#once i'm asleep i'll pretend it doesn't exist

[estcaligo]

can't fall asleep so just sketching

[honeydazai]

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ 𝆬  sharing a bed with them 𓏸

feat.: Dazai, Chūya, Ranpo, Fyodor, Nikolai, Sigma

content: pre-relationship bed sharing, flirty/mildly sexual implications

It's truly unfortunate that, while on a mission for the Agency, you have to share a bed with DAZAI — or so you think, at least. He doesn't share the sentiment in the slightest, instead smiling as innocently as possible the moment his gaze falls onto the single bed in the hotel room booked for the night. While he pretends to offer you the bed, he'll guilt-trip you about the couch being way too short for his long legs and about his back already aching until, eventually, you give in and share it with him.

Naturally, he gets into your space more than necessary at night, pretending he's asleep while cuddling close to you, given how, then, you can't cuss him out for wrapping an arm around your waist and burying his face in your neck, breath warm against your throat. It's worse that he knows if you won't get any amount of sleep whatsoever, much too busy with fighting off arousal while he's pressed flush against your back.

“Hm? No, it's alright. I don't mind taking the couch. What kind of man would I be if I let you sleep on there? Still, it's just — it's way too short and hard. Couches this uncomfortable shouldn't exist, really. I doubt I'll be able to get even a wink of sleep tonight, what a shame.”

When there turns out to only be one bed in the hotel room you're supposed to stay in for the night, CHŪYA doesn't even hesitate before offering you the bed, immediately going for the couch instead. He won't accept any protests either; no matter whether you're worried about his comfort or just think it's polite to refuse his offer, he won't allow you to spend the night on a sofa. He's not making a huge deal out of it and, if you keep being annoying about it, he gets more and more exhausted by the minute.

Eventually, he might give in to the idea of sharing the bed. He has no trouble keeping to himself — or so he believes, because, once he's actually asleep, softly snoring into your ear, he's moving wildly, one leg eventually thrown over your body, arms stretched out. If you mention it to him in the morning, his cheeks flush soft pink.

“Hm? The fuck you mean, you'll be taking the sofa? Definitely not. I'm already here — and I don't mind. Go lie down and get some sleep. We've got a busy day tomorrow.”

RANPO, the very moment he steps foot into the room, decides he wants the bed to himself. The idea of taking the couch doesn't even cross his mind; instead, he makes his way over to the bed all too quickly, though, when you end up either glaring at him or asking him to share, he just shrugs.

Really, he doesn't make too big of a deal out of sharing a bed, not even seeming a little nervous at the idea of lying down beside you for hours on end. Meanwhile, at night, he cuddles up close to you — actually asleep, unlike a certain someone —, arms wrapped around you, for once completely unaware of you being all flustered because of him. In the morning, it'll be like nothing happened, even though you can't quite stop thinking about

“What are you looking at me like that for? I said we can share. If you're hoping to have it for yourself, tough luck. I was here first, just saying. Just get in or move to the couch already, I'm tired.”

All of FYODOR'S decisions are based on logic; this one is no exception. If the bed is large enough to fit two people, it's large enough for the two of you to share — though, if you feel like taking the couch instead, he won't protest. That's your decision to make, after all.

While actually sharing the bed with him, it's basically like you're alone in there, anyway. He doesn't move when asleep, doesn't make a sound; it's all too easy to imagine he's not even there, even though, occasionally, a dark strand of hair might brush against your face. What you don't know, however, is that he, at night, while you're fast asleep, he takes the time to watch you up close, lilac eyes tracing over every plane of your face.

“I do not mind sharing the bed with you. I hope you feel similarly. We both are adults, are we not? I doubt this will be an issue. Just lie down.”

NIKOLAI is undoubtedly amused by the idea of sharing a bed with you. He doesn't waste a single thought towards either of you taking the sofa instead; nonsense, just why would you do that? There's a perfectly fine bed right there, and surely both of you are mature enough to share one without any issues, right? Wrong.

He makes a point of being as obnoxious as possible, cuddling close to you the very second you lie down. It doesn't help that he's both tall and strong, his arms closed around your waist so you can't even try to get away or up, and he makes a point of whining whenever you attempt to squirm away. It's going to be a long night.

“What's the matter? Why are you moving so much? Stop it, I won't be able to fall asleep this way. Or — ah, are you trying to rile me up on purpose? That's naughty of you, sweetheart.”

SIGMA immediately makes a beeline for the couch the second he notices the dilemma of having a double bed rather than two separate ones booked. He won't even discuss the topic with you; he doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable or forced to sleep on a sofa, so he'll do it instead. There's no whining or guilt tripping from his end; he simply accepts his fate for the night. There's worse things to endure.

If you're incredibly serious about convincing him, however, he might just give in, even though his cheeks feel a little warmer than usual when he lies down next to you, making sure there's an appropriate amount of distance between the two of you. If there's anything he doesn't want, it's you thinking he's trying to be creepy after you've decided to trust him — he probably ends up barely getting any sleep, just because he's worried about accidentally getting too close to you.

“Are you sure you're alright with this? I really don't mind spending the night on the sofa instead. ... Well, if you're sure — thank you.”

NEW POST AGAIN FINALLY AA my commissions are open, by the way!! dm me if interested! 💜

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[tasteleeknow]

lino letting you cling to him during a scary movie and pretend he's annoyed and hot when you cuddle him tightly in bed because you're still scared

was this inspired by the lix haunted house clip? u get me

"Is it really that bad?" he asks through a breath of laughter. "You're alright."

His skin is as warm as always where you press your face to his neck, averting your eyes from the unnaturally tall figure on screen. "I'll have nightmares," you whisper against him. He flinches a little at the tickle of breath you release, his neck sensitive.

"Should we watch something else?" he offers, his fingers brushing the back of your own neck lightly.

You shake your head, "Wanna see how it ends."

You make it through half an episode more. The creeps get worse and when you notice Minho starting to squint his eyes in an attempt to save his own dreams, you nudge him and mumble an, "I'm tired," against his heated skin.

It was only the nightmares. If you could be sure you'd have a peaceful sleep every time, you were sure you'd be the bravest person alive. But the nightmares were out of your control.

The shadows, where they were once innocuous, are now imposing; a potential threat. The open bedroom door is a gateway to more of them. Minho shifts next to you, rolling onto his side. "Thought you were tired," he mumbles, half asleep.

You shuffle towards him, the blankets tucked up around your shoulders. "I am," you whisper.

He hums. "Sleep."

You can just make out his features, almost see the freckle at the end of his nose. You shuffle a little closer. He doesn't move. A little more...

His lips part.

You close the distance, pressing yourself as close as humanly possible to his warmth. You take a deep breath as you nuzzle a little further under his chin, your lips settling gently against his collarbone.

Safe, your brain signals. How could nightmares possibly get you here.

It lasts all of 20 seconds.

He groans before he wiggles against you. It's no attempt at escape. Escape would be easy. It's a display of dramatics, one that has you giggling as you rock with the movement he creates.

When he falls still, you're slightly dislodged from him, a few gaps created between your bodies that hadn't existed before.

His lips brush your forehead. "It's hot," he grumbles.

You couldn't argue that. He was always so warm. "M'sorry," you whisper back.

His arm drapes over you, tugging you back into him—bodies aligning once again.

He says nothing else. Instead, his breath evens out, his chest rising and falling steadily against you.

Escape would have been so easy.

[blue-sadie]

Best Friend's Brother

Luke Skywalker x Reader

Summary: based off of this post

Warning: kitchen sex, almost caught

I tossed and turned in my make shift bed it was soo uncomfortable I'm over here so often but she doesn't get the hint to get another bed or something "fuck it" I grumbled getting up and stretching out my sore limps.

I looked over to leia she layed still letting out soft snores I rolled my eyes she can sleep through anything, I walked out the room stumbling over a few of her things that were scattered across her room as I existed her room.

The hallway was lit by a dim light, I walked to the bathroom to splash my face and stared at my face in the mirror I was so tired but uncomfortable at the same time, "yn of fuck" I froze where was that coming from.

"S-shit" I followed the noise and was shocked as I came to leia older brothers room, it was slightly creaked open "fuck you feel so good" he groaned and my eyes widened as I saw him jerking off while moaning out my name.

I tripped over my own feet as I tried moving away alerting him "fuck" I whispered running into leias room jumping into my bed quickly covering myself in the little blankets and pretended to be asleep.

Luke peered into the room quietly calling out to me but I didn't respond and waited for him to leave, once he left and I heard him shut the door I released an uneven breath he sounded so fucking good I bit my lip to suppress a moan and clamped my thighs together.

I rubbed my thighs together my eyes fluttering in pleasure but i sighed out in frustration this is wrong and slammed my head back against my pillow turning over and closed my eyes telling myself it will all be better in the morning. But i was wrong.

I couldn't even meet his gaze in the morning and squirmed or muster up words if I was alone in a room with him images of the night before flashed through my mind every time he caught my gaze.

"I'm gonna go out quickly stay here" leia said "n-no don't leave" I shouted making her give me a confused look "why" she asked and luke cleared his throat "yea why yn" he teased making leia roll her eyes "I'll see you later" she murmured and walked out the door before I could even protest.

I hit the counter huffing to myself and gasped as I felt his hot breath hit my neck and he body pressed up against mine "so does my little sister know her friend is a pervert" he growled into my ear I turned quickly and stared up at him "does she know her brother jerks off to the thought of her best friend" I fought back.

I started pulling at the ends of my skirt his gaze making my skin feel ablaze "well it's her fault she's friends with someone so fucking hot" he growled bringing his face closer to mine.

My breathe hitched my eyes moving between his eyes and lips, the edges of his lips twitched upwards as he caught my actions "and you know that don't you" he murmured and pressed his lips to mine, I gasped out of shock and he used it to his advantage and stuck his tongue inside.

I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around his neck bringing him closer, our moans mixing together "you tell leia and I'll fucking kill you" I muttered pulling away he laughed loudly and shock his head playfully as his hands gripped my hips hoisting me onto the counter and forced my legs to wrap around his waist.

"And have to deal with her complaining no way" he chuckled bringing his lips to my neck making small moans and whines escape my mouth, he nipped and sucked my skin as his hands started to play with my skirt.

His hands swiftly moved my panties aside and slowly inserted his two fingers into me slowly scissoring me as he pumped them in and out my arms wrapped around his neck tightly and my breath quickened as I moaned.

"Fuck do you like that princess" he murmured softly into my ear his eyes watching my every expression I looked away only for him to use his free hand to make me face him again "say that you love how I make you feel" he growled.

I bit my lip nervously "I love how you make me feel" I whimpered my eyes becoming half lidded as my climax started to near he chuckled softly and used his thumb to rub my clit.

"Fuck" I threw my head back moaning out as I came "s-shit yn you sound better then I imagined" he muttered curling his fingers inside me.

"L-luke" I whined at my sensitiveness my hands gripped his shoulders tightly as he slowly pulled out "we only just started baby" he chuckled and moved his hands to his jeans undoing the zipper.

"What if we get caught" my mind was telling me to stop but my body was craving him "we wont" he bit his lip smirking as he took out his cock the tip already ozing with precum.

"I need you luke" I whined and kissed him deeply he pushed himself inside me slowly grinning against my lips as my body shivered.

I moaned out pulling away from him as he started to thrust into me his pace fast and hard "shit" he growled out loudly as his hands settled on my hips keeping me in place.

Our moans and groans echoing through the empty house "l-luke" I whined out pulling him against me full as I attached my lips back to his.

One of his hands slowly shifted up my body all the way to the back of my neck he tugged on my head hard making me groan out in pain, he moved his lips to my neck kissing and sucking on it.

"Fuck baby I'm getting close" he groaned against my skin I clenched around him to signaling I was too "shit that feels good" he growled out through gritted teeth.

My nails dug into his shoulders as he started to pulse inside me "cum in me" I begged him he grinned wildly and did his final thrust before we cam "fuck" we cried out together our breathless pants filled the room.

"I love you so much yn" he panted and pulled me into a passionate kiss "I'm home" we pulled pulled apart and quickly made ourselves look presentable luke quickly stuffing himself back into his pants and moving to the other side of the kitchen she walked in carrying a few bags and placed them on the counter.

"I bought snacks"

Tag.List

@greekgods15

@sweetirilly

@neteyamyawne

[stargazer-sims]

Journal Entry #52

previously - Journal Entry #51 (part two)

Yuri

Have you ever wished you didn't exist?

I'm not talking about wanting to take your own life or hoping that you'll just fall asleep one night and never wake up. I mean wishing that you actually didn't exist, that you'd never been conceived and born in the first place.

I wish for that.

I'm not sure if I'll post this recording to our journal. I may even delete it from my phone later. The only reason I'm doing this at all is because I'm feeling so frustrated and upset and... I don't know. Worthless. Horrible. Perhaps angry at myself because I can never live up to anyone's expectations for me, not even my own.

Despite the number of times I'm told that I'm enough just as I am, I can't make myself believe it. I notice how people pretend to like me when they don't, and how they're polite and deferential to me because they think I'm too fragile to handle their honest feelings about me. I'm aware of their disapproval and disdain.

In all fairness, though, I can't blame anyone for disliking me. I see the work I create for everyone around me and how much of a burden I am to them. I despise myself for that.

The sad irony is, as much as I don't want to be a burden, not being one seems impossible. I'll never not be chronically ill. There'll be periods when I'm reasonably well, but there'll also be times when I'm too sick to do anything for myself and someone will have to take care of me. That's a reality I can never escape from.

I can guess what some of you would probably say now if you heard this. But, you love all the attention you get, don't you?

I think it’s a natural human response to like receiving attention, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. The truth is, being bathed or fed or massaged feels good, and knowing I have people in my life who’ll do that and so many other personal care tasks for me gives me a certain sense of security. And yes, in the moment, I do enjoy it. The problem is, when the task is done and I’m alone with my thoughts, I start to feel guilty for allowing myself to forget, even for a second, that these things aren’t meant for my gratification. I remember I'm a selfish, awful person for enjoying something that comes at the cost of someone else's time and effort, particularly because I know full well that I can never pay them back.

The thing that bothers me most of all is that the people who do the majority of the caretaking are my mother and Victor. The people I love more than anything, who I want to see happy and who I want to protect are the very ones who suffer the most because of me.

My beautiful, brave, loyal Victor would do anything for me, and I'd move the mountain itself to repay him if I could, but my intention is not enough. I love him with my entire mind, body and soul, but my love is not enough. I don't deserve him, and I don't know why he stays with me, because nothing about me will ever be worthy of someone as good and gentle and selfless as him. Nothing can ever erase the imbalance in what we give each other, and that truth chips away at my heart more and more as time goes on.

Victor says he loves me, and he’s demonstrated it in so many ways that I’d have to be completely detached and indifferent not to believe him. He also says he doesn't mind all the work he has to do, but I'm not so certain about that one. How could it possibly be true that it doesn’t bother him? It's unfair, and I know it's hard on him, being tied down by me all the time. He gave up so much for me, and here I am with nothing of value to give in return.

Sometimes I think it would've been better if we'd never met at all. He could've had a good life without me, chased all his dreams and done everything he'd planned to do.

It's too late now. He's attached to me, and I've ruined his life, and there's no way for me to set him free to reclaim what's left of it without hurting him in the process. I offered that to him once before and it upset him so much that I swore I'd never mention it again, even if I think it'd be in his own best interest to get away from me.

