#I’m still not sure if that shit was real or just a fever dream

[swords-and-chaos]

this is really showing my age, but I was literally raised on Netflix original cartoons, since I was like seven. the adventures of Puss in Boots was my jam! Trollhunters, tales of Arcadia? That shit was great! we don’t talk about all hail king julien.

#Netflix original cartoons #The adventures of puss in boots #trollhunters #tales of arcadia #all hail king julien #No seriously tf were they even thinking with that #like the fuking mortverse?? #THE ARK WHEN THEY ARE IN AN INTERNMENT CAMP??? #I’m still not sure if that shit was real or just a fever dream

[statelysapphic]

Doctor Blake

Alex Blake x Reader

Summary: When Alex hears you've come down with the flu, she takes it upon herself to nurse you back to health. Covers the Cold & Flu Season square for @storiesofsvu's Holiday Bingo 2023!

Warnings: Mild descriptions of illness, mostly flu symptoms. Fluff.

A/N: Hi babes! I know I said I had four different holiday fics for yinz, but life has been much busier than expected. I'm hoping to finish up another soon for ya. Anyway, here's some Alex Blake fluff. Thanks for reading! <3

Ao3 Link

You felt like shit. Laid on your couch, under a mountain of blankets, yet you still felt like ice. Your muscles ached like no other, and your chest hurt from the near-constant coughing. Your throat was on fire, your head was pounding, and your mind was foggy. You really weren’t sure what time it was, or even what day it was, just that everything hurt. You knew you were dozing off now and again, but soon, you were unable to distinguish between what was real and what was a dream. (Undoubtedly caused by the fever)

Alex was immediately concerned when she heard you had come down with the flu. Doctor's offices and hospitals were inundated with patients, though she knew you wouldn’t be one of them. You were too damn stubborn to ask for help on a good day, and you definitely wouldn’t be asking for help while you were sick. She made the executive decision to take care of you, whether you liked it or not. You had given her an extra key to your place, after all. (In case of emergencies, of course.)

The older woman had spent her entire morning perfecting your favorite recipe. One she jumped through hoops to get, but she would do anything for you.

When she stepped foot into your apartment, the first thing she noticed was your soft snores from the couch. Lightly padding through the living room, Alex was met with the sight of you burrioted in at least three blankets, only your pale face showing. Cough drops, medicines, and an empty tissue box were littered across the coffee table, clear signs you were not well. Your current state only reaffirmed her decision to take care of you. She moved into the kitchen and started to unpack the dinner ingredients. 

You woke up coughing and confused but feeling slightly better than you had been. As you were trying to make sense of your current situation, you heard your refrigerator door close. You knew you should have felt some sort of panic, but you didn’t. You listened closely for another moment before hearing the kitchen sink turn on. Confused, you shuffled through your living room into the kitchen. 

~

“Alex?” You asked, rubbing your eyes, “What are you doing here?”

“It’s been a few days since anyone has heard from you and I know you don’t always take the best care of yourself, so I figured I would stop by and check in on you.” 

“You shouldn’t be here,” you croaked out, “I don’t want to get you sick. I’ll be okay, don’t worry about me. I’ll be back in the office by tomorrow, no doubt.” 

“Sweetheart,” she started, calmly, “What day of the week is it?”

“Thursday,” you said confidently, though you really didn’t know.

“It’s Saturday.”

“No way.” She laughed at your skepticism. 

“Yes, way.” You stood in place, eyes squinting, confused by the passage of time. “See, this is why you need me. Now, take this and go lay down on the couch. I’m going to get dinner started.” She handed you a glass of water and some Tylenol.

“Dinner?”

“Yes, dinner, now please go lay down.” She pressed a kiss into your burning forehead before gently pushing you towards the living room. Doing as you were told, you laid back down on the couch. 

Alex, however, got to work in your kitchen. She had spent the morning in her kitchen, following your grandmother’s pierogi recipe. She figured making the dumplings would be a messy process and she didn’t want to make a mess of yours. Alex filled a pot with water, putting it on high heat. Once at a boil, she cut the temperature back until the water gently simmered. She cooked the pierogi for a few minutes, just until they floated to the top of the pot. Melting butter in a pan, she sauteed some onion and fried the pierogi until they were golden brown. She remembered to serve them with a helping of sour cream and chopped chives.

You were stunned when she set the plate on the coffee table in front of you. You were even more stunned when she began cutting the pierogi into smaller, bite-size pieces and began to feed you. When the first bite hit your tastebuds, you could tell the dumplings were homemade, and that you’ve had them before. It was your comfort food after all.

“‘Lex?” you croaked. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” She replied. 

“Are these my babcia’s pierogi?”

“Indeed,” she answered softly, scooping another bite into your mouth.

“How did you-” you pause, losing your train of thought. 

“Get the recipe?” You nodded, “I may or may not have gone into your file looking for your emergency contact information so that I could call your parents to get it from them.” You stared at her for a few moments, a confused look on your face, so she continued. “You once said that there wasn’t anything a plate of your grandmother’s pierogi couldn’t fix. I just figured you could use a good comfort meal.” She smiled, pushing the fork towards you again. You were unsure how she could go through all of the trouble and be so blase about it.

“This is too much, Alex,” you squeaked, “You really didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

“I take care of my friends.” Again, blase, and a bit dismissive. She didn’t want it to be a big deal, because, to Alex, it wasn’t. She’d give you the moon and the stars if she could.  

“Do you do this for all of your friends?” You asked. She hesitated to answer.

“No,” she sighed.

“Can I ask why you did this for me?” Your brain told you it was probably her motherly instincts, but you wanted to know her reasoning. Alex stared at the dinner plate; You could tell she was fighting an internal battle, unsure of what she should say next. Alex met your gaze, her eyes shone with unshed tears. Concerned, you sat forward and rested a hand on hers. Her eyes darted left to right, looking into yours. Then, briefly, her gaze drops to your lips, and right back to your eyes. It clicked. 

You had assumed your chances of landing a date with Alex Blake were low, even though you two were the closest on the team. The two of you worked like a well-oiled machine, often working better together than apart. You spent so much time together in the office and in the field, that being alone was, well, lonely. More so than before you had met. Days in the office turned into evenings at one of your homes, simply enjoying each other's company. 

You noticed the signs quickly though. Whenever you laugh, you look her way, hoping to see her smile too. You sought her out in every room, and when you found her, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of her. You learned to hide it quickly though, she was a profiler, after all. And though you were too, Alex hid her feelings better. She was also in denial. She didn’t ever think someone ten years her junior would show any romantic interest in her, let alone a woman. The doubt bubbled within her, and the fortress she built around her feelings for you started to crumble. Tears she had been fighting rolled down her cheeks. “‘Lex,” you whispered, “It’s okay. I’m falling in love with you too.” You were shocked you admitted your feelings so easily, and for a moment you panicked. But Alex simply relaxed and a soft smile formed on her face, which calmed your nerves instantly. 

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Alex fed you the rest of your pierogi and finished hers as well. You knew with Alex taking care of you that you would be feeling better in no time. She stuck around until Monday morning when she insisted you take the day off to recuperate, even though you felt significantly better.

“Fine,” you sighed, defeated, “I’ll take another day, but only if you let me cook for you later this week. If we don’t have a case, that is.” You found yourself lost in her eyes for a moment, just as she stared into yours. Soft hands cupped your cheeks as she swept some hair out of your face.

