honest, she wasn’t sure she could make herself wait much longer either. Witnessing his pleasure, knowing she was the one to make him feel that way, only fuelled her desire for him. God, he was beautiful, and he was hers, and she needed him.

Without further ado she unbuttoned his trousers and removed them, and he groaned when her fingers brushed his cock. She noted that he didn’t move his hands to help her undress him, still obeying her command to keep them above his head.

As soon as she was settled above him again, his hips started moving, rubbing his cock against her ass, causing her to let out a needy whimper of her own.

‘Yes, okay, give me your hands,’ she ordered him, and he was only too eager to comply. She placed one of his hands on her breast, which he started squeezing immediately, moaning loudly when he was finally allowed to touch her. His other hand she brought to her entrance, guiding two fingers inside and wasting no time in pumping her hips against them. Her breath hitched at the delicious stretch and when he brought his thumb against her nub and started rubbing in little circles, she nearly reached her peak there and then. But tonight was about him. His pleasure was her priority now.

She thrust down on his fingers a few more times before moving off of them and from the moment he had both hands free, they were all over her body. It was as if, now that he was finally able to touch her, he couldn’t decide where to start, wanting to feel her everywhere at once. She let his hands roam her body, revelling in the feeling of his long, slender fingers against her skin. When his hands started drifting down her stomach towards her mound she stopped him. Instead she guided them to her backside and then took his length in her hand, positioning it at her entrance and slowly sinking down on it, never breaking eye contact.

The way he moaned her name once he was fully inside of her was a sound she would never tire of hearing. She could tell by the look on his face that he was trying to hold back, giving her time to adjust, but she was having none of that. She started sliding up and down his length, urging him to move and when he did, she bent forward, capturing his lips in a demanding kiss.

He buried a hand in her hair, pulling her closer still and taking control of the kiss, licking and sucking at her mouth like he could never get enough. When coming up for air became unavoidable, he moved his lips to her neck, latching on to her pulse point and sucking hard. She cried out his name in ecstasy.

‘Erik! Erik, I love you so much.’

‘I love you too,’ he gasped, ‘God, how I love you.’

He was pumping into her in a frantic rhythm now and she knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He usually made sure she reached her climax before chasing his own, but that was not how she wanted it to go this time.

‘Let go, love,’ she urged him, ‘don’t wait for me. Take what you need.’

A deep groan rumbled from his chest and in a single fluid motion, he grabbed her and spun them around so he was on top of her. Erik pounded into her at a relentless pace until she was seeing stars. He tilted up her hips a little, slightly changing the angle of his thrusts so his cock was pushing right against that bundle of nerves which caused sparks to shoot through her entire body. With one final pump of his hips, he spent himself inside her, repeating her name over and over again as if it was the only word he knew, and he took her right over the edge with him.

He collapsed on top of her and Christine had never felt more cherished and at ease than there, pinned underneath his weight. She was unable and unwilling to move, wishing she could stay in this moment with him forever.

When their heavy breathing had returned to normal, Erik slowly blinked open his eyes and gazed down on her with unbridled adoration and devotion. He kissed her on one cheek, then the other, then her nose, her chin, her forehead, peppering her whole face with kisses, making her giggle, and then finally planted a sweet, lingering kiss on her lips.

‘You are an exceptional woman and I cannot believe my luck that you are mine,’ he said reverently.

Christine beamed up at him, her heart fit to burst with all the love she felt for this extraordinary, beautiful man.

‘Then it seems we are both extremely lucky.’

[drunkserval]

A Fresh Canvas: Incomplete Preview

Quite some time ago I did a silly little thread on Twitter, and I’ve always wanted to take that and actually make something out of it. Well it was a little harder than expected, but it’s coming along!

When I have the entire thing done I will be uploading it to AO3, but for now it seemed seasonally appropriate to at least drop this.

I wanted to have this posted yesterday but festivities kept me busier than expected! Story is below the cut. Keep in mind that this is still technically a rough draft, and will receive its final beta pass before the full story hits AO3.

(Tentative) Title: A Fresh Canvas Fandom: Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System by MXTX Rating: G, No Warnings Apply Summary: Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan are neighbors in the same modern apartment complex who, despite looking similar enough to be mistaken for each other, couldn’t be any more different. Or so they think.

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

Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan were neighbors in the same apartment complex. They lived on the same floor, in the same hall, and were often mistaken for one another due to this proximity combined with how similar their appearances were.

But there were key differences, as both would readily point out to their neighbors. Shen Jiu’s hair hung shy of his shoulders while Shen Yuan’s was shorter and lighter in tone. 

And still the mix-ups kept happening, particularly if they were at some distance or facing away. The misunderstanding would very rarely last past the first glance since Shen Jiu would snap and take immediate offense, and Shen Yuan would just sigh and say, "Sorry, wrong one."

Shen Yuan had no idea why Shen Jiu got so offended over it. Surely he didn’t look that bad, come on!

The neighbors eventually started learning to look at the clothes first--or to at least look for Shen Yuan’s thick-rimmed glasses. 

Both men carried and dressed themselves so differently. Shen Yuan dressed in hoodies and jeans--well, if he was planning on going any further than the mailbox, that was. Otherwise why bother changing out of pajamas or sweatpants?

On the other hand, Shen Jiu didn’t touch anything that wasn’t from a known designer. 

Shen Jiu spent proudly--and why shouldn’t he? Because he at least earned his money!

That Shen Yuan kid down the hall? Rumor was that his parents were paying his rent and he'd never had a real job in his life.

But because he never went out, Shen Yuan was one of the only people still hanging around the apartment complex when Shen Jiu went around knocking during a major holiday. 

In Shen Jiu’s arms was a box containing two fluffy black pups.

Shen Yuan’s eyes widened at the sight of them and he completely forgot to greet his neighbor until Shen Jiu cleared his throat. The dogs were like little storm clouds with feet and stubby tails, staring back at him with big black eyes. One started wagging its tail with such vigor that its whole back end wiggled about.

It took Shen Jiu a moment to find his voice as he followed, such was the state that his neighbor had chosen to answer the door in. Hideous cucumber-print pajama pants, a tacky anime shirt covered in snack crumbs, and unkempt hair had greeted him. But the continuous movement of the box in his arms reminded him of his mission. 

“I found... ” Shen Jiu shifted the box in indication as Shen Yuan shut the door behind them, “these, out by the garbage.”

Shen Yuan blinked as the other passed by him, “Have you tried calling any nearby shelters?”

“Of course I have,” Shen Jiu scoffed at the implication that he was so simple. “You try getting a real person on the phone today, though. It’s impossible. I could only leave messages.”

Shen Yuan put a finger to his lips, “Oh, right. Today is…” Glancing at a wall calendar almost as ugly as his shirt he nodded, “Right. Right.”

Did this kid ever so much as leave the building? Shen Jiu was starting to wonder. Shen Yuan dressed like he’d just rolled out of bed in the latter part of the daytime. And he hadn’t realized it was a major holiday. And then there were the countless odorous takeout boxes covering every available surface in his apartment.

Shen Jiu wrinkled his nose but still asked in spite of his rapidly growing doubts, “You don’t know anyone who can take these little mutts in for a day or two, do you?”