Not that I ever want to be apart from him, you understand, but if I need to choose between his happiness and my own, I'll always want to choose his. It's why I'm willing to move halfway around the world, why I didn't say no when he told me he wanted to keep competing, and why I agreed to the idea of Fox coming here to help us. It's why I acquiesce to most things I'm not entirely comfortable with. Letting him have what he wants without objection is the only currency I can exchange for everything I've taken from him.

If he ever wanted to leave of his own accord, I'd let him have his way there, too. I wouldn't try to force him to stay. If it'd make him happy, I'd let him go even though it would shatter me into a million pieces, even though I'm sure I'd be in pain forever from the grief of such a loss.

Perhaps that would be my penitence. Maybe it's what I truly deserve.

I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't even be recording this. It's nothing but a confused, emotional rant, and if I do end up posting it, I fully expect that anyone who sees it will think even less of me than they already do. It's just that saying it aloud helps, even if I'm only talking to myself. At the very least, I won't lie to myself. Nearly everyone else would tell me whatever they thought I wanted to hear, which is why I've stopped talking to people about my troubles. What would be the point?

Victor says I need to see a professional, and maybe he's right. Maybe I could tell this stuff to a psychologist who isn't part of my life and who could be objective. I doubt there's anything they could realistically do to make me less of an inconvenience. They can't cure my illness or make me physically stronger, and they can't make anyone like or respect me, but I guess they'd be someone who'd listen.

Last night, after Fox left, Victor found me crying in the upstairs bathroom. I might as well admit that I threw up and that I was trying to hide that fact as well as my little breakdown from him. Have you ever tried to throw up quietly? If you discover the secret to doing that, please tell me what it is.

Because I know someone will inevitably ask, the reason I was trying to hide it is because Victor doesn't like seeing me cry. He says it makes him feel helpless. Besides, he's so tenderhearted that if I'm crying, he often ends up crying too, and I don't like seeing him cry either. I'm usually good at suppressing my emotional responses, so I really don't cry all that often, but for the past few weeks it seems I haven't been able to hold anything in. It's another sign of weakness, I suppose; yet another way I've failed him.

He knocked on the bathroom door and called for me several times. When I didn't answer, he simply opened the door and let himself in, exactly as I'd known he would.

I didn't look up at him, and just mumbled, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"Everything," I said, because it was the truth. Everything felt wrong, and I was sorry for all of it.

"Uh... you think you could be a little more specific?" Victor crossed the room in a few long strides and sat near me on the floor. "Did you get sick?"

"I think you know I did."

"Okay. But, is there something else?"

"I don't want Fox to come any more," I told him.

"Why? Did something happen?"

I shook my head. I really didn't feel like discussing it, and I didn't think I was in a fit condition to have a decent conversation about anything, much less about that. Besides, how was I supposed to explain to him how inadequate Fox makes me feel? How was I supposed to say that I don’t like how patronizing Fox is, and how I feel humiliated and powerless when he talks to me as if I’m a stubborn child or as if I’m intellectually delayed?

The part I hate the most about having Fox here is how he keeps trying to convince me that I'm not actually as ill as I say I am, like I'm exaggerating my condition for attention and that I'm capable of far more than I'll admit. He seems to be under the impression that all it takes is a little willpower to overcome pain, nausea, muscle weakness, extreme fatigue and all my other symptoms, not to mention anxiety. What he doesn't realize is that I have plenty of willpower, and if it were really that easy, I wouldn’t need somebody like him. I'd have been cured long ago.

He tries to make me do things that are much too difficult, if not impossible, and I can almost never do them without consequences to my mental and physical well-being. Although I push through each task as best I can to avoid a conflict that I know I wouldn't have the stamina to deal with, I almost always feel far worse afterwards. He says he's helping me, and he calls it progress. I call it cruel and unusual torment.

He's supposed to be taking care of me. He's getting paid to take care of me. I think that obligates him to stick to caretaking, and should not extend to pretending to be my friend or to practicing his dubious amateur occupational therapy on me.

But, I couldn't confess any of that, could I?

"No," I said at last. "Everything's fine. I just... I think I can look after myself now."

I couldn't, of course, and I have no idea why I said that. I just didn't know how much longer I could endure the situation as it stood, and I suppose it was a way to get Victor to make Fox leave without me resorting to complaining about him.

Victor pulled at his lower lip with his teeth and gave me a worried look. My husband may be many things, but stupid and imperceptive aren't among them. He saw through me straight away. "Yuri, you can barely make it from your bedroom to here without help. I don't know if you're strong enough to look after yourself yet."

But, for some unknown reason, I persisted. "I'm not going to get any stronger by letting other people wait on me, am I?"

"You know it doesn't work like that," he said. "It's not like physio, where you build up strength in your muscles by exercising them. You're not going to get better by wearing yourself out."

"I'm never really going to get better anyway," I said. "I might as well do what I can, when I can, right?"

"Yes, when you can," he said. "Maybe in a few more weeks, when you—"

"No!" I cut him off mid-sentence. All of a sudden, I felt anger rising up inside me like a wave. It was irrational and relentless, and I felt unable to control it. "I don't want him here. Tell him not to come back."

"No," Victor said. "I'm not going to do that."

I stared at him, admittedly a little shocked. Victor hardly ever says no to me. "But—"

"No," he repeated. "You might not want his help any more, but I think you still need it. And I still need a little help too, until I get this other cast off."

"Helping you is meant to be my job," I said. "It's what i should be doing."

"You have a valid reason not to be doing it."

"But, I should be doing it," I insisted.

"Maybe," he said. "But I know you can't right now, and that's okay."

"I hate this!" I brought the edge of my fist down on the cold bathroom tiles as hard as I could. A jolt of pain shot up my entire arm, and as much as I tried not to wince, I'm sure I must have. "I'm tired of our lives being this way, of me not being able to do anything for you and just being a useless waste of everyone else's energy. I'm so tired of all of it, Victor. I just want it to stop."

Victor was gazing at me with an expression that might have been equal parts sympathy and perplexity. Whatever it was, it seemed obvious he didn't know how to respond. All he said was, "I know."

"No, you don't know!" I retorted. "You have no idea what it's like to be trapped in a body like mine!"

"I guess I don't, but—"

"You don't know what it's like to be exhausted and in pain all the time, or to worry that the slightest change could make it worse. You don't know how it feels to panic every time you realize you have to eat because everything you put into your mouth has the potential to hurt you. And you have absolutely no idea how worthless it makes me feel to not be able to do the simplest things for myself, much less be able to help you."

By the time I'd gotten all that out, I was shaking and crying, and there was nothing I wanted more than to be able to get up off the floor and flee as far away from everyone and everything as I possibly could. I didn't want Victor to look at me in the state I was in. I wanted to disappear, and contrary to what I previously said, in that moment I really did wish that I could go to sleep and not wake up ever again.

Victor reached toward me, like he wanted to pull me into a hug. Any other time, I'd be desperate for him to hold and comfort me, but the thought of him touching me just then was unbearable.

It was all I could do to speak through my tears. "Please, don't."

"But—" He lowered his hands and watched me for what felt like ages before he let out a long breath and tried again. "I think you need to tell me what's really going on."

"Nothing," I said. "Nothing but the same thing that's always going on around here."

"Which is...?"

"You know," I said.

"How about you humour me?”

I scrubbed fiercely at my eyes with the heels of my palms. "I'm tired. I'm tired of... everything. I don't want to keep fighting my own body any more. I don't want to keep pretending that I'm okay and that our situation is okay and that everything's fine when it's not."

"You don't have to pretend anything," he said. "We both know everything's not okay. And like, this is gonna sound like a cliché or whatever, but it's okay that we're not okay right now. Things will improve soon. They always do."

"No, they don't," I said. "Maybe it seems like that for a while, but we're always going to be caught in this cycle. Unless you decide to do something about it, you’re always going to be stuck with me."

"What do you mean, stuck with you? You make it sound like a chore or something."

"Isn't it?"

"If you're asking if it's a lot of work to take care of you, then the answer is yeah, it is a lot of work. But, it's not a chore. If it was, do you think I'd still be here? ‘Cause that’s what you meant, isn’t it? I’m only really stuck until I’ve had enough and I make up my mind to leave?”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“I’m not going to leave you, Yuri,” he said. “If I didn’t think I could cope with all your health stuff, I wouldn’t have stayed in the first place. I’d have been gone already.”

"Would you?” I said. “If you didn't feel like you had to, would you still stay?”

"You're assuming I feel like I have to.”

“Aren’t you tired too? Don’t you need a break from me and my problems?”

“A break from you? No.” He smiled slightly, but I got the impression it was born of awkwardness rather than a more positive emotion. He gestured vaguely. “It’d be nice to get a break from… this, ‘cause I am pretty wiped out, but that’s not your fault. It’s just real life, you know? I need a break from real life.”

“Me too.”

“Anyway,” he went on. “I told you before, we can get help. I mean, we've got help right now and I'm practically doing nothing, so..."

"But, you would if you could."

"Naturally, I would. You know that. But, I know my limits.”

“Are we close? To your limit?”

“Can you stop for a second, please?” he said. “I don't even understand why you're bringing this up, and I need to know why we’re talking about it. I thought we already settled this. Didn't we promise that we’d stick together through everything?”

"It's... I'm thinking about it for a lot of reasons."

"Such as?"

"Seiji," I said.

“What about him?”

“He came to visit me in the hospital."

"I know."

"He's not my friend,” I stated. The words hurt, or maybe it was the realization behind them that was so painful.

"What are you talking about?” Victor asked. “Seiji is your friend. He loves you."

The things that'd come out of Seiji's mouth the afternoon of his visit had made me question whether he'd ever been my friend. It made me wonder if he, like nearly everyone else, merely tolerated me and was only polite because it'd be socially unacceptable not to be, and now he'd finally grown tired of the pretense. "He thinks I'm a monster," I told my husband. "He was so angry."

“A monster? He didn’t really say that.”

“He did.”

"He brought you mochi," Victor said, his confusion evident in his tone. Clearly, Seiji hadn't mentioned anything to him about what had taken place.

For a few heartbeats, I paused, trying to decide if I should continue or not. Finally, I replied, "Yes, he brought me mochi, but I have no idea why. I don't even know why he came, because all he did was tell me what a terrible person I am. He thinks your accident was my fault."

"It wasn't," Victor said. "He's wrong about that."

"Perhaps, but I don't think he's wrong about everything else."

"Everything else. What's included in 'everything else'?"

"He said I don't deserve you. He said... he said you could've done better than me and that I'm holding you back. He said I'm hurting you just by being with you, and that if you're unhappy, it's my fault." I stopped at that point because I could feel tears starting to sting my eyes again and my chest was starting to feel tight.

What Seiji had said wasn’t anything new to me. I’d thought of most of it on my own, long before that. But, hearing the words coming from someone else caused them to strike home all that much harder.

“He’s wrong,” Victor said. “He knows I’m not unhappy. I told him that myself. And you’re not holding me back from anything.”

“I feel like I am.”

“You’re not. I’m doing everything I want to do,” he said. “Yeah, I gave up some stuff, but it’s not like you forced me to. Coming here when i did was my choice. I could’ve waited, but I didn’t want to.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Do you want the honest answer?”

“Yes.”

“It’s like I told you before,” he said. “Sometimes I wish I’d done things differently or made different choices, and sometimes I feel sad or angry about it, but I don’t think I’d call it regret. I love you, and I was determined that I was gonna be with you sooner or later, and if that involved a few sacrifices, I’d say they were worth it.”

“But, what about me? I haven’t sacrificed anything for you.”

“You don’t think so?”

I shook my head. “I suppose I had nothing to give up, in any case.”

“Sacrificing doesn’t necessarily mean you literally give something up. Sometimes it’s like, metaphorical or whatever. Like, I think it took a massive amount of courage for you to let me move in with you. You could’ve said no, but instead of letting your fear tell you what to do, you took a risk."

“That doesn’t seem like much of a risk."

"In hindsight maybe, but think about how you felt at the time."

"I wanted you to come," I said. “And I didn't give up anything compared to what I got out of it.”

“I got a lot out of it too,” he said. “It’s not as unequal as you think.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“I got you. You’re amazing, whether you believe it or not.”

“That’s not an answer." There was an edge to my voice that I didn't like, but once the words were out, there was nothing I could do. "That's the sort of thing you say when you can't think of anything."

“Okay, fine," Victor responded. "You need me to be specific?"

"Can you be?"

"Yeah, I can," he said. "You’re my voice of reason. You help me make good decisions, and you always know how to calm me down when I’m too hyper and the noise in my brain is really bad. You teach me stuff all the time, and you do your best to take care of me.” One side of his mouth twitched in what might’ve been an ironic smile he was trying to keep at bay. “Maybe even when you shouldn’t.”

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you saying that?"

"Because everything you just described... it's nothing. An acquaintance could do all that."

"You think I'd trust just any random acquaintance with my secrets? You think I'd let them into my personal space? Or let them do the stuff you did for me after my accident?"

"You let your mother and stepfather do it."

"Yuri, they're my parents. Well, Julian's not exactly my parent, but you know what I mean. I trust them just as much as I trust you, and if you don't think that much trust counts for anything, then... I don't know what else to tell you."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that!" he exclaimed.

The sharpness of his tone startled me, and totally against my will, I lost the battle to hold my tears back any longer. "I've tried so hard," I said. "But, I just... I can't be what you need. I'll always be the one taking more than I can give, and nothing I ever do will be enough. Seiji is right. You deserve so much more than I can ever offer you."

He was silent for a long time after that, but finally he said. "Do you even know what I need?"

I didn't respond. How could I? The challenge in his tone was so obvious, there was no mistaking its implication. If I answered anything other than no, it'd be the wrong answer. He was compelling me to admit my failure as a partner, but what was the point? We both understood that much already.

I closed my eyes and lowered my head. The pain I felt in my heart was a thousand times greater than anything I'd ever experienced in my body, and one thought drowned out all the others, playing in my brain on repeat.

I want all of this to end.

[lapinpuff]

Just rambling a bit here but. almost a year later I really am still so disappointed with S3 of the Animaniacs reboot. Mainly mouse related TwT

It may be rather unpleasant to see...I'll pop my thoughts under the cut!!

I just keep remembering how excited I was for the third season of the reboot. I thought season one was okay and season two was pretty much perfect, so I assumed a pattern of improvement and had quite high hopes...that hope became my entire world, I suppose. It kept me alive. And the series was my strongest interest for entire years, so I think it makes sense.

But then I watched S3 and it was like something cracked inside me. I usually try to look on the bright side, but, to be honest, I'm still bitter about this. I thought the season was terrible. Worse than any other patb media I've seen. It makes me miserable just to think about.

On its own I think this would be fine if I could ignore the season and pretend it doesn't exist, but to top it off, it somehow totally killed my Pinky and the Brain special interest. I had always hoped that would be impossible...but since then, my brain literally won't let me consume ANY patb media. It's odd. It's like a plague stuck in my mind. It's like something so special and joy-inducing was stolen from me, and there was a hole left in my soul...

But I feel I can't engage in that warmth anymore. I think some people are...a little defensive over parts of the reboot? Maybe? TwT I tried to share some personal critiques once and got told I didn't "understand the characters" in a rather harsh way, which many others then agreed with, and it was a bit of a gut-punch. Still, I understand that now: it all stems from one's love of the show, so it's a beautiful thing. I can't be upset about it <3

And I kind of felt like I was letting everyone down 🥲

I've had so many sweet messages from the patb fandom over the years. Telling me how much they love my fics, my characterisation...it was always so magical. A blessing. Everyone is truly so kind.

