#but i physically cannot read it again today lol

[sotvtaughtmehowtofeel]

To see myself reflected in your eyes- Chapter 3/3

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[tacobacoyeet]

stanfordish!young!art x pregnant! reader

had this in my head during class and typed it out on my phone LOL tw smut!!!!

-you don’t even get the words out properly. you just hold up the test with trembling hands and whisper, “art…”

-he stares at it like it’s a bomb for a full ten seconds. frozen. blinking. absolutely no thoughts behind his eyes

-and then he goes, in the softest, most heartbroken voice, “are you okay?”

-immediately pulls you into him, hands cradling the back of your head like you’re made of glass. “are we okay? are you scared? baby, what do you need?”

-he starts crying before you even do. like not full sobbing, but his face just crumples. “we made a person,” he says with this weird half-laugh, half-sob. “holy shit, we made a person.”

-he icks you the hell out LOL. you tell him he's being fucking weird. i would

-anyway. goes into overdrive within hours. makes a doctor’s appointment, orders five different prenatal books, texts his coach “i won’t be at training today” with no explanation

-so gentle with you in the hours after. tucks you into bed even though it’s 3 p.m., curls up next to you and keeps whispering the sweetest shit

-he’s so emotionally overwhelmed he starts cleaning. like aggressively. it’s the nesting instinct, except it’s his nesting instinct and it’s immediate. reorganizing drawers. researching vitamins. mopping the floor at 2 a.m.

-he starts writing in a little notebook he keeps hidden in his tennis bag. letters to the baby. day one is just: “i found out about you today. i hope you have her eyes. i hope I deserve you.”

-doesn't stop touching you. hand on your thigh, fingers laced with yours, palm against your stomach even when there's no bump yet. just needs the reassurance that you're both real

-you catch him staring off into space later that week, and when you ask what's wrong he just says, "i’m not scared of being a dad. i’m scared of not being good enough"

-he gets super still after that. you pull him close and kiss his forehead. he cries again

-and then, because he’s art, he makes a stupid joke to cut the tension: “this kid is going to be a wreck”

-but later that night, when he thinks you’re asleep, he whispers against your stomach: “I’m so glad it’s you. I’m so glad it’s us.”

-he literally cannot function if you lift even a finger. he will take your shoes off, fluff your pillow, and freak out if you so much as bend over

-“you’re pregnant,” he says with that tortured puppy look, “why would you even think about picking up your backpack?”

-the moment you start showing? he’s done for. like physically incapable of focusing on anything else when you’re in the room. wide eyes, slack jaw, hand always gravitating to your belly like it’s magnetic

-“you’re growing a whole human,” he whispers one night in the dark, tracing the swell of your stomach. “that’s literally god-tier behavior.”

-he talks to the bump like it’s his tiny best friend. “hey, it’s dad. your mom won’t let me feed her pickles and whipped cream at the same time. help me out here.”

-so proud of your changing body. like obsessed. “you look insane right now. angelic. powerful. absolutely unreal.” and then he has to sit down because he’s overwhelmed. just a white boy overwhelmed with the power of female anatomy culture

-he lowk becomes the pregnancy police. “did you drink enough water today?” “have you peed recently?” “i brought you three snacks. no, I insist.”

-also soooooo emo about it. like you’ll find him just staring at the ultrasound photo with glassy eyes, and when you ask what’s wrong he’s like, “nothing. it’s just… you’re my family now”

-once cried during a prenatal yoga class because you looked “so peaceful and maternal” while doing a cat-cow stretch. you had to bribe him with froyo to stop sniffling

-has a playlist titled 'baby bonding'. plays it while reading aloud to your belly like it’s storytime at the library

-constantly kissing your belly. at home. in public. before bed. before class. “you’re already the best thing i’ve ever made,” he tells your bump, and then panics because you heard him and now he’s blushing

-absolutely cannot handle how tired you get. if you so much as yawn, he’s tucking you in, canceling plans, whispering “my poor baby” like you just ran a marathon

-not above weaponizing how hot you are. you’ll catch him staring and be like “what?” and he’ll go “nothing. you just look…really good pregnant. like, devastatingly hot.” (and then trip over something. so sweet)

-insists on being the one to rub your back, massage your feet, bring you snacks. feels like he needs to earn the dad title

-and even though he’s overwhelmed and scared sometimes, the way he looks at you, like you’re the beginning and end of every good thing in his life— never falters

-he gets extra needy at night. being close to you, touching you, kissing you. sometimes he just lies between your thighs, head resting on your belly, whispering nonsense and kissing your skin

-you can tell it gets to him when you moan, even from something simple like a massage. he tries to play it cool but his eyes darken, his voice gets low: “you’re gonna drive me insane”

-the first time you have sex after the bump really shows, he goes so slow it’s almost unbearable. he keeps asking if you’re okay, if anything hurts, if he can keep going. you have to pull him in by the collar and kiss him breathless just to shut him up

-worships your body like it’s sacred. palms sliding reverently over your hips, your chest, your belly. tells you over and over how beautiful you are, how full of life, how lucky he is to even touch you

-sometimes he just wants to watch. you ride him slow while he groans under you, hands gripping your thighs, utterly entranced. “look at you,” he whispers. “you’re unreal. you’re everything.”

-he’ll fuck you with one hand on your belly and the other tangled in your hair, eyes locked on yours the whole time. it always ends in whispered praise, shaky breathing, and him clutching you like you’ll disappear

-can you guys tell i've been ovulating this week

[boolger]

Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before 🌻 ch.1

Female reader x Nikolai x Price ✨ AO3 link ✨ next chapter -> wc: 7.7k - call of duty - explicit, MDNI. Read the tags. Dead dove don’t eat.

Summary: Your hometown, Millhaven, had been under the control of The Shadows, a notorious biker gang, for several years. You hated every member of the group, but in particular their leader, Phillip Graves. The alpha refused to leave you alone, having attempted to seduce you for two years despite two years of rejection. But in the matter of one night, everything changed. The Shadows disappeared, replaced by a biker gang calling themselves Team 141. The town seemed relieved, but you didn’t trust the new group, despite every good thing they did. Perhaps, it was your sign to leave - your opportunity to move without bad conscience. But the 141 suddenly showed a strong interest in the house you inherited from your father. Even worse though, the leader John Price and his mate, Nikolai, seemed to like you even more. While the Shadows were annoying and Graves was persistent, he at least accepted your no. Somewhat. Problem was, it didn’t seem like the 141 took no for an answer.

Tags: non-consensual elements/rape, bikers AU, biker gang 141, omegaverse, dub-con, non-con touching, harassment, stalking, reader has a vagina, M/M/F threesome, threats, reader has a nickname, loss of parent, original characters, pack dynamics, alpha!John Price, Alpha!Nikolai, omega!reader, forced bonding, loss of virginity, breeding kink, piss kink, scent marking, daddy kink, stun guns, smut, rough sex, knotting, (maybe pregnancy), voyeurism, punishments, noncon spanking, p in v sex, anal sex, overstimulation, claiming barks, uh short appearance of a chopped off body part (action not described but the part will appear shortly)

Authors note: first of all, TY to sweet 💖 @venuskaltrip 💖for being my beta reader on this fic 🥰❤️ I cannot describe how much I appreciate it. Secondly, idk how long this fic will be yet maybe 6 chapters but they won’t all be this long lol. This will be a dark fic. I will write if there is something specific, but Nikolai and John are nasty in this one. If you’re not into this or feel uncomfortable, don’t read.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

“Hey there, pretty girl.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, and had to physically keep yourself from not groaning at the voice. If your eyes got stuck, like your father used to say, then you wouldn’t have to look at the man behind you at least. However, today wasn’t the day, so you were still able to see him as you turned around and put on a polite smile. For at least two years, the small cafe that you worked in and loved deeply, hadn’t been a safe space for you. He had ruined that.

”Mr. Graves,” you greeted the man standing on the other side of the counter, continuing to dry off the teacup in your hand, “how may I help you?”

”Phillip, my pumpkin,” you could feel the hatred in each bone in your body, as he corrected you, “Told ya’ not to call Mr. Graves. That was my father.”

Oh, how you wanted to throw the teacup in his face. Watch it hopefully shatter in his skin. The man would have deserved it. He was one of those alphas who never wore any kind of scent blocker, proud to stink up whatever room he walked into, to show their “dominance” over everyone else. Right now he was stinking slightly of lust, almost making you want to gag.

Somehow you still managed to keep your smile and not roll your eyes again over his words. Throughout your countless interactions with him, you had learned the hard way that you had to push back and not give up when it came to him. Your father would have reminded you to show him that you’re an alpha as well. Which you were, at least to Graves.

But he called you Pumpkin, sweetie pie, all kinds of awful pet names that he knew you didn’t like - so you stood your ground.

”What can I get for you, Mr. Graves?”

He pouted, like a dog not getting a treat, as he bent forward, resting both of his hands on the counter, making you try your best to ignore the leather gloves he wore. Specifically, where they had been. They looked dirty. You didn’t want them on the counter. There would no doubt be oil on them from messing around with his ugly bike outside. Perhaps, Mary would let you put up a sign about not touching the counter while wearing gloves. Then again, it was a very specific sign. Graves probably wouldn’t like - or follow it, for that matter.

“You’re a tough nut to crack, sweetie,” he crooned all charmingly, leaning forward while you leaned backwards, not even trying to be subtle, as he continued, “I’ve enjoyed it these last two years.”

The ‘but no more’ was left unsaid. A threat, disguised as a compliment. You just swallowed, smiling at him. Though if you were being honest, you weren’t really sure if he was threatening you, or attempting to flirt.

Mary was in the back, she would hear you if you screamed, in case he decided to snap and jump across the counter today. You were on the edge of growling, warning the alpha to back off, when the front door opened.

The soft chimes of the bells alerted of your saviors entering the little cafe - two of your regulars, two elderly women that came in every day at 9AM exactly. Your unsung heroes.

”Goodmorning dear,” the beta called out for you, the elderly omega next to her giving a wave, and the smile you sent them as you greeted them was genuine. They always wore blockers, but smelled of cookies and weed nonetheless. You were quite a fan of pair.

”I’ll be there in a moment, ladies,” you called out sweetly as they took off their coats. They weren’t even discreet in their staring at Phillip Graves. As if the man and his gang of idiots hadn’t been in the town for the last seven years or so. As if the sight of the logos on their backs was still a surprise and not an everyday occurrence to everyone. Then again, they were old. Graves looked over his shoulder, no doubt sending them a nasty stare, before he looked back at you again.