“I think I would enjoy that.” Alex smiled before kissing your forehead. “Now, get some rest, will you? And drink more water.” 

“Yes, Doctor Blake,” you replied. As Alex left for work, and the door shut with a click, you whispered, “I love you.”

As Alex shut the door behind her, making sure the lock clicked into place, she whispered, “I love you.”

#alex blake x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #alex blake fanfiction #storiesofsvuholidaybingo2023 #wlwfic #wlw fanfic

[jawritter]

Something About Fate...

Chapter 3

Summary:  Y/N has been homeless and living on the streets of Dallas, Texas since the start of Covid. Until one day, a handsome, green eyes strange notices her and turns her whole world upside down.

Warning: Jensen’s friends aren’t too sure he’s done the right thing by taking Y/N in, meanwhile, Jensen seems to have some conflicting feelings of his own...

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader (eventually).

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This series is completely unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! This series will contain mature content eventually, and therefore is unsuitable for persons under 18 years of age! Anyone under the age of 18 will be blocked for my blog! Thanks so much for reading! I hope you all enjoy this series!

Main Masterlist                  Series Masterlist

Y/N’s POV: 

Jensen had absolutely refused to let Y/N take the couch that night. He insisted that the king-sized bed was more than large enough for the both of them. She was pretty sure he was far too tall to fit the couch anyway, and honestly, it looked extremely thin and uncomfortable as hotel couches tend to look. It didn’t help that it didn’t have a pull-out mattress either, which most hotel rooms with a couch did. It was very clear that when Jensen’s flight got delayed, they literally threw him in the first available room. 

Still, even though she was ‘safe’, or appeared to be safe, warm, her head on a pillow that was strangely too soft for her, and her stiff and sore body wrapped in a pile of blankets and covers while she lay on the pillowtop mattress underneath her, still did not come easy. 

Long after the ice cream had been eaten, and Jensen had fallen peacefully asleep just on the other side of the bed, she’d stayed awake, staring at the television that still played low in the corner, or the wall, or the window, or the ceiling; her mind running a thousand miles a minute. 

It didn’t feel real. Even though she’d spent the evening talking to Jensen, the pair of them telling one another about their lives so far, and even though she could feel the occasional movement of his body next to hers, she didn’t understand who this could be happening, and it was not some sort of fever dream. Surely, she must be dying, and that’s why she’s seeing this, it’s all a hallucination… But then again, if it really wasn’t real, why did it FEEL so real? Cause it sure as hell all felt very, VERY real.

She didn’t really know what time she finally fell asleep, but the first thing she heard was whispering when she started to slowly wake. At first, she thought she was dreaming it, until her sleep fogged brain started to clear slowly, and the things they were saying started to come into focus. As wrong as it was, Y/N still had a few trust issues, rightfully so, so she did what anyone in her shoes would do, and that was pretend to be asleep, and listened to the conversation that seemed to be happening in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Jensen–”

“Don’t Jensen me Jared,” Jensen whispered angrily at his friend. “I’ve made up my mind, and you’re not changing it. She’s living and working for me now, there’s no way in hell I’m sending that girl back out onto the streets!”

“I’m not saying send her back out there, but maybe take her to a homeless shelter or something, don’t just bring in some random girl off the street and hire her, move her into your home with you—dude, what if she’s some sort of addict or something! You don’t know if she’s feeding you the truth, or what she thinks you want to hear in order to keep her ass where you are buying her shit!” Jared argued. 

Y/N couldn’t even be mad about Jared’s viewpoint because that’s what any self respecting, normal person would think when it came to homeless people, and just taking strangers in off of the street. Even though she was none of those things Jared thought she was, she’d grown a little too used to the stigma apparently. She wasn’t even shocked that it was the taller man’s viewpoint, what did shock her is that it never seemed to be Jensen’s at all, and that was just odd to her. 

“I’m not taking Y/N to a shelter Jared, it’s not gonna happen,” Jensen fired back through what sounded like gritted teeth. “You can just fuck right off with that shit! She’s not some crackhead dude! She’s just someone that got dealt a bad hand, and honestly, she deserves a fucking chance! I can give her that, besides, I need the fucking help in case you haven’t noticed lately!”

“Jensen,” a female voice butted in from somewhere else in the room, Y/N assumed it was the same girl that was with the trio last night. “I agree with you, the girl definitely deserves a chance, but I wouldn’t just go and hand her my credit card information.”

Jensen let out a long, deep breath and for a moment, fear struck a chord in her that they might have convinced Jensen to turn her back out again, but it was quickly dampened down when Jensen finally broke the silence in the room. 

“I didn’t plan on just giving her my credit card information. The only thing we’ve got lined up for a few months on my end is a few cons, which are already booked and taken care of by Creation. I don’t have to do much work. It gives me time to get to know her, and also train her for what I might need her to do. I’m not an idiot.”

“I never said that you were an idiot,” she corrected him. “Like I said, I’m all behind what you are doing, I just merely said to be cautious until you get to know her as a person. You can’t trust everyone you meet; you know that. I know you will make the right decision. Right now, what you and everyone involved needs to focus on is getting the girl some clothes.”

“About that,” Jensen voiced suddenly, and Y/N’s heart rate quickened as his distinctive footsteps approached the nightstand next to his side of the bed. “I went through her clothing this morning, and these are the sizes that were on them. I assumed you might be better at this than I am, so I was going to see if I could get you to run down the street and get her some… you know… essentials that she would need, underwear, shirts, pants, pj’s, socks, shoes, cause all she has is that bag in there.”

“No problem,” she said, “I will just drop it off at the door when I get them back here, it shouldn’t take me too long. There’s no getting out of here for us for the next few days.”

“Thanks, and if you can, keep this between the three of us if that’s okay? I don’t want people swarming the room to try and get pictures of her, of a bunch of dicks on social media being dicks,” Jensen said, and Y/N heard a pair of mumbled agreements as the pair of them made their way out of the door, leaving Y/N once again alone in the room. 

She had a choice then, she could either pretend she was still asleep, or get up and face the music, because as the woman had stated, there was no leaving for the next few days, she assumed it was too cold for any planes to take off. 

Jensen’s POV:

Jensen’s gaze shifted over the pile of covers that was Y/N and sighed heavily as he let his tired body drop heavily onto the couch he’d wandered over to. 

Drained, he was so fucking drained. That conversation felt more like a marathon than it probably should have, and even though he’d just gotten out of bed, he felt completely exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept one bit. 

He prayed that Y/N hadn’t heard what Jared had said, because if she had, he was gonna kick his ass. 

It wasn’t that Jared had made some pretty valid points; Jensen could absolutely understand what his friend was saying. It wasn’t like what he was doing was conventional, he knew that. He also knew that he couldn’t trust everyone. Hell, he’d been in the industry long enough to have figured that out the hard way. 

Still, when he saw her sitting there alone, cold, and hungry, there was no doubt in his mind that she was absolutely not going back out on the streets. His heart ached in his chest just thinking about the state he found her in, and that surprised even him. He hadn’t really felt something like that in a long, long time. But this, whatever it was, was deeper than a passing connection with a stranger, or pity felt for someone in need. This was like a heavy punch to the gut, the kind that brings a man down to his knees. He’d venture to even say it was Earth shattering. 