I just didn't want to burden anyone with my opinions they'd be upset by. This separated me from this once beloved interest even more. I guess it was a painful and lonely feeling.

Despite all of this...

I still love the characters. Even if I haven't been able to watch the show since February, they've always stayed in my heart, asleep somewhere deep and cozy. I think that's a lovely thought.

And, most of all, I'll always treasure my time in such a welcoming and lovely fandom. I believe you are one of the best ever. I'm not sure how many of you are still there, but I loved all of you, and I hope with all my being that one day I can happily engage in this lost interest of mine again. 🩷

Anything is possible, right? <3

[this-is-krikkit]

Hey Sunshine 💜💜💜

As I didn't annoy you yet today, I'm here to:

1/ remind you that I exist & I can be a pain in the ass in case you forgot 😈

2/ request 13 "Don't move" for the Drabble Prompts post 📝

3/ send you a hug 🫂

See ya!

Mwah 😘

VV !! 😏😉 thank you for the request 🤗

1/ i can't forget that you exist, i love you too much for that ♥️♥️ and you're never annoying 😘

2/ i technically don't have to honor that promise since my choice lost, but i couldn't resist writing it down anyway… and I'd already used that line before you even sent in the ask, so it feels like the stars were aligned for me to post whatever the f this is!!

3/ hugging you right back ♥️🥰 and i really hope you like this!!

send me prompts and i'll write a drabble

lingua (ao3 link)

Tags: modern au, nsfw, nsfw use of piercings, afab levi ackerman, amab hange zoë, t4t, trans levihan, don't like don't read, he/him pronouns for Levi, she/her pronouns for Hange, porn with feelings, don't do this at home (no really don't you're supposed to wait longer)

.

"Hey, pretty boy," Hange singsongs under her breath when she enters Levi's studio, the entire one room apartment bathed in a gorgeous sunset orange at this late hour of the day.

As she predicted, he's still out cold from his previous night shift as a nurse, and she hesitates as she closes the door as quietly as possible. It's hard not to feel guilty at the thought of waking him up, but she's got two major excuses she thinks will make it worth it.

The first one is silly, idiotic even, and if Levi doesn't approve, will turn into a total disaster of a surprise.

The second is slightly embarrassing. Hange's historical thesis has been keeping her way too busy lately, and both money and the ER team schedule have been so tight that Levi has needed to work double the usual amount of additional hours, which resulted in them not seeing each other for over a couple of weeks now. And okay, she's got that other trivial mission in mind for tonight, but if she's being honest, this kind of a gap between shared moments simply isn't something she can stand for a day longer. It has been eating away at her for a solid week now, and she realized today that she just missed him to fucking much not to cut her afternoon studying session short, promising herself to start earlier tomorrow morning, and sneak into Levi's apartment –using the key he'd pretended to have forgotten at her place, barely two months into their still blossoming relationship.

She takes off her shoes and jacket, throwing them on his beloved worn out leather chair in the corner of the room, easily dismissing the twinge of worry she'd felt about the earful she's definitely going to get for that later, before she goes to lie down next to him on his sofa bed. She lightly brushes the longest strands of his hair away from his eyes and looks down at his gorgeous, peacefully sleeping face, unable to resist kissing him lightly on the nose and chuckling when it crinkles in reply.

"The fuck you doing here, Four-eyes?" he asks without opening his eyes, voice barely audible through its sleepy grogginess.

He sounds as angry and grumpy as he always would to a stranger's ear, but his arms wrap around her body and drag her on top of him anyway, his hands traveling up and down her back and lightly scratching along her spine like he knows she loves.

"Couldn't stand to be cooped up in my cave like a hermit anymore, so I decided to escape and come see my boyfriend," she replies, only pecking his lips once before sliding down to kiss her way to his neck.

She pauses there, inhaling his usual comforting scent and losing herself in the enticing warm drowsiness he's cocooned into and almost deciding to fall asleep here and there -when did she sleep last, again, anyway? she can't recall- but she's got something to do, so she tears herself away from this heavenly spot and drops kisses downards until she reaches the years old scars on his chest.

"Tch, I was sleeping. So annoying," Levi complains, even as his hips immediately roll and start seeking friction against Hange's body.

But she's got a plan, a serious plan to surprise him with that new piercing she's so psyched over, and not even her growing arousal will deter her from it, she mentally scolds herself -no matter how uncomfortable her jeans are starting to feel and how much parts of her are begging her to respond to his movements right now.

"Is this annoying?" she asks, wrapping her lips around one of his nipple and only letting the tip of her tongue wet it, before moving to play with the other one the exact same way.

"Yes, it is," Levi speaks up, sounding much more awake now, glaring down at her. "You know how much I hate it when you tease.”

Hange's brain comes up with a dozen counterexamples to that statement, but she lets it slide.

"Relax, babe," she chuckles, leaving another trail of kisses down his belly, "I've got a surprise for you."

She hooks her fingers in his underwear's elastic and slides it down his legs when he obediently lifts his hips up to help her out. She takes a moment to allow her hands to roam back up his limbs, marveling at the powerful muscles she can feel right under his skin.

"I don't like surprises," he lies again, just as Hange finally settles between his thighs, her short nails still digging into the skin of his hips as her mouth hovers over him.

"Oh, you don't?" she asks, faking surprise and feigning to go and unhook one of his legs like she's about to get away. "Never mind then, I'll go–

"Don't move," he warns, using the force of his legs to push on her back and keep her where she is.

Hange grins at the lust in his voice and lowers her face enough that her mouth can part his lower lips gently, and a low moan escapes her through the intimate kiss when she realizes how wet he is already.

"Damn, what were you dreaming about that got you so worked up?" she wonders against him.

She's not even really asking, not when he's already panting and he somehow tastes even better than she recalled, not when she has to stop herself from ruining her big reveal by eating him out like he deserves right now, by drinking every drop of fluid his body can produce to quench her thirst and make him writhe some more beneath her newly accessorized tongue.

"You, actually," Levi confesses, sounding almost as shy as he does out of breath.

He's staring straight down and into her eyes as he says it though, looking both terrified and determined to get his point across, and Hange really doesn't know how she manages to hold back when he's pulling this brutal honesty barely hiding a mountain of vulnerability act on her -the very one she knows is too soon to reveal how it makes her heart hammer in her chest every single time she witnesses it.

Still, she somehow succeeds in reigning it in, only swallowing thickly before she replies.

"Ha! Never heard you admit that before," she half jokes.

And it's not actually untrue. She knows the physical effect she has on him, she's seen, felt and tasted it before, but Levi's hasn't been very vocal about this stuff so far –not unless they're in the middle of it and his brain gets foggy enough that he starts blabbering barely audible affectionate words to her she thinks she'll never get enough of. He's an action over words guy, much better at conveying how much he likes the way she's now slowly pushing the tip of her tongue in and out of him by threading his fingers through her hair and pulling her even closer, much more comfortable with tilting his hips towards her to try and get more of the contact he so desperately craves right now than by begging out loud for it.

"So, that's the big –fuck– surprise?" he asks between moans he can't keep in, "you driving me mad by edging me like this for hours? Cause that's hardly fucking surpri–

Hange opens her mouth wider and, before he finishes his sentence and her nerves get the better of her, lets the flat of her tongue and the hard metal of her now thirteen days old piercing come in contact with Levi's clit, lightly but firmly stroking it.

Levi startles and yelps at the unusual feeling, tugging at her hair in shock, but Hange's hands settle his hips back down before he can move again.

"Easy, easy," she chuckles, and lifts her head up high enough to proudly show him her new toy. "That's the surprise! You like?"

He freezes on the spot and stares down at her in silence, mouth agape and eyes open wide, and some of her confidence starts to wear off.

"You don't?” she asks instead, much less enthusiastic suddenly. “Shit. I'm sorry I scared you. You know how long I've wanted one of these, and I just thought this would be a funny way to show–

"You lied,” he cuts off her nervous rambling, frowning though his hand is now rubbing at her scalp gently where he pulled a little too hard before.

"What? How?”

“I'm obviously not the only reason you got out of your dorm in the last two weeks," he accuses, with a pout she almost can't tell is fake.

But there's a playful glint to his eyes that she's getting more and more familiar with as she spends more time with this relaxed, open side of him she loves so much, and she decides to mess with him right back.

"Who says I didn't do it myself?" she teases, wiggling her eyebrows.

His entire demeanor changes then, so fast she startles when he sits up and angles her head higher and away from where he needs her the most. He takes a deep breath and settles his free hand on her jaw to keep her mouth open, carefully studying the piece of jewelry.

"Hange Natsu Zoë, for the sake of your immune system and my sanity,” he starts as he looks back up and into her eyes, “you better swear to me that you did not pierce your own fucking tongue."

Hange barks out a laugh at the seriousness in his tone, shaking her head free and pushing him hard enough that he lies back down.

"Truth be told, I watched a couple of Youtube tutorials on the topic," she admits when she's back into position, gently and effortlessly sliding two of her fingers into him, relishing in the shiver she can feel spreading through his body at the smooth intrusion -and how well it works to make him forget whatever he was going to retort in reply. "But it didn't seem worth the risk to end up in the ER while you were on triage duty."

Levi clicks his tongue at her, but it turns into a hiss when she puts her lips over his clit and lightly sucks on it, twirling her piercing around it once it's trapped inside her mouth.

She releases it right when she can tell Levi was nearing his peak, and wordlessly apologizes by hooking and thrusting her fingers faster and faster in and out of him. She alternates between rubbing either the metal piercing and the muscle of her tongue on him, careful not too put too much pressure as he tends to get sensitive.

But Levi doesn't seem to remember that, and he cants his hips closer to her mouth still, his powerful thighs squeezing her head between them, stronger and stronger as she quickens the pace, her mouth and hand working in tandem as she ignores the building pain in her jaw and the need to breathe.

He comes with a loud strangled cry that vaguely resembles her name, and she almost loses focus as she realizes that. She doesn't stop swirling her tongue over him, avoiding his clit and gathering every drop of wetness she can feel leaking out of him to drink it hungrily. Her fingers fight against his squeezing walls to keep pushing against that sweet spot inside of him, drawing out his orgasm and making his entire body shake as he rides the tide.

"Fucking hell," she hears him sigh when he finally releases the pressure around her head, his legs falling heavily on each side of her body onto the mattress.

Hange takes a deep breath in when she's free, wipes her nose, chin and fingers on the sheets and grins up at him and his blushed, fucked-out face. He lazily reaches down and she complies, dragging herself upwards until they're face to face.

He kisses her without needing to think about it like he used to in the early stages of their relationship. His tongue ventures into her mouth immediately, languidly exploring and eager to play with the new addition, and Hange regretfully parts from that exciting enthusiasm when he tugs a little too forcefully at it.

"Careful! It's still sensitive. This shit needs like two months to heal properly."

Levi frowns again at that, and Hange has to bite her lips to stop herself from commenting on just how adorable he looks, trying to look all strict and serious when half of his brain is clearly not completely functional yet.

“Were you even supposed to do that so soon?" he worries, cupping her face into his hands.

It's almost too gentle a moment to ruin it, but Hange's never been one to refuse that kind of a challenge.

“Was it that bad? You know, you have to tell me if you don't like–

The rest of her sentence is muffled behind the hand he's just shoved against her mouth to keep her quiet. She loses tracks of whatever she was going to say anyway when she looks down at him in forced silence, at his rosy cheeks and nose, at his parted lips, at his dilated pupils and the odd determination she can see growing in his eyes.

“I love it,” he whispers softer than she's ever heard him speak, not even glancing down at her mouth.

He removes his hand, thumb caressing her upper lip as he goes, and she feels herself mirroring the gorgeous, easy smile that show on his own face, unable to tell if she's more frustrated or exhilarated at that maybe hint that he could have been talking about something other than her oral skills.

[ask-the-reaper-conspiracy]

"I know you're in there, Mama. And I know you're not sleeping, because when you're asleep you make a little whispery snore that your husband lies to you about." "Very well, keep pretending, just so long as you listen." "I'm not cross about the lying. Not really. Everyone lies outside, don't they?" "There's an abominable sort of wilful naïveté about it, I find." "They ask "how are you" when they don't want to know. They say "yes" and mean "no", and say "no" and mean "yes". They call things absolutely anything at all, save what they truly are." "They normalise falsehood." "And yet, when someone "lies" to them, they have the nerve to call it a scandal and an outrage." "You lied because you had to, Mama. To protect yourself. To protect me." "And to protect your husband, of course, because your husband is a dear sweet man, and like all dear sweet men he renders himself, by virtue of his dear sweetness, largely ineffectual." (No, I shall not call him Papa. That name is forever tainted by its previous bearer, may he rest in peace and thereby never darken our door again.) "I think that must be a part of why you consented to marry again. He never can bring himself to challenge your authority." "You became accustomed to that authority, didn't you? Once we were free of him?" "Thus, Lovett: a man who defers to you as if he, and not you, is the wife." "You are the man of the house, though you are not a man. It is a mask: a well-dressed, useful lie." "And who is Maria to be cross about a woman choosing a mask over exposure?"

"No, I can bear the lies. They were masks. Necessary." "What I cannot bear…" "…is that you never once took the masks off for me." "You could have told me everything, Mama. We could have borne the weight of it together." "We might even, upon discussion, have come to a solution. We are both so terribly clever." "Instead you put on your masks, layers upon layers of masks, and shut your Maria out." "How heavy it must have been." "I must allow that you're tired after all that. A ten-year shift… Only my Mama could do it." "I'll allow that you folded on the stand, too, even though you didn't have to. It was the first crack in the Reaper's mask. It was right." "But now we are come to this, you in a cell and Maria…outside, and no quantity of exhaustion will induce me to allow the fact that you do not stand up and fight." "Can a man with a broken neck stand up in a cage?" "When a lone woman moves a fresh corpse with a chest wound, placing necessary pressure above said wound in order to lift said corpse out of a cage, in which direction does the inevitable blood flow travel?" "How immeasurable, to a man who calls himself Law, is the benefit of being able to track a prolific criminal's dealings simply by feeding him, each month, five hundred subtly marked "scalpels"?" "Your Maria knows all of these answers, Mama. She knows them because you taught her." "The motive and scenario to which you conceded at Professor Harebrayne's trial are as flimsy as flesh before a scalpel. Why do you not cut them away?"

"I suppose it doesn't matter why. Perhaps you truly did create that spinal fracture yourself. Perhaps you truly did stab a living man through the heart. How can I know? Mama lives outside. Mama lies, even to her Maria." "Your Maria is tired too, Mama. So terribly, terribly tired." "It's to be expected. Your dear sweet husband has been weeping uselessly for two days. How am I supposed to sleep?" "Tears cannot save Mama now. Nor does Mama seem the least bit interested in saving herself." "Maria is… I am the man of the house now. And so it falls to me." "You are certainly guilty of some crime. Several crimes, in fact." "Perjury, falsifying evidence, aiding and abetting, murder as an accomplice - perhaps even murder itself, if Mr Drebber's incompetence left your hand to finish the work." "But the purpose of a defence is not merely to establish innocence where it exists. It stands also to mitigate the consequences of guilt where culpability must be agreed to be of a lesser degree." "You were being blackmailed by at least two men, if not three. One of those men sat, unchallenged and unsuspected, at the highest echelons of the British justice system. What recourse did you have to the law?" "You are not a great detective. You could not simply visit Her Majesty for tea." "And what of the consequences of failure? Unthinkable. At the outset your career was all you had to support us both. Blacklisting, which Stronghart was even then capable of engineering, could have spelled disaster for a lone mother and a young child. Thereafter…assassins." "Stronghart would have done anything, killed anyone to protect his secrets. Asogi-san, Dr Wilson, Inspector Gregson…what would he have cared if it became necessary to add you to the list? You, and all you held dear?" "How can a woman - how can anyone in such circumstances be expected to resist?"