Shen Yuan shook his head and heard Shen Jiu sigh. His neighbor set the box down to give his arms a rest… but Shen Yuan couldn’t seem to rip his attention away from one of the pups. It hadn’t stopped staring at him, or shaking its fluffy little behind, for a moment.

“What if we take them in?”

Shen Jiu’s tone was flat, “What.”

Shen Yuan picked up the excited little pup and it immediately started wiggling in his grasp. Not struggling, however--just trying to get closer to his face, paws waving in the air and its little pink tongue darting out to reach for him even though it was still well outside of range. He had to fight back the urge to laugh at the silly little storm cloud. 

“The building allows us to have one animal per unit, right?” Shen Yuan shrugged, “so what if we each took one, even just long enough to find them new homes?”

Shen Jiu frowned. Taking in a dog, or really any animal, had never been on his agenda. He liked his nice clean apartment and intact furniture unlike a certain someone. Plus he was more partial to cats. He moved his gaze from the overexcited animal back to the box. Though the pups looked identical on the surface this one was clearly the calmer one. It looked up at his scowling face but put forth no such ridiculous display… thank goodness.

Who knew? Maybe Shen Yuan’s idea wasn’t so bad. And if it was, it was only a temporary arrangement, in the end. He might be able to get rid of the animal as soon as tomorrow if it was truly intolerable.

Tentatively, Shen Jiu reached out to pick up the dog…

And felt tiny teeth close around his fingers.

Jerking his hand backwards, Shen Jiu sneered down at the animal. “What, you ungrateful little beast!” 

Shen Yuan finally stopped cooing at his own pup to look over and said, “Maybe he doesn’t like your cologne?”

“And what’s wrong with my cologne?” Shen Jiu snapped, voice raising.

Stepping back, “Nothing, nothing!”

“It was a gift, you know!”

Shen Yuan barely avoided tripping over a haphazard stack of game cases as he kept moving away. “P-perhaps it’s just too strong for a dog’s nose, that’s all!”

This time Shen Jiu moved quickly, snatching up the dog by its middle before it could get its ridiculously tiny muzzle around anything, and he stared directly into the animal’s eyes.

“Do that again, and I’ll put you back out in the cold where I found you. Understood?”

The dog stared back at him, placid and indifferent… until its tongue darted out and licked the end of his nose.

“...good enough.”

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

It was a few days before the two of them crossed paths again. 

It’d seem they both had decided to keep their newfound pets and they were both out that day to take the dogs for walks.

The air in the park was warm, so they sat themselves on a bench to enjoy it for a bit longer and soak up some of the sunlight that was so rare that time of year. Shen Jiu’s pup sat like a sentry at his feet while Shen Yuan’s pup curled up on his lap the moment he sat down. 

It was through the ensuing conversation they realized they both gave their dog the same name by sheer coincidence.

One was too lazy and the other was too stubborn, so neither changed it. At least they’d bought different-colored collars. But this brought to light a new revelation, and Shen Yuan just had to ask…

“How did you come up with it?”

“It was just the first thing to come to mind,” Shen Jiu had explained, “from something I’ve been reading, probably.”

"Wait, you read that too!?"

As he suspected! That name was from one of the top-rated web novels that year, from its stallion protagonist: Luo Binghe!

Shen Yuan couldn’t imagine someone as outwardly prim as Shen Jiu reading trashy webnovels, but it turned out to be true. It was just a quick, easy way for him to kill a few minutes of downtime at work, Shen Jiu reasoned in his defense.

Whenever they met up from that point forward, Shen Yuan talked his ear off about his various grievances with Proud Immortal Demon Way.

‘Villains that dig their own graves but don’t bother finishing! Women that lead the protagonist on a three-chapter long subplot just to get to their lewd scenes, only to never see them again! And every single character lost all of their intelligence when the protagonist came around!’ 

And yet he had nothing but praise for said protagonist… almost excessive praise. 

Shen Jiu is annoyed at first but he starts enjoying the company. Which is good because the dog turns out to be a menace.

Well, both dogs could be counted as menaces, just in different ways.

Bing-mei (as they come to call him) would start whining so pitifully when Shen Yuan shut the door between them, thus he often just gave up and took the dog with him whenever it was feasible.

Bing-ge, on the other hand, broke his toys within days, climbed around on furniture he wasn’t allowed on--sometimes when Shen Jiu was looking right at him, too--he barked, he scratched furniture, he tore up pillows.

Despite all the trouble he was causing for his master, Shen Jiu would no longer entertain the idea of giving him up. Not after Bing-ge tore up three separate muggers on three separate occasions and growled at the person who kept taking his parking space until it never happened again.

But the biggest takeaway from their conversations, for Shen Jiu, wasn’t webnovels or dogs. It made him start to realize how lonely he'd been. 

The only other person he really spoke to was halfway around the world for their work and they only spoke a couple of times a month. Now that Shen Yuan was around, Shen Jiu actually started to have things to look forward to besides the monotony of work--knocks on the door, long walks with the dogs, the occasional cup of tea afterward on colder days...

Shen Jiu was never the sort to be up-front with his feelings, so he found a way to show his gratitude by helping Shen Yuan with his confidence issues. He started encouraging him to go out more, and to put a little more effort into his looks when he did. This morphed into helping clean up his squalid apartment since Shen Jiu could barely stand to look at it when he came over. 

Months later, Shen Jiu’s recommendation had helped Shen Yuan to land an entry-level job. That, and a steady habit of going out once a week, gave them something else to do and talk about.

Progress was slow, but visible. Shen Yuan seemed a little less awkward in public with each passing week.

One night they were leaning on Shen Yuan’s balcony. It was a night of celebration, for he’d just earned his very first promotion, and Shen Jiu had brought over wine for the occasion.

He found himself leaning closer to Shen Jiu, telling himself it was just to get a better look at him in the dim light of the city night. His focus wasn’t the best even when he was sober after all. Yet Shen Yuan didn’t stop. And when Shen Jiu turned to look at him in confusion, and their lips met, he didn’t withdraw for several seconds.

Neither did Shen Jiu.

Shen Yuan tried to flee as soon as he realized what he’d done only for Shen Jiu to pull him back saying:

"Don't run, take responsibility. We talked about this."

[iamnightduchess]

As You Are - Special Chapter (R18) : Perfect Storm

Chapter summary:

The ethereal vision that greeted his eyes upon entry should be that of one of the forbidden sins in the history of humankind. She was even more breathtakingly beautiful in her purest form - scars and marks, imperfections and all.

Like the cracks on an unbreakable golden chalice.

He was the luckiest son of a gun to be the first to drink from said chalice and it made the wine tasted even sweeter. He could get drunk or get high on this woman for all eternity.

Reiner realizes he might have just unleashed an unstoppable storm when he drank from her chalice. He’d known she'd become an inescapable addiction upon first taste, the way he would be hers. He’ll get her so high, she’ll never come back down anymore. It’s a perfect extrication.

Well, you’ll never get to heaven if you’re scared of getting high.

Pure smut. A 10k special Thank You insert. Available on AO3.

A/N: This chapter is a special insert as an appreciation to my beautiful readers for their amazing support in helping me achieve my second personal writing milestone - 10k hits! It’s beyond my wildest dreams ever. Thank you so much, guys! This is also my personal belated birthday present for Mikasa on 10 February (and Reiner’s VA ;D) and an early Valentine’s gift to my beloved OTP and to you guys. Happy Valentine’s Day!