For a moment, you felt as if he stared at you like a beast would a piece of meat, as if he wanted to devour you raw. That had been how he had looked at you for the last two years or so, not even hiding how he wanted you, a strong alpha woman, to bend over for him. Follow him like a good little puppy.

The scar you had given him the last time he had attempted something was healed by now, but still visible, particularly in the right light. The sight still pleased you.

Graves behaved like a desperate dog, who continuously returned to you, hoping for a moment to successfully catch you off guard and rip you apart.

“An americano, then,” he finally crooned, a charming smile back on his face as he straightened up, the leather creaking a little, “with an extra espresso shot.”

You added a bit too much espresso - hoping the strong drink would make him shit himself while he drove his motorbike. Preferably while all his ‘Shadows’ were watching him.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

The Shadows had appeared when you had been around 15 years old; back when it had seemed to rain a little less than now, back when your father was alive. Right after the two of you had found a bit of happiness after the death of your mother a couple of years earlier. Back when you hadn’t presented yet, your secondary gender still a mystery.

You had quickly learned to avoid them, all of the kids in your small British village had, keeping your distance despite the cool matching logos on their vests and jackets, and their shiny, loud motorbikes.

Why the hell an American biker gang had decided to go to the UK, and then chosen your bloody village, was beyond your comprehension. They all seemed like idiots. You had realised that as a teenager.

It seemed most of the inhabitants of Millhaven had hoped they would leave after a year or two. Instead they became more and more intertwined with the town as the years passed, creating chaos and controlling a bunch of things - and people.

The local, lowly drug dealers, who maybe sold a bit of weed or some painkillers, either disappeared or changed tactics. At the same time, it seemed impossible to have a shop, or any kind of business really and not pay them some sort of fee.

For “security”.

To you it seemed like it was the Shadows themselves who were creating malaise and fear in Millhaven, not any locals or people from other towns. The mere name The Shadows didn’t really scream safety and peace.

A couple of the bikers ended up creating a pack with some locals from town, others didn’t. In truth, without being said out loud, everyone had hoped for Phillip Graves to get bored of Millhaven and decide to move on to another town. Then the streets wouldn’t be filled with the roars of their bikes or their ace of spades or whatever their logo was supposed to be.

However, to much of the disappointment of the folks of Millhaven, Graves did find something interesting - or rather somebody.

Much to your horror, it turned out to be you.

It had started a couple of months after you had turned twenty; he had started to look at you, no, stare, like it was the first time he really saw you. Noticed you. He started flirting with you almost instantly after that - and though you turned him down straight from the beginning without hesitation, he kept going. You had barely turned twenty, he was in his thirties.

The owner of the cafe you worked at, sweet Mary, had muttered not too long after his first show of interest that he was a nasty man - but that he at least hadn’t noticed you when you were a kid. You tried not to think about that part too much.

Six months into his attempt at courting you, he had cornered you outside the pub; a confident smile on his lips and a dark look in his eyes, as he had caged you in, hands on each side of your head. That was the evening you had given him the scar on his cheek - usually you only used your pocket knife to open up letters or packages, so you weren’t a great fighter. But the blade had connected with his skin; there had been blood, a grunt - and you had escaped his attempt at kissing you… or worse.

You had bolted into the pub again in pure panic, steering directly to the back, with the plan of disappearing out into the dark fields — but Lewis, the owner, had helped you hide in the little secret cellar beneath the wooden floors, surrounded by beer and wine. You had slept in one of the upstairs rooms of the pub that night, Lewis and his wife not letting you go home.

You had been sure Graves would take revenge, so you laid low for a couple of days, Mary demanding you stay at home.

It turned out to be much worse, however.

If he had been interested in you before, he was in love with you after the incident. That had been when you, despite your unending love for Millhaven, had considered moving away for the first time.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Money was the issue - wasn’t it always? You kept saving every pound you could, while still trying to live a normal life. Your dad hadn’t left you much besides the house and its contents. It was big, too big for you really. Half of it had been a garage for as long as you could remember, your father the town’s mechanic. You used to help him here and there, but car engines were never your thing - they never spoke to you like they spoke to him.

When he got worse, he sold off most of the things to pay for the last of the mortgage, so you wouldn’t have to worry about it.

You begged him not to get rid of his favorite vintage car - promising him that you would get it fixed up and take a drive in it, even if both of you knew that probably wouldn’t happen. So far, it hadn’t happened, you had taken a look or two, but not done anything about it.

No, the grey Aston Martin DB4 still stood in the back of the big garage and workshop, beneath its cover and some blankets. Like a ghoul from the past, haunting you in your own home, with memories of him. Thus, moving would mean having to deal with your dad’s car, so the mere idea felt like pulling out teeth. Like you would finally have to accept and deal with the fact that he was dead.

However, the idea of Graves’ patience slipping up, growing tired of waiting for consent from you, scared you too. Maybe more. You weren’t sure.

If he wasn’t there, if he and his Shadows hadn’t been controlling Millhaven, you might have stayed without too many issues. Despite only being twentytwo, you had a big house and no debt. It was a privilege in all other aspects. You could get an education, move to a bigger city, where you could blend into the crowd. Maybe not hide your true self.

“You okay, Sunflower?”

Mary, your lovely beta boss, asked you gently, pulling you from your thoughts, making you smile as she turned the little sign at the glass front door, to show that the place was closed for today.

Your nickname was just your name at this point. It had followed you for so many years that you weren’t sure you would even react to your actual name. As a kid, you had been obsessed with sunflowers - they were on your dresses, your shirts, your tights. Hell, your dad got you a necklace with a small sunflower on it that still rested against your skin beneath your shirt.

Sunflower. Sunny. Sunshine. Sun. The variations had been endless and with the town being relatively small, it had become well known that you were Sunflower. It wasn’t that unusual to have a nickname here after all. There were people in Millhaven, whose actual names you didn’t even know.

“Yes,” you replied quickly, slightly ashamed of having been caught standing behind the counter, all lost in your thoughts, “don’t worry about me.”

Mary, sweet Mary - she was another reason you felt bad about considering moving. She worried about you but you wanted to shield her. You didn’t want her to ask further questions, to ask anymore in general. You didn’t want her to worry about your frustrations, fears and the dilemmas that seemed to grow bigger everyday - so that she wouldn’t realise why there was a stun gun next to a pocketknife in your jacket, despite it being illegal to own said stun gun.

You didn’t really fear getting caught with it, as it wasn’t like the police would come out here to check. They hadn’t been out here for years, if you remembered correctly. The nearest bobbies in other villages were over an hour away and they tended to stay out of Millhaven. You supposed the bribes from the Shadows were worth it.

“The Graves fella still bothering you?”

Both of you knew that he did. He had for two years. He wouldn’t stop out of the blue, it would probably take a miracle. Or for him to find somebody else - and you almost didn’t want that for anyone. For a moment, the sympathy in her eyes reminded you of your mom. Mary had stepped into an almost motherly role for you in the last years, especially after your dad passed away.

Her long curly hair was braided this Monday, presumably by her sister, who had visited over the weekend - you had taken an extra shift alone to make sure they could spend time together. She was beautiful. A mother you wished would live forever. A part of you, your inner child perhaps, wanted to hug her and ask her to help you hide from the world.

“Hopefully he grows bored of me soon,” you replied instead, giving her a crooked smile, “I’m just tired of repeating myself every time I see him and his bloody bike.”

It wasn’t really a lie to say so, but you knew he wouldn’t stop any time soon. You being tired of him was just the truth.

Mary laughed as she disappeared into the back, reappearing a short moment later, the leftovers of a cake and scones in a small bag.

“Here - now let me walk you home, lass,” the loving tone had worry dripping into it, but it was a usual offer by now, “So I know you get home safely.”

It was a recurring discussion these days.

“Absolutely not,” you answered in a teasing tone as always, not wanting her to walk longer than she needed to - or see how unorganised you lived, “I can walk home myself. Graves can’t take that from me - but I’ll text you once I get home, yeah? Like yesterday?”

Mary let out a hum, not looking too happy, but the beta agreed again today. Besides, she had her own worries.

It wasn’t as if she was not affected by the Shadows’ presence in Millhaven - she had been, ever since they turned up. Paying them money so that they would leave her little cafe alone, promising to keep it safe, even if everything that happened in Millhaven was connected to them.

Both of you seriously doubted their safekeeping abilities but saying no wasn’t an option. It wasn’t really an offer.

A part of you wondered, if Mary knew you were lying all the time in general; if she knew you covered yourself in scent blocker and fake pheromones every day, to stay under the radar. To have a normal life. If your father ever told her. In case he had, she followed your own choice and didn’t talk about it.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Millhaven was getting ready for the evening, cars flashing by as people either went home, towards one of the two local grocery stores to collect food for dinner - or, to the pub, to get the day discussed and listen in on the gossip.

You passed the pharmacy. The queue was always long once or twice a week, as people stocked up on scent blockers, heat blockers and scent patches for themselves, or whatever cough medicine they needed for their kids, who had once again gotten sick.

You always walked home at the same time, near five PM. Every time you would wave at at least three locals and send a glare to at least two of the Shadows, who tended to hide around the town, silently watching people pass by from the alleyways.

It was a familiar scene, even if it still made you uncomfortable. Mrs. Henley’s bastard of a dog howled at you through the rose bushes and thin fence as always. The teenager next door would yell for it to shut up, while he attempted to hide the fact that he was secretly smoking cigarettes out his bedroom window. As if the entire neighbourhood, hell, probably the entire town, didn’t know he smoked. There lay a safety in it, passing him, knowing you were almost home.

You had quit smoking yourself after your dad had passed away, but every time you walked past the teenager, you wanted a cigarette so badly that it almost hurt. You wanted to have something to do, something to forget yourself in.

Turning to the right a moment later, your house was visible at the end of the road - standing out with its size and the blue color it had been all of your life - as well as the barely covered sign with your dad’s name on. You really should get it taken down, since he had been dead for four years now, but there were so many things you should probably get rid off.

Normally, the sight of your house was a relief - because usually the driveway was empty. There wasn’t supposed to be a motorbike, painted with the colors of the American flag, standing in it, with an annoying alpha leaning against it. You almost wanted to turn around and go back to Mary, but Graves had already spotted you, making your lips purse with annoyance at the sight of his stupid grin.