Part of him was terrified. Well, he was terrified of a few things actually. First being why the hell did he have these… feelings… if they could be called that, towards a virtual stranger. Second, and probably one of the most important hang ups he was having at that moment, was what was going to be the reaction of the public if word got out? Surely, word was going to get out, that’s just the law of the jungle. 

His fear wasn’t that people would talk about him, people talk about him all the damn time. No, it was that people would attack her. The general public could be cruel, and he was horrified at what they might do to her or say to her. She’d been through enough, she didn’t deserve their crap too.

Then there was thing three that seemed to be bothering him, the overwhelming, somewhat unnatural need to protect her. 

Jensen was a shy person, admittedly, but he also had a bit of a take-charge, somewhat protective personality, but never like this. He was pretty sure he’d throw himself in front of a moving vehicle for this girl. That scared the absolute shit out of him. 

Jensen’s gaze drifted back to the pile of covers that Y/N was under, and he swallowed the lump that had taken up residence in his throat as he watched the covers shift a little. He knew she’d be waking up soon, so he grabbed the menu that sat on the sofa next to him that room service had left him yesterday, and started mindlessly thumbing through it, preparing to place an order so that some food would be here when she got up. 

She was so thin, she needed to eat something. She probably needed to see a doctor too, because fuck if he knew the last time she’d actually seen a doctor. That one might be harder to get across without sounding like a freak. 

God she probably thought he was some sick pervert already. God only knows what’s happened to her, what she’s been through, he really needed to be more careful around her. He didn’t want to scare her away from him. 

Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly unable to focus on the menu in his hand as a host of horrible scenarios swirled their way around in his head. So he reminded himself what he told her last night. One step at a time. Getting to know one another was step one. 

Maybe in the process, he could figure out why he was so damn attached to the girl already, and answer a few of his own questions.

Forever:

@britnwinchester

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@wittysunflower

@demongirl1996  

@as-lost-as-sams-shoe

@jensenslady79

@spnwoman

@stoneyggirl2

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

@stixnstripesworld

@fullwattpadmusictree

@nancymcl

@christycreature

@whiskey-infused-dreams

@supernatural79impala

@deandreamernp

@forgetthisbull

@miraclesoflove

@slamminmine

@deanwanddamons

@rvgrsbrns

@chevyharvelle

@i-love-superhero-movies

@lyss-dw79

@magssteenkamp

@lemondropirwin

@squirrelnotsam

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67  

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@defenderrosetyler

@thecreatiivecorner  

@vicmc624

@busy-bee-angel-misska

@justanotherwinchester

@brilovesdeanwinchester

@idksupernatural

@lyarr24

@emoryhemsworth

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel

@flamencodiva

@itmejado

@thoughts-and-funnies

@teresa-67

@hearteyes-j2

@peaches007

@bobbie3939

@vulgar-library

@writercole

@fairlyspnfanfic

@sexyvixen7

@spngi

@b3autyfuldisast3r

@donnaintx

@maliburenee

@the-family-business67

@agirlwithdemonblood

@captainsoldiergirl

@twinkleinadiamondsky

Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@deans-baby-momma  

@impalaslytherin

@perpetualabsurdity

@msmarvelouswinchester

@akshi8278

@love-jackles

@irmcpar

@pink-sparkly-witch

@deans-spinster-witchs-favorites

@herstarburststories

@mimaria420

@deanwinchesterswitch

@charred-angelwings

@pascal-rascal424

@myloversgone

@fortheloveof-jackles

@eevvvaa

@bts-spnlvr12

@jxackles

@lassie-bird

@samsgirl93

@shawnie74  

@kaz11283

@mlovesstories

@ladysparks78

@sarahgracej

SAF tag list

@itsdesiree86

@evilunicorns4minions

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld

@thefemalestorywriter

@tapedeck-hearts​

@tristanrosspada-ackles

@southerngal96

#something about fate #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen x reader #jensen x you #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen x y/n #x reader inserts #rpf #real person fiction #jawritter

[hawkeyeslaughter]

a comprehensive list of songs and lyrics that remind me of hawkeye pierce ( either about him / his perspective ) ( will be updated )

angst / sad

— johnny cash , hurt — “ what have i become / my sweetest friend / everyone i know / goes away in the end “

— jason isbell , white elephant — “ there’s one thing that’s real clear to me / no one dies with dignity / we just try to ignore the elephants of now “

— todd snider , too soon to tell — “ and dear lord if you’re up there / you sure got some nerve / seems like even the wicked / they get worse than they deserve “

— warren zevon , hasten down the wind — “ she’s so many women / he can’t find the one who was his friend / so he’s hangin’ on to half her heart / he can’t have the restless part / so he tells her to hasten down the wind “

— boy genius , afraid of heights — “ when the black water ate you up / like a sugar cube in a teacup / i got the point you were making / when i held my breath ‘ till you came up “

— surf curse , freaks — “ i am just a freak / my head is filled with parasites / i dream of you almost every night / hopefully i won’t wake up this time “

— dandelion hands , i could have sworn you were dead — “ i could have sworn you were dead / but i saw you in a dream last night / there were flowers growing out of your head / and it made me smile “

— todd snider , carla — “ leaving me was one thing carla / why’d you have to leave so slow / i didn’t mind you walking away / what hurt was how you walked so slow “

— willie nelson , angel flying too close to the ground — “ and i patched up your broken wing / and hung around awhile / trying to keep your spirits up / and your fever down “

fun

— bruce springsteen , born to run — “ together wendy we can live with the sadness / i’ll love you with all of the madness in my soul “

— todd snider , ballad of the devil’s backbone tavern — “ life’s too short to hurry / life’s too long to wait / too short not to love everybody / life’s too long to hate “

— hozier , someone new — “ i fall in love just a little oh , little bit / every day with someone new “

— mgmt , me and michael — “ in every scene , it’s me and michael / imaginary bombs raining down from the clouds / so it seems / the danger will never let the feelings die “

— billy joel , only the good die young — “ we might be laughing a bit too loud / oh , but that never hurt no one “

— alanis morissette , hand in my pocket — “ i’m sad , but i’m laughing / i’m brave , but i’m chicken shit / i’m sick , but i’m pretty , baby “

— aha , take on me — “ take on me ( take on me ) / take me on ( take on me ) / i’ll be gone / in a day or two “

— crosby , stills , & nash , love the one you’re with — “ well there’s a rose / in the fisted glove / and eagle flies / with the dove / and if you can’t be / with the one you love / honey , love the one you’re with “

love songs

— r.e.m , at my most beautiful — “ i found a way to make you / i found a way / a way to make you smile “

— john prine , iris dement , in spite of ourselves — “ in spite of ourselves / we’ll end up sitting on a rainbow / against all odds / honey , we’re the front door prize “

— arctic monkeys , baby i’m yours — “ baby i’m yours ( baby i’m yours ) / and i’ll be yours / until two and two is three “

—the cults , always forever — “ you and me / always forever “

— coldplay , sparks — “ and i know i was wrong / but i won’t let you down / oh , yeah , yeah , yeah i will / yes i will “

old songs

— etta james , one for my baby — “ i could tell you a lot / but i know you got to remain / true to your code / just make it one for my baby / and one more for the road “

— elvis presley , love me — “ treat me like a fool / treat me mean and cruel / but love me “

— frank sinatra , i get a kick out of you — “ some , they go for cocaine / i’m sure that if i took even one sniff / that would bore me terrifically , too / but i get a kick out of you “

— dooley wilson , as time goes by — “ you must remember this / a kiss is just a kiss / a sigh is just a sigh / the fundamental things apply / as time goes by “

— frank sinatra , in the wee small hours of the morning — “ when your lonely heart has learned its lesson / you’d be her’s , if only she would call / in the wee small hours in the morning / that’s the time you miss her most of all “

i have no explanation for these i honestly can just imagine him liking them . or singing them . obnoxiously .