"Palatable or not, the defence exists. It is viable. The court will listen." "And if my Mama is still tempted to hang with the men - perhaps to maintain the illusion of absolute agency, or because she doesn't know who she'll be if she can't be Doctor Sithe - then bluntly…I don't care." "You haven't the right." "You made me, and you married him. Before even to the highest court of England you are answerable to us. You haven't the right to turn your back and walk away from us just because you're afraid of the alternative." "When I cut up my Mama, I want to see evidence of arthritis and osteoporosis. I want to read the accounting of years in the bones of an old, old woman. I will settle for nothing less." "And if I have to drag you back to court for the appeal with my own two hands, if I have to learn all the extra pointless, asinine formalities that come with yet another facet of outside just to stand at the defence's bench and make your case myself, then so be it." "…I trust I've made my point." "So, will you cooperate? Or must I do everything myself?"

—————–

Video submitted by the objection.lol anon!

(I snore?) "Maria." "You've always been a handful for me. Do you know how long I've spent looking after you?" "It never occurred to me that you would start doing the same." "But you shouldn't. You shouldn't be." "You've thought of all these objections... and justifications... but Maria, even if I appeal--" (From where does this feeling of dread spring?…) "You're such a fool! Don't you see how many burdens YOU have ahead? Burdens beyond my own mistakes?" "Don't you see why I've never involved you in what I've done? You especially?" "It's not that I'm abandoning you, or Lovett. I am just---dead weight." "In the end, when everything's over, all I am is dead weight." "If you say I haven't the right to decide that... I'll do as you wish. I owe you that." "But please… don't cling to me. Not if it's to your detriment."

—————–

Check this page for credits

[real-talk-blues]

Hey y'all, on the off chance that someone reads this and this could save a life, if you have medical issues, STAY THE FUCK OUT OF JACKSONVILLE FLORIDA!

I'm not being ableist, I AM disabled and I'm trying to keep other disabled people safe. This warning is coming from a long-time resident of Jax and the surrounding areas, as in *I was born here, and I have never lived elsewhere*. With that knowledge, I can confidently say that either 1) there is not a single worthwhile or even remotely competent doctor in the whole city or 2) such doctors are so few and so unheard that medical malpractice is the NORM here.

In order to properly emphasize my point, I'll be posting a *significantly* non-exhaustive list of the medical mistreatment (both legal and illegal) perpetrated against me over the years. It's not chronological by any means, but I hope it helps. Given that I recently aged out of any litigatory abilities for malpractice per Florida law, this is the best I can do.

Here's the list:

- Prior to my birth, my mother went to her doctor about pregnancy concerns. She was told everything was normal and to go home. It turned out to be protein urea, which she only discovered by being admitted to a different hospital, the ONLY competent hospital in the city, the day after. This mishandling of her case led to my birth, two whole weeks ahead of my due date. I consider this malpractice harming me because my delivery was an emergency surgery which could have been avoided by a competent doctor.

- Tangential to that but not related to me, my mom turned out to be carrying a tumor that had been missed in every scan for the duration of her pregnancy with me. It weighed ~5lbs

- As a child, my pediatrician regularly told me that my symptoms were 'normal' or 'expected', even when I was having migraines, unable to keep food down, had severe stomach cramps, and others. Turns out I had (and still have) the gastric system of a colicky horse, and the brain of a rainbow shrimp on LSD.

- My pediatrician refused to do any further Lyme disease testing after a test that is known to be 80% inaccurate came back negative.

- No one discovered that I had babesiosis or bartonella at all until we went to an out of state doctor

- An ER resident once told me that 'Lyme disease doesn't exist in Florida' despite the fact that it IS present and its presence is currently being tracked publicly by the CDC. (Also, what fucking epidemiology class did this doctor take? Was she asleep when they pointed out that ticks aren't beholden to state borders???)

- After a major meltdown (prior to my autism diagnosis, because we had no idea what to do) I was admitted to the ER on a voluntary psych hold. While waiting for a bed, I was nearly sent into anaphylaxis when the nurse refused to put my allergies in my chart, and I was given two of my major contact allergens with a meal.

- A separate nurse in the emergency room dropped my daily medication (the kind of medication keeping me alive, which I would die without in a few days) on the floor, then tried to give it to me anyway. When I refused, she didn't give me a new pill, but rather pretended I didn't exist.

- After being admitted, the staff refused to feed me the ONE food I could eat, to the point that I had to beg a sympathetic nurse to go get it from the cafeteria. It was chicken tenders, I am in no way allergic to them. Later research has yielded absolutely no reason I might have been denied this food, because I wasn't on an EDP, I wasn't allergic or averse to them, and they were quite literally the ONLY thing on the hospital menu that was safe for me.

- At shift change, the nurses would do health checks. I had previously mentioned a birth control implant in my arm, and had shown the nurse which arm it was in. Despite that, they put the blood pressure cuff directly over it. It was 4AM, and this woke me up screaming because the cuff was pushing it into my muscles. I was bruised for a week after, and it to this day ranks in my top 5 worst pains ever.

- Coincidentally, my number 1 worst pain ever was when a doctor gave me an injection NSAID to help with a migraine bad enough for an ER visit, and it felt like I had been doused in gasoline and blowtorched. I was sobbing my eyes out for twenty minutes in the hospital bed before a nurse even considered giving me benadryl. The benadryl did help, but I shouldn't have had to retraumatize myself to hospital settings to get it! All the doctor said on the topic was, "that's not a recorded side effect, and it's not an allergic reaction."

- Regarding the psych ward, they repeatedly refused to allow me to shower or use the restroom without supervision outside the door, until I brought it up in group therapy blatantly enough that the charge nurse and pharmacist overheard and corrected it. I wasn't on a plan that made that necessary, and none of my medical history indicated a need, otherwise.

- Despite a formal diagnosis requiring me to drink water due to dangerous blood circulation issues, they refused to let me have access to any liquids outside of mealtimes. I was told to stop 'lying' when I explained my condition.

If I were to keep going, this post would test the limits of Tumblr's ability to post. I'll stop there, and hopefully this list (which has experiences drawn from at least four clinics and/or hospitals in the area) is appalling enough to convince folks who are at risk to stay as far from this unmitigated cesspit as possible.

To conclude:

For your own safety, disabled people, LEAVE JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA ALONE

[breesasofty]

Sunday. June 16th, 2024.

Things I love about life.

(This used to be the day on the week that I'd spent it all with my dad, every sunday we'd buy lots of junk food and watch movies i'd criticize at the whole length to say that i liked it at the end like a sacred tradition):

1. cats

2. windy, open windows in the car

3. going back home late at night from the shopping center feeling like i have bought some piece of cloth that will change my life

4. watching cartoons when high

5. falling asleep watching cartoons, especially when high

6. being in the middle of the woods or some place remote which phone loses signal (the feeling of <i could disappear right here, right now>)

7. lately, talking to my therapist in a more friendly manner (trying to work with him instead of against him [and myself])

8. turning off all notifications at night, isolating in my room and pretending like the rest of the world doesn't exist at nighttime (recharge in solitude)

9. daily interactions with my cats because they understand body language and you don't need to talk to be understood and you don't have to actually hear about it to understand (oh, the wonders of not needing to talk! silence is something i'd never trade)

10. eating my grandma's food because also the wonders of not having to cook!

11. different cities, which carry their very own air, their singular ambiance.

12. my actual friends (which are glad they even made it to this list, whom put up to my avoidant attachment fuckery without judgment. oh, those i don't need to explain myself to, but encourage me to be a good person nonetheless!)

13. watching my cats eat like they've been starving for weeks after i'd just filled their food bowls for the 5th time on that day (the vet said my middle child was weighing like an actual child; poor thing, wouldn't have a chance in the wild).

14. waking up every morning to find my cats having a reunion in front of my bedroom door. i always greet each with a bom dia petting.

15. how hair feels right after a haircut. ugh, so smooth! love to feel it between my fingers.

16. waking up late, no obligations in the day

17. waking up early fully rested

18. advancing technology

19. forgetting who i am (reseting every night)

20. dissociation, my best friend

21. chat gpt, my one true mate

22. family vacations

23. inherited network

24. not having a normal family (in some aspects i love it, in others, i loath and despise it)

25. everything i've had to this day (material, i mean) and will be receiving/achieving in the future

26. my academical prowess

27. my cognitively powerful brain

28. how could i not have mentioned harry potter!???

29. harry potter (taking a doble slot because of it's importance, In Potter We Trust)

30. being high.

31. also dramione, since i'm speaking about the wizarding world

32. fanon draco malfoy, of course. canon draco is the fetus, the child.

33. meeting up with adults because it makes me feel like an adult

34. acting like an adult (although i just like the acting, not the being)

35. people who have a prospect of what they want for the future

36. imaginary worlds, fantasy, lore, adventure

37. adventure sports (lmao though i have practiced it like, 3 times in my whole lifetime)

38. that moment when you think or are actually in love and still don't want to run away, you feel like this time you could actually do it, could actually stay

39. meeting new friends that i feel like should've been in my life for the longest time (those people you actually meet the soul instead of a programmed body)

40. being capable of apologizing (and also when people who have wronged me apologize; not that i'll forgive, anyways)

41. I love to feel the early morning wind, especially when the sun isn't yet too hot when riding a motorcycle.

42. My students, who are quite difficult to deal with, but they're actually super intelligent and funny.

43. When my students give me sweets. My favorite one was the brownie, but the beijinho got pretty close!

44. Once again, not having to cook my own meals, especially lunch, 'cause now I have it at work and it's rather delicious.

45. Affable people who mirror your kindness.

46. Not having kids yet, like many people who grow up with me already have (poor people could barely have time to know themselves, now their life's revolving around another life). Note: I do want kids cause surprise, surprise, I actually don't despise children.

47. When I get home from work (classic, but to shower, smoke weed, eat something delicious and get to bad to sleep is absurdly appealing to me)

48.

(working on this list so I can convince myself life's actually worth living [i'm not a dramatic little shit, just a tad bit {a lot, fuckerly and fucked} existential]).

[cedar-sunshine]

oc questionnaire

thanks for the tag @illarian-rambling! Technically you tagged my main account, but I'll answer it eith my writing one!

My questions are

Are you a sound sleeper?

2. Have you ever owned a pet? If you haven't, what would you get as a pet if you could?

3. What do you think is your problem?

Answering for Tristan and Orion!

Are you a sound sleeper?

T: 'oh, yeah. No. Yeah, not at all. Whenever I fall asleep, the corpses start touching me and half the time I wake up in the middle of the night. Sometimes it's fine, I guess, but I don't like sleep in general. Even without the corpses and blood and nightmares and shit, every second I spend asleep is a second where I could be running. I sleep, but when I do so, I'm aware that I'm wasting time.'

O: 'I guess so? I mean, I wake up in the middle of the night a lot, but I go back to sleep. It's just bad dreams. I'm sure it'll be easier once I find a real town, with an actual bed. God, I can't remember what mattresses feel like. The ground is okay, though!'

Have you ever owned a pet?

T: 'I mean, my family always had a guard dog, but I wasn't allowed to touch it or get close to it. Honestly, I'm not sure why they had it. We lived with the church and nothing would ever really be a threat. I guess paranoia really gets to you. The closest thing I had to a real pet were the songbirds I fed when I was a little kid. Whenever I got an allowance, I'd buy birdseed and watch them eat it. For some reason, I thought I was their only source of food. If I had to choose a hypothetical pet... I'm not sure. I think a cat would be nice.'

O: 'I... nevermind. Yeah, I'm a dog person. I'll get a dog once I find the civilization.'

What do you think is your problem?

T: 'oh, lord. You want a list? I'm fucked in the head, I pretend I'm a boy, I'm on the run from a family that wants nothing from the best for me, I see walking corpses that hang from the trees, there's blood everywhere that doesn't exist, and did i mention that im absolutely fucked in the head? Something is wrong with me. Has been since birth, but... it got worse. I can't tell whether or not any of what I experience or remember is real, I'm scared of everything, and I want to fucking kill myself. I could go on.'

O: 'I don't have- I mean, I guess I could. I don't know. Maybe I'm not as kind to Tristan as I could be? He's clearly scared, and I just wish he wasn't as... bitchy as he is. He seems to think that I'm insane, but I think he's just a little paranoid. Maybe I'm optimistic, but optimism is always good!

Open tag!

[kaerimichirami]

帰り道 / kaerimichi　[PT 1]

It was raining a lot the day my parents brought me home for the first time, three days after the Friday I was born. I won't lie and say I think about it every time it rains, but occasionally, when it touches my shoulder, I remember I'm human. It slowly takes me back to many thoughts, and it eases the pain as much as it punches me again. So many things bring me to this state. A really good book. Tasty matcha latte. Air conditioning. Sometimes, a movie or a song. There's this type of melody... I, despite loving music having an extremely untrained ear, can't explain what or why, but this certain tune brings me back to myself. As if I forgot, somehow, that I exist. That I am. That I go and I come back. That I was born, and that I breathe, heavily or lightly. That I get goosebumps and that I feel the wind or the burning sun. When the raindrops touch my exposed skin or my scalp, or even when they fall directly into my glasses' lenses, and I'm suddenly unable to cross the street without wiping it off, I remember about myself. How do I even forget about it? I don't know. But I come back to my senses every two weeks or so. And I'm born again, and I'm brought home again, and I'm taking baby steps every two Mondays.

Doctors and experts will name it in various ways. And they'll shove pills down my throat. And I'll be, "Oh, I feel emptier now. Thank you, Sir." and then cry after the appointment because it is just so embarrassing that they've once again said I need to lose weight. But I could say it is so much more about others than about me. When I go back to my childhood or my teenage, and God forbid, because I'm only in my early twenties, I can point every single cause. They have many different names and appearances, different voices and talking styles, but I remember them oh-so perfectly, and I am somehow a result of their experiments. For years and even now, I've wondered if I'm, in fact, not human, but one of those bags boxers use to practice. Due to being this short, I think I'd be a punching pouch, rather than a full bag. But I'm there, hanging from the ceiling, and they go back home feeling less angry.

That anger, oh, it started growing inside of me. Sometimes it doesn't show, and I've spent so much time and money fixing it. But it comes, again, occasionally, and I'm met with myself again. In the mirror, I see someone that has been called a freak so many times. I still have this silly habit of covering both my sides with my hands, just to make my figure a little less jiggly and weird. But the stretch marks, my chest that isn't neither flat, nor perfectly positioned (it's a little down, frowning), and if I turn to my side I see my profile view, that sometimes makes me laugh. It's so... silly, I guess. My breasts fall, but my butt is up. Wearing any kind of pants, panties, shorts, and even dresses, is quite a challenge. It just doesn't stay in place. Also, it's troublesome to sit comfortably with this natural pillow. And it's not necessarily pretty, just so big that it's kind of off-putting. Not to talk about my womanhood, which I'd prefer to not have. If I could have been born without anything down there, but still being able to function normally, I guess I would be happier. And the legs I don't shave unless it's been over half a year, with knees that sometimes don't function properly and feet that are so tiny and still child-like, that weirdly, I can crack the bone of one foot, but not the other. And they hurt when I walk too much. If I go up again, my hair is so messy. It was supposed to be curly, but I did something wrong, and now it pretends to be straight like I did as a whole during my formative years. No, I guess I still am not out to many people. Haaa. I still do pretend. There are bags under my eyes that are quite pretty, actually, but just... eyes... My eyebrows are quite thick, and I don't mind it. I like flickering my eyelashes when I want to fall asleep, and, honestly, mascara makes me feel heavy. My ears, nothing to talk about them, but they hurt after wearing glasses + headphones all day. My nose is quite big, and I don't mind the size, but I feel embarrassed about the blackheads. My mouth is kinda cute, sometimes it looks like a little heart and my lips aren't extremely plump, but also not the thinnest thing. I kinda like it, but no matter what I do, lipstick never stays on. I think my lips are too moist. My teeth are quite wonky, my bite is not that perfect. I still haven't been able to have my wisdom teeth grow, and there's a lot of space between some teeth for them. I'm just waiting. My skin is rather pink than white, and honestly I feel like a little pig sometimes. Can't help but think otherwise. I mean it in a cute way, but I notice my own sadness and tone. I learned to be mean to myself in many ways. My hands are as small as my feet... the rest functions well, but it's big. Belly, forearms... just... too big. I'm not pretty, I think. Maybe my face. And maybe I'm cute, like a kid. But not an adult-like cute.

There's also the allergies. My skin can't take much, so it doesn't matter if it's pretty or not: it does not function. They say it's due to stress and, honestly? I get it. It is stressful. Still, there's something about your own body. It takes you to places. Most of the time. It breathes, it pumps blood, it eats, digests food and then expels the rest. It sleeps. And, well, as sick as my depressed, bipolar and obsessive-compulsive brain is, my creativity is there, right? Deeeeeeep there, it's a fun place. But, overall, I'd get the worst ratings. I don't stand out in a good way, and I don't have money or will to buy stylish clothes. Although I have quite some etiquette, I'm forever going to be an outsider, so the way I speak and the way I act is always going to be a downside to many.

Now, I could change. I could deprive myself of the few things that make me happy: eating and laying down. I could learn how to speak in another accent, and I could become a fascinating person. Like, it isn't impossible. I could even get my face done, and look different. No puffy, childish, rosy cheeks that hide my eyes when I smile. I could put make-up on, wear body cream, and my elbows and my feet wouldn't feel so rough to the touch. I could even smile more, be nicer or meaner, I could enjoy Christmas and I could call my grandma more. I could quit this graduation and start doing something with math or science, and I could have other political views, and I could not be who I am, entirely. And I still know, for a fact, that I would be a punching bag. A punchable face, a punchable heart, a punchable body. I'm the bearer of this. I'm a hoarder of problems that aren't even mine. But if you look at me, you'll feel this need to treat me so unwell. And as I, from an early age, felt the need to mirror others, I started doing the same. I looked at myself and I punched all I was, both figuratively and literally. And I'm brought back to that rainy day. And I'm brought back to every bullying session, and to every argument, and to every mean word, and to every objectification, and to every uneasy and unsafe moment. But, today, I want to go back home for once. To where I belong. Whatever or wherever it is. I need to take myself there. I recall a few of the houses I’ve lived in. There was this one next to my grandmother’s house, that doesn’t exist anymore. The apartment where I had my first pet (that hated me). My grandma’s house. That two-story house. The one I was friends with the landlord’s granddaughter… there were others, my mother tells me, but I don’t recall them. My whole life, I studied in three different schools. Some worse than others, but none were great experiences. And after I moved, only one University and two workplaces. I’ve been to various churches, and many other places, despite living for about 17 years of my life in a small town. Still, I never belong to any of these houses, schools, churches or communities. I’ve always been just me, with people unable to explain much about me, and the adjectives being quite lost in space. Fluttering, even. It’s not the case that I’ve found a place yet, thus I can’t tell you with a smile that “Now I belong”. Despite finally having friends, it’s nothing like a family (to which I also don’t belong to). I’m not dating nor do I have children, no pets, maybe a few collections here and there, but nothing that you can touch for too long, nothing that isn’t boring after a while, nothing to cry on, nothing to sleep with (in the most innocent way), nothing to hug, nothing to cook or shop for, nothing to care after. Nothing that needs me to live. No home to go back to, no home. Of course, houseless I’m not, thankfully, but home… maybe my room feels a little comfortable, but there’s the cleaning OCD. My skin doesn’t feel mine, my brain and my heart don’t relate to each other, my image isn’t my imagination – I am, but who am I?

I’d love to have someone to answer all of my worries. But I’ve tried therapy and as much as it doesn’t harm me, it doesn’t fulfill this need. Someone who’s going to look at me, inside and outside, and will tell what’s wrong, what’s right, what’s bad, what’s good, what and how I can change. And yet, I don’t know if I’ll accept it. Maybe it’s good that I don’t know. Well, I have my suppositions, but I don’t wish to believe them forever. Deep inside, I want to go home, to myself. I think about it quite often. When I’m shopping, when I’m eating, when I’m leisurely watching TV, when I take breaks from work. I wish I had myself more. Rely on me. Trust me. Love me. I get caught up on that. I try to think why it’s such a chore to consider myself worthy of my own affection, and yet it doesn’t make sense, whatever I come up with. Every six months I’ll have a huge breakdown and say “I’ll love myself this time!”, but in two days I’ll be mean to myself once again and care so deeply about every little mistake.

— Heeeey, Lily. — Oh, they were calling. I got a bachelor’s degree in Japanese, thinking I’d be able to become a full time translator, but I ended up becoming a full time teacher and part-time translator instead. I mean, I still have time to make my name, but the bills keep coming. The school I work at is, well, troubled. I don’t like the people that much, but I like teaching. No. I’m good at teaching. And being good makes me happy. I don’t thoroughly enjoy it. It’s my ego. I don’t belong here either, I’m not like my coworkers. But I have to be here, kind of. — Are you listening?

— Huh? Uh, yeah.

— So, answer it?

— Answer what?

— God, you never listen! — I don’t get why you need to talk during lunch break when you already talk all day. — We were sayiiiiing, do you have a boyfriend?

— Yeah. — I learned to lie. No need to come out, just lie. When I was still in Uni, it was fine to say “I’m focusing on studying”, but after I graduated I learned people started worrying too much about me not being with someone. So I just made up a boyfriend, and then I show a photo of a random J-Idol, and they buy it.

— When did you meet him?

— Uni. Well, excuse me, I’ll go brush my teeth. — I didn’t want to participate anymore. They’d ask more questions, and I was afraid I would get lost in my own thread of lies. I wanted to die, honestly, whenever anyone talked to me. Well, the students were fine, but the rest was just borderline impossible to keep up with. After doing my hygiene, I went to the room where we keep all the materials and supplies, trying to avoid the teacher’s room. One of my students, one of the older ones, came to me.

— Senseiiiii, are you free tonight?

— Hmm… I don’t have any plans in particular, but…

— Then, wanna come sing at the karaoke with us?

— Well… — Honestly, I enjoyed singing. I wasn’t skilled, but I loved music a lot. Still, going out with other people bothered the hell out of me. You have to go where everyone wants to, you can’t eat messily, I need to hear others’ bad singing, I need to be adequate and people need to enjoy it. — sorry, I just remembered Tae-Sensei wants me to work on a project for the school.

— Oh… okay, but if you change your mind, please come with us!

— Will do. Thank you, Micchan. — I appreciated it, honestly, but I didn’t want to be a part of it. It always happens that they think I’m not enough, and then I try so hard that I bore myself out, and then I hate them. It’s better if I miss out.

The rest of the day went by easily. But, I felt like going to the karaoke, so I’ll probably do it next week. Singing is good to cleanse the soul and gives you excuses to stay home the other day. I stopped by at the convenience store to buy myself a drink and an ice cream, or anything else that made me a little happy that day. I was trying to reach for a particular product, when I dropped almost half of the shelf. A girl in uniform, who was just done putting it there, started laughing at me. I thought she would get mad…? But she was making fun of me, right?

— I-I’m really sorry.

— It’s okay. Sorry for laughing, today was boring.

— Y-yeah… it was. Do you need help with it?

— Nope. That’s my work, don’t worry.

— Sorry again.

— Don’t be.

— Right, I’m sorry. — She looked at me, confused, then I was also confused. — Sorry.

— Please stop apologizing. Don’t say “sorry” for it again.

— I want to say it. And I’m… I’m sorry for not being able to stop myself. Sorry. Again. Fuck! — It made her laugh again.

— Why don’t you buy some alcohol? You sound like you need to get wasted.

— I’ve tried, but I can’t. I’m too scared of what I might become. Also, I take medicine, so I can’t drink.

— Huh? Well, okay… have a good night, then.

— You too. — I hurried to the register. That was, uh, an odd interaction. I just can’t help but be myself, right? I’m such a mess, I think. I’m skilled, and I know lots of stuff, but I can’t stop being sorry for just existing. What a life.

I arrived at my apartment and heated up my leftovers. Maybe tomorrow I could order a pizza or something, or I could try cooking a nice meal. I wasn’t always a mess. When it came to myself and only myself, I knew how to deal with stuff. But when it involved others, I was either too much or not enough. I was never just right, and I was never happy, and I never made anyone happy.

I ate, took a shower and cleaned my stuff (OCD, again) with alcohol. Well, I guess I was an alcoholic in a way. I couldn’t live without my spray bottle with that cleaning solution. Then, I sat on my bed. That summer was being rough, and I had no other option but to be in my panties and a top, with my window slightly opened. I had no fan or AC, because, well, the last one broke, and I kept forgetting to buy a new one. That didn’t matter for long, because I saw on my phone that my favorite singer had posted new content, and I wanted to check it out. After I gulped it down, I started watching older stuff of hers, and then I proceeded to ignore messages from my family.

The last time I talked to my parents… it was quite a while ago. Well, we had so many arguments, honestly. It was so abusive, with the excuses “We love you”, and “We’re trying our best”, but always threatening to me. I grew tired, and although I struggled now and then, I could feed myself and pay rent on my own. So I stopped talking to them. I had blocked them, but now they would message me through other numbers. I blocked them all, but one day, I just stopped. I let it be. It felt like I wanted them to know I saw they were reaching for me, but that I was ignoring them — the exact same thing I’ve been through during all the times they’ve failed to protect me. Was I a terrible child? Definitely. But I had my reasons.

I sighed, and sighed, partially because of how hot it was. Tomorrow was Saturday, so I could be myself and be there for myself. In a sense, I could be mine and just mine. If I wanted to go out, I could go on my own, and if I wanted to stay home, I could go to the kitchen, living room, or to the bathroom and no one else would bother me as opposed to being locked inside my room. I doom scrolled until my eyes got watery and tired, and then I knew it was time to sleep. I went to the bathroom once again, drank some water, turned off the lights, but I let the window open. “Tomorrow, I’ll buy a fan”, I thought, knowing well I’d forget about it. Then, I lied down, stretched, flickered my eyelashes, breathed in and out, counted sheep, daydreamed, and only fell asleep when I turned to my side. I don’t recall my dreams. My Friday went like that, just as the past Fridays of the last two years, and how the next two years will go. Probably. Things might get worse, but will they ever get better?

I finally bought that fan, but it didn’t come with batteries. It was already vacations, so, yes, I took some time. I went out to buy some, and I saw myself going to that same convenience store again. I met that girl again — and, well, I had before, but we never talked again — and she always seemed to laugh at me. I wondered if it was my figure? My expression? It didn’t look like she was being mean, not even careless. It looked like she was having fun. I don't know if I envy her, or if I'm mad at her, or if I'm just slightly annoyed. I feel too much, and I feel it all at once. I think she's trying to be friendly, but I can bring myself to like or understand her. She's the one who works here, and I'm a clumsy customer, and she meets many clumsy customers, and I'll eventually go to many stores. Or just a few ones, it doesn't matter. In the end, this is how it feels. It's summer vacation now, I don't have to go to work, I barely have any friends, I don't want to spend time with my family, and it doesn't matter. It mattered for a long time, but now I don't care anymore. I wonder what or who was the breaking point. Maybe it was during high school. Maybe a little later. It wasn't just all at once, but I gradually started not caring. Sometimes I'll care. And I'll be sorry, like that day. But today, I don't care anymore. If she sees me as a terrible, useless person, or if she laughs at me, it doesn't matter. It might affect my respect at work if it goes further than this. But she's just a mere worker, and I'm another mere worker, from worlds that don't mix, though, and she doesn't even know my name. She knows I dropped a half a shelf of products on the ground, and she knows I apologized over and over, but she doesn't know the things my father said to me, and she doesn't know how they used to treat me when I was eight years old. We're strangers, and she thinks alcohol could help me, she doesn't even know I can't have it. She doesn't know me, I owe nothing to her, it doesn't matter, I don't care, she could die right now, and I wouldn't cry or be worried. Right? I think so. I don't know. I don't want her to die. If she died, it would be troublesome. I don't want her to die. But I won't mourn it. I won't think about it. Maybe once. Or twice. Or three times. But never four. And never for too long. It doesn't matter, it just doesn't matter, it does not matter. I swear to God it fucking doesn't matter to me anymore.

Tumblr doesn't allow me to post the rest here, so please read the rest through this link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51663571/chapters/130600915

[whosjunglejim4322]

Bramosia | J.Seo (m)

Genre: pwp, knight!au, smut, fluff, he is, and I can't stress this enough, madly in love with you

Warnings: loss of virginity, pussy eating, mutual pining and longing, it's forbidden but who's gonna stop u??? Exactly. Inaccurate descriptions of the time period probably, inappropriate use of the word princess, he fucks you to tears, this is so self indulgent I gotta blast

The moons unearthly luminescence bleeds through the windows that sit directly above your wing of the old castles corridor, a reminder of why he bears the heavy sword that hangs off of his hip, of why he's here in the first place.

He rolls his aching neck, blinking his dry eyes a few times in an attempt to dampen them. He's usually not so worn by now.

Perhaps the two of you had gotten too carried away last night, it's too easy when you're with eachother. Effortless, like that of a flowers perianth traveling wistfully through a summers breeze. It's easy to forget.

He's here to protect you, nothing more, as he is was a proffesional in all that he does. He is a knight, after all. One of the best. Your father wouldn't have requested him from a province so far away if he weren't damn good.

Six months ago, it seems like a lifetime away and yet the memory of seeing you for the very first time is so vivid behind his eyelids, tangible as if he could reach out and hover his palms over the warmth the halo around you seemed to emit.

He smiles to himself, the image keeping him sane and distracting him from the ache in the soles of his feet. He knows you're probably not sleeping, he wishes you wouldn't worry about him. He's doing it to himself, really.

He is a warrior but he is only so strong, so resilient. He has never been stricken by such a force as to have his bones feel as weak as they do when he looks into your eyes, when you cup his face in your hands like he is the most delicate thing you have ever seen. 

Sure, he hadn't been the most nonchalant. His eyes barely left you even during the brief moments in which his life is not sworn over to do so, and you being you, caught him almost every time. You'd smile, fleeting enough for only him to notice.

You never get the credit you deserve, he had come to find out over the past several months. Being a princess, as fawned over the title may be, it wasn't meant for you.

You'd scowl at the name of every prince your father mentioned might come visit, which he'd take pride in secretly. You wouldn't even scold him whenever he'd been clearly protective in a manner than suggested that it was more than just the job that inclined him to act that way.

Perceptive, and clever you are. And to think, you might feel even a fraction of what he feels, it causes his heart to thunder loudly behind his sturdy ribcage, momentarily reducing his fatigue.

You are the only one in all of his twenty five years of life that has threatened to shake his very foundation, like you've found a way to wind yourself through every ridge of his skeleton like vines of Wisteria.

Sundays are always the hardest, you're still so fresh in his mind, on his skin. It's like every inch of him has been permanently marked, he can still feel the weight of your body against his and the warm puff of air from your lips against his earlobe as you sing his name.

His sigh is quiet in the vast, empty space around him. He shouldn't be thinking of you so late, when he's so tired. It makes him ache for you all the more, make him wish life was anything but what it is now. That he could be with you unabashedly.

That he could be your protector, and not just in a way that could be be permanently devastated if anyone were to find out about the two of you.

He doesn't realize he's closed his eyes, not until he has to peel them open and search for the source of the soft voice he's just heard whisper his name into the dark.

He furrows his brows as a stream of warm candlelight spills through the crack in your door from your room, your form coming into a few just a moment later, as if beckoned from his dreams.

"You're really going to stay out there, John?" He foresees your incredulity, smiling at the hand thats propped up on your hip.

"Those are my orders, princess." He has a hard time not staring at you, even in such poor lighting you are still the most beautiful thing he's ever witnessed.

He's always stubborn about breaking the made up rules you two have put in place, like only meeting in private on Saturdays. Despite his inability to resist you he still needs to keep you safe.

"My father is a whole wing away, don't you know," you emphasize your point by stepping out past your doorframe, tiptoeing at an almost imperceptible pace towards him. "and if danger were to arise, how much more convenient need it be, than for you to be right there with me?"

You're standing right in front of him now, weaking his resolve eith each syllable that passes those pretty lips of yours. It's strange, how he still wonders if your feelings for him are resolute as his are for you, when you're the one always asking for trouble. Eager to have your way.

When you reach out to grab his waist, he breaks.

"Princess, if someone were to see that I'm not outside of your room guarding as I'm supposed to,"

You interrupt him, pressing yourself closer until he can feel your chest against his, the barrier of his clothing suddenly a burden far heavier than before.

"Who? Who might see? Everyone is asleep, you should be."

You stare up at him and he can't seem to resist the pull, meeting your eyes and unclapsing his hands from behind his back to stroke the apple of your cheek with his knuckles.

You heel into his touch, beaming as you realise you've already gotten your way, evident in the way he sighs your name as if the word fills him with oxytocin.

"You really are trouble," he cups your face, calloused fingertips swiping a fallen lash from underneath your eye. "trying to lure me in, like a siren. I'd be willing to go, anyways."

You lift yourself to the tips of your toes, pressing a brief, featherlight, kiss to the surface of his lips. Just enough to bring forth warmth to his cheeks.

"You're silly, I'd be too selfish a siren to do any damage. I'd have to keep you all to myself."

His arms are strong and steady as the encapsulate you, the fears and worries of outside intruders fading with each second spent in eachothers presence. It's like nothing else exists.

"Please, Princess. It's hard enough already, to be away from you," he's on the verge of losing any bit of hope for his sanity, but as anticipated, you won't have it.

"And you don't think it's hard for me? You think that I enjoy knowing that it is prohibited for me to be like this with you? I am many things but I am not selfish, so if you don't want to come with me then I won't force you."

He has to bite back a laugh, or maybe a scream of frustration and agony all at the same time. Here you are, so close he's sure you can hear how his pulse pounds beneath his skin at your presence, actually accusing him of not wanting you. It's preposterous.

You glare up at him when his arms don't loosen their grasp.

"You must be mistaken, sorely mistaken. If you think that any moment spent without you is even the least bit pleasant for me, you're wrong. So wrong it's a bit humorous," he kisses your cheek, and then the other. Your skin tingles where his lips grace.

"You may not be selfish but I am. So selfish that I'd give into my own desires even if it meant that one slip up could ruin it all. Don't you see that?" You sigh blissfully, in spite of his words, when he kisses your nose.

"Well I think that's stupid, I'd never let such a thing happen. I've lived here my whole life, I'd be able to predict the likelihood of someone coming up here during such a late hour."

He doesn't miss the pitch of sadness that comes with talk of the castle, he knows that there is so much you still have yet to experience. So much you'd like to do, so far away from here.

Still, he can't deny the truth in which you speak. You're right, and he knows that you're as careful of these things as he is. He trusts you, as you trust him. And what is he going to do, say no? He'd never have the willpower.

His broad shoulders relax, his hands suddenly engulfing yours.

"Alright, you don't have to pout anymore. You know I'll end up kissing it from that pretty face of yours anyways."

You suppress a giggle of elation, squeezing your fingers around his as you turn to quietly pull him into your room, peering into the the hallway once more to make sure the coast is clear, before you ease your door shut.

And then at once, he is what you taste on your tongue.

His lips always leave you breathless. The way he kisses you, it's as of you are his only source of oxygen and his lungs burn with the need for air. He is fierce, but so very concise. You almost forget that he so ruefully pretended to put up a fight.

Your arms mold around his neck as he slouches the slightest bit in order to make the reach easier for you, knowing how you like to bury your hands in his hair and tug at the strands whenever he does something that you'd like more of.

Your eagerness is a bit more exuberant tonight, normally you'd still be a bit bashful, giggling between pecks and having to turn your face away before kissing him again.

But you haven't pulled away from him yet, not even for a breath and suddenly his skin is sweltering towards what feels like a hundred degrees. He's pretty sure you've just whispered his name.

He's already gone, helplessly lost in the way you're clinging onto him with all your strength.

"John." Just his name falling from your lips in the form of a sweet sigh has his knees buckling.

He's careful, hesitant even, when he cups the back of your knees and allows you to fall atop your bed, the sight almost too much to bear. He can never catch a break.

But he has to look at you, has to see the look in your eyes, the gleam that shines in your blown out pupils as your fingers tug at the clothing hanging loosely on his body. He fights back a groan.

Of course things have gotten intense between the two of you, but nothing more than over the clothes petting. And, even then, that drove him to the brink of insanity. He didn't think he could ever be putty in someone's hands until he met you.

It feels like everything is happening so fast yet not slow enough, it seems as if you're blooming like a lotus before his eyes and he wants to capture every little detail. Just incase one day his memories are all he has of you.

You pull him back down to your mouth, legs suddenly looping around his trim waist, knees locked on either side. You practically purr as his hands, large and tender, grace your thighs only to be met with bare skin where your nightgown has risen up.

He's breathing heavily when your mouths depart momentarily, his doe eyes an onyx pit of desire and emotion as he stares down at you, lips ruby red.

You nod, as if reading his mind and answering the dozens of unanswered questions that sit unmoving at the tip of his tongue. Still, his eyebrows are pulled together in concentration, in tentative restraint.

"You can touch me. Please, touch me."

Your skin is heavenly underneath his trembling touch, from the soft hair atop your thighs to the way you so perfectly mold around his fingers. You're a gift of the most ethereal kind, here in front of him.

You coo at him with a voice of an angel, pulling at his face in an attempt to have him kiss you again. He's been too busy ogling, and repays you with the press of his mouth against the crook of your neck.

You lift your chin to allow him more access, eyes fluttering closed and thighs tightening around his middle when you feel the warmth of his open mouth against your throat.

"You're so sweet, so pretty." He mumbles, practically floating.

He nips at your collarbone, and you can't stop your hips from bucking up against him, your clothed center meeting his hardened length through the material of his bottoms.

The air is thick with tension now, you can feel it buzzing through the both of you like ths thrum of a thunderstorm. He sucks in a breath, lips ghosting over yours.

"I want to make you feel good, If you'd allow me." He tries to control the shake in his voice but he's not sure he's succeeded. What a mess you've made of him.

You kiss him for what seems like the hundredth time but feels like the first, still sending jolts of electricity through your body and causing heat to swirl in your loins. You can barely speak.

"Y-Yes, yes I'll allow you."

Your voice is foreign to your own ears, clouded with desire and a desperation that is as overwhelming as it is strange and new.

But having him here, knowing he's the one whose hands are touching you, it's comforting in a way that leaves no room for doubt that he is nothing but kind. Nothing but adoring.

It's hard to tell with just the luminosity of a single candle on your bedside table, but you're almost certain you can feel him shuffle. At least, his weight seems to have shifted, his arms suddenly caged around your waist, upperhalf between your legs.

And then you feel it, the plushness of his lips just above your knee as he lifts your legs by your calves, placing them over his shoulders. You're not sure you can focus on anything else now, breathing suddenly heavy.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" His voice is so close, yet far away in an unfamiliar way. It has butterflies swarming your belly.

"I'm so lucky, so so lucky..." He trails off between kisses, shifting from one thigh to the other, slowly but surely making his way towards your center.

It's only now in your bird brain that you're beginning to realize what exactly he's about to do, and it's like some switch inside of you has been flicked on, toes suddenly curling in anticipation, wetness soaking into the fabric of your underwear.

The desire isn't just in your belly now, its everywhere. All consuming, when he pushes your nightgown up and bunches it around your hips, the air cool against your skin. You shiver, and his cheek brushes against the crease of your thigh.

"Have you ever been touched like this, princess?" He's curious but not pushy, just wants to know. When you shake your head, he swallows.

He's slow and steady, pulling your underwear off your hips and down your legs, allowing the garment to fall to the floor. You don't clamp your legs shut, despite the instinct to shield yourself. You've never hidden yourself from him, and you know there's no reason to.

Esepcially not when he's looking at you like he is right now, like a man starved whose just been presented with a meal of his favorite kind. He glances up at you, with eyes that shine with gratitude, and awe alike. You reach out to stroke his hair.

And then, suddenly, his face is gone from your view. You feel it, first, before you register that it's happening. A gasp leaves your lips the moment your back arches ever so slightly off of your mattress, his hands keeping your thighs apart as his tongue licks another flat stripe through your folds.

You feel exposed in a way that only feels as intoxicating as it does, because he's the one with his mouth on your cunt, suckling your bud between his lips and swiveling his head side to side. You tug at his hair.

A guttural groan resonates in his throat and the vibration serves as direct stimulation, a mewl leaving your mouth as you buck you hips up against his skilled tongue.

"Shhh baby, stay quiet for me," you furrow your eyebrows, looking down at him with stars in your eyes. "I know, I know sweetheart." He reads the pleading in your eyes, soothingly rubbing your hips as he delves back in.

It's not easy to stay quiet. Not at all.

If you'd thought him rubbing your clit through your clothes was something to be noisy over, nothing prepared you for this.

He's so good at it, so generous with every lap of his tongue. The sounds are lewd and loud in the shared space, and his tongues pace only increases when you reach down to find his hands. He intertwines your fingers before you give him the hint.

You try to keep your volume low, your whimpers almost inaudible but loud enough to spurr him on, to have his hips rutting against the bed while he kisses your cunt with passion only a lover could have.

Bliss overcomes you faster than you expect, and swallows you whole like a vicious, unmerciful hurricane.

Your thighs tremble against his strength as he keeps them parted when they threaten to close, your fingers twisted in the comforter as tears well in your eyes.

You're not sure if you're making any noise, the light too bright behind your eyes, bones suddenly weightless as his tongue licks you clean. You twitch, aware that you've let out a whine. The feeling is agonizingly pleasant.

You're still throbbing when his hands suddenly grasp your jaw, head lolling in his direction as he presses his lips to yours. He's serene, slipping his tongue into your mouth, humming.

You're certain, now. Certain that you need to have him in every way there is to have someone, for your heart may forever be unsettled if it doesn't get to taste what it's like to love him wholly, completely.

"I want to-" you've got his rapt attention, as you always do, and he stares down at you with a lovesick expression as you struggle to find the strength to say it out loud.

He's grown accustomed to reading your countenance, only time allowing him to grasp the meaning behind every crease and line that forms on your face, he's certain you could give him one look and he'd instantly know what it is that you're trying to say.

One perk to having a secret rendezvous, though he still needs to hear you say it. He'd only take your word for it regarding something like this, something that he's dreamt about more times that he'd like to admit.

He can't hide his surprise, thumbs stroking your face.

"You want me to..." he quirks an inquisitive brow, nearly becoming distracted when your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip. "you want me to be your first?"

Even the words have you latching onto him tighter, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin against yours.

"Yes, I want that very much...do you...also want that?"

He grins, widely and for a moment you forget he was born to be made of steel, that he's fought all of his life and has bruised his skin for the sake of his kingdom. You want to kiss away every bad memory in his head.

"How could you even think you have to ask? I want nothing more, just you. You're all I'll ever want."

The veracity in his voice, suddenly hoarse, makes your skin feel like it's being tickled by a million, tiny feathers. You never knew anything could feel like this.

A heartbeat later, your hands are slipping underneath his top to make an attempt at pulling it off, your excitment not a good match for your lack of coordination. Of course, he doesn't mind helping.

He slips his sword from his hip while you stare up at him with wide eyes of reverence and desire, so much of him being exposed at once causing a swelter of heat to boil underneath your skin.

Your hands are hesitant, hovering around his lithe hips as he sits back on his haunches, chest rapidly rising and falling as the atmosphere begins to soak into his pores. He can't believe he gets to make love to you.

"You can touch me, princess," he's the one reassuring you now, knowing that beyond your headstrong personality when you're with him, you're still so timid; trembling like a leaf in autumn.

His dexterous fingers gently grasp your wrists, placing your palms over his abdomen, keeping your gaze all the while, head nodding in encouragement.

He's soft, soft on the surface at least. The soft down that covers his honey colored skin is like silk underneath your fingers, a juxtaposition to the rigid muscle underneath that flexes as your fingertips move upwards towards the broad planes of his chest.

You hook your fingers around his shoulders, and pull him down to your mouth, determined as your heart bellows inside of your body.

It's wilder this time, the wet sounds loud in your ears, his tongue waltzing with yours. You rake your nails down his sides, and he damn near growls.

It's a blur, the way he slips the straps of your gown from off of your shoulders, before removing the garment completely and throwing it behind him. Somewhere in between he pulls the covers out from underneath you, sensing the chill that runs through you like a tremor from the exposure.

It's during that brief moment when you're too drunk on adrenaline, that your fingers begin pulling at the buckle of his bottoms, too eager again and not being able to unfasten it correctly. Always the gentlemen, he does it for you, again.

He's careful now, not completely planting himself against you yet when he kisses your neck and takes your breasts in his massive palms, squeezing indulgently.

You pull him up by the ridge of his jaw, wrapping your legs around his middle as you had previously, letting out a small gasp as his hard length suddenly comes to lie heavy between your legs when you beckon him closer by your heels on his back.

"You're sure you want me?" He slips his hand that's not cupping your cheek, down in between your bodies to rub your clit with his middle finger, actually expecting you to be able to speak coherently. He supresses his gasp upon feeling the abundance of your essence.

It's hard to focus, when he's looking down at you like that, when you can feel every ridge and curve of his naked body against yours. Perhaps it's being able to to tell that he's feeling the same way just by the way he speaks, that makes it so intoxicating.

"You're all I'll ever want." You echo his earlier words, and his laughter fills your ears like a lullably. You reach out to push his dark hair out from in front of his eyes, his lips catching your palm and placing a kiss to the center.