”Sunny Bunny,” he crooned darkly, as you got close and you stuck your free hand into the pocket of your jacket, grabbing onto the stun gun right next to the pocket knife. Perhaps a zap from the stun gun would make him get a hint, though you doubted he would be happy about it.

You hated that he knew your nickname, hated him even more when he called you Sunny Bunny. It wasn’t as if the nickname was a secret at all, the entire town called you variations of Sunflower, but you wanted it to be a secret from him and his stupid group.

”What do you want?” You asked as you got closer, not even attempting to be polite; right now you weren’t at work, so you didn’t have to behave like you did in the cafe. Instead you tipped your chin up, puffed your chest up a little, giving him a hard stare, as an alpha would do. You were tired, slightly cold and he was blocking your path to the front door with himself and that stupid bike. If you weren’t scared of the consequences, you would be cutting up those tires on a regular basis.

“Was wondering if a pretty alpha like you would go to the pub with me, yeah?” He asked, tipping his own chin up a little, grinning like a teenage boy feeling confident, “have a couple of beers - or whatever fancy drink you want.”

Every time he asked, he got a no. If he hadn’t been the leader of a biker gang, you might have slapped him. The urge to do so grew inside you every time he asked you out.

”I’m busy tonight, sorry.” You didn’t even attempt to sound apologetic.

”Funny,” The alpha mused as he leant against the bike a little more, tipping up his own chin up, clearly not intimidated or pleased with your reply, “you were busy the other night too - kinda odd, isn’t it?”

“Quite unlucky for you to choose the days I’m busy,” you answered dryly, “now if you would excuse me—“

Your grip on the stun gun tightened a little, but you managed to walk around the bike, avoiding his arm shooting out in an attempt to catch your arm — before he spoke once more.

”The cafe is goin’ great, isn’t it?” Graves had asked almost casually and it was as if the wind suddenly quieted down, in order to listen along. You looked over your shoulder to look at the pale alpha, who somehow seemed like he had flipped some sort of switch, suddenly looking much more dangerous than before. He let out a deep rumble from his chest, a sign that he was pleased with your uneasy reaction.

He wanted you to become upset. One alpha almost daring the other, to see what you would do; if you would attempt to challenge him, giving him an excuse to go at you, to sink his teeth into your skin —

“It’s going alright,” you finally answered, keeping your voice steady, having chosen each of the words carefully, so as to not give him an excuse. Keeping the anger inside.

”Oh, wonderful,” he rumbled, a pursed expression on his face, before he smiled again, “Would be a shame if the price for your lil boss lady’s protection fees would rise, wouldn’t it?”

”I - what?” The words weren’t smooth or confident now. The idea of him threatening Mary because of you seemed insane.

You wanted to growl at him; to put him in his place, to protect Mary - jump across that stupid bike of his, hopefully making it tip over, while you tased or stabbed him with your knife. Ice and flames were rushing through your veins at the same time, prickling at your skin from the inside out like needles, mixing together fear and anger. He had harassed you for two years more or less, but he had never dragged Mary or the cafe into it.

“Think about it when I ask next time,” he replied, face turning back into the boyish grin from before, his American accent seeping into his words, “‘right sugar?”

”She got nothing to do with this, Graves.”

He didn’t reply - instead he got up on his bike, kicking on the engine with a sharp, confident thrust, the bike waking with a roar of a beast - looking at you once more, only to wink at you.

He disappeared down the small road like a demonic predator rushing away, knowing he would get his prey the next time. Your grip on the little bag with leftovers tightened a little, the paper bag crinkling beneath your fingers. You wanted to use your claws for the first time in quite a while, even if they were dull.

Instead you turned around, calmly walking to your door, opening it and locking it again afterwards. You left the bag with leftover cake on the kitchen counter, texting Mary that you were home safely, not looking up as you walked to the bathroom.

As soon as you got on your knees, you vomited from fear.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

A couple of hours later, you laid in your bed, watching the ceiling of the bedroom you had slept in ever since your childhood. Despite your parents’ old room and bed being bigger, you couldn’t get yourself to sleep in it permanently. You couldn’t make yourself get rid of the bed either — the mere idea of doing so felt wrong.

It was like you clung to the memories of him, of the both of them, with the claws you cut regularly and with the retractable omegan fangs that you had filed down a bit to better hide.

It was the memories of how you would go to your parents, the later years only your father, if you had a nightmare or were anxious over something. Even the year he died, you slept next to him a lot — sometimes he would come for you, asking if you wanted to sleep next to him.

Perhaps it was the scent of each other that had helped the other feel safe enough to sleep. Knowing that the other was always there. That your father always did what he could for you, even in his last days. During his last days, when he was slowly dying, you slept next to him, holding his hand. You knew he feared death; he had told you so one late night, confessing how it scared him, how the unknown would be — how leaving you frightened him.

Fearing what would happen to you, when he wasn’t there any longer and whether you would be able to continue the concealment of your secondary gender.

Now the idea of sleeping in his bed every day felt wrong. It wasn’t your nest, it was your mother’s and father’s. The past two years, you had perhaps slept in it five times in total - you never found the same safety without one of them snoring next to you. Their scent wasn’t as strong anymore. It never felt like when you were a kid and slept in between them sometimes, when they kept you safe until morning. No. It didn’t feel right any longer.

Usually Millhaven would be relatively quiet during the night and you never had to look up at the ceiling for long, before you would fall asleep. Sure, there would be the occasional car passing by, the laughter from people walking home from the pub and as you grew older, you had gotten used to the sound of the motorbikes revving as well. It rarely continued past 11 PM.

Tonight was different.

As the hours passed, the sounds got worse, keeping you awake - as they kept on going, you became too afraid to look out the window. There were so many unusual sounds too. You were too afraid to call the police - nobody would, that was just how Millhaven was by now.

This night was filled with the sounds of motorbikes loudly roaring through the town, much louder than usual - for many of them, as time passed; then the sounds of gunshots had begun to echo throughout the streets. The shots and the screaming almost got swallowed up by the furious howling of the engines.

It was like a concoction of horrifying sounds; people screaming, things breaking, shots being fired, blending together like the soundtrack of a movie you didn’t want to watch. Even without the visuals, you wanted to scream and cry, wanted to hide from the world, just like when you were a child.

It only took an hour before you crawled to your parents’ old bedroom, keeping low and away from the windows, before disappearing beneath the slightly dusty sheets; curled together, trying to submerge yourself in the old, disappearing scent of your alpha father.

The ground beneath Millhaven was shaking with fear, almost as if it was threatening to break beneath its inhabitants and swallow up the place you called home.

Mary texted you not too long after the noises began, asking if you were safe. She confirmed two minutes later that she was safe as well, but that she was pretty sure one of the big windows in the cafe had been shattered.

You breathed in dust and fear, laying there, watching the picture of your parents and you on the wall, slightly concealed by the darkness, trying not to imagine what was happening outside. There was a morbid curiosity inside of you to know what was happening, if anybody was dying, yet an overwhelming panic overtook your body at the same time. Nobody would come out here, nobody would call the police, because it would be no good.

The nausea was back, especially at the silence that followed, as if the town had suddenly been abandoned.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Mary told you not to come in the next morning. Yet despite the day suddenly being free, you got up and got ready as usual. You had fallen asleep at some point after the silence began, but you weren’t sure when.

Taking a bath, using scent blockers and patches, before your regular perfume.

You felt slightly like a prey animal, not like a strong alpha, checking out your windows to make sure the coast was clear, before opening your door slowly. Peeping out, taking in the street… everything looked as it used to, as far as you spotted. Yet you had a feeling that nothing was the same.

It was slightly cold outside, the thin fog slowly going away.

It wasn’t until you got down to the end of your road, almost at the bigger road, that you saw something out of place.

Glass was scattered around a car, with the owner, Alfred, a middle aged beta man, looking at it with an exhausted look on his face. You saw the broken window as well as the bullet holes in the door, making you swallow before you walked up to it.

Carefully, you put your hand on his shoulder, giving it a pat. He sent you a look and a smile.

”At least it was the car and not the house,” he muttered, trying to sound a little happy, “ The missus isn’t happy though. Neither is the husband.”

You put both your hands in your pockets, curling them into fists for a moment. Feeling your blunt claws press against your palms. The two of you stood there for a few moments in silence.

”Do you know what happened last night?” You finally asked, hoping that he could give you some sort of answer - but he merely shook his head while shrugging. As unaware as you, it seemed.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have an idea. The sounds during the night and the bullet holes in his car door spoke for themselves.

After a short goodbye, you continued your trip towards the cafe, glancing at the proof of chaos that was scattered here and there. Bullet casings. Tiremarks on the road. Broken windows - a couple of knocked over trash cans that one of the home owners was angrily cleaning up.

An abandoned motorbike leaning against a house.

Mrs. Henley’s dog barked at you - but the barks seemed more hollow than usual, tired. The chain smoking teenager wasn’t yelling. The window was shut, for the first time in a while.

In the alleyway between the tiny bookshop and one of the grocery stores, where a shadow usually hid, another bike lay abandoned. Tipped over, glass scattered, gasoline seeping onto the asphalt. Due to the logo on it, you figured it was another one belonging to the shadows.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Mary huffed in annoyance as you turned up at the cafe, frowning so hard that she looked much older for a moment. She let out a little growl, with no actual heat in it, unlocking the door to the cafe, making you walk through that, despite the window on the left side being gone, more or less leaving the cafe without half a façade.

“Are you unable to read your texts anymore, young lady?” The beta asked as you took the broom from her hands and started sweeping the broken glass together. Just like her growl, there was no heat behind her words, despite her attempt at being stern.

“I can,” you answered, with a smile on your face, “but I’m not gonna let you clean this mess up alone - what kind of employee would I be?”

It was also your way of checking up on her. See how rattled she was. Besides, you suspected she didn’t mind the company, especially as the cafe would be closed for today.

“A bloody normal one, who stays at home when she gets time off,” Mary defended, crossing her arms for a minute. Sleep always tended to make her more easily annoyed with the world than usual, “besides, I’ve already called Harold to come fix it. He will have to put up wood first though, until he gets the glass.”

“Then we go get a pint afterwards,” you offered, “I’ll pay.”

“Drinking on the job?” Mary made a teasing tsk-tsk sound at you, though there was a smile growing on her lips, before she admitted a moment later, “I honestly need that after tonight.”