Content note: Pure smut in its truest explicit nature. No plot advancement. Just a good ol’ short chapter of ReiKasa dicking it out in the showers, discovering more of each other and a post-coital small talk on Reiner’s personal choice of drawers. Or lack of it. Who says Reiner is not taking their baby making efforts seriously? Takes place in ch.12 of As You Are.

Rhythmic muse: High by Alina Baraz.

----

Take me deep into your mind...we can get away…

As You Are

Special Chapter

Perfect Storm

Reiner closed the distance that stood between the bed and the bathroom in three long, hurried strides. He couldn’t be bothered with fixing his yukata; he let the shift hang open, letting himself hang out in the open. The sounds of the morning storm and early rolling thunder in the far horizon had been almost deafening, only several knots away from being too close to their fleet. The breeze slipping through the opened windows grazed against his nude torso in a prickling coldness. The second he stopped short in front of the steel arc of the bathroom door, he remained still.

His eyes glazed over the statuesque figure standing underneath the pouring shower, covered by only skin - porcelain, smooth, inviting. Sounds of the raging storm outside only emphasized more of this mystifying woman's beauty in its natural state, no different than a tantalizing spell cast by nature itself. The steam evaporating from the showerhead formed a curious, enticing silhouette around her body. His eyes lingered fondly at the way she closed her eyes in bliss under the long steady streams of hot water flowing down those supple skin, tinting her lusciousness raw with a delectable blush. Serene, lost in her own tranquil space.

Apart from bearing the reddening imprints that he’d left on her long slender neck from their lovemaking much earlier, between the enticing lines of her svelte curves and enticing edges, her creamy skin wore numerous dark marks and scars with their respective stories - ones that he was very aware of mostly. Long-term ODM usage would be responsible for most of them.

Others?

They were beckoning him to seek out the answers.

Just half an hour earlier, his body took hers for the first time. Reiner tasted heaven when she reeled him in to the deepest, most sacred part of her. With every pull and every push, he could feel himself unburdened everytime their hips met.

Lighter and unshackled.

Liberated and wanted.

Desired and needed.

The water flowed down her face and he found himself becoming envious of the way the warm liquid gets to lave at those long lashes, the sharp outline of her nose and her lips in a soft translucent caress.

He had all of her and he was left wanting more.

Reiner shrugged the night shift off his shoulders without any hesitation and stepped into the bathroom. A small marble tub, almost full to the brim, sat at the farthest corner of the room just next to an old gold-framed wall mirror which appeared to be more relic than vanity. In the dim lighting of the clouded sun peeking through the windows, the steaming water looked absolutely inviting.

A sigh escaped his lips. He could really use a good, long soak right now.

A low, guarded moan pulled his attention back to the now flushing body underneath the flowing water. He ran his tongue against his thin lips impulsively at the visual stimulation; she was as vivid, tempting, no different than a marble carved into perfection. All hard and muscled exterior, safeguarding the soft centre within. Painted with dark marks of bruises and battle scars of untold histories - a privilege he no longer had since the moment he inherited his Titan powers at the age of eleven. But she wore them naturally with effortless pride. Priceless yet they're worth more than some steel medal of honors he’d seen the men in Marley’s military fought to the death for.

Reiner closed the distance between them, stopping just in front of her with their bodies almost grazing. She opened her eyes, those anxious gunmetal irises in between the flowing water somehow confided that just like him, she’d never been this exposed; naked and vulnerable in front of another person in her whole entire life before. He saw the way she crossed her arms against her chest and the juncture of her thighs in uncertainty, conscious and suddenly feeling the need to cover herself even when he’d seen almost all of her much earlier.

He lifted her chin with a delicate touch. The pad of his thumb began to caress the outline of her lush pursed lips before tugging her lower lip gently, savoring the sensuous way her breath felt against his skin and the feral manner she bit at his fingertip.

His member twitched in reflex upon the sudden stimulation, threatening to break his own self restraint.

He grinned regardless. Apparently, he’s not the only biter in this marriage and that realization only got him being turned on more than ever before. Eager to find out just how much more wicked she could be. Just how much more of him she’d bite.

Reiner nudged her arms away from her chest gently, marveling as the perky globes bounced softly from the slight movement and finding himself staring far too long in amazement at the tempting blush on her face leading all the way down her drenched neck and to her chest. His hands began to knead the sculpted packs on her abdomen instead, touching a much larger discolored mark encircling her under chest, that resembled the shape of a large incomplete strap that was far too large to be from the ODM gear.

He couldn't help but wonder. "How did you get this?" His hands continued rubbing against the mark that stood out so painfully amongst her pale, milky complexion.

She swallowed bitterly, her expression darkened as a wave of recollection began to resurface. "The day you and Bertholdt tried to take Eren, I had been reckless. I was too focused on saving Eren from your titan's clutch that I was grabbed by a pure titan from behind. It broke my ribs immediately and I might have died that day if it wasn't for Jean's help." From the way she winced, it made him understand that the mark remained capable of inciting an unpleasant phantom pain upon reminiscence even years after it happened. She conceded to her own insecurity, reaffirming his perception. "It's ugly. I hated seeing it every time I looked at the mirror."

It was him, his ignorance and his selfishness who had indirectly caused that mark and left her with a painful reminder that she could never get rid of from her body.

His first mark on her body ever.

Reiner gritted his teeth in tremendous guilt and frustration. God, he didn’t know. It must have been extremely excruciating for her. He immediately lowered himself downwards with his knees rooted onto the cold bathroom floor, causing her to gasp and eyes to widen in surprise. Grabbing her on the curves of her waist, he looked up and sent her a grave look of regret. “I’m so sorry for all that I’ve done to you. All the pain that I’ve caused….” His apology manifested itself through a morose whisper. The warm of his breath, the tantalizing graze of his coarse facial hair and the light brushing of his lips against her taut skin sent the rippling muscles of her abdomen jumping in an enticing jolt. He could feel her hands grabbing the back of his head gingerly, fingers gripping his now wet tresses, her calm breaths getting heavier yet he didn't do anything further than burying his face against her torso even when his lips were already close to her mound. “Don’t hate the mark. Hate me. I did that to you.”

“No. I won’t.” Mikasa shook her head, dismissing the absurdity in his plea.

She thinks the mark is hideous yet not even once, ever held him accountable for it. 

It only made her even more exquisite in his eyes. He implored, “Anything on you or what you are would never not be beautiful to me.” 

They both remained still in that quiet moment, losing themselves in their own intimate sanctuary. Only the sound of running water and the steady storm outside accompanied their mutual embrace of the other's past sins, repercussions and acceptance of each other's flaws and imperfections.

----

Mikasa pushed Reiner’s rock hard body against the cold bathroom wall using her own as their lips once again tried to wrestle each other out of an imbalance between air, warmth and rapture using their tongues and teeth. Torsos and limbs brushing up against each other, his larger hands grabbed the supple exterior of her derriere, cupping and squeezing them raw with his palms - he could even write his name on the supple skin using his finger nails. He pressed inwards so that their hips grinded tantalizingly against each other in a torturous friction. His member then jerked upwards into a semi-hardening state from feeling her on him alone. He breathed her in; her signature scent was already bathing his skin and his body already stained by her warmth.