— the gourds , fossil contender — “ well , how would you feel / if i dug up your head ? / well i wouldn’t want to be answerin’ any of your / loaded questions , no “

— counting crows , mr . jones and me — “ mr . jones wishes he was someone just a little more funky / when everybody loves you / oh son , that’s just about as funky as you can be “

— don mclean , vincent — “ and when no hope was left inside on that starry , starry night / you took your life , as lovers often do / but i could have told you , vincent / that this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you “

— warren zevon , werewolves of london — “ you hear them howlin’ around your kitchen door / better not let ‘em in / little old lady got mutilated late last night / werewolves of london again “

— queen , bohemian rhapsody — “ mama , ooh / i don’t wanna die / sometimes wish i’d never been born at all “ ( i’m sorry but you guys know he’d fucking love this song . idk what to tell you . )

— weezer , buddy holly — “ whoo - wee i look just like buddy holly / oh , oh and you’re mary tyler moore “ ( sorry . again . but we know it’s true )

unfortunately i am under the opinion that hawkeye would know all of the pitch perfect songs . there is nothing you can do to sway me from this opinion .

#ignore that there’s a disproportionate amount of folk songs on here #everything remind me of him . actually #this isn’t even close to being a complete list . lnfoab #mash #m*a*s*h #mashposting #mash 4077 #mashblr #hawkeye pierce #hawkeye

[littleperilstories]

The Prince of Thieves: Are You the Invention of a Delirious Dream?

Mood Boards | Chapter Titles | Also on A03! | Playlist | Story Intro

Warnings: mention of getting shot, severely doubting reality, angst

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Have fun being inside Will's brain! It's a super organized, lucid, and coherent place.

Word count: 3342 || Approx reading time: 14 mins

Are You the Invention of a Delirious Dream?

Teaser: I was so alone in there until Bree got tossed in the cell next door. Then she was gone. Now I’m alone again.

Will

Something—everything—about the bed, the house, the warmth, the food, and the lack of people threatening to kill me is unsettling. What’s-Her-Name—Colette’s sister, Colette’s goddamn sister in her enormous goddamn house that to me feels like it could be a royal goddamn palace—leads me around like I’m a lost puppy, and I let her. I think everything Hatchett said about me being a dumb fucking brainless fool is true because the thought of trying to make a single decision right now is too much. So I just let her make them all.

How much time passes, I’m not sure. I think I fell asleep, but I don’t know exactly when that happened. When I wake, I look down at my hands and they’re clean. There are bruises on my wrists, too visible now that they’re not half-hidden by dirt and blood. Too visible against soft sheets that are maybe the softest things I’ve ever felt in my life. Anyone will look at those bruises and know what made them.

I lift my gaze to the ceiling. I’m relieved to find that it’s just a ceiling, no ornate designs or carvings or whatever. If there were, if it was fancy enough to look like some sort of fucking palace I maybe saw in a painting once, I don’t know, I’m not even sure where these ideas are coming from, then I’d know none of this was fucking real and maybe I was still in jail or maybe I got shot and am actually bleeding out on the ground. Which would make sense, actually, because there’s no way this is Colette’s house and this is her family and there’s no way they’re helping us, that they’re actually being kind, and then Colette’s name isn’t her name, and then there’s Colette’s fucking sister, her sister who calls her Lettie and fuck, now that I’m thinking about it, there’s no way any of this can be real, because none of this makes any sense, so I must be dead or dying or maybe I’m still in the cell and this is all in my head. Maybe there was never a trade at all. Maybe that medic got sick of my shit after I shoved him one too many times, and all this is a bizarre hallucination from something he gave me so I’d stop fighting him. I’m still there, and none of this is real, and I’ll be there until I die, and I’ll never see Jamie again. Why isn’t Jamie here? Why would my dumb fucking brain give me a fever dream without my brother in it? I don’t get it, I don’t understand, I don’t—

“Hey, Will?”

I look away from the ceiling and the room comes back. Colette’s sister is in the doorway, inching closer.

“You look upset,” she says. “Are you hurting? Tell me what you need. I’ll get it for you.”

What I need? I don’t even know how to begin to answer.

“I forgot your name,” I say instead. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this is rude, but I don’t have the energy to care. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right.” She steps a little closer. “It’s Verity.”

I glance around. The room is nice but pretty empty other than a desk, an old wardrobe, and the bed. It sinks in that Geoff isn’t in here. I mean, I knew I was alone, but I didn’t really think about it until this moment. “Geoff?”

“He went out,” she says, her voice quiet. “He’s with Lettie. And my father. They went to get…” Her voice trails off.

None of that makes any sense either. The back of my neck prickles. Is this a dream?

I was so alone in there until Bree got tossed in the cell next door. Then she was gone. Now I’m alone again with nothing but a weird goddamn hallucination to keep me company.

I stare at the window and pretend I’m on the other side of it. The whole day has passed, it seems. Night is falling.

“Um. Will?”

This strange girl is still there. For some reason.

“I’m going to bring you some food, all right? I don’t think… I don’t think we’re doing a proper meal tonight. But you must eat. Is there anything you’d like? I can see if we have it or if our cook can make some.” 

If she leaves the room, she’ll disappear into the mists of this dream just like the others, just like Jamie and Bree and Colette and Geoff, there and then gone. And I’ll be completely alone again. “I’m not hungry. It’s all right.”

They say they’re sisters, but they look nothing alike. Colette is slim and tall and all sharp angles, thick dark curls that graze her back that she loves to keep free if she’s not running a job or wearing some sort of disguise. Verity is soft and tiny and round and pale, with silky yellow hair that’s pinned back away from her face. Her dress is pink and covered in roses. I’m sure it would look nice on Colette but I don’t think she’d go anywhere near it.

“Are you really sisters?” I don’t want her to disappear into the dream-graveyard. I don’t want to be alone.

She giggles. “Of course we are! Stepsisters are sisters, after all.”

Stepsisters. That makes more sense.

“Why didn’t she ever mention you?” Please tell me something real. Please be real.

Her face falls a little, but she doesn’t balk. “It’s a… Well, families aren’t always easy or peaceful, are they? Perhaps you’d better ask her.”

My heart sinks. No details, nothing specific. Not a genuine answer.

Nodding, I sigh and wonder why my dying brain has conjured her. I’ve never thought much about Colette’s life before IA. I know it used to drive Jamie mad that she didn’t talk about it, but I never really cared much. So why would I make up some random sister of hers to keep me company instead of my own family?

I must be staring at her, because there’s a bright red flush creeping up her neck into her cheeks. She takes a step back. “I think I’m going to find you some food, anyway. Are you sure there’s nothing you want?”