“It went on for long,” you agreed and for a moment there was nothing but the sound of you filling up the dustpan with glass. As if the two of you were too afraid to acknowledge what might have happened.

“Too long.”

You didn’t reply to Mary’s observation, merely nodding. Her scent had a worried tinge to it.

Whatever had been going on during the night had scared her. Both of you, undoubtedly all of town as well. The worst thing? Somehow you had seen none of the Shadows yet. You had never thought that the sudden lack of the group would make you uncomfortable.

It hadn’t been the police last night - because then there would be bobbies filling the town, but none were here, the streets empty and quiet.

You swept up the massive pieces of glass and vacuumed the smaller ones afterwards, while Mary went to the local charity shop a couple of houses over, where they were patching two bullet holes in the wooden door. She came back not too long after, having bought a painting to hide the bullet hole in the wall on the other side of the window.

A couple of hours later, the window had been temporarily fixed with a big wooden board and a weird abstract painting of flowers that didn’t quite fit into the vibe of the cafe, hanging on the wall.

“Temporary as well,” Mary declared at the painting, before packing away the hammer and nails.

Gods, you really needed a drink.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

The two of you were far from the only people who had needed a drink or two. There was noise in the pub, but a different kind of noise than the one that had filled the town during the night. It was filled to the brim, you and Mary able to get a table for two, only by pure luck.

Sure, the atmosphere was still a little tense, but it felt much less dangerous. There were experiences to share, pictures to be shown on phones, beers to drink and attempts at comforting each other in your small community to be made. All of you quite confused over the lack of any leather vests or jackets with the familiar logo on. You saw several of your friends, who looked just as worried.

Yesterday one of the usuals had left his car at the pub’s parking lot to walk home. When he had returned this morning, it had been hit by something, most likely one of the big bikes. The fella had been so caught off guard by the sight of the dent, which was so deep that it hurt to look at - and he had just gone inside the pub again, continuing the drinking from the day before.

One of the couples living in the other end of the town, had a giant hole in their hedge, with one of the motorbikes laying abandoned on their lawn, having ripped up some of the flowerbeds as well.

The couple seemed most upset about the fact that their dog had pissed on it - afraid that whichever one of the Shadows owned it, would be upset.

The tiremarks would probably stay on the roads for a while. The blood splatters and dried up pools of it would disappear when the rain came, so none of you seemed to acknowledge it, nor the few teeth that had been found scattered across the town. The bullet cases could be picked up, thrown out.

So far, the only positive thing about all of this, seemed to be that Harold, the local handyman, suddenly had a bunch of things to do together with his apprentice, Jenny, a teenager who seemed happy to fully learn how to fix broken windows - there were enough of them across town to get good at it, you supposed.

The beer was good, however. Calmed the worst of your nerves - Mary seemed more relaxed now as well, chattering with you and one of her neighbours the next table over, about new recipes.

You had nursed half of your pint for a little while now though and it was getting warmer - making you consider just drinking the rest in one go and ordering a new one. Perhaps getting drunk tonight would be alright - just to forget for a little while, pretend that everything was fine.

However, the moment you lifted the glass to down the rest of the beer, everything changed in a matter of seconds, as noise started down street. It only took the vague sound for the safe and almost cozy atmosphere of the pub to change, as if the air was sucked from everybody’s lungs - nobody wanted to believe what they heard.

A stench of scared scents spread from table to table, people unable to help themselves, omegas, betas and alphas alike. Making the pub stink of fear and worry, of anger and resentment. Were they back? You carefully put the glass down again, listening more closely.

Engines.

Every single one of the folks currently inside of the pub knew the familiar yet hated sound of motorbike engines, currently coming closer.

Perhaps it had been naive of you to hope that everything was done - that the gang would disappear one day to another and that Millhaven would return to itself. Motorbike-free and peaceful. That there would no longer be feral alphas and betas roaming the streets, loyal to the symbol on their patches, on their vests, their jackets - to their club.

The entire pub had gone so quiet it almost hurt, most people frozen in fear, breathing deemed too loud - some dared to look out the windows or towards the door, though most looked at each other or their drinks. The air felt heavy, tense with the many scents of people in panic - yet nobody ran from the pub or disappeared upstairs. Everyone stayed, knowing they would have to know what was going to happen to Millhaven.

It was the owner, Alice, who was the first to break the silence, muttering out a “bloody hell.”

You silently agreed; a part of you wanted to hide out in the back, crawl beneath the floorboards once more, fearing that the Shadows would step into the pub, heads high after having won whatever had happened last night — that Graves would appear, that his gaze would land upon you.

It was one of the ladies by the windows, the wife of the book store owner if you were right, who uttered the second word to break the silence. The “fuck” echoed throughout the building, sending shivers through everyone.

Like sheep, caught in a pen, you all waited to see whether it was protectors or predators who were going to enter your safe space. If all of your blood would spill on the wooden floors, sticky with spilled beer or if you would be able to go home and sleep peacefully.

Lights flashed by the windows, motorbikes slowing down out front - followed by laughter in the parking lot. The engines died down one after one, like predators all quieting down in order to better watch their prey, before attacking.

The lack of the rumbling from their engines, meaning they were right outside and about to step in made you nauseous - Graves would walk in an—

Despite the familiarity of leather clothes, it wasn’t a recognisable face who stepped inside the pub. Or well, a recognisable figure, at first, as you couldn’t even see his face, hidden by a balaclava with a skull design on. He was big; tall enough that he had to bend his neck to step through the door, shoulders broad, arms thick. Clad in leather, with silver studs and buckles on, his helmet under one arm. There was no fear in his eyes as he looked around the pub, taking in the residents of Millhaven. The pub was filled with the scent of worry, but the big man didn’t seem bothered.

For a mere moment, you wondered if this was what Death would look like, when he would come to collect and bring you to your parents; not with a scythe or a cloak, but with a leather jacket and a helmet for you to wear, while he drove the motorbike into the afterlife with you.

Was he the leader of the people who had just arrived?

However, he held the door open, uttering a gruff sounding “evenin” into the pub, as if to be polite for a moment. He looked like he could break a neck with one arm, or curl your ribs into your lungs with only his fingers - snap a bone with a kick. A mere moment later, it was clear to everyone in the pub that this guy wasn’t the leader - any doubt left you, as another man entered through the door.

You instantly knew he was the leader from the mere way he carried himself, the energy that seemed to drip from him, his scent of power rushing through the pub like a tidal wave; how he knew he owned the room he stepped into, when he confidently walked directly towards the bar. Followed by several people, leather clad like himself.

Like beasts, having escaped the nightmares and darkness underneath one’s bed, stepping into reality, into light and sight. Letting themselves be seen.

The leader took a deep drag of his cigar, not looking bothered at all, as the smoke left his nostrils a moment later. You were reminded of the terrifying dragons in the fairytales that your parents used to read to you as a child. This one had no scales or wings, but he was a dragon to you no less. Ready to strike and take gold and silver, to create a hoard inside Millhaven. Only a pack this big, filled with monsters, would follow a dragon.

There was no reason for him to tap on a glass, or whistle; everyone’s attention was already on him.

He was broad and though he was not as tall as the skull-wearing monster next to him, he would no doubt tower over you as well. Leather clad from head to toe, jacket adorned with studs and chains, leather pants and a pair of big, heavy-looking leather boots. However, one of the more prominent things about the alpha, besides the leather clothes and intimidating stature, was perhaps the unusual, but nicely kept, beard. It almost looked like mutton chops. His hair was a dark brown, slicked back- there were earrings in his ears and thick rings on his fingers.

Though there seemed to be a hint of amusement on the alpha’s face, his eyes seemed sharp, studying the people in the pub.

“Friends!,” he called out and you immediately pushed yourself a little closer to Mary, even if it wasn’t very alpha-like. His voice was loud and strong, so everyone could hear him, “My name is John Price. I’m sure most of you heard the noises last night. My men and I apologise for those, I can assure you that it won’t happen again. As you might have noticed within these last couple of years, this town has been operated and ‘protected’ by The Shadows. As of today, this is no longer the case.”

As of today, this is no longer the case.

The words echoed through your head, repeating themselves over and over again. Did this mean Graves was gone?

There was a slowly growing buzz of noise, from the whispers and sounds leaving people and you felt Mary shake a little as she took a hold of your hand. It almost felt cold. As if the two of you weren’t really sure what to think yet, whether to scream of delight, or horror that the words instilled in you.

“Millhaven is now protected by my group, Team 1-4-1. There will be changes around here, all for the better, I assure you. As long as everyone behaves, I’m sure we will all get along just fine.”

You couldn’t look away from him, even as the words sent painful stabs of fear through your body; like small knives, pushing into your back and breaking your spine. It would all start over - your town would never be free, like it was when you were a kid. The streets you had grown up in would never be peaceful in the same way, your future would be limited by a group that none of you had agreed to accept. Mary was still shaking and you wondered what this would mean for her, for her shop.

Your only hope was that no one in this one-four-one would notice you.

A small part of you was relieved that your father wasn’t alive to see this. He would not have liked it either.

They kept speaking, the leader - John Price or something - declared free drinks for the rest of the evening, but you could barely hear them or focus on them.

When Mary squeezed your hand, it took a couple of seconds before you reacted. You had been staring into nothing, nausea in your throat, as horrifying thoughts crawled along your skull and invaded your mind. What happened to the shadows? Did you even want to know?

“I would like to go home,” you whispered to your boss, who gave your hand another short squeeze.

“In a few moments,” she agreed, “then we'll sneak out the back. Though these can hardly be worse than the shadows.”

A part of you wanted to point out to the older lady that these people had most likely killed the Shadows, one after another, not just politely asked them to leave. But you were afraid that vomit would spill from your lips afterwards.