Mikasa pulled away from the kiss and gazed deep into his eyes. While he took advantage of the immediate breather to touch the tip of his nose against her own, causing the corners of her lips to curve upwards into a tiny, shy smile.

He'd only ever dreamed of being in heaven but if this feels like being in one, then he’d rather stay like this with her forever. His hands fiddled around the curves of her waist, squeezing the willowy contour passionately, loving the feel of her soft wet skin in his hands.

Her fingertips kept on trailing along the column of his neck, grabbing gently at his nape before settling on his shoulders, gripping carefully at the juncture of his limbs to soothe the strained muscle knots she’d discovered there. Her dominant hand later began trailing along his sternum, a finger drawing a straight, tantalizing line down his chest. Through every inch of skin that she touched, he could sense a tiny spark pulsing through his veins, reawakening the already satiated lust within.

A small hiss escaped through his gritted teeth the second her roughened palms caressed his chest with languid but precise circular motions. He observed the way her thumbs traced unhurried circles against the second most sensitive spots on his body and the way the muscles of his own pectorals and abs jumped in reflex from her touch.

Reiner let out a long languid whimper upon the sudden exhilaration. Mirroring her actions, a hand moved upwards from the rounded mound of her ass along her spine teasingly before curving sideways. His large palm seized one of her porcelain globes in his hold and he pressed on the dusky nub using his thumb, rubbing the hardened tip with the cautious of touch. Nibbling tenderly on her cheek, his question came out in a low, shaky drawling against her ears. “Mikasa...how do you want me to touch you...fast or slow….?”

Her answer came in the lowest, deepest whimper from her chest. “Either...Just keep going...” Eyes tightly shut, his younger bride threw her head back in an increasing rapture and a low, unguarded groan escaped her gasping lips upon the intensity of his touch. He watched in wonder, tinged with a tiny pride upon the new discovery - she’s extremely sensitive there it seems.

This exotic beauty's body is a dynamite yet at the same time, an undiscovered wonderland, primed for his lifelong conquest - one he'll never want to stop worshipping.

Through every breath and every inch.

Through every touch and through every kiss.

The tip of his nose ventured from her temple down her slender neck before halting right above the swelling of those appetizing twin mounds of her chest. Kiss her he did, at the same spot he just savored. He drew the outline of the weighty globe with his tongue, suckling hard and absolutely losing himself to the bliss of her skin’s sweetness to the way her soft cries sounded to his ears - muffled by his messy wet tresses, ensnared by her own open mouth kisses. He could feel the warmth of her breath on his scalp as her heaving became more urgent. His plastering bangs grazed her chest until they turned into a flushing mess.

His other hand had already made its own bold move by slipping in between the juncture of her thighs and running the pads of his digits across her wet slit. She immediately gritted her teeth upon the sudden invasion, probably due to the soreness from his earlier thrusting, but he’d sooner turned her hissing to another wave of moans when he caressed her lower mound with a wickedly soothing rhythm. 

Too lost he was in the beguiling pleasure that would sooner overtake all sense of inhibition that he’d missed the way her nimble hand had already wrapped itself around his member, already stretched out to its peaked state. The coolness of her palm burned the most sensitive part of his body as the skillful hand of a competent blade wielder projected her prowess through the way she handled his length -- with thorough, natural precision.

He just kept on growing stronger in her hands.

No one has ever made him feel like this before.

No one.

He could feel as if his soul was leaving the confinements of his physical form the moment he saw her dropping down to her knees, just like he did with her earlier. However this time, when she gazed at him with those tempestuous eyes and burning cheeks, he’d know he’ll never be able to resist her newly-unearthed desirous appetite.

It was quite contradictory that even when he’s the one who’s looking down at her right now, she’d always have the power to make him yield to her silent commandeering force.

Despite the flowing water washing away at their skins, he’s still stained by her; her essences seeping through his pores in unwavering waves no different than a perfect raging storm piercing through a man’s perseverance.

Oh God, she’s just naturally good at blowing him... and his mind.

----

He ran his lips against the irezumi on her back, drawing a cross with his tongue like a sacred offering, lapping up the water drizzling down her skin like the nectar of an exotic flower. Right before he filled the impure void within through one messy yet solid thrust into her, clinging to her lithe body from behind as they fell into a familiar, acquired rhythm not too long after.

He pulled her in for another searing kiss from behind. His other hand underneath one of her knees, his larger build pressed her slightly smaller frame hard against the wall through every onslaught of his hips against hers. Both of them were getting off of the high from the other.

Mikasa’s relentless moans soon turned into a long, dragged out, almost incoherent chanting of his name; urging him, needing him with every part of her being, that she’d broke the skin on his forearm when she became undone on his third deep thrust.

Reiner observed the way Mikasa tried to wash away the bleeding from the bite-shaped bruise on his arm with the water from inside the tub itself. He dismissed her attempt by pulling her body snug against his chest, staring at the mark in awe and reassuring her with nothing less than pride in his tone. “Hey, that’s my first mark from you.” He still remembered how she managed to cut off the same hand clean from his wrist on top of Wall Rose years ago.

“It’ll be a scar.” She persisted, still trying to argue with his insistence.

She gave him his first mark and without his regenerative powers, that mark will remain on his body forever until he’s buried six feet under.

He buried his nose into her drenched hair, taking in the scent from the glycerine soap he used on her earlier. “All the better because it’s from you.”

They stayed for a while inside the ceramic tub, with her head resting against his shoulder and his arms around her, listening to the sounds of rolling thunder and turbulent sea waves coming through the opened windows of the bathroom.

After a good while, it was her who suggested that they step out and step back into the awaiting demands of the day. “We should really get going before Gabi storms in for another ‘rescue’ attempt.”

Snickering, he released her reluctantly and sent an admiring stare at her retreating figure, still dripping with bath water until she disappeared behind the door to their shared chamber.

By the time he followed suit into the conjoined bedroom, she had pulled her skirt over her hips. She stared in disbelief the moment she saw him discarding the towel around his waist and had his legs through his breeches immediately.

Her inquisitive gaze did not go unnoticed. “What? I travelled light and I wasn’t expecting the detour to the Island.” Everything he had was on his body.

“All this time, you’re…” Her words trailed off suspiciously.

A thin eyebrow raised snarkily to emphasize his answer. “Yeah. I’d prefer not wearing one either way. It’s breezier and actually a much healthier habit too.”

“Whatever suits you.” Mikasa shook her head, feigning an impending state of disinterest while fending off an oncoming headache.

He gave her an improper wink. “You’ll thank me when I have given you healthy, kickass babies, Mikasa.”

She groaned in retaliation at his blatant lewdness. A trait of his that has always been apparent since they were younger still remained despite the years that had gone by in between. Despite all that, she couldn’t help her lips from curving into an amused smile.

Just a fleeting thought of envisioning a strong young boy or a girl with golden blonde hair, cheeky comebacks and a headstrong attitude was enough to make the fuzziness in her heart return right before the fleeting fantasy was interrupted by the same vision but with three more of the same identical boys and girls and a burning house of chaos behind them.

“....four be a lot?”

“Huh?” She blinked back at his question.

“I was asking, would four babies be a lot for you?”

She’d known it was an intended humor. They both knew that he couldn’t possibly have enough time for such an unattainable dream. She wasn’t oblivious to the dismal glint in his eyes.