I shake my head. Well. Guess she wants to leave. No point in keeping her here, then. If she’s not real, she’s not real. Not much I can do about it. Can’t blame her, really. I don’t want to be stuck in my head, either.

So I let her disappear. Lie back in the pillows. 

Maybe I doze off. I try not to for as long as I can manage. It’s not like I want to wake up back in jail. But I can’t help it. Eventually sleep pulls me under again.

When I open my eyes, she’s back. And I’m still in bed. Still half under a blanket, slumped but mostly upright. That ever-present ache still throbbing away in my chest.

Maybe—maybe this might be real after all?

“Why don’t you come downstairs?” she says, holding out her hand. “There’s something you should see.”

I shake my head. I don’t want to move. What if moving is what will wake me up? What if the floor crumbles and falls away beneath my feet? If the polished wood turns to grimy stone?

“Come down.” She holds out her hand, pursing her lip stubbornly when I don’t take it. After a moment, she reaches down and presses her fingers against mine. “I promise it’s worth it. Just come with me.”

You’re bossy, you know that?

I prefer persistent.

“Let’s go,” Verity says, and gently, she tugs at my arm until I get to my feet.

“Verie! Where’d you go?” Colette is back, from the sound of it, calling to her sister quietly. “Make sure when you get him, you warn him—”

I step into the room where her voice is coming from, and what I see punches me in the fucking gut.

That goddamn medic.

The pain leaching through my body—all but forgotten. I hurl myself at him, I’ll fucking tear him apart, because what, what is he doing here—

“No.” Geoff catches me by the arm. I’d struggle to get away from him on my best day; there’s no way I’m escaping his hold now. “Wait.”

“Wait for what?” He’s here, he’s one of them and he’s here, and that means—that means that I was fucking right, that this is nothing but a dream and reality is leaking in, and I don’t want it, I don’t want it to—

“Get out,” I say to Allan Armstrong Dale. “Get out of this house. Get out of my head. Whichever one it is, I don’t know, I don’t fucking care, get out, get out—”

“Shit,” I hear Colette whisper. Geoff’s grip tightens.

“Will, listen—” Armstrong and Colette speak the same words at the same time. It’s Colette who gets an extra few out. “—we brought him with us because—” 

“No, you listen!” I’m not ready, I’m not, I was just lying upstairs and close to comfortable for the first time in weeks, I knew all of this might not be real, but now that I know it’s not, it hurts, it hurts so fucking much, and I’m not ready to face the cell again, and seeing him here means I have… How long? Before the dream cracks open and I’m back there? “What the fuck are you doing here? How did you even get here? And why? What did you do to me? What did you give me?”

His face contorts—he has the gall to look genuinely confused. “What are you—”

“I’ll kill you—”

Verity touches my arm, and I can’t stop myself from flinching away from her. She stares at me sadly for a moment, then pulls her hand away, nodding her head toward the door across the room. “Look.”

I follow her gaze even though I’m afraid of what I’ll see. If I walk through that door, will I wake up?

“Come on,” she says, and I hate her for being so fucking calm, although I guess that’s easy for her since she isn’t real. “Just look.”

She tucks her arm into mine, and the only reason I don’t shove her away is that I know even fake-hallucination-Colette will kick my ass if I hurt her fake-hallucination-sister. No matter how much I want to rip Armstrong’s limbs from his body. No matter how much he deserves it for being one of them.

“What was he talking about?” I can hear Geoff murmuring to the others. “Not making sense…”

“No idea, but..”

Their words don’t reach me when I realize what—no, who—Verity is leading me to see.

“Jamie?” I can barely get his name last my lips.

No. This—I was so sure—This can’t be—

“Lettie found him,” Verity says, beaming up at me. “That’s your brother, right?”

I stumble forward like a fucking newborn deer, unable to stand, hardly able to breathe. “Alive?”

“Yes, of course he’s—”

“Jamie!” He doesn’t respond, and as I spin wildly to look at Verity again, I see that Colette and Geoff have slipped into the room, too. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’ll be fine,” Colette says, hurrying over, grabbing my hands. “Listen, all right? Look at me. Are you lis—Will. Will.”

How am I supposed to—

She squeezes my fingers just a little tighter. “Look at me. Listen. It’s all right. He’s all right.”

“He didn’t answer me,” I say. My voice cracks.

“I know. That’s because Allan gave him something for his pain and it put him to sleep, all right? He got shot after the trade, but he’s fine. He’s going to live.”

“Allan…” Even though I know Allan is Armstrong and Armstrong is that fucking medic, it still takes me a moment to realize who she means. “Shot…”

“Say it,” Colette says. “Say it with me. He’s all right. He’s going to live.”

I’m not a child, I want to say. What comes out is, “This is real?”

Colette blinks. “What?”

“This is real? You’re real?”

“Will—of course—”

“This isn’t a dream?”

“No…”

“It’s really real?”

I’ve never seen Colette burst into tears, but she does now.

“Oh, Lettie,” Verity whispers, crossing the room to throw her arms around her sister. To me, she says gently, “It’s real. I promise.”

It’s real.

This is all real.

When I look up, Allan Armstrong Dale has come in, too, and he’s inching his way across the room. Toward Jamie. Toward me.

I feel more than hear or see Geoff shift a little closer, obviously ready to grab me again if I decide to go for Armstrong’s throat. Which I still might do.

“I understand that you don’t trust me and might never trust me,” Armstrong says, raising his hands. “I promise. I’m only here to help.”

Barely audible, Geoff says to me, “Jamie’d be dead if it weren’t for him.”

The only thing I can think of to say is, “I’m not leaving this room.”

Armstrong nods, apparently unsurprised and unbothered, and Verity and Colette pull away from each other, the former mumbling something about bringing chairs. Not that it matters to me. If I have to sit up on the floor day and night, I’ll do it. My brother is here and he’s alive.

I end up falling asleep again at some point, upright with my back pressed against the couch where they laid Jamie once they brought him in. When I wake, my neck and back in as much pain as my ribs, Armstrong tries to get me to let him look me over. I tell him if he touches me, I’ll rip his whole fucking hand off, and he doesn’t waste any time scurrying out of the room.

“Will?”

Relief so fierce it hurts rushes through me.

“You’re…alive…”

Never has such an obvious fucking statement ever made me so happy in my entire life.

Jamie grunts as he turns his head toward me. God, he’s pale.

But alive. He’s alive, too.

I don’t know how to answer his question, so I say, “Why are you lying around in bed? Get your lazy ass up and do some work like the rest of us.”

He laughs for a split second before the movement makes him groan in pain again.

“You don’t know how happy I am to see your annoying, stupid face,” I say.

“The feeling is mutual.” He doesn’t say more, but takes a few long minutes to breathe.

“Is everyone here?” He takes his gaze off the ceiling and looks at me. I wish his skin didn’t look so grey, or his voice sound so strained.

“Geoff,” I start, knowing whose name he’ll want first, “Colette, Allan, me, Colette’s sister—did you fucking know she had a sister? A whole goddamn family in a nice mansion?”

“Not till yesterday, or today, or whenever the hell it was,” he mumbles. “I can’t believe she never said anything.”

“Me neither.”

“I can hear you two jackasses in there,” Colette says, poking her head through the doorway. “Did I ever pester you about your life before? Do you want me to know everything about your damn childhood? Hmm? No? Then shut the fuck up.”