Perhaps, this was the sign you had been waiting for - that you should move away and start somewhere new.

next chapter ->

[wynnyfryd]

💖 2024 Steddie Fic Recs 💖

@thefreakandthehair and i were talking about how so many of the fics we can name off the top of our heads are from right after the show came out because we were still actively making rec lists back then, so:

in no particular order i present to you an incomplete list of fics i love that were published or completed within the last two months

short fics (<10k)

Found God In A Tomato by @beetlesandstarss 5.7k | rated M | fluff, text fic

syrupy sweet strangers to first date fic. without spoiling anything, eddie is a flustered cutie and steve is a fuckin' menace who's lucky he's so hot

he tightened he grip by @steddieas-shegoes 1.3k | rated E | crack not treated remotely seriously

Mickala beloved your commitment to the bit makes me wanna commit myself to you 💍

Slide It In by gayhandshake 1.8k | rated E | multimedia crack

another truly impeccable work of crack fic, i laughed so hard at the first image that i made it the icon for my private discord server

what's that sound? (there's a funny man at my door) by @jewishrat420 4.8k | rated M | spicy six text fic

laughed out loud at this fic so many times i really don't know what else to tell you. as a matter of fact, i went to look at my bookmark note to see what else i had to say about it when i read it, and my note just says "fucking hilarious i laughed out loud like 6 times" 💀 did not do not will never know what else to tell you except that the phrase "the goyim of gender" just randomly pops into my brain once every four or so days now

medium fics (10-20k)

In the Kitchen or the Tulips by @teddywesworl 44k | rated E | telepathic soulmate AU

this fic said "watch me flip this trope inside out like a freshly cubed half of an avocado" and then DELIVERED. i finished this fic and then stared at the side of my husband's head for long enough that he looked over and went "wtf are you doing" lmao hush baby i am contemplating the implications

they're going to send us to prison for jerks by @greatunironic 16k | rated E | social media AU

okay firstly the premise of this fic is so specifically and delightfully unhinged; love that i'm not the only one who looks at a random tiktok account and manically whispers to myself "there's a fic in there somewhere." secondly the execution is a 10 outta 10 outta 10 outta TEN

long fics (50k+)

Sneaky Link by @morningberriesao3 152k | rated E | onlyfans au

the sex is HOT the boys are dumb as goddamn ROCKS what more do you need? oh, what's that? you do need more? sick because this fic also has: the tags "cum slut eddie munson" and "everyone is gay (because i say so)", chrissy the homophobe slayer being the cutest little spy, and jason getting his ass whooped, like, spiritually. on a spiritual level. physically unharmed but that boy's soul is missing teeth do u understand what i am saying

podfics!

it was love, love alone read by @reena-jenkins 21min | rated E

am i technically reccing my own fic on my own fic rec list? you bet your sweet ass i am, i don't even care how tacky that is reena's performance is hilarious and deserves to be listened to at least 40 more times while doing the dishes

relax (lay it back) read by @flintandfuss 1hr 10min | rated E | yogi dom steve x sub eddie

listen if i'm already being gauche then i gotta include my internet wife's belated birthday present to me, like i gotta. morally and lustfully obligated.

Schiava by @teddywesworl read by aheada_lettuce 1hr 30min | rated E | kas!eddie AU

said it once already today and i'll say it again, i cannot believe one of the best reading voices i've ever heard belongs to a person i mentally refer to as fucking lettuce LOL anyway this read is incredible and i have listened to it Times(tm)

and lastly, if you want more recs (like, 348 more specifically), you can browse my full list of public st bookmarks here

[kkpaaw]

I got another headcanon on the og4 and their elements cuz fun

Kinda a continuation of this post but also kinda not. I vaguely mentioned a bond they had that was unrelated to the main headcanon, but it's not a necessary read but I still encourage it cuz the overall headcanon is fun

The og 4 are connected on a much deeper scale. A much deeper scale that none of em like but cannot do a damn thing about

Because they have the elements of creation, they originally came from the FSM and as such used to all be together. So when they were seperated into the 4 seperate elements we know today, that "bond" from once being "one" didn't leave and instead traveled into the future wielders

This means that Kai, Cole Jay and Zane all have an inherent bond with eachother that they don't have with anyone else that is directly tied to their elements. Think soulbond essentially

The urge to be around eachother, the feeling of distress and loss and dread when they aren't, that all stems from their elements seeking to be near eachtother

The bond isn't harmful physically but the emotional distress do be there

The further away they are the bigger those feelings of distress and loss etc become. The longer they r away from eachother causes those same feelings

The first time they had to be seperated for longer than a few minutes didn't go well. At all.

That was when Sensei Wu told them about the bond they share snd are unfortunately stuck with as there is no way to be rid of it. Their elements desire to be near eachother and as such act out(and therefore causes the user to act out) when they aren't.

Sensei then had to put them through another series of training sessions to get then used to not being around eachother often. He taught them many methods of calming themselves down and clearing their mind which they still use to help today

They have a much better grasp of their bond now and as such don't freak out as visibly or as bad as they used to. The urge and discomfort is always there but they have better control to not act in those urges recklessly.

Each of the ninja respond differently to being seperated as well

For Kai his temper becomes shorter and shorter. He becomes more snappish and willing to fight. Explosive essentially

Jay's anxiety gets worse and he becomes more paranoid. He's more jumpy and easy to panic. Static shock is common when he's in this state

Cole becomes clingy to an unhealthy degree. He's the one most likely to stop whatever he's doing and leave to seek out the others no matter the situation.

Zane becomes more distant. Like it seems as if he isn't fully there if that makes sense. His emotions take a huge backseat and he seems like a husk

Lloyd is lucky to not have to deal with this. Due to him having all four elements he doesn't have to worry about that feeling of dread or loss when he's separated from the others (though a part of him wishes he did so he could understand what they going through more, but at the same time hes glad he doesn't cuz hes seen how it affects them and he wants none of it)

I wanna make a diagram to show the bond on a visual scale bit that will have to wait till i feel like it LOL

This headcanon also isn't meant to be inherently romantic tho it definitely could be (Especially since I am a Polyninja(or Lifeship) fan) but the concept of the hc is not to imply a romantic bond LOL

There i go making paragraphs again bro no one cares-

[celestie0]

“Why risk time in prison and the potential to be fined upwards of a quarter million dollars just to get healthcare for you and your loved ones?”

My friend’s father died in a hospital. His father was everything to him and his family. He was the kind of father you’d read about in books; the kind who devoted his entire life and being to love and care for his family. He had a good, honorable job which provided him and his family with trustworthy insurance. But after his death, my friend and his family were never the same. My friend had been an aspiring lawyer, but of course, the weight of his father’s death crushed him. His mother had been vibrant and healthy all her life until he passed. But slowly, her radiance began to fade, and with her growing grief, she quickly grew ill and misfortune struck. As her family scrambled for treatment, they soon learned that she’d be unable to be treated because she was no longer under her husband’s insurance. Till this day, she bears that burden.

This corrupt system of “healthcare” has become an intrinsic part of American society, and even with the current media, I feel as though it is never talked about enough. This flawed system has hurt my friends, my family, and countless others who were wrongfully denied their own rights to healthcare. Why must someone be tethered to their spouse’s health insurance like it’s not a basic right? If it wasn’t for that, my friend’s mother would be able to move freely and walk without pain. It’s an awful, spoiled construct which has fucked over so many people. It truly is absurd just how far we have to go to ensure a deserved (and fucking PAID-FOR) right.

Thank you for raising awareness throughout your work. I wish you the best in your studies and abundance in your health. Thank you again my dear❤️❤️❤️

hi darling, this ask really touched me. i think because at the beginning, with the way you described your friend’s dad, it reminded me about my own dad, and it made me feel so sad on your friend’s behalf. i’m so sorry for his loss, and that must’ve been so awful for him and his family. and i hate that it continues to be awful, as if the grief wasn’t enough, that your friend’s mother can’t even get access to the care that she needs because of the insurance.

i had a patient tell me today at the clinic i volunteer at that him and his wife (very elderly couple) have been suffering with their back pain for months now because their insurance company doesn’t deem their trigger point injections (which have been helping them with their chronic pain for YEARS) because it isn’t deemed “medically necessary”, and so they had to miss out on seeing their new grandbaby in a different city because they physically cannot travel because of the pain….. i might be dramatic for this but i ended up crying in the bathroom after hearing that lol

i see it all the time, i’ve seen it all the time in every clinic or hospital i work at. patients who are hesitant to even pursue the idea of treatment because they’re not sure if their insurance will cover it. i’ve also dealt with it personally. i was literally cleaned out of my savings when i went to the ED last year for a simple UTI…if it weren’t for my dad’s HSA card, I literally wouldn’t have had the ability to pay my tuition last semester because a simple two visits to the emergency department cost me upwards of $7k and i didn’t have ANY capacity to pull more funds from my grad plus loans and my parents obviously didn’t have that kind of cash laying around either…and even AFTER paying it, they still sent me bills, one that even said they were going to send me to collections if i didn’t respond right away, and when i finally called them and gave them my confirmation number of payment, they FINALLY let me off the hook. but the amount of mental and financial stress that i went through six months to get that sorted out amidst EVERYTHING else….i would literally call my friends crying every other night because i had already felt i burdened my parents enough for getting sick….even though its NOT my fault that i got sick. but that’s just the way the healthcare is in this country. you feel GUILTY for even getting sick. my dad cleared out $3500 from HIS healthcare HSA to pay MY bills, and i still feel so awful to this day that he could’ve had that money for his own healthcare costs, and i took that from him because i didn’t have enough savings to pay for that bill. every single night i wished i had just sucked it up and didn’t go to the ED even though i was literally pissing straight up blood clots at 2 in the morning and also passed out on the bathroom floor

i guess my point is anon, that i totally agree. i mean the reason i started writing ihm was to draw attention to that very aspect of my experiences working with patients who, quite literally, their only obstacle towards getting healthcare isnt distance or time or effort or even their own sickness, it’s their insurance company. and lots of times, healthcare providers are simply at the mercy of those companies too. everything trickles down. i felt powerless and didn’t know how else to explain how i was feeling, so i started writing ihm. i just wanted to explore the lengths at which a person will go to in order to survive in a system that almost wants their own people to die and suffer for their own benefit. and there’s still a looooot of that to explore in the story apart from what we’ve already seen.

i dont really know how much a fanfic can raise awareness to be honest, but i know i’ve had readers such as you tell me they relate to the dilemma of the story, or know someone who does, and i hope at the very least its a safe space for those who have dealt with similar. you’re not alone, and ultimately i think that the reason we fight so hard for ourselves and for our loved ones even in such an exhausting reality shows that there is still humanity and love among all of the corruption

healthcare is a right, not a privilege. it’s a basic human right.

[bloopitynoot]

Reading SVSSS: Chapter 6

For those who don't know, I am reading SVSSS for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag bloopitynoot reads SVSSS. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read.

Here we are on book 2!

I took a couple days off because my body was perishing (read: my uterus was being a little bitch) but I am back :D

Today's tea is an apple crumble with milk and sugar and my little reading buddy (Charlie) has returned for this chapter Extra Needy and sporting his new necktie.