“Perfect.” Her heart suddenly felt a lot heavier.

---

A/N : After what went down in the previous chapter, I am willing to be virtually sucker-punched by you guys because of this chapter. I am hurting my emotional well-being with this chapter, and I said to myself, why should I be suffering alone? Haha Kidding, guys. Thank you so much for your time & till the next update! Take care & stay safe. xoxo

[digitalta]

( you probably get these a lot but...here i am)

i've read antithesis about 3 times, i always stopped reading around chapter 66 because it was too painful, but it's one of my favorite works in fanfiction. i convinced my sister to read it (it's like...the second fanfiction she's ever read) and she's absolutely engrossed, and today is the day i finally finished reading this tragic masterpiece. (now there's a void in my heart).

what i mean to say is...thank you (for the angst, for the drama, for the comedy, for everything). i don't know what to say or even how to say it, this is such a humane and tragic story that touched me so much that i can't even formulate a semblance of what i really want to say and what it means to me. so, thank you.

oftentimes i found myself so entranced in your writing that i feel like i didn't register the best pieces of writing and identified what could be some quotes to add to my all time favorites.

by chance, do you have a compilation of antithesis's best quotes or poetic tidbits you can share with us please?

and thank you, really ♡

So, I got this Ask a few days ago, and I’ve been sitting on it and looking at it constantly.

First- no. The number of messages never EVER take away from the meaning behind them. I could receive four messages, or four hundred, and I treasure each and every one. You are an individual with completely unique experiences and views. You deserve to be treated with kindness and respect, not thrown into a list of messages from nameless people.

Reading the story isn’t easy for some people. It’s all a matter of perspective, and how we can connect with it and how we can hurt from it. I am so proud of you for finishing it, and finding meaning at the end. 

There are...sections? Of the story that I am incredibly proud of. Pointing out quotes from memory is impossible based on the insane length of the fic.

So I tried to find individual portions that meant a lot to me, as an author and writer. I have a style of writing that I started to refine much further in the story, which appears often in the end. Surrealism and lyrical twist that is more akin to poetry than standard literature. Those lines are the ones I’m most proud of.

A few more popular quotes are those I still enjoy.

Truth be told, moments I actually enjoy appear in the middle and towards the end.

Ch. 36: "I could have been raised to kill Potter." Adrian tried again, desperate in his attempt to scare the man.

"You could have been," Remus agreed, with the faintest glimmer of sympathy, "And if you were, I would give you freedom to live away from expectations or requirements. I would give you an opportunity to follow what you want to do, and not what you were raised to do."

"It wasn't your fault Adrian," He repeated carefully, "and I'll tell you that every day for however long it takes for you to realize that. You weren't abandoned because of who you are. It wasn't your fault."

Ch. 37: He had never thought of her as someone with individual dreams and desires, an individual life that everyone would mourn and miss and remember.

She hadn't...she hadn't (or had she always been?) a person, in his eye. She was just an object, a possession of the wrong side…He had left her behind, left her lying in a pool of water too weak to stand or speak. He had turned his back on her and left her on the floor.

Ch. 38: The man's eyes were bulging, his hands were gasping against his torn and butchered chest.

"He is prey," Nagini simplified, "Prey are eaten."The man gasped something wetly, it sounded faintly like a plea.

What had he done. What had he done?

Ch. 40: "I know, I just...I do things on my own." Adrian paused, trying to elaborate but struggling with the words.

"Ah, I know how you feel." Remus smiled slightly, something nostalgic and yet so terribly pained, "We all have our own burdens to carry."

Ch. 40: Luna noticed, and she smiled something soft and sad."You know, I think you'd be a wonderful thestral.”

Ch. 44: She turned, opening her mouth and displaying saliva and venom soaked teeth, as long as dinner plates, "And do you, Cerastes, have anything to your name that make others cower? Or are you a hatchling child who dreams of prey far too large for his teeth."

"That's not true," Adrian shook his head in denial, knowing his face was flushing ugly with his anger. His scars itched and his eyes were burning and his nose was filled with disgusting snot.

"Are you crying?" Barty asked, sounding like he was going to burst out laughing, "as if the Dark Lord would find you useful!"

"Master," Lutain unhooked from Barty's leg, slithering across the distance, "Master that is not true,"

"It is," Adrian swallowed, a lump the size of a walnut was lodged in his throat.

Ch. 45: "That's why you wore this dress." he realized, speaking out loud as the epiphany struck him. "So people would stare at you. Instead of staring at me."

"People always stare at me," Luna offered dismissively, "I'm different and people don't like that. I think it scares them, like thestrals do."

Ch. 46: Luna smiled enchantingly, "Adrian you're good at spells."

"I'm really not," he automatically blurted.

Luna's eyes searched his, flickering from one back to the other, "Why are you arguing? Why do you think you're so...mediocre?"

"Because I am!" Adrian blurted, face feeling warm as he flushed against his will. Luna's spell faded out. She whispered it once more, squinting into his face as if looking for something in particular.

"I don't think you are," She confided, "I think you're brilliant."

Ch. 46: Adrian's throat moved three times as he nervously swallowed, "I...I'm not good enough n-"

"I'm afraid you're going to do something stupid for the approval of someone that doesn't matter." 

Ch 50:  "I tried, but the little demon went savage on Mundungus again, stabbed him with a fork and looked right happy with it." Sirius grimaced.

Ch. 50: "How was your summer?" Luna asked curiously. "You look terrible."

"You know, most times you're supposed to compliment me first." Adrian dryly commented, "It's wonderful to know you're so sweet."

Luna shrugged, "You look like something's eating you."

Ch. 50:  Skylar's jaw flexed, twitching as he refused to look away from the window, "Cedric really...I saw Cedric die. I saw him die, and you saw someone die, right in front of you, years ago."

"I was young," Adrian swallowed, his throat felt dry, "I barely remember it."

Skylar gave a single bark of laughter, bitter and sharp, "You don't- you don't just...just forget about it." 

"Yes you do." Adrian blurted, not even hearing the slightly pained whine in his voice. 

Skylar looked haunted, "I...I remember his eyes. They...Merlin, his eyes."

"I don't think I'll ever forget it," Skylar admitted quietly, "What Cedric looked like. Laying there, on the grass. He, he was just...alive, and then… and then he wasn't."

"It wasn't your fault." Adrian spoke, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Ch. 54: “You’re not unlovable, silly.”

Ch. 56: “I could set this entire room on fire,” Adrian mused quietly. “I could burn this entire house down and kill you. burning people smell a lot like burning meat.”

Sirius realized, that he was afraid. He was quite afraid actually.

Ch 57.: Adrian stilled, pausing as if in thought. He looked at Remus with half lidded eyes, the yellow far too bright to be anything but alarming. "Do you like me, Remus?"

Remus felt as if he was mourning for the loss of something gone, which was impossible. Adrian was right there, but he felt so far away. He felt as if he had changed truly, as if something hideous had condemned him to something so foul, he had accepted it.

"Of course I do," Remus spoke, voice strained and distorted through his distress, "Adrian, you know I do. Why would you ever think I wouldn't?"

Ch. 58: "I thought I was insane." Adrian mused without much emotion, "Disturbed. Psycho. Spastic. Mad. Mental. Thick. Freak." Adrian's body twitched in a small spasm, "Loony." he practically hissed out.