From somewhere in the other room, a timid voice says, “Lettie, your language!”

Laughing at that makes my ribs ache even more, but I don’t care, because Jamie is here next to me and Colette is in front of me getting chastised by her sister who calls her—

“Yeah, Lettie,” I say, watching a deep flush rise in her cheeks, “watch your mouth.”

“Will Wardrew, I swear to god—”

Someone, either Verity or Geoff, probably, tugs her away and out of sight.

“You’re still an asshole, then,” Jamie says, his eyes closed again. He’s sweating now. “Will, I was so…”

I do not know enough words to describe everything that rises inside me when I look at my brother who is lying immobile before me, who I thought had to be dead or a figment of my imagination, who nearly died to get me back my freedom, who never gave up on me when I was sure he had and who could’ve skipped town and never come back but chose not to.

“I’m sorry,” I say. Again—not the words I meant to say. They slip out anyway.

Jamie’s eyes fly open. “For what?”

“For getting arrested. For ruining everything.”

IA is dead now; it has to be. How can it go on? Our runners are gone. Our home is gone. Hatchett knows all our names.

Hatchett. And suddenly that’s the only thing I can think of. Where is Hatchett? Is he alive? Dead? Looking for us as we speak? What if he…

“Will, don’t you dare try to apol—”

“Hatchett.” The new thought spills out before he can finish his, burning my tongue like live flames. “Is he…”

Jamie’s protestations and reassurances—as if there’s anything he can say to convince me it isn’t my fault IA is over now—die. “Alive, last I saw.”

Fuck.

“He’s never getting close to you ever again,” Jamie says. “I let—I let him go. I had to. But.” God. He sounds so pained. “But if. If I have to. I will kill him myself.”

No. If anyone is going to kill Baden Hatchett, it’s going to be me.

“She told me.” His voice is tight. “What he did. How he tricked you—”

She.

“Fuck! Bree!”

It strikes me only right fucking now that she didn’t come back with Jamie and the medic. “Where is she?”

Jamie blinks, and something cold slithers through me. He doesn’t know, either.

“Shit,” Colette says from the other room.

Her quiet cursing is immediately followed by, “I better make some tea.” Geoff’s footsteps grow distant.

“Colette, what the hell happened to her?” I’d run out of this room if I could. If it wouldn’t hurt so bad, I’d hurl myself into the other room to see the look in Colette’s eyes and hear her tell me…

God, god, what is wrong with me? I didn’t even realize until this moment that one of us was missing.

Slowly, Colette reappears. She comes into Jamie’s room fully this time instead of hovering in the doorway, and the look on her face makes the hairs stand up on my neck. No. No, if something terrible had happened to Bree, if she was recaptured, if she was dead, they’d say, they would tell me.

“When we went to bring everyone back here, no one could find her. She was gone.” From her pocket, Colette pulls out a folded piece of paper. “I don’t know where she went. She left this. It’s for you.”

She’s gone.

“Yeah. Left that and made off with my old pocket watch and a bag of coins,” Armstrong says, invisible on the other side of the wall.

I’d be laughing about how she pulled the old IA treatment on him if Colette’s words weren’t bouncing around the inside of my skull. She’s gone. She left. She’s gone. She left.

“I’m sorry,” Colette says gently, holding out the note.

I take the paper but drop it on the floor next to me. Suddenly my chest is hurting extra bad, worse than it was a few minutes ago, and my jaw aches. Feels tight. “All right. Thanks.”

She’s gone.

What do I care if she left? I don’t. I don’t care. It’s probably fucking better this way. What would I even say to her, if I were looking at her now?

Thanks for coming back for me. Thanks for finding Jamie. Thanks for not letting me die.

I really wish we could have gotten to know each other under better circumstances.

I hope you get to see the ocean.

I wish we had…

No. There’s nothing I’d say to her, actually. It’s better she ran away without saying goodbye. I’m glad.

Both Jamie and Colette are staring at me. “Will?”

“What?”

“You all right?”

“I’m fine,” I say. I’m out of jail. Jamie’s alive. Hatchett can’t find me here. I’m fine.

Everything’s fine.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Tagging: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams, @gala1981, @kixngiggles, @whither-wander-whump 💕

#can you spot the lie? #lps the prince of thieves #whump #dungeon whump #whump writing #whump story #whump fiction #original fiction #original writing #original story #original content #whumpblr #whump community #writeblr #lps-writes #oc Bree Cooper #oc Will Wardrew #oc Baden Hatchett #oc Jamie Wardrew #oc Colette Haris #oc whump #derealization tw #tw derealization #gun mention

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

oh goodie, more teasers for Clementine Book Two

because if anyone is keeping one eye open at all times for Clementine Book Two news, it’s me... and probably only me, let’s be honest. 

We have a look at four new pages, except they’re not full pages, they’re more like chunks of pages here to show us something that makes us gasp and go, “oh no, Clementine! That’s not good!” 

Let’s talk about ‘em. It’ll be quick, there isn’t too much to talk about, but it’s worth updating y’all on. 

Wow... much exciting. I’m sure those hands are meant to be Clementine and Ricca’s, and they’re touching... anyone who has been a follower of my blog for a long time now and knows anything about TWDG knows that it’s all about the *hands*....that’s how you can tell they’re in love. 

Except they’re not really holding hands yet. I guess they’re not quite ready for love yet. I see Tillie’s really taking the slow burn route then. 

Yeah, the big “oh no” is that Clementine has a fever, and as we’ll see in the next page, it might have something to do with her leg. Remember how in Book One Rabby was lookin’ at her leg all, “Clementine, you have to wash your leg to avoid infection, infection bad, don’t get that.” 

We didn’t see Clementine do much of that in Book One... which if she was doing it, that’s something you’d think would be shown to us, no? Kind of important? 

Alright well, the cat’s still alive at least. 

Also I’m assuming this is after they got away from the weirdos who grabbed Olivia in the previous teaser pages we got. Clementine’s got a fever and they’re covered in mud, shit, and blood...not great things to have on an infected leg, y’all. 

Also, “We’ll eat fish.” .....insert AJ’s “I like fish!” line here.

Oh wait, you can’t, because AJ’s not here. Because he’s back at Ericson. Because Clementine left. I bet her leg wouldn’t be covered in mud if she had just stayed... just sayin’. 

I really like that establishing shot with the moon and the clouds... I said this previously, but I think Tillie’s found a better footing with the art in this one. She’s always been great with shots like that, even in Book One, but also the characters look a little better, too. They’re still not my favorite design and I don’t think Clementine looks like Clementine, but I see improvement. 

Anyway, what I take from this is they’re still traveling and Clementine’s not doing great. 

Yeah, that’s all I really have to say. I said there wasn’t too much to talk about as the big takeaway from this teaser is that Clementine’s feverish and her leg might be infected, which isn’t great. I’m sure she’ll put through, though... unless Tillie’s pulling a power move and killing her off in the second book only to turn the third book into....I dunno, Clementine’s adventures as a walker? She dies and it’s revealed to be one big dream and she never actually left Ericson? This Clementine turned out to be a fake and the real Clementine shows up to take her out? 

I guess we’ll have to wait to find out. 

Do y’all have thoughts? Are you excited for Clementine Book Two? I doubt you are since most aren’t, but you never know. 