Let's get into this long chapter:

And we start three years later! I was wondering if there was going to be a time jump and there is! :) p9

Why is everyone so thirsty in this world RE: Ning YingYing p10

Oh dang. I really want to know what's making people melt into skeletons p13

Shen Qingqiu is such a vibe" I know I am physically useless, but i'm also a walking encyclopedia so I bring that to the party" p14 honestly same

So many corpses in the water!! p18

Oh shit, what the heck Wu Chen's legs? p22

RE: Wu Chen I did lol at "Great Master, you call this a bit uncomfortable?!" p 22

this totally feels more like a curse than a standard plague p24

why am I laughing so hard at "fuck me, with this speed, they wouldn't lose to a runner doing the 100-metre hurdles! 'Old Lady'? Yeah right! I must be blind!"p26

oooo! Gongyi Xiao is back! p28

Baby is back too!! Luo Binghe! pp29-31

omg and now there is a height difference! Shen qinqgiu being the smol one p32

Re: on the subject of thinking it was a curse like 15 pages ago, it is not a curse. I don't know why I thought it would be literally anything other than demons LOL this is the plot of the entire fictional universe of this book p37

Luo Binghe still only has eyes for Shen Qingqiu- even after being tossed into hell p38

I truly love the inner monologue of Shen Qingqiu's thoughts vs what people just kind of assume he's feeling. SQQ: Luo Binghe has brainwashed these disciples, he is definitely coming for me, I am fucked. Everyone else: this poor man misses his student so much, he is so hurt that Luo Binghe didn't go back to him.

LOL at Luo Binghe's hatefire at seeing SQQ and Gongyi Xiao bonding together p42

I can't XD SQQ: I have a huge announcement guys, Luo Binghe is back!!!! Everyone else: who tf is that? RIP p44

no shit that demonic activity increasing in frequency is 100% indeed a bad omen. p47

I'm crying SQQ thinks Luo BInghe is about to kill him p48

not the magpie bridge reference p50

This man is just crushing his windpipe for funsies -> why do I feel like this is their dynamic? p50

SQQ is actually an idiot. This fool is continuously operating under the assumption that nothing in the story has changed and the original story is guaranteed. If he heard these words and responded appropriately he'd probably be fine RE: "Then why did you tell me not to put too much weight on race and that no one is intolerable to the heavens" p55

Goddamn is Luo Binghe just going to keep beating the shit out of SQQ?? pp57-59

He really made him drink his blood (side note: when this is all said and done, I need to read some vampire aus) What even is that blood going to do to him?? (do not actually tell me, I assume I will find out soonish) p59

I am once again here to talk about how utterly Fucked SQQ is. He still has 0 idea that Luo Binghe has absolutely claimed him p65

Oh dang. Still, even after all this, SQQ has not shaken his original fate of being hated p69

Bro should have let Qi Qingyi finish that sentence. Re: out of his mind with grief" also probably would have changed some things (even if he was embarrassed as hell) p71

omg so much happening in this scene rn AND then Shen Qingqiu's ex shows up out of no where?!?!?!?!??!!? p73

this man truly cannot catch a break p75

holy shit not even his ex- his wife??????? p75

oop, we have SQQ backstory reveal p77

But also with this reveal: it's a little weird for her though. Like her family takes in this kid from the street, makes him a servant. He continues to serve them, his "family" starts to view him a sibling, AND THEN they get betrothed (not married). Like what. This is wild poor guy- weird because sibling dynamics, also he was their servant. I think she is the weird one honestly. p77

okay, well, he did kill her brother LOL p78

the water prison does not sound good. p81

he really wants to try and last a month there??? best of luck buddy, he cant even handle riding in a carriage without a snack p85

Bonus picture with no notes!

I'm actually so excited for the water prison- it sounds vile, but I need to know how he get's out/how his relationship with Luo Binghe progresses.

[lowkey-scared-and-afraid]

Dandadan OC stuff again I'm GEEKING!!!

Basically my concept of what female serpoians could be...

Explaining more about it below the cut!!!

Ok so

I like to think that, as an early species, they did have females, but as years went by they diverged from the males and by now cannot even produce any offspring with them, at least not in a natural way as infertile offsprings were already a thing when they started their space journey (sort of when a tiger has a baby with a lion)

Also, they probably just kind of got comfortable with the way they reproduce by now so they go "why complicate stuff? It's over bru let go" with any suggestion to just come together and try something again. They probably got a lot of beef going on too sooo another reason to not try anything anymore.

Still thinking about their society as a whole since they can absolutely just decide to pop a kid one day (parthenogenesis), but they usually let this job go for the giant biomachines that basically mixes a bunch of their DNA and tries to create new stuff without making all of them identical (kind of like a certain chimera in the manga that make alien combat suits by devouring people, I'm not telling any more than that)

This leads to physical variations like:

And even some stuff that could probably be frowned upon by the other side of the Serpoian coin:

Fun fact that one above is two of Luna's sisters

Oh and talking about Luna

As the drawing says, she's also albino

The harshest condition the "irregular" have is that they can't sample DNA to the mother-biomachine thing, but if they're good to live normally without much difficulties then yeah sure go off

So, if apparently they don't really care about mutations nor any sort of stuff like that, why is Luna on Earth?

She's either retired or on a very long vacation lol

.

As to my inspo while making their looks...

I, obviously, got it from the Pegassa!

Jsjsisjsjs look how cute they are

They are, too, kind of the inspo for the regular Serpoians, but I see it as something like, 10% Pegassa and 90% the Dada aliens

As seen by the very similar body patterns that are a nightmare to draw holy moly

So I kind of just imagined an inversion of sorts, as most of my base concept came from the Pegassa.

And from the Dada? I only got the idea of a white face with black surrounding it.

Other idea that went in the making is the shower thought that male serpoians have big dicks because their females used to be bigger lmao I know it doesn't work exactly like that but still...

Anyways thank you if you have read all of my yapping today 💔

Also, making female serpoians won't stop me from doing the woke, I'm still planning to make a trans woman serpoian

Bye!!

[emmg]

share your wips

lol sure, here's something from that Emmrich yapping smutfic (it's literally titled Emmrich yapping in my livingwriter folder) I'm almost done with. It's honestly more like smut-crackfic but eh.

----------

But Emmrich? Oh, bless his thoroughly misguided soul—he’s taking a slow, respectful tour through this grand gallery of bullshit, inspecting each piece with a quiet reverence. He stops at her latest acquisition, a truly horrifying thing she pulled out of a ruin, and leans in, one arm behind his back, the other half-extended yet never coming into contact. 

“I must admit,” he begins in that scholarly tone that always makes her wonder if he's actually part Chantry priest, part baffled academic. “I’m not entirely sure what this is, but the etchings… well, they seem to represent some sort of ritual…” 

She just stares at him. Then at the thing. Then back at him, waiting for the punchline. There isn’t one. 

She looks again at the monstrosity, which, upon further inspection, features two elves engaged in… well, anatomical exploration of the highest order. Carnal, no-question-about-it, “we’re about to break every surface in this room” kind of exploration.

“They’re fucking, Emmrich,” she says, completely deadpan, pointing right at where one elf’s face is very comfortably nestled between the other's legs. “Look. This one’s sucking that one’s—” 

“We cannot know for certain,” Emmrich interrupts, still managing to maintain that scholarly facade like he’s discussing anything other than ancient elf smut. “There could be multiple interpretations of—”

“—and here,” she cuts him off again, gesturing to where the two figures are now enthusiastically going at it from behind. “They’re doing it from the back.” 

"—or they are simply exploring— "

"—each other's holes," she says, because apparently this needs to be spelled out. "With their fingers," she adds, jabbing her own at the leftmost doodle. "With their mouths," she circles the middle with a flourish. "And their dicks—oh wait, look at that, it's two men. Nice. Good for them."

"Ah, well, physical love is a common subject in art," Emmrich replies, clearly deciding this is the hill he’s not going to die on today. He even flashes her a little smile. And, to his credit, he doesn’t flinch, just shrugs it off with all the grace of someone who has seen way worse and is already turning to the next piece of trash.

Now she’s feeling a little cheeky herself, so she glides after him, practically stalking his tall, oblivious form like a cat with a mouse. “And what’s your personal opinion on it?” she purrs, even throwing in a dramatic eyebrow wiggle for good measure. 

Emmrich doesn’t even blink. "It could use some color." 

Well. That’s one way to dodge the question. 

She’s circled him more times than a vulture eyeing a fresh carcass—always shameless, always bold, and always armed with a tongue sharp enough to slice through steel. Her touch a little too accidentally-on-purpose. Subtle as a sledgehammer. She’s practically made a sport out of it, finding the most absurd excuses to invade his personal space. "Oh dear, this carriage is sooo cramped," as if the three feet of empty seat beside her have mysteriously evaporated and the only logical solution is to plaster herself against him like an overgrown barnacle.

She’s barged in on his private reading time more than once, settling in as if she’s been invited. Even exploited his love for teaching, feigning breathless fascination with any and all mundane, dry subject. "Oh, Emmrich, you must show me how you conduct an autopsy! I simply have to see it with my own eyes! And oh my, your hands look sooo fetching inside that cadaver’s chest cavity, teehee.”

[ent1ty03]

Y'know when you experience a weird disconnection between your thoughts and emotions? Wants, needs and dreams? When reality sorta blends with the virtual landscape seemingly becoming one and it kinda feels like your constantly watching through a screen?

Idk lol I'm a little loopy thanks to being high on the flu... or some illness... hmm... probably is affecting my mind as I'm writing this

ANyway, this is not a new thing, its been here for a bit. Weirdly enough during exam week (i made it through YIPPEE), I think the fact I had to be constantly studying grounded me so significantly in reality those feelings subsided to some degree. But now, today after the exams, I have a whole lot more free time now that I'm not constantly analysing new texts. I'm suddenly driven to have my mind snatched away from physical reality by a profound amount of fiction analysis, mc, music and art/animation content on youtube.

I have such strong cravings to be entertained and to simply exist, and this is not just- I'm really tired and sick ahh blargh i can't do anything adfgjhkflgh- I think it's some form of inspiring yet degrading habits that have trained my brain to endulge itself in content as a form of escapism or dopamine, I have no idea haha.

I say inspiring, as often certain genres within that content are super helpful, such as the analysis and or tutorial videos, helping me to process my life and motivate me into spending my time in a fun way, just being creative and myself, not simply part of a view-count for the next viral vid.