Remus breathed through his nose carefully, "Who called that to you?"

"Nobody," Adrian murmured quietly, "Everyone. They think it, everyone does. Selwyn has a few screws loose. Selwyn is a freak."

Remus gently set aside the comb and scissors. He ignored the few scraps of hair, and instead slid forward slightly so that his weight was a nearby presence for Adrian.

"That isn't even my name," Adrian whined, shaking across his shoulders, "I- I just want to be good."

"You are good, Adrian." Remus assured him, "You're exceptional."

Ch. 60:  "Oh I know," Adrian hummed back, carefree as if truly it was barely of importance, "my life is a tragedy. I think I hadn't cared to truly involve myself to my full capabilities. Now...now with a deadline, I think that It's time for me to step forward."

Ch 60.:  "You love me," Adrian whined out like a dying animal. (Which, he supposed, he was).

Ch. 63: I know what it is like, to be unmade.I know what it is like, to be nothing.And through that, I know I am not.

Ch 64.:  "I'm surprised you never noticed, in all honesty." Adrian mentioned with a wry smile, "after all, professor. I have my mother's eyes."

Ch 65.: For now, all Adrian had was himself.In the sweet smelling heather and deep earthy peat bogs out of sight, in the moonlit shadow of a moss covered mountain which towered over an isolated cobblestone road cut from the mountain itself; Adrian found peace.

Past Chapter 65...honestly, each chapter is filled with absolutely gorgeous one liners. I pulled out small quotes above that I found really stuck out to me, or had some sort of important meaning. It would be impossible to pull out every single quote, basically because it would take so much time.

What’s your favourite?

[aaronbleyaert]

Tomorrow is a Hundred Years Away

And even as I’m pouring the last drops of our second pot of coffee in your cup I’m still trying to tell myself that I’m not going to make another pot, but even my own mind can’t keep a straight face at the thought. I decide to pretend a third pot was the plan all along and pour the water in for another go before bringing your coffee back and setting it down with a little flourish. 

You sit as you do, as we do, every morning, at our big ugly kitchen table: two 30 somethings who are more than happy to slowly sink into the staid portrait of a classic old married couple. We sit side by side, our legs touching, comfortable in the warm silence our two bodies create. The very thing that my teenage self feared most has come to pass: I'm living the life of a happily married woman, wife to a man I adore. The horror of comfort! The terror of wedded bliss! All of those years spent scared of being tied down, of being locked in a marital prison; all for naught. My life, this life, here with you - the whole thing almost feels like too much to wish for. 

I watch as you gaze out the window, trying to burn it into my memory. “Remember this, Stephanie.” I think. “Remember, remember, remember.” I try to lock this moment, this one perfect moment, right now, here, of you and I just like this, away down deep where it can’t be touched. Where it can live, somewhere inside of me, forever. 

Of everything I’ll lose in the next few months, moments like these are what I’ll miss the most.

I remember when you and I sat here - looking out this window, just like we are now - for the first time. That first early morning, having our first coffee together in this house, looking out at the tendrils of early morning mist still stubbornly clinging to the tops of the pines; I remember how the trees seem to stretch out forever like a lush green carpet across the valley before disappearing off into the low hanging clouds in the distant sky. It felt like all the good in our lives was laid out right there in front of us, just waiting for us to step forward into the future and live it. 

“Would you look at that” you said on that morning, a little kid giddy with excitement. “The trees, the clouds, the sky, the world, the planets, the stars; all of it right out there, right outside our humble kitchen window. The whole sum total of existence, all trapped behind a single pane of glass.” 

We sat there in quiet reverence, knees touching, marveling at the vast beauty of the world beyond our window - breathless at the thought that nothing less than the all of existence was sole spectator to you and I, and that moment: Our first morning spent together. I remember gently knocking wood; a quiet wish that this moment would last forever - or that somehow, in some future life, I could live this moment again, Over and over and over, for eternity.

“What a sight.” I said.

And then you leaned over and kissed me. 

Looking back at my life, at our life, that moment is maybe the happiest I've ever been. I wanted to trap it like a firefly in amber and live inside it for a hundred million years. But, of course, the Great Unspoken Tragedy of Time is that it keeps gently nudging us forward, ushering us past what truly matters while muddying the clear waters of purpose with petty wishes and self-important worries. Eyes up! Face forward! Onward! Onward! A brighter future lies just around the corner, it says! A better life! All the while, the happier tomorrow is quietly slipping by the beautiful present into the yearned for yesterday. The next moment is always only a moment away - whether or not you want it to be. We cannot make a home in the present, so we must make that home in our memories. And to lose that home is to lose everything.

Not wanting time to push me forward into the next few minutes and the confession I have to make, I look down and watch my fingers trace the raised patterns of thick paint on the table. God. This table. If there is anything in all of creation that is completely impervious to time - and not to mention ugly - it is our kitchen table.

This thing must weigh a million pounds. A heavy hideous stout old beast slathered with cheap white paint, it’s almost pretty. Like one of those ugly dogs that are cute, it’s where hideous and adorable meet back on the other side. It’s my secret hope that the table is actually made from some kind of beautiful wood; Walnut, or Rosewood. Something valuable. Or Teak: The wood of royals. Wouldn’t that be a trip? Something majestic under all this crap paint? As the doctor visits have mounted and my life has started to come apart these past few weeks, it’s been all I can do to not take a steak knife and scratch off a little of the paint to take a peek underneath to see if my suspicions are true. I can just see the Antique Roadshow now:  

“Stephanie: Good news! Your boring old kitchen table is actually a teak treasure from the jungles of India, brought by the explorer Francisco de Almeida in the year 1505! How did you come about it?” 

“Well, Mark, it’s a funny story; it was actually our kitchen table for years and years, just sitting there, quietly, as we had our coffee every morning. Anyway, one day - ”

 “Wow. How funny.”

“Right? Anyway, one day I had been going through a lot of medical trauma and so to distract myself thought just popped into my head: What if there was something special about our ugly table?”

“Something special, Stephanie?”

“Yes! Something special - you see, it used to be covered in this awful white paint.”

“Thick, cheap, white paint?”

“Yes, Mark. Exactly.” (audience laughs)

“Oh no!”

“Oh yes! And I just started thinking: This table, this ugly, heavy, but otherwise rather unassuming white table - what if there was something more to it? Something special, underneath? Something more beautiful than what we could see on the outsi - “

Hey, what are you thinking about?

I blink quickly, and look up, returning from the Roadshow set to your kitchen. Our kitchen.

Nothing, I say. Why?

You just looked like you were thinking of something funny. 

I look back down at the table, at the white paint. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

I open my mouth to tell you my theory about the table and its secrets, about the Antique Roadshow bit with the 1505 Francisco story in this Mark voice I made up - but instead what comes out of my mouth is not the theory about our (your) table and its exotic secret, but instead it’s the thing I need to tell you. The thing I’ve been needing to tell you for weeks. The Truth.

I’m sick.

I’m really really sick. Like, the kind of sick where people don’t get better sick. I hear myself using some of the same words the doctors used when they told me: Rare, Degenerative, and eventually, the only word that matters in these sorts of cases: Terminal. 