"It'll hurt, I'll go as slow as you need me to." You see the worry creased between his brow, and you soothe it away by clenching your thighs around his waist, silently beckoning him.

"Please, please fuck me."

It takes him by surprise, cock twitching against your sex. You sound so sweet, so angelic even when you're requesting something so filthy.

He lifts himself on his forearms, reaching down to grasp his shaft. Your hands are in his hair a the while, fingers tracing shapes across the nape of his neck. You suck in a breath when he rubs the tip against your clit, arousal leaking from your slit.

He rubs his cock against you like this, through your silken folds and back up to your sensitive nub, until your head is thrown back against the pillows, face turned to the side and canorous mewls slipping past your lips.

Your eyes flutter open when he kisses you, finally prodding your entrance, readying you. Your teeth gently sink into the plush surface of his bottom lip, as if urging him to continue.

Your mouth falls open when he begins to push himself inside of you. You have to brace yourself by clinging onto his biceps, reminding yourself to breathe.

If you weren't as wet for him as you are, you're sure it would be more painful. It still stings, even more so as he begins to bottom out, using every bit of self control he has as to make sure he doesn't accidentally rut into you with too much force.

He meets your eyes when he's fully sheathed inside of you, your fingernails leaving crescent moons in his skin. He doesn't mind it one bit.

"Are you alright?" The tenderness in his voice is accompanied by his lips across your cheeks, down your jaw, over your eyelids.

"Mhm. J-Just stay like this, for a second, please." Your walls flutter around him and his eyes fall heavy. He stays as still as he can for the moment, fingers massaging your soft hip.

"I never thought...never dreamed we'd get to do this." He speaks in an irrevocable way, swelling your heart over two times its size with how he talks about you. Like you're truly something magical.

You wiggle your hips, his gaze searching for yours and lighting up with newfound determination when you give him conformation to move. He slowly drags himself out, before pushing himself back in.

"If you only knew...how much I truly think of you." You speak steadily despite the wave of pleasure that ripples through your body, from the pit of your stomach outwards, touching every nerve.

He's big, bigger than you expected, but curved in a way that has you fighting a cry. Your lungs ache with the need to make noise, to express how it feels to have him inside of you like this. You squeeze around him, and he smashes his lips against yours.

You never thought it would feel like this, you'd heard mixed reviews but clearly none of them had ever experienced what it's like to have someone like him demonstrating their skill.

He's precise, a little shaky but only because he's concentrating on not literally cumming after two minutes. You're everything he's ever wanted and more, you're soaked and warm around him, chest pressed flush against his. Your hardened nipples threaten to distract him.

His hair tickles your forehead as he begins to create a steady pace. He's got one hand behind your right thigh, cupping it and hiking it up just the slightest bit while he fucks into you, curling his hips.

He swallows your moans, tasting the sense of surrealness on your tongue. He feels it too, groaning when you tug a tuft of his hair.

"You're mine, all mine, fuck." His voice is hoarse, hips stuttering as he begins to rock into you, not completely pulling himself out of you before nudging your cervix again. His mouth catches the edge of your jaw, then your earlobe.

He buries his face in your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your lips against his hair as you keep yourself quiet. He can still feel the way you're shivering, the whispers of cries that are audible when you breathe.

"I'm yours, I'm yours." You're not sure you could ever feel this way about someone else, and not just because he is all that every single one of your senses seemed to be attuned to.

He's deep inside of you, reaching places you never would be able to by yourself, and still holds you like you're the entire world. Despite the need that consumes you both, he takes his time.

You feel him everywhere. On your neck, your throat, down to your clavicle where his hot tongue soothes over the mark he's just made.

You can almost feel him in your belly, the tip of his cock nudging the sweet spot of nerves deep within you causing your body to jerk in his hold. He takes note and is determined to drive you over the edge, knowing he's not going to last much longer.

He's yearned for it too long, and nothing his mind could have conjured up would ever compare again.

He lets go of your leg only to bring his hand to where your bodies are connected as one, your face contorted into a mask of pleasure as he begins to rub at your clit, in circular motions, with the same rythym as his thrusts.

"John, ohhh, you f-feel so good." You're slurring your words, high off of his affection. Your belly feels hot, a pressure just behind your navel leaving you writhing, trying to match his pace.

"Yeah? Feels good to have me inside of you?" He's being cruel now, already knowing the answer by the way tears are swelling in your eyes for the second time tonight, irisises shining back at him.

Your hands roam his sides, settling on his hips as you turn your face to hide it against his bicep. He kisses any expanse of skin that he can reach, till the wet spots leave a trail of chills along your body.

You're close, and he knows it. You're already leaking onto the bed, dripping down his shaft.

"J-John...p-please." You're blubbering now, and his fingers circle your clit faster, just enough to have you breathless and unable to speak as his strokes become inconsistent, cock throbbing.

"Shh, I got you baby, gonna make you cum okay? Want you to let go."

Looking up into his eyes, it's hard to resist. Suddenly it's the first time you've met and you're awestruck by his beauty all over again, by the sharp planes of his face that you'd come to realize are soft underneath your touch.

You're kissing him again for the first time, and his lips are as plush and pillowy as they look, his hands big and wsrm as they hold your face steady against his mouth.

You realize you're in love with him for the first time again, staring into honey colored irises and listening to his velvet voice, aware that when he's gone it feels like a piece of you has been taken along with him.

Your body suddenly stills, save for your back arching and his body, sturdy and whole, there to anchor you while you forget you breathe. Your orgasm is all the more powerful this time, with him inside of you, and it's like once youre unraveling it doesn't stop.

He holds the back of your head and allows you to muffle your cries against his chest, fingers latching onto any part of him you reach first, as if you might fall of the face of the earth. He's still rubbing your clit, whispering sweet encouragements in your ear.

You don't pick up all of it, only vaguely aware of the tremor in his tone as he says your name.

And then he's locked against you, every muscle in his body rigid and hard as a strained, muffled whimper resonates from beside your head. He's biting into a pillow, as warmth fills you to the brim and he sloppily fucks it into you.

You're still reeling, when he kisses you like someone who hasn't seen their lover in years and is finally getting the chance to touch them again, to wordlessly express how enamored they are. Wholeheartedly, and irreversibly.

He says it first, which surprises you, considering in your dreams you're always the one professing it to him, stroking his skin or petting his hair and whispering it in between kisses.

But you're sure this is real, you can feel ache in your bones, the throb of your centers where they're still connected.

"I love you." His voice is even more beautiful when he's speaking in such a simple, yet profound way. There's a quiver, but not because he's not being honest. He'd swear on his life, for his conviction.

"I love you too." You reply, looping your fingers round the nape of his neck, toying with the soft hair there.

Maybe he shouldn't be so shocked, but he is. His face can't hide it, the quirk of his full lips, the furrow of disbelief in his brow. You want to kiss his stupid face a thousand time over.

"I love you." He repeats it, as if the words bring forth sunshine on a day shrouded by the darkness of rain clouds.

He repeats it again, when he's hovering over your lips, breath warm against your skin. He repeats it again when he's placing kisses to your forehead, when you giggle and stroke his cheek.

"And I love you, silly silly man." You remind him, willing him by the longing in your voice, to believe it as you believe him.

He repeats it again, when a tear cascades down your cheek like a diamond shaped declaration of your honesty, and he kisses it away, claiming it for himself.

You love him, and he loves you.

And maybe, no matter what happens, that'll be enough.

[cher-writes]

Playground Love | Klaus Hargreeves X Reader (16+)

A/N: I've always felt like Klaus had a lot of selfish lovers at some point in his life. People who didn't really love him but his masochistic tendencies made him go back to them time and time again. This one-shot is kinda on the perspective of such a lover. Hopefully you'll enjoy.

Word count: 1.3k

CW: Insinuation of Self-harm, Suicide attempts, Substance use and Sex.

Art work by: @meamme1 , Thank you so much for letting me use your gorgeous piece!

Follow the artist's insta here (or search @meamme1 on insta).

Special thanks to my beautiful friend @crisis-of-joy for being my benevolent editor.

~Yet my hands are shaking

I feel my body remain,

Time's no matter, I'm on fire

On the playground, love~

It was hard to love Klaus. But you didn’t really love him, did you?

Let’s not discount your efforts. You tried at first; perfunctory, desultory, trivial tries. And maybe you did love him, in some of those moments when he blew cigarette smoke into your open mouth in the early hours of a July hell, or when he ardently kissed your cold feet warm in the late hours of a November void.

How could you not have loved him when he cleaned the vomit, spit and snot off your face with his bare hands after you drank a bit too much, not being able to bear the sheer helplessness of January rain?

When you took him in your tart mouth after days of him sweating and trembling for some humanly unknowable reason, under the window sill as the April dusk soaked through the lifeless buildings, how could he not have loved you too?

Maybe that’s what love is, those fleeting, inconsequential moments. But deep down you both knew that there was no love between the two of you. Those moments only stuck like leaves on a tree baring itself for the fast approaching winter.

You knew, and you pretended he did too.

He came and went as he pleased, habitually whimsical. Always looking a bit different than the time before, or as much as you could care to remember. His face faded from your memory every time he left. You let him ‘cause there was no reason for you to keep him on a leash.

You two weren’t close like that.

He talked. He told you all kinds of things about himself, most of which you didn’t listen to and the parts that you did, you don’t remember. Maybe that’s why he talked to you so much, he sensed your absence.

Although you were merciful to him, never really telling him anything substantial about yourself. You didn’t need to, there was no reason to.

You two weren’t close like that.

But he knew you liked his warm hands on your hips under the blanket following a cup of hot chocolate.

You don’t really remember how you met him. It’s as if he existed in your life since the beginning of cruel time but that wasn’t the case. You can clearly remember a time before him but exactly when he appeared out of thin air, you didn’t bother to keep track of.

Then why was that, you wondered, as his tongue set fire to your loin on miserable festive evenings, you let him in your life?

Then why was that, you tried to remember, as his throat pulsed under your crude grip on hollow autumn daybreaks, you let him in yourself?

Then why was that, you furrowed your brows contemplating as his hot, panting body pressed you against the wall on doleful Friday nights, you let him stick around?

It wasn’t love, that much you knew. It wasn’t kindness either, there was no rationale for you to be kind to him. And you were beyond the capabilities to conjure pity. Then why?

As he licked the disgusting maple syrup from the side of your mouth on one unbearable Tuesday morning, it occurred to you; about the invisible and invincible ties of the universe which bestowed his company onto you. Some intangible force, some abstract fate, some obscure theory about the atoms made it so that he had to exist in your vicinity every now and then, and you didn’t have it in you to defy God.

You couldn’t defy God, but you did defy compassion on multiple occasions.

Some nights when he couldn’t close those green, exhausted eyes of his with all the strength in his supernatural world, or on the afternoons when he clutched those absurd dog-tags round his neck lying on the cold bathroom floor, you defied all of your theoretical humanity as you simply just looked away. You never knew why he did what he did. He told you, maybe, but you don’t know that either.

His existence didn’t make sense to you, it was as if a glitch in the logic behind the cosmic mechanics.

It wasn't about what he was, you weren’t oblivious to his paranormal origin. You wouldn’t say it was about who he was either.

In all honesty, you didn’t really know who he was...is. Everytime he came around he’d become a different “who.”

Rather it was the very normal about him that sent you thinking in circles. It was the very normal about him that you couldn’t align with logic, you couldn’t put in perspective.

And he warped your perception when he bit your earlobe. He toyed with your logic when he let your fingers dig a bit too deep in his flesh. He loved playing Guns N’ Roses when he put his head on your lap, and maybe he loved you too, it was impossible for you to know that, implausible for you to try.

Though there was one thing that you knew about him with indubitable certainty, he wasn't afraid of death. You’d even go on to say he had a rare fascination towards it, the type of fascination star-crossed lovers seem to have. You knew that ‘cause you saw it. He tried and tired and you stood, looking over, as his sole, soul-less witness.

He never succeeded and at times, it felt to you as if even God hated him. What kind of God doesn't grant His creation even the least bit of relief? So you played God, helping him crush his violet pills when he couldn't get up.

So you played God, letting him bleed on your kitchen counter as long as he cleaned up after himself and discarded the razor blades safely.

He’d sway in your balcony afterwards, dance to some music only the doomed could hear. He’d smile affectionately at you when he caught you looking at him through your half-asleep eyes.

“Mein egoistischer Liebhaber,” he whispered once in your ears while uncut blissful rapture fell upon you, while you pathetically crumbled under him. You didn’t know what he meant, whether it even was something or just his fervid groans taking the shape of foreign words for the amusement of the same God.

Yet those words, you recall their sound, clear as an azure lake, distinct as his emerald irises.

Their meaning didn’t ignite curiosity in you, you still don’t know what they mean. Just the way he said them felt familiar to you. And for that reason alone, you remembered them.

You remembered them every time he looked into your eyes with his dilated pupils after you denied him entry to your apartment in the dead of the night because someone else’s naked body laid across your battered bed.

“I'll crash on the couch, please...”

“No.”

“I won't disturb anyone, I promise!”

“I said no.”

But you let him in tonight, and he’s talking about something, lying beside you as your phone lets you know it’s 4am.

He’s talking about something incoherent again; some apocalypse, some catastrophe, all equally meaningless to you. He talks and talks and let’s you know, finally after a long painful soliloquy, that he has to go away again and maybe this time, he won’t return. You understood that part only, the rest brushes off your skin like mere carpet dust.

Does it bother you? You can’t tell. He says he wants to be loved tonight, very well then.

You give him what he wants. You kiss him on his parched mouth, you take him in like you’re parched of him. His honeydew skin dissolves on your tongue, his fingers wander on your bitter body with endless love. Love...what was that again?

You let him come inside of you. Let a part of him linger in you just for a bit. He kisses you on the temple. You could feel him quivering, holding onto you, tight enough to leave bruises.

He says he’ll miss you.

He asks you to turn around, face him while falling asleep.

And you shouldn’t cry but you are.

It is hard to love Klaus. And you don’t really love him...do you?

[annetteblog]

I got a very long ask and wrote even longer reply, and now Tumblr for some reason doesn't want to publish it through asks. So I'm making a separate post, because what else can I do? 😀 I hope Anon wouldn't mind

Hi!

Thank you for such a long ask! I really enjoy replying those, although it may take some time to actually write whatever I have on my mind 🙂 However, I feel like for every question that you posed, it's possible to write its own big reply or even an essay, so this piece of mine probably won’t give them justice (but I’ll try my best.)

As usual, one big IMO.

1) Ethics, “gueer coding” and discussions

I believe I’ve already partly touched this subject here. Shortly, I think that everything the boys did (and still do) had its own purpose. They decided to put these "undertones" (or whatever one may call them) in their art. They made some statements with a very small room for interpretation. And it didn't happen once or twice. More like, it's been a consistent behaviour throughout years.

I don't buy this excuse some fans write - "oh, he just didn't know about this/didn't understand how it looked like/didn't..." So apparently, JK wasn't able to figure out shit about Troye, didn't give a damn about his GCF, didn't think how his tattoo looked like; JM didn't realize to what conclusions could lead his quite bold words about 4am or waking up and seeing JK; both of them didn't have second thoughts about the Black Swan dance; Bang PD is just a CEO who pays zero attention to BTS in general and KM actions in particular (which sometimes actually backlash, e.g. that stop gay fanservice thing after the Seoul concerts), because he clearly just doesn't care AT ALL; whatever PR service they have in BH is just asleep all the time... Etc etc etc, you got the idea

Well, if one wants to perceive JM, JK and BigHit as a group of complete morons with no brains, this "oh, they just didn't know" explanation may work. But if all of them were idiots, how would BTS become the biggest group on a planet? They are smart enough, deal with this.

And YET. KM still do what they do. It's their choice, so apparently they have their motives. You wrote it yourself too - "Jikook and BH put out all that stuff for a reason."

Keeping this in mind, I truly think it's fair to discuss queer undertones or KM's bond. It's meant to be discussed and speculated. They made it public, and they continue to make it public (and quite obvious, to be honest). Why? Well, I guess they want us to speculate.

From here comes the second point

2) Art and its interpretations

In general, I believe that any good art should allow various interpretations. That's what a good piece of art is supposed to do - provoke a thought. As well as it's quite customary to analyze and (sometimes) overanalyze art. Thousands of universities worldwide have programs which are focused on fine art, literature, theater, music, film, etc.

And why is it okay to write about Avengers or Madonna or whatever weird art you're able to find in the closest Contemporary museum (like a banana taped to a wall), but not okay to interpret BTS' songs and/or performances? Again, I strongly believe that art is meant to be discussed. Especially as cool as theirs 🙂

Actually, some popular fandom theories turned out to be true here. Since Spring Day release on Feb 2017, fans speculated about its connection to the Sewol ferry tragedy based on the song's lyrics, MV and choreo. We got this confirmation like when, December 2020? But before it was also just an interpretation.

Coming back to KM. Combining these with the idea that JM/JK/BH clearly know what they're doing and how it may look like, I don't see a problem in having various interpretation of their art. Including queer ones.

3) Escapism

Isn't all art targeted to escaping in a sense? We want to take a break from reality and/or mundane life or just gain some new experience. In this sense what's the radical difference between staring at pictures or sculptures in a museum, watching a movie, reading a book or scrolling through Tumblr reading BTS/KM centric posts? All of these are means to escape and entertain ourselves.

As for this "if they are a queer couple, is it okay to derive pleasure and 'what a beautiful love story' feelings from two members of systematically oppressed minority?" - and you would prefer doing what - ignoring them? pretending that they don't exist? 🙃 In case if they are a queer couple, I guess showing support and benevolence is even more important. Exactly because, as you mentioned, they are a part of the oppressed minority. And the hatred is/would be definitely in place.

4) Fanfiction

Oh my, what a controversial theme these days.

Firstly, some forget it was not invented in the 21st century. Even slash fanfiction (cough Star cough Trek). As for incorporating real people, it's been a part of literature for like what.. always? There are millions of different writings about emperors, nobles, military figures, lives of saints, etc. And it's not like personal opinion of people in question bothered those, who write or wrote about them. I clearly remember a scene in Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace, where Alexander I [Russian emperor 1801-25] after losing a battle against Napoleon, hits a birch tree with his sword while crying hard and just being kinda hysterical. Would real Alexander be satisfied with such image if he read the book? Idk 😄

About having "the right to comment on such [different from your own] experience". I suppose, if authors wrote only about what they had experienced, our literature would be 95% poorer than it is. How can one write books in historic settings if they didn't live there? How do books about future and space travel exist, if we live in 2021? Is it needed to be a part of mafia to write about mafia? What about other cultures? Should an American author write only about American people and American lifestyle or it's fine to have characters from other countries?

Writing is not about experiencing something and then making a fanfic or a book, it's more about research and compassion. If you have reliable info on your theme and are able to look at the world using different lenses, why not?

I don't perceive fanfiction as a worldwide evil. Sure, there are creepy examples as well as authors, who write fetishizing weird shit. But it doesn't mean that all fanfiction=bad and all slash fanfiction=objectification of male homosexuality. Fanfiction is just one form of fiction, it can be good or bad based on how it's written. But the label itself doesn't define anything, as well as reading it should not be a reason to accusations.

5) Jikook, shipping and politics

I'm among those, who perceive pretty much everything as a part of politics. We all exist within some political conventions and have certain political laws over our heads. And yes, it includes art. Even if an artist says something like "oh, I decided to stay away from politics, my work is beyond it". The decision to stay away from politics is also political, because apparently there was something within the political structure what made this artist say that and forced them to make this distinction between them and some institutional conventions.

And that makes me believe that shipping/supporting KM is also political. But I don't think it's necessarily bad? Basically, you decided to support potentially queer people from a country, which doesn't really approve LGBTQ+. It puts you in the opposition towards a particular government. You made a choice. You could google some SK stuff, read all that you mentioned in the beginning of your ask, and say something like "oh, that's not okay there? well, fair enough, I guess their government knows better"🤠 and forget that this KM thing even exists. But apparently you didn't

Imo, is it politics? Yes

Is it bad that it's politics? Well, no? 🙃

|

P.S. I hope I was clear enough with my ideas. Thank you again for the thought provoking ask, and I hope I'll hear from you again 🙂

And honestly, I don't think that you're problematic in any way :)

[poormeowmeowcollector]

Oh My God They Were Roommates! Just Roommates

Warnings: mentions of nightmares, smoking, breakdowns and lactose intolerance.

Characters: aro!Bucky ace!Loki (also genderfuid)

Summary: After the end of the Avengers, some kept fighting and some retired. Bucky was too tired to keep going, and he wanted the normal life. But he didn't expect the God of Mischief asking for the same thing

Notes: I made the Bingo! This was so tough to write but I really love the results!

Read On AO3

The Avengers are now in the past, after the Big Battle with Thanos. Some have gone offworld, some keep fighting and some just stop and try to leave a normal life. They are too tired to keep fighting. And Bucky is one of them.

After the battle, and after Steve handed his legacy over Sam, Bucky promised himself a normal and calm life. Sam respected it and asked for no help, even if things go bad. He pays a visit once a week and stays in touch.

Bucky now works in a small coffeeshop, and rents a small apartment. It's simple and cozy, he likes it. And he likes his simple life with his friendly co-workers and nice customers and he even gets laid if he's lucky enough. He falls in love with this kind of life.

One day, on a rainy night of November, he hears a knock on the door. He doesn't bother fetching his metal hand as he crosses the room and opens it.

And he finds Loki outside, wet and shivering. He never liked rain, says that water can compromise his cold resistance.

"Come in, you must be freezing," Bucky opens the door and moves aside. Loki nods and smiles, kicking his boots out after his feet meet the carpet.

And Loki never mentions Asgard. They didn't mention it as much before Ragnarok, but now they act as if it never existed. And suddenly, they make traditional soups.

"Th-thank you…" Loki smiles.

"Don't mention it. Take that thing on, will ya? Settle near the radiator, over the couch, I'll make you something warm to drink, okay?" Bucky replies, pointing at the soaking wet coat Loki's wearing. He makes a small nod and does as he was told, watching Bucky as he fetches his hand and heads to the kitchen. He knows that he shouldn't give him tea or coffee, it's quite late and Loki's an insomniac, so he settles down with chocolate. Well, he has a big sweet tooth, why not enjoy a nice warm cup of chocolate?

He goes back to the couch, smiling just a bit when he sees Loki covered with the blanket like a burrito. Loki takes the cup, holding it to warm up his hands before he takes a long sip.

"Th-thank you, it's q-q-quite g-good," He smiles, his shivering chin making his stutter appear.

"Again, don't mention it. What brought you here?" Bucky relaxes on the other side of the couch, his eyes on Loki. Last time he remembers, Loki was fighting.

"I couldn't move past Tony… it, it went bad, even when I was fighting. All nightmares and flashbacks and I… I think it's killing me. I wanna get out of this, retire. It's just too much, I can't take it anymore," He admits, his voice trembling again but not because of the cold. Bucky reaches out to his hand, a tight grip on it with his fleshed limp. And Loki leaves a small smile.

"And, I thought if you could use a roommate…" He finishes his answer.

"To be honest, it does get a bit boring without some idiots yelling at toasters," Bucky smiles.

"Bread should not be flying!" Loki spits, and Bucky laughs at it. But Loki also lets his lips twist upwards.

"You can stay for how long you want. But we will have to get a bigger apartment, this one has only one bedroom," Bucky answers.

"Let me rest for tonight and it will have a second bedroom tomorrow," Loki eyes the former soldier. He almost forgets about his magic. "But I can settle down on the couch tonight, it's comfy," He smiles. Bucky smiles too, he really doesn't feel like abandoning the apartment, he worked so hard to make it the way it is.

And they start to catch up with each other, while they have the energy to stay up. But they both grow tired and end up muttering goodnight and going to sleep.

For Bucky, it was a normal Saturday sleep, when he knows his alarm clock won't wake him up. But Loki hadn't slept with such peacefulness since Tony died.

~~~

"WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU PUT MY HAIRBRUSH?" Bucky yells from the bathroom.

"WHY THE FUCK WOULD I TAKE YOUR HAIRBRUSH? I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW YOU BRUSH THIS SHIT UNTIL NOW!" Loki yells back from the kitchen.

"LISTEN HERE, YOU LITTLE SHIT. IF YOU EVER DISRESPECT MY HAIR LIKE THA- Nevermind, I found it," Bucky mutters the last few words. And Loki hears him perfectly. Because they are 7 feet apart. They didn't need to yell at each other.

"Good for you. Now stop blaming me whenever you lose something," Loki answers, waiting for the soldier to appear on their viewing field. And he did. But they now sigh and pay more attention to the food they're cooking.

"Alright, I'm sorry," Bucky hums, Loki making only a throaty sound as an answer. "What're you making? It smells nice," He asks, moving towards the kitchen to peek at the pot.

"It's a traditional stew on Asgard, you'll see," Loki smiles, but actually means "no peeking until I'm done".

Usually, Bucky was the one doing the cooking. Loki is a better cook, they use a lot of seasoning and know which one goes where, but they don't like it as much. In fact, Bucky can swear they only cook when stressed, as if they try to distract themselves with the smell of whatever they throw into the food.

And they basically talk through the night, with interruptions when Loki is rushing to the bathroom and returning like they had to give birth over there. At least until they both grow tired and fall asleep, right beside to each other. For the first time in days, no screaming and waking up in the middle of the night occurs.

Bucky sighs, trying to find something else to focus on. Something other than Loki's odd behaviour the last days, with the ongoing silence and numbness. Other than the sudden Æsir cooking. Other than the smoking they pretend it doesn't happen, like Bucky doesn't recognize the smell of tobacco in them. Something other than the screaming he hears in the middle of the night and knows that he can't help because Loki tends to lean towards the fight response and Bucky cannot fight back without hurting them.

And he knows where those things lead to. It's not the first time that Loki started going south after Tony. And the previous one was ugly, by all means. What if this one turns out to be ugly too?

"What are you thinking of?" Loki asks, their voice carefully soft. Bucky tries to appear calm, it's not worth worrying Loki too.

"Nothing special…" He shrugs, avoiding eye contact. But he hears Loki sighing and moving the pot before they walk on the couch and sit beside him.

"Is that why you are so worried? Come on, speak it up. Weren't you saying that we should talk about what is bothering us?" They are still soft, like Bucky's the elephant in the room. They were always like this, prefer to soothe others than speak about their issues.

"I'm just worried…" Bucky admits. This will not end pretty…

"Do you want to say what is worrying you?" Loki sits closer, big green eyes staring at him. The dark circles that start creeping around them making them brighter.

"Nah, it's not worth it…" Bucky regrets it and stares elsewhere, gazing at the asexual and aromatic flags hanging on the doors of the two bedrooms. And Loki makes a small tutting sound.

"You can just say you don't feel like talking, lies weren't needed," They argue.

"Says the god of them," Bucky thinks out loud. He shouldn't have said that.

The room gets cold, something Bucky knows is happening because Loki loses some control of their Frostbite when overwhelmed. They stand up and go back to the kitchen, speaking only to inform him that the dinner is ready with a dead voice.

Bucky follows them with hesitance, waiting for them to fill a bowl with the brownish stew before he serves himself and settles on the chair opposite to them.

The stew is nice. The taste of meat is strong and the seasoning makes it kind of sweet. Not exactly Bucky's taste, but he doesn't mind it. Loki plays with the pieces of meat inside it, his right hand holding his head.

"It's nice," He mutters, hoping he can make a small smile appear.

"It's shit," Loki argues, letting the spoon fall on the bowl as they stare at it with disgust. And then, they cover their face with their hands, their rapid breathing echoing.

"Hey, it's just some stew," Bucky tries to soothe them down but they stand up and pace to their room, the door slammed behind them. Bucky wants to follow, walk in and hug them tight and soothe them down. But it's wiser to give them some space.

He tries to finish his own meal, but his appetite is long gone. So, he empties the bowls back in the pot and washes the dishes, trying to think of what to do. He can already feel the apartment going colder and colder, and it's never a good thing.

Maybe if he finds something to cheer up Loki? They like sweets, maybe a cake. Thank God there's a candy store down the road, it will be maybe ten minutes on foot.

Loki doesn't react when Bucky opens the door and leaves, they probably don't even care. Bucky's lucky enough to find a dark chocolate cake, their favourite flavor, and it's cheap enough to buy it. And Loki is still locked in the room when he returns with the dessert.

"Hey, can you please let me in. Just wanna check on ya, you know," Bucky knocks the door. The handle twists and the door opens after a blanket of frost covers it. But, Loki's magic is like a green light that acts like smoke…

Loki is sitting on the corner of the bed, the room around them covered with a thin layer of ice. They have dropped every illusion, even the Æsir one. They do it plenty of times in an attempt to get used to it, or when they can't control the seiðr. They smile just so, fags showing, as they light out a smoke on an ashtray.

"Will you stand there?" They ask, voice dead. There are no tears in their ruby eyes, not trembling from the crying. They just look numb.

Bucky nods and sits on the other side of the bed, placing the box in front of him and a fork above it. "I thought you would like some cake…" He hums, inspecting Loki as they glance at the box.

"Thank you," They try to smile but their face disagrees. They take the box to their lap and open it, frost appearing on the paper that touches him and the fork.

"So, do you feel like speaking?" Bucky asks. They hate showing it, but they love talking and it actually helps them a lot.

"It's just some homesickness. Don't worry, it will pass…" They shrug one shoulder and take a bite of the cake. Their lips twist upwards, a good sign, and they place the box between them and Bucky, a second fork appearing in their hand.

"Oh, thank you," Bucky smiles and takes it, not minding the freezing cold of Bucky's skin. "So, it's about Asgard or the Avengers," He asks.

"Kind of both, somehow… and, it's also the nightmares, as usual. But they're manageable," They lie. After years with them, Bucky knows when they lie. And, most important, he knows when to demand the truth and when not.

"Well, if you feel like it will help, you can come over for snuggles and emotional support." He suggests. Loki smiles and nods, staying silent as they focus on the cake. Can you blame them? They haven't eaten properly for days. But Bucky does give them a look when he realises how fast they devoured the dessert.

"Wait, did you ask for lactose free?" They ask, after making the box vanish. And Bucky forgot to ask.

"Shouldn't you also ask before you eat the whole thing?" He also asks, his worry about how much Loki's small intestine shall suffer tonight growing.

"So, we are both idiots," Loki comes to a conclusion, finding Bucky agreeing.

"Basically, yes… and, I think I should suffer with you tonight, right?" He asks.

"Definitely, just lay near the wall, you don't want to be between me and the toilet," They respond, freeing the space of the bed they meant. Bucky got his metal hand out, he doesn't like sleeping with it on, and lay where he was instructed to, Loki laying beside him.