Which in itself brings up another weird point- how degrading sometimes to youtube algorhithmn can be, especially with the audience, this normalised version of acceptance for the audience to simply be viewed as statistics on a screen, not irl people like how a musician performing to a live audience on stage might view their audience.

Is this too much of a tangent? Ha, sorry, just had a bit on my mind, and now I'm finding all these parrallels.

Anyway x2, when I do want to act upon this motivation, its so stupid how it feels sometimes like I'm walking through honey or something so sticky, and my body, every fibre of me is almost, just almost, screaming at me, sending all these alarms off.

But when I do get settled into something, get invested, I am in it: you cannot stop me xD, I just get in the zone and its amazing and terrifying all at once, as it becomes so hard to now stop what I am doing, and once again face these alarm bells and the feeling like fingers are prying at my skin.

I think that for the most part is the reason I get so nervous and hesitant surrounding starting new creative projects, and I think (?) most people experience a similar thing to varying degrees. You're kinda stepping into the unknown, and that's terrifying.

To anyone who comments on these ranty, tanegnty, posts to add their opinion, genuinely thank you.

It feels like my voice is being heard and responded to... sometimes saying stuff like this is really hard irl, even if I am so fortunate enough to be surrounded by amazing people.

But yeah, THAT"S MY LIFE XD, stuck in this weird void in between wanting to do stuff and go towards my dreams so bad but dreading, not even the task itself, but the simple action of starting or leaving.

I think when I'm in that space, it might (?) be related to control, and the human need for consistency (?)

bruh my dog is literally scooching her butt on my bedroom rug making grunting oises as I'm writing this- genuinely universe- WHAT IS THIS??!!??

BUt ha, anyway, hope anyone who ends up reading this monologue- (ha, get it? Name pun- oooooooOooHHhhhhh- your mu-)

Thank you for your time, and I hope you have a fantastic rest of your day :P <3

[ahiddenpath]

Writing/Life Talk

Chatting about writing and meds.

I saw my therapist today and told her that I haven't written much this year. I used to write daily, and it was never something I had to, like... Push myself into doing. I used to be confused, even, when people would say things like... I don't know, "writing is hard," or, "It's hard to get myself to do it." I had to do it, and it happened on its own, almost like breathing.

Ever since getting on my anxiety meds, it's a fight to even open a word processor.

My therapist explained that anxiety meds are "downers," in a fashion. An anxious brain is constantly firing, and when there is nothing for it to obsess over, it literally creates something to worry about. One of the only things that quieted my brain was writing; I literally had to do it to regulate.

My medicated brain no longer behaves like I'm in danger 24/7. I feel relaxed. When something troubling comes up, I recite the serenity prayer, identify what I CAN do and do it, and let go of what I can't fix. When I feel a big emotion, I walk myself through it. Umm... I feel like I'm failing to convey how different a place my brain is now. The other day, I tripped on my own feet while walking. In the past, I would have scolded myself: Pick up your feet, dumbass! Now, I am kind to myself. Careful, darling. Slow down, take your time.

Everything is better. I cannot convey the betterness and its scope to you. I'm so absurdly grateful.

But. But. I'm trying to figure out what to do with this new me, who suddenly is so much more patient, kind, and emotionally available. Who isn't living on her last nerve and eating up her energy trying (and sometimes failing) to manage an anxiety disorder. It's true that my physical health has been really difficult this year, and that has been difficult, but mental health wise, I'm... Well, it's such a huge change, but it's looking so promising right now.

But- again with the but, lol!- Yeah, my needs are different. I don't need to write, which is freaky, because I always have, literally my whole life. Before I knew how to write, I begged my mom for a journal, which I filled with drawings depicting what I wanted to say (which are totally incomprehensible to me now). Lately, rather than writing, I've been playing video games, playing kalimba (poorly), taking walks, pressing wildflowers, and journaling. I've also been a bit more social IRL, trying to ease into that more. And now that I'm feeling alright physically, I am restarting my old exercise routine. Oh, I've been reading, too.

My brain IS calm, as calm as any American brain can be in 2025, anyway. And I don't want to give the impression that people are more creative off their meds. It's just that now, writing is an activity I choose to do, rather than a daily necessity that is almost like a... Like an involuntary nervous system activity.

I feel really weird about that. Like- does that mean I'm not interested in writing the second I no longer need it to keep my anxiety in check? But agonizing over it like that doesn't help. I'm really just adjusting to my new needs. It's okay to explore different things, sometimes. But my therapist suggested that I schedule some writing time so I don't lose the skill and momentum, should I need it in the future.

So... I guess... Now I have to schedule the thing that used to be like breathing. It's a weird thought/feeling, but I guess that's where I am now.

To be honest, I also have complicated feelings about writing because of the state of fanfiction and fandom right now. I've spoken about this a million times, so I'll keep it brief: just last week alone, AO3 was scraped again to feed AI, and someone reposted a ton of unlocked works. My works are locked, so they should be fine, but... The risk/reward ratio to sharing work online is skewed waaay towards risk. I know that's also impacting my relationship with my fanworks. I've wondered if I should try an original piece, but I do want to finish my open projects. I'm fond of them.

Anyway, that's where I am now! I hope you are all managing to take care as best you can. Thanks so much for checking in with me, love you!

[robinico]

The Lost Hero, Tristan and Piper McLean, and Native Americans and Palestinians.

TL;DR: An essay/vent about Rick Riordan writing offensive stereotypes about Native Americans and Arabs while including a positive throw-away line about Israel and the connotations of this in young adult fiction. And insight into the relationship between Native Americans and Palestinians.

So, I'm rereading The Lost Hero as Rick Riordan's several mythological series are comfort books for me that I reread every so often. Some quick background that I'm sure is a common sentiment among readers: when I was younger and first read The Heroes of Olympus books as they were published, I never really questioned the writing or characterizations. I was too young and too caught up in eagerly eating up more of the Percy Jackson world that I loved. As I got older, learned more about the real world, reread and actually analyzed the books, I found a lot of flaws that has made the quality of The HoO series incredibly incomparable to the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series. Every time I've reread the PJO series, I've gained further appreciation for the writing (which has its own flaws, of course), whereas my frustration has grown with The HoO series, lol. Again, I know this is not an unpopular opinion.

This includes Piper McLean's characterization and the representation of her Cherokee ethnicity. I've read some insightful posts in the past explaining how Rick Riordan really messed up with Piper and while he's gained brownie points for diversity and trying, it does not absolve him of the specific choices he made with representing her Cherokee culture and how his writing is insulting to the broader Native American identity.

Throughout Piper's chapters, readers learn several things. Piper is Cherokee through her father, Tristan McLean. They are from Oklahoma and her grandfather Grandpa Tom had a home that Tristan still owns despite being a famous actor because it is the physical link to his ancestry. Grandpa Tom and Tristan taught Piper a lot about her Cherokee heritage including their beliefs and folk tales which Tristan has denied believing in them the way his father did. He still obviously feels strongly about his identity and the pain of historical discrimination and oppression against his people and this trauma passes onto Piper. It is the reason why he never plays any Native American role.

Specifically, I want to highlight this excerpt from Chapter XXI, in which Piper recalls a conversation with her father about the movie roles he's accepted.

"He'd played all kinds of roles— a Latino teacher in a tough L.A. school, a dashing Israeli spy in an action-adventure blockbuster, even a Syrian terrorist in a James Bond movie."

She then follows by asking her father why he never accepts Native American roles.

"'Doesn't that get old? Aren't you ever tempted, like, if you found the perfect part that could change people's opinions?'

'If there's a part like that, Pipes," he said sadly, "I haven't found it.'"

When I first read this, I remember being deeply uncomfortable with the Syrian terrorist example. Yeah, as a Muslim, I'm very familiar with the stereotypical Middle Eastern terrorists in media. I know the reason it exists and why it will continue to exist. Riordan could've and should've chosen any other example of a different character role.

However, rereading this today has made me so upset on another level because I did not remember the prior example and Riordan's connotations until now.

"A dashing Israeli spy." I cannot describe the disgust I felt reading this. No, my disgust is not because it's a "trendy" opinion to hate anything Israeli. I am disgusted because in the three examples Riordan gives, only one has a positive adjective (dashing) attached to the stated role (Israeli spy). The other two roles are minority identities (Latino, Syrian) that have no positive connotation attached. In fact, the latter has a negative attachment (terrorist). It's almost laughable how Riordan decided to write "dashing Israeli spy" and "a Syrian terrorist" in the same sentence and thought that was okay. This is what Americans are led to believe. The narrative that "Israel is good and the Middle East is bad" is so ingrained in American culture, that it is so casually placed in young adult fiction.

And even more disrespectfully, this is about a Cherokee man. A man whose ancestry is tainted by several lifetimes worth of oppression, genocide, ethnic cleansing, and censorship. It should be common information now that the injustice and horrors Indigenous Americans faced (and are still experiencing less publicly and obviously) is aligned with the very same injustice and horrors the Palestinian people have been experiencing for 75 years. The relationship several Native American tribes and Palestine is strong. There is a shared history and solidarity between these oppressed groups. I strongly recommend learning more about their relationship if you haven't already. The Palestine Pod, a podcast that aims to educate the public about Palestinian history, culture and resistance, did an episode with Dr. Steve Salaita, author of Inter/Nationalism: Decolonizing Native America and Palestine (p. 2016) in May 2021. Several reviews have described the writing in the book as heavy on academic language so I believe the podcast will be more digestible.

There is absolutely no way a character like Tristan McLean would ever accept an Israeli role. The man who rejects any Native role because there is no perfect part that is written well and respectful enough for his standard would play the role of an oppressor? What the fuck Rick Riordan? And let's not forget that he is a brown man. He is not white-passing, which is why he can fit different minority identities and the Spartan king role. So of course, Israeli spy is just perfect isn't it? Even if someone wanted to argue that Israel's actions as a colonizing state were not as well-known in 2010 and Riordan's writing is unfortunate ignorance, that argument does not hold up when you remember that he clearly compliments the Israeli role (dashing) which highlights his personal bias. Oh, but maybe he's grown and learned more in the past 13 years and has changed his opinion? Except, remember when he released a really detailed neutral statement on the "conflict"? I will acknowledge that he said, "genocidal proportions" regarding the attacks in Gaza, but he also calls for support and security for Israeli. Whatever, I don't care for dissecting neutrality. I'm not exactly shocked by Riordan's position.