You look at me in disbelief, your wide, beautiful eyes not wanting to accept what I’m saying - much the same way, I imagine, as I looked at the doctor when she told me the news. Only she also used other, bigger, more doctory words like “transmissible spongiform encephalopathy”. I don’t tell you these words; it feels like to say them aloud would be too much like dark magic; too much like summoning an evil I don’t want. Although, at this point, what’s one more curse on top what I’ve already got? 

You look down at your hands. You look at them for a long time. I wonder what you’re thinking. Then you quietly ask how much time we have left. I notice you say we, not me. You’re sweet. 

I press my bare feet into the cold kitchen floor, trying not to cry and trying to figure out how best to tell you the truth without actually having to say it out loud. The silence settles around us like a dark cloud; a flock of big black birds, all watching with their beady eyes, waiting for an answer. Minutes pass. The clock ticks quietly in the hall.

It’s when I tell you how long that you finally start crying. We lean into each other, our bodies comforting each other in their own way. Our coffees sit on the big ugly table, untouched, steam rising lazily into the cool morning air.

Definitely shouldn’t have made that third pot.

***

When I was a kid, I lived next to this kid named Phillip. It was never Phil, just Phillip. One Summer, Phillip and I for some reason became obsessed with digging this hole. I don’t honestly remember how it started; maybe one of us had seen something on time capsules, or maybe we wanted to try to find out if the water table really existed. Whatever. Kids are stupid. 

What I do remember is that, one day after school, Phillip and I for some reason started digging this hole on the side of his house. And every day after that, after school, we would run home, go back to the side of his house, and work on The Hole. Deeper and deeper. Wider. Steeper. Down down down. You’d think that we’d get sick of it - after all, you’re just digging a deep dumb hole, there’s nothing down there but more dirt you dummies - but that wasn’t the way we saw it. To us, it wasn’t just a hole; every spade of earth we turned over was a chance for a new forbidden discovery, a new illicit thrill. Arrowheads! Haunted pottery! Old machine parts! Every day we ran to The Hole, shovels in hand, with the same thought: What new thing would we discover today? What new piece of magic lay secretly buried, all these years, just out of sight, waiting to be discovered and pulled up into the light to be born into a spectacular new life? What beauty lay hidden just under our feet, lost down there in the cold black earth?

Our all-consuming daily digging obsession went on and on past the end of the school year and well across that whole summer; The Hole got so big and deep that we started putting a tarp over it to keep the rain out so it wouldn’t become a flooded mess. In the end though, it met its fate like all childhood adventures: Boring reality butted in. One day, Phillip’s dad walked around the side of the house, found the hole, and made us fill it in. When we protested, he just shook his head: “You spent your whole summer on a hole. Youth is wasted on the young.”

***

My brain is so weird; sometimes I think it knows things that I don’t. For instance, I’ve recently started catching myself thinking of “our” things as “your” things:

Your car.

Your house.

Your bed.

Your ugly kitchen table.

Your life.

Your life after me, of course I mean. What will that be like, I wonder? My life always felt so rushed: I dashed to work, I hurried home, I raced to the store, I ran to the bus, I worried about missing the train, the dinner, the movie. Why? Why did I do that? Why was I worried? My whole life I’ve had plenty of Life left to live, but I spent it all driving a million miles an hour to a million different places - only to get there and be worried about what I was doing next. Onward! Onward! Missing out always felt like a fate worse than death. How wrong I was. 

Now that my life is ending, and there’s an actual clock counting down, I couldn’t care less. I don’t rush anywhere. I don’t race to any event. I don’t worry about making the movie or missing the bus. There will be other movies, other buses. Now that my future has fled, what’s most important is what’s around me, right now. It’s only at the end of my life that I’m realizing that life really takes place in between the times we think will matter; the moments I didn’t pay attention to were the ones that mattered most. Turns out the real beauty in life was there just underneath the surface after all. 

They say those who fail to learn from their mistakes are doomed to repeat them - but that’s wrong. No one gets to repeat anything. We should be so lucky to given such a chance; mistakes or not.

***

My first thought is that I am freezing cold. Why am I so cold? And why is everything in my bedroom orange? I look around, and it takes me a second to realize that I’m not in my bedroom. I’m outside. What am I doing outside at night? The orange glow from the streetlight throws wild, unfamiliar shadows on the trees by the side of the road. What is this? I hear you screaming my name from somewhere far away. As if in response, the icy winter wind gusts out from between the black trunks of the barren pines, pushing me in your direction. I turn, my legs stiff, and begin walking towards where I think you are, but it’s cold and - 

I wake suddenly in our (your) bed. It’s morning. I look around, slowly. The terror of the bad dream slowly drains out of my chest in the white glow of the morning. I look over; you’re still asleep. I desperately have to pee - a side effect of the medication - so I slowly pull the covers back and roll to the side to get out of bed without waking you. As I put my feet on the floor, I notice they are bloody and scratched; black with dirt. Not a dream after all.

***

One night, I call my mother for our weekly catch up - but her phone keeps ringing and ringing. This never, ever happens. She always picks up. Concerned, I find you in the living room half watching the TV while doing your crossword.

I’m worried about my mom. I say. I think she’s in trouble. Maybe hurt.

You look up, sharply. Hurt? What do you mean?

I just tried to call her. It just keeps ringing and ringing. Should we call someone to check on her?

Your face changes. I can tell you don’t want to do this, that it hurts you to do this, but it’s something you feel that you need to do. You pause, then carefully put your crossword aside.

I think your mom is okay. Come here for a second. 

You stand, and I follow you into the kitchen. There is a piece of paper taped to the wall next to the phone that I’ve never seen before. It is written in all caps with a big black marker and says:

CALLING YOUR MOM?

LOOK AT THE CLOCK.

IS IT AFTER 8PM?  ------> YOU HAVE ALREADY CALLED HER TONIGHT.

IF YOU HAVE ALREADY CALLED, SHE WILL NOT ANSWER.

DON’T WORRY, SHE IS FINE.

You look at me, and at the clock. My eyes follow yours. The clock reads 8:34. I slowly nod. As I put the phone back on its cradle, I read the note again. It’s in my handwriting.

***

Even as I’m pouring the last drops of our second pot of coffee in your cup I’m still trying to tell myself that I’m not going to make another pot, but even my own mind can’t keep a straight face at the thought. I decide to pretend a third pot was the plan all along and pour the water in for another go before bringing your coffee back to the table and setting it down with a little flourish. 

You sit as you do, as we do, every morning, at our kitchen table. It’s a heavy old thing slathered with cheap white paint. It must weigh a million pounds. I secretly suspect (read: hope) it’s actually something beautiful underneath; walnut, maybe. Or teak. The wood of royals! Something exotic - wouldn’t that be a trip? These past weeks it’s been all I can do to not give in to the thought and scratch a little bit off with the butter knife to take a peek. What if it’s something valuable? Like really majestic? Hidden under all that hideous thick paint uncaringly slopped on. The more I think about it, the more positive I am: Someone, at some point in history, decided to cover this regal, majestic table in terrible thick white paint. But did that change what the table was, underneath? It changed the way we (I) looked at our (your) table, but didn’t change what the table was, inside. What an epic crime it would be if the table believed that it was just this white coated monstrosity. That it forgot what it truly was, underneath the thick paint. Does it still count as something beautiful? Even if I’m the only one who knows it?

Not wanting time to push me forward into the next few minutes and the confession I have to make, I look down and watch my fingers trace the raised patterns of thick paint on the table. My life, this life, here with you - the whole thing almost feels like too much to wish for. 

I watch as you gaze out the window, trying to burn it into my memory. “Remember this, Stephanie.” I think. “Remember, remember, remember.”

***

It can be hard to see yourself as you really are. To try and see the truth of someone else? Nearly impossible. 

So years ago, I came up with a neat little trick: whenever I would a take photo, I did something sneaky: I would count to three, and then pretend to take the photo. Everyone would smile. Then, believing it was done, they would relax - and that’s when I would really take the photo, capturing everyone in that one unguarded moment. We are really only our true selves when we believe no one is watching. Those moments that are in-between; those are only real moments that matter.

***

I am outside, in the darkness. No orange light, now. On all sides, I am surrounded by branches that claw at me with their long, sharp fingers. No matter which way I turn, they are there, raking their nails across my cold, tender skin. When I was younger I used to live in a hole with a kid named Phillip - not Phil, but Phillip - and every Christmas morning, Phillip would hide under his bed, hysterical, refusing to come downstairs and open his presents. He thought that Santa Claus was a giant bearded fat man in a red suit with long, sharp claws who would crawl down the chimney into the house while you were sleeping. We would sit in our hole, in the dark, and Phillip would tell me in a high whisper about Santa: That he could see deep into your soul with his ancient watery yellow eyes and knew in your heart how you felt - if you had acted bad. If you had darkness in you. It petrified Phillip. Silly Phillip, I think, as I stagger through the cold forest in the dark, the branches scratching my arms and face. The bearded man only wanted to bring you his gifts. The bearded man. With the claws. He would crawl down the chimney while we were sleeping, he would slither into our heads with his long claws and wrap himself around our hearts, knowing how we truly felt. Click click click his claws tapping against the old wooden floors in our house in the night, scratching and scurrying over to the plate of treats we had left out for him; an offering to the long clawed greasy red shadow that came every year in the night. Traveling on the night air, high up in the black sky, soaring on the sharp cold winds that roar right at the edge of space across the slumbering world, the only witness to his flight the endless flickering points of pale flame, flickering white stars long dead, like the countless white grubs in the steaming fresh earth of endless turned spades, that one hot sticky summer we spent digging our hole. Phillip died not long after we filled in our hole; died that winter, his blood leaking out into the bright white snow. His dad put him in a different hole, down in that cold dark earth where everything is alive and nothing lives. Phillip, not Phil.

A sudden winter wind knifes through the dark woods, scattering a small flurry of snow and bringing a gasp to my lips. There is rot in these woods, I think, suddenly afraid. It feels like something is watching as I stumble around; something ancient and hircine, watching with watery yellow eyes, crouched somewhere I can’t see. A low sob escapes my chest. I don’t want this. Please. Long brittle fingers eagerly scrape against each other, somewhere high above against the black night sky. It’s cold. So cold. Off in the distance, a faint voice screams for Stephanie. Who is Stephanie?

***

It’s morning. 

I am sitting in your kitchen, at your table, as you set a cup of coffee down in front of me with a little flourish. It’s cute. Our first date, and already the consummate host! You will make some woman very happy one day, I think. Knock wood that it would be me. It would be nice to sit here with you, morning after morning, day after day, and have this sort of life together. My younger self would recoil at the thought - me? A happily married woman? Content with starting my every day off like this with you - I can just picture my younger self screaming bloody murder. I laugh at the thought. Us, every morning, like this, at this table? A dream. Almost too much to wish for.

Although, this table… It is hideous. Who would paint such a beautiful table with this cheap white paint? A shame. A crime. It has the look of such a pretty, ornate table; you can nearly see the beauty, just underneath the surface. But in your home, this ugly table stands alone - the rest of your house has the look of a woman’s touch. Tastefully decorated, but lovingly lived in. I wonder who you used to live here with. How it ended. Did she break your heart? 

My eyes wander back to the table. I wonder what really is underneath? I can’t stop thinking about it. 

When I was young, my neighbor and I spent the summer digging a hole. To everyone else, it was two weird kids digging a weird hole. But we did it because we had a crush on each other and didn’t know how to say it. So, instead, we spent every day together, digging - it was as good a reason as any to be in one another’s company and not have to awkwardly talk about it. When the hole got deep enough, we would sit in our hole, our special place under the tarp, and make up stories about the things we were going to find; buried treasure, magical pottery; old robot parts. One day, when I was in the middle of a story about a bank robbery and how the gang had no choice but to bury their loot and split up before they were captured, he leaned over and kissed me. It was my first kiss; a small moment in the middle of an unbearably hot, sticky Midwestern Summer under a tarp in a big wet hole next to a house - but I wouldn’t have traded it for anything. I kissed him back. 

There are few things more true in this world than the beauty of a small moment. 

When you’re not looking, I take your butter knife and scrape some of the paint at the edge of the table. The wood underneath is dark. Excited, I try to press into it with my thumbnail. It’s hard! Teak, I’ll bet! I love teak. How beautiful! I smile to myself. A teak table painted birdshit white. Who knew? The wood of the royals, right here under all this cheap paint. A thing of beauty, just waiting its turn to be rediscovered and once again have its moment in the sun.

I look over to see you watching me, smiling with your big wide eyes. Did you see me scratch your table? I smile back. What a beautiful smile you have - and I tell you so. It’s flirting, shameless; I know. But what do I have to lose? A handsome man like you, single? Inviting me here, into your home? Making me a morning coffee, of all things? Almost too much to wish for. 

You ask if I’m hungry; I’m not, but I want to stay with you here in your house for as long as I can, so I say yes. An obvious trick. You laugh and pull out a pan to make some food. It’s quite the production; you drizzle oil into the pan like a ballet dancer; you crack the eggs like a ninja; you drop the salt and it spills all over the floor. I love it. I love it all. I am laughing hysterically, in spite of myself. 

I look out the window: The trees, the world, the sky, the stars; all trapped behind one single pane of glass. All of it just a spectator to you and me and this moment - this one, lovely moment. How can I be so lucky, I think, to live a life that would have just a single moment like this. How lucky to be alive at all. So many years I lived rushing from place to place, right by moments like this, instead of living in moments like this. Youth is wasted on the young.

You look up from the sizzling pan. Ugh, that smile again. Lord. I can’t. My heart beats faster. Do I have a really have a shot with this man? This wonderful man, as I sit at his ugly royal teak table in his beautiful house? Expertly assembling my breakfast on a plate, you glide over with a little dance, and set the plate down. Suddenly, I’m starving. Pulling your chair close, you sit next to me, our bodies almost touching. It is sublime. 

You run your finger over the edge of the table, over the small scratch I’ve made in the paint. I didn’t notice before, but I see now that it’s next to countless other small scratches made by someone else. Sadness flickers across your face, and you look up. Our eyes meet.

It's teak! I can't help but exclaim. The wood of royals!

You break into a laugh.

What a perfect moment, I think. Time pushes us forward - but please, just this once, let it wait. Let me live right here for just a moment more: in our house, at our table. Here, with you. Silence settles around us like a warm blanket. The clock ticks quietly in the hall.

I look out the window. The trees, the world, the sky, the stars; all is still. 

What a sight, I say.

And then you lean in for a kiss.