Personally, I’m excited to be disappointed, but hopeful to be proven wrong. Either way, I win. 

#twdg #twdg clementine #clementine book two #lemme know your thoughts #not me checking insta this morning and skipping out of bed to make this #i don't skip i swear #it was more like a long groan and crawling out like a cryptid to scurry here #because *this* is important sksksksks

[analogwriting]

I love those “if you were a character in…” but I’m 100% I’d be dead in any of those worlds lmao

Heart pirates? I don’t know SHIT about medicine. Sure, my mom is a psychiatrist but it’s not like I’ll give Law prescriptions for anti depressants 😭

Kid pirates? They look like my friend group but Kid would kill me fr he would not allow my ass in that ship no matter how punk I look (which I don’t)…

Honestly my best bet is the strawhat pirates, I could be robin’s apprentice or something because I like archeology :D. This also reminds me of the time I dreamt about getting stuck in the one piece word but I didn’t understand what they were saying because they were speaking in japanese EXCEPT for Sanji who spoke in french too so I was able to communicate (i actually don’t know french in real life idk why in my dream I understood him)

- number 1 kese hater

you're so absolutely valid ongg i have a weird relationship with the ocean. like i love being in it and visiting it (i live in the midwest and have visited the ocean, like, three times) but it's vastness scares the everliving shit out of me. im in love with her but i fear her. being on a boat tho in the middle of it all???? i'd pass away. i get nervous just driving over large rivers on a bridge. i've been on a boat one time and a ferry, like, twice. scared every time lmfao and i can't even begin to tell you how many dreams about the ocean i have had. and not like, drowning or anything. just about how vast and unknown she is. ugh i love her

I only think i'd have a shot with the heart pirates because before i had to drop out of college, i was going to be a forensic pathologist, so i have a lot of science and medical knowledge in my cranium. but it's the submarine that draws the line for me. i would pass away. i would end up with cabin fever and claustrophobia and simply just pass away.

i am a shithead through and through and i'd be clowning on kid at all times. i'd be a nightmare for him. i don't give a shit who you are - i'm CLOWNING on you fr. like you really thought you could take on shanks? dumbass forreal. is it bc he's gotta have redhair superiority? like if you wanna join the red hair pirates just say so...jkjkjk (kid i still love you but NO ONE is safe from my dogging) i be roasting everyone left and right. so honestly, he'd probably HATE me. but i think he secretly just loves arguing.

gimme five minutes, i'll get you lookin punk in no time. im sure i got some patches around here somewhere to make you a vest and i've got PLENTY of eyeliner and hairspray just lemme know what era we going with lmao

i love robin so much. she's so beautiful and smart and i'd kill for her frfr. i think i could survive with the strawhats. they have a level of chaos im used to and luffy reminds me of my little sister.

i meeean more than 1/3 of the french language is the same in english, so understanding sanji makes a lot of sense. the language is also just pretty similar in general in terms of words. (i took it in hs bc i was convinced i was going to move to cambridge or smth with my pathology degree that i never ended up getting lmao)

or maybe sanji was talking to you through your dreams frfr. you guys LINKED IN FORREAL NOW

#ope i rambled my b #i wanna end up in maine honestly that's my goal #i was in co for a bit then i was in pa for a bit now im back in the midwest bc life hates me #but maine - IM COMIN FOR YA #am answers

[rayonfirethe2nd]

You ain’t the only one wheezing 💀. Also, NP BraH take all the time you need DUMBASS (jkjk). But fr don’t stress about it put yourself first and make sure you’re well. Thank you again my guy

-juice out 🧃

A/n: Hello! I hope I do this justice cuz this boutta get chaotic real quick!! I absolutely love these types of requests cuz I can finally unleash the inner chaos in me! Alright so imma do all characters lmao! Have fun reading, 🧃nonnie!!! Also, the format may look weird since I write on a computer, so some things may not look right on mobile, and I’m sorry for that- 💀💀💀

➽─────────────────────────────────────────❥

So, like…..besties?

Uhhhh…yeaaaaa…he kinda fell in love with you being shy and stuff cuz he was being simpy about Jennifer Lawrence (canon) and so you also complimented her quietly and so he had heart eyes

Makes sense, yea?

So like he finally confessed after his dramatic take out, and reappearance again- mofo lowkey cosplayed Houdini- 

 So like, he was feeling himself one day when you randomly told him that you wanted to drop kick the guy in front of you for walking so slow

And he just- kinda looks at you like you just spoke a different language-

He was all like, “huh?” thinking he heard you wrong

But baby you ain't no hallucination, so you repeated it, now looking at him

And he just kinda nodded his head, feeling like he is in a fever dream, cuz

That aint his baby!!! His lover is sweet and soft spoken and so shy, so like- where the hell did you come from????

Eventually as you started to act more and more like yourself around him, the more this poor dude was like “wow”.

There was one time that he had to stop you from going at it with a vendor that was talking shit about you in another language you understood, and so Itadori had to pull you away like this:

No more needed to be said, tanjiro depicts how Itadori would actually feel and look like while keeping you from annihilating the guy

However, Itadori would not change you for the world, and therefore it should be mentioned that he fell in love with you even more

Bro is the guy holding you on a leash bruv 💀💀💀

THIS:

When you first met, he thought of you being quiet and all that, and he liked it cuz he was always surrounded by chaotic idiots (*cough* satoru *cough* itadori *cough*)

He liked being around you cuz you always exuded a nice aura although he still felt off about you for some reason- 👀👀

WELP- After confessing each others feelings over lunch, cuz mofo dont go around the bush and was blunt asf-

You guys would get teased left and right by your friends and classmates

One day you got fed up with Satoru’s idiocy and blurted out that you wanted to hang him upside down and tape his mouth to look like a pinata.

Manz was SHOCKED, BAFFLED, FLABBERGASTED, but all he could do in the moment was say “same” like the dude did not expect it at ALL

Following that incident he saw you with Nobara blowing your tops off yelling about something to the guy that was looking for a model and glossed over nobara

You were all, “how dare you, you blind nin com poop!!! SHE CLEARLY DESERVES TO BE ON THE FRONT PAGE OF VOGUE! HOW DARE YOU NOT RECRUIT HER AND GO AFTER A BASIC BLOND!!!” (I think it was a blond he asked, but if he didnt, I apologize- 💀💀💀)

So like the dude took you by the arm and literally swung you over his shoulder and BOLTED away before he heard nobara’s nagging-

However, he has learned to accept that he will always be surrounded by chaos and that the off feeling he got from you was prolly cuz of this-💀💀

Now he lives with you as the natural to your chaos and will kiss away your fight off of you so that he can continue getting groceries or at least he will promise kisses once you get back home if you behave 👀👀

➽─────────────────────────────────────────❥

IM SO SORRY FOR MAKING YOU WAIT FOR SO LONG!!!!! 😭😭😭 THIS IS ONLY PART 1! SO YOU CAN REST ASSURED I WILL WRITE FOR THE THREE OTHERS! I HAVE BEEN REALLY BUSY WITH MY NEW JOB, SO I COULDNT WRITE THIS! I APOLOGIZE AGAIN!

#megumi x reader #x reader #fem reader #reqs open #gn reader #male reader #x plus size reader #x y/n #x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #itadori x reader #IM SO SORRY!!!! #I SWEAR ON MY LIFE I WILL WRITE THE OTHER THREE #ALSO #I LOVED THESE HDCS I WROTE NGL

[tutuandscoot]

What’s your take on the beginning of Stay? The part after they get up off the ice. Idk if I’m being dumb but I never got what’s really going on choreographically or what it’s supposed to represent starting at “all along it was a fever” and what Tessa is doing after, with her arms and the little jump she does before Scott skates back to her?

Hmmm…

Basic answer is I’m really not sure. I’ve watched it a few times trying to come up with an intention/meaning behind that specific bit of chore and I’m struggling to assign anything to it..

It could just be chore, I know they’ve said for some of their more nuanced competition programs there is no movement that doesn’t have meaning, but I certainly don’t think that’s the case with all their programs.

As for the song lyrics… I kind of relate the ‘all along there was a fever’ with like having a fever dream.. like something thats not real because you’re sick or not feeling your best so your brain tricks you into thinking something is actually happening/ tricks you into feeling things that aren’t completely accurate.

They said when asked about this program:

“It’s a story about two emotionally vulnerable and disturbed people who love each other but can’t get it to work, the underlying theme is longing to be together”, “our story relates directly to the lyrics, it’s more about the meaning than just skating”. x

So..

TAKE WITH THAT WHAT YOU WILL BC DAMN THATS PRETTY FKN BRUTALLY HONEST TO JUST COME OUT AND CASUALLY SAY..

My feeling with Stay is it’s very much an encapsulation of where they were at in their lives and journey together. Heading into what they thought was their last competitive season, tension in their coaching situation, wanting so desperately to win again and feeling they had a responsibly to, then mixed in with all that these two very sensitive humans with an enormous affection for each other and looking to the near future as for what will come of them- not just as an athletic partnership but as people.

I think you all know where I stand and I don’t take ‘being in love but missing each other and our story relating to that’ as necessary a romantic thing- but who knows, more than anything THAT IS NO ONES BUSINESS TO CRITICISE THEM OVER AND BLAME THEM FOR YOUR OWN NARROW MINDEDNESS, If anything it leads me to have enormous empathy for them and the position they YES, CHOSE to be in, but its clearly an incredibly complicated bond and relationship none the less. It could maybe be referring to them not gelling/being as close and on the same page, completely on an every fibre of their beings level that they wanted to be at that time and craved for so long to have that last, missing each other in that sense that they weren’t giving all of themselves to each other at the same time. I just feel so much for them in that respect and I’m not gonna let this get into a conversation over a romantic-type relationship bc… I’m just not, but jeez if after everything they had been through, all that time spent together, knowing each other better than anyone ever would, and still couldn’t feel… romantic feelings than that’s just some super complicated biology/psychology shit.

That said, AGAIN- whatever it was in Stay that they were specifically playing off, I love to think about them connecting to portraying romantic stories bc it is a kind of alternate universe for them.. and in dancing and skating to music they connect with they feel what they need (possibly want) to feel.. I really have no idea bc they are so freaking convincing and the most honest.. actors/dancers I have ever connected to, I believe their artistic selves whole heartedly but I also wholeheartedly believe them as people and the outpouring of love, care and respect they will always share no matter, or the lack of status bc it’s no one’s business.

There is so much more, not just in relation to this program but all of it, the whole 26 years and counting that we will never know because it was their own special story and world they created and they did share some of that with use through their dancing.. they are story tellers.

All this to say, I don’t have a specific interpretation for that moment..

#oops.. that got all sappy again didn’t it 🤦‍♀️ #apologies anon this took a while #ask #ex: stay

[lordeemailarchive]

HOW’S IT GOING TO END?

(16/07/2022) (Solar Institute Bulletin No. 17) (From New York City)

(Probably written on July 15th 2022, by date written on it)

Still from The Truman Show; still from being still

FORTY. TWO. SHOWS. Shows played in beautiful theatres with gold filigree and red seats, in modernist amphitheatres looking out at the lit ends of your cigarettes, in fortresses on clifftops and thousand-year-old castles and sweaty clubs that smell like old beer. Shows played with 39 degree fever, with nausea that required a quick banana being eaten, with a salty body from the pre-soundcheck swim, with a sore knee from the Prada loafers I refuse to stop jumping in, with mood swings and shyness but never, ever stage fright. And four shows played as a blonde. It’s taken me a week to sit down and write to you as I pull the last bits from the suitcase, only just processing what a magical few months this was. It was by far one of the best seasons of my life! I cannot thank you enough for making these shows what they were. The way you jumped in the air as a group, every single show, even when you had seats hitting the backs of your knees. The bright colours you wore, the glittery eye makeup, so much care and thought going into your outfits. The way you looked out for the people around you in some of the sweatiest rooms I’ve ever been in - Paris, Birmingham - and sung EVERY FUCKING word and blew my whole crew away with the depth and force of your love. I just wanna do it again. So happy there’s still more to come.

We finished the tour in Stockholm at a festival. It was the perfect last show of tour, we all had that school’s out feel, loose and relaxed, but excited to do it well one last time. We went on at 8:30pm, the sun was glowing gold. For that hour, I watched the dream solar power scene like my own personal movie, bodies swaying, flocks of birds in V formation, dusk on the trees, a hot air balloon floating on the horizon… and this happened, for sure a first at a show of mine, just all so fun and beautiful and shit my kids will be sick of hearing about when I’m old. 

Now I’m back in the city, panic buying shorts, seeing an SP hat in the Japanese grocer, cooking for myself again. Can’t stop working……. why stop when it feels like play??? Went to a Mets game, had a blast, thought about the human desire for ritual/ceremony/theatre, and how religion or the monarchy scratch this itch at various times in history, and how elaborately ritualistic and beautiful sports like baseball also hold it down. Went to Carbone for the first time in years last night and had the same feeling, beyond how delicious the food is the real thing that enchants people is the service, how it’s theatre, how in these grim times we all just love a little magic trick. Doing heavier deadlifts. Haven’t discussed getting stronger, I’ve always seen the gym as this thing I just haul myself through in order to do my job, but have recently realised I actually love it in a kooky way. I feel specifically like a human being (and not a computer/animal/supernatural entity commonly found in folklore) picking heavy things up and putting them down, I really think building muscle is one of the best things you can do for your body image and sense of physical accomplishment. Reading Vivian Gornick’s The Odd Woman and the City and Anne Boyer’s Garments Against Women, both of which my mum brought me mid-tour, could she have better taste in books no she could not, thanks mum. Trying to find a secondhand copy of Four Screenplays of Ingmar Bergman, also Manet and his Critics. Obsessed with music again and listening to it all the time, not telling you what though, hihi huhu.

Taken by one of you, apologies for no credit, love it

Growing out my unibrow as an entry point for playing with conventions of beauty/gender/form. I was at the Walter Sickert show, in the room which is just his paintings of nude women. The shock my brain got seeing these not particularly idealised versions of the female form shocked ME. I realised my brain is getting programmed to want what the algorithms want when it comes to female physical form, just by sheer exposure to these systems and the current beauty standards. The algorithm doesn’t want to see certain things, and therefore I’ve stopped looking for them, if that makes sense. It sounds soooo obvious, but I realised, like, fuck if I’m not careful I’m just gonna end up