Maybe most young readers would pass over the excerpt as a whole like I first did. But for others, it lingers. The connotations are clear and pervasive despite being a small insight into a tertiary character in the grand scheme of such a large series. Riordan's attempts at representation mean nothing when his writing is flawed, contradictory, and insulting regarding his characters of color.

I am glad that I am rereading TLH. It's reminded me the importance of reading old and new material. I channeled the anger I felt reading this excerpt into writing this post and finding a new informative source on Palestinian and Native American oppression. It is important that we continue to challenge ourselves, our nostalgia, our biases, our understanding of the world. It is important to grow from there and continue learning. Especially for Americans and Canadians, we must understand the systemic censorship against Native Americans in order to unravel the problems caused by these very systems.

Continue fighting. Fight for the oppressed. Fight for Palestine.

And do your daily click!

[emi-thestarlightsapphic]

I touched very lightly the other day on my experiences in theatre and music as a person with chronic health issues and invisible disabilities, which I’m really glad to have shared that, and that I’m talking more about that side of myself as a performer? Today, I’d love to share some of the things that I do that help me get through performance days or particularly strenuous days when my health is struggling. Disclaimer, I’m not a doctor by any means! These are things that I find can be beneficial to me, but they might not work for everyone! But, hopefully some of these are helpful for others! I’d also love to hear what others do!

For my lungs, I make a mixture of like. Black seed oil, raw honey, and apple cider vinegar. It tastes super sour, and pretty sweet as well, and it’s definitely not for everyone, but, I take this twice daily, and it does have a lot of benefits. I also steam my lungs when I have time! I either will shower and do like, extremely hot water. Or, sometimes, if I don’t want to get my hair wet (usually because it’s a performance day lol) I have boiled hot water, and then taken a towel and like, will hold my head over the pan and the towel over my head. Sometimes there’s like, tablets that I add, that help clear out my lungs!

When I have extreme chest pain, my whole body will feel like it’s shaking. It’s pretty intense, when that happens, I immediately will lay down and apply light pressure to my chest. I use like a weighted blanket sometimes, or if I’m backstage, I even will have a weighted item that’s comfortable!

I have a lot of nerve damage in my neck and brain, so unfortunately when those issues arise, there’s not a ton I can do? I get what I call the dizzy feelings? It’s like vertigo, but like, so much worse? Usually, I just need to lie down and be in darkness. I am looking for solutions for this one, so if anyone is still reading lol, and knows solutions for like. Migraine or vertigo like symptoms, I’m listening!

My hydration levels are also really bad, like terrible. I drink plain water and never feel hydrated enough. This is going to sound insane maybe, some people look at me horrified when they see me doing this, but I add a light amount of salt to my water. If my stomach is feeling bleh as well, I make a ginger ale cranberry with some salt.

I also have the advantage that I have a lovely lovely partner, who takes very good care of me on show days. Especially when my health is not doing great. They very lovingly will bring me medication, or food, or anything I need. If I need sugar to get my energy back, they immediately are on it. Sneaking me lemon bars or candy backstage from concessions lol. Or even like a soda. Soda is my typical go-to as a sugar boost honestly. They also will do laundry or chores or errands for me when I cannot physically move or am sick again. I am so grateful to have someone that loves me in a way to take care of me.

[dipperscavern]

Hi! Congrats on 1k and i hope i didn't miss the deadline! Could I get a fortune telling? I’m sorry if this gets too long, I wanted to touch all my bases lol.

I am about 5'6 with brown hair. My eyes are blue and I wear glasses. I'm rather pale though I can tan easily.

My personality is not very consistent because I act very differently depending on who I'm with. Around people I don't really know I'm really quiet and polite, but towards people I don't like I tend to be more passive-aggressive. I do know that I'm pretty quick to start a fight, verbal or physical, if my loved ones are being messed with. I do like to tease my family and friends a lot, but if I see I'm getting close to a boundary I try to pull back. With loved ones I'm overall just more comfortable with being a goofy. Sometimes talking is really hard for me cuz of my memory issues, slight lisp, and overall difficulty with pronuncing words.

I have pretty simple likes and dislikes, like I love animals and have a dog named Kamy. Drawing is one of my favorite things to do. I absolutely love to sing and I'm willing to listen to (almost) anything, but I love musicals most. It's pretty easy for me to starting rambling about something I'm hyperfixated on. I enjoy the cold more heat because I'm prone to heat strokes. Though I have an autoimmune disorder that weakens my legs, I love roller skating. I have difficulties reading so I don't really enjoy it and use to hate it. Have a couple of fears like bugs, clowns, and deep water. Lastly, I was born without a sense of smell and have a difficult relationship with food.

hi, thank you very much!! today is the last day for requests so you didn’t miss it!! let us see your man of stark…🔮

i see… oh dear me, is it that fellow again?? i clap twice, and my royal toad — toad mater — is brought to me. my gaze doesn’t move from the crystal ball, and as toad mater croaks once, i nod, hand on my chin. “yes… yes i thought so…”

ANYWAYS. i see warden of the north, cregan stark. the bit about your personality would serve you (& cregan) really well in your acting role as lady stark. you’re more reserved & polite in front of lords/people you don’t know/cregans council, more outgoing and kind around winterfells children, lighthearted and joking around servants/castle guards etc. your versatile personality is something cregan can count on, a dependable variable he’s grateful for. you and cregan are the same in protecting/defending the people you love, and he’d be sooo secretly proud of you for it. and don’t worry, cregan has an absurdly good memory, helping you remember things you’ve forgotten, and he’s super patient when it comes to you talking!! even though you’ve never needed words with him, and have a lot of ways to silently communicate with one another. drawing!! imagine you having a sketchbook and you draw so many pretty sketches of cregan, winterfell, little girls you see around the castle etc. cregans very good at recognizing when one of your heat strokes is oncoming, and is always conscious of scheduling things so you don’t overexert yourself/your legs during the day <3

p.s i know this is long but you mentioned not having a sense of smell and thinking of you and cregan made me laugh. can you imagine? “I know you cannot smell this, but rest assured the stables are in dire need of cleaning.” 😭

[melonsfantasyworld]

Care Less More Chapter 24

Summary: Azriel and Eris have some alone time, Eris trains Gwyn, and a surprise visit at the end. Read here for the full thing and below for a snippet.

Nothing more American than writing smut on independence day lol.

Eris ducks as another ball of green fire shoots by his head. A few feet away from him, Gwyn screams in frustration.

“You need to control your anger, it makes your powers irrational,” Eris says calmly. Gwyn only huffs in frustration, and Eris can tell that today is not the day Gwyn will take this lesson to heart.

“I was calm, I am calm, and yet I cannot make the fire do anything I command. It’s not working,” Gwyn proclaims.

“It’s not working because you don’t believe it will.”

“That’s not true.” Eris does his best to control his expression, though all he wants to do is roll his eyes at Gwyn’s petulant tone.

“You have powerful magic inside of you that you have been denying for various concerns. The only reason that your powers are not controllable are because you believe they are uncontrollable.”

“I do believe I can control them. Perhaps your teaching is just not satisfactory, given we’ve been at this for two weeks now,” Gwyn instantly responds. Eris stares at her flatly, wondering why the Mother had thought it a good idea to mix the stubborn of Spring and Autumn together in this whirlwind of a being. He looks at the sky and prays for strength.

“Perhaps you do not wish to learn. Feel free to leave and learn your powers yourself if you feel that would be more efficient.” Eris quirks an eyebrow up at her, knowing a challenge is written all over his face. Gwyn glares back, her pride warring with her desire to train her powers. He watches as she closes her eyes, most likely mind-stilling like the Valkyries of old once did.

Nodding his head at the resolve in her eyes to stay for their lesson, Eris holds out his hand again. Gwyn mimics the gesture.

“As heir to a High Lord and daughter of the Vanserra family, you have power beyond the ordinary High Fae. Some describe it as a well, imagining taking a bucket of water out of the well when they use their power. Others describe it as a muscle, an extension of yourself that can be strengthened and honed over time, but fatigues with overuse. Both have some merit to them. For now, find where your power is beneath the surface. Whether it feels like water or muscle, pull it to the surface. Ignite a flame in the palm of your hand.”

A small orange flame ignites in Eris’s palm at the same time that a green flame ignites on Gwyn’s hand. This part of the lesson is one Gwyn had mastered quickly, but Eris knew it was best to start at the beginning.

“The fire is yours, responding to your anger, fear, joy, and every strong emotion you may feel. You will need to learn to control your emotions when handling your fire, lest you burn something you love. Losing control means potentially burning those you love.”

Gwyn nods, her eyes flitting between Eris and the small flame in her hand.

“Good. You have the power to decide if the fire will burn or not. Hold out your other hand.” Gwyn does as commanded, and Eris puts his fire onto her palm.

“The fire does not burn you because I command it not to. It does not travel your palm because I command it not to. I am the master of this flame, and I will not let it control me.”

“I can feel it.” Gwyn says with wonder. Eris knows she doesn’t mean the physical attributes of the fire, but instead Eris’s control over the fire.

“Yes. With practice, you can learn how to feel another fire user’s hold over their flames. The most powerful of them can wrest control away.”

“Can you do that?” Gwyn asks. Instead of verbally answering, Eris stares at her until she gasps in pain, her green flame becoming warmer in her hand. He gives the control back to her but Gwyn stares at her hand in wonder.

“Similar to how daemati can look into someone’s mind and control their actions, we have the power to steal fire from others, controlling their power. As you can block a daemati with a mental shield, you can do the same with your fire. But that is a lesson for after you learn control. You need to learn how to use your powers before you can properly protect them.

Now, imagine your fire as not a flame, but as a bird. Watch.” Eris takes back his flame that was resting on Gwyn’s palm, transforming it into a bird that flies around the training ring before resting on his shoulder.

“Your flame responds to your command, but you need to be intentional. Vague commands lead to reckless responses from your power. See the bird in your head, and imagine instead if it was flames. But do not imagine a bird on fire, lest you harm a poor creature.” Eris instructs. He can visibly see Gwyn sorting out the difference between a flame in the shape of a bird and a bird on fire.

In her hand, the green flames jump a few times, appearing to form different shapes before wings appear, then a body, and finally a beak. Gwyn opens her eyes and smiles.

“I did it!” She exclaims. Despite his earlier irritation, Eris cannot help but feel her joy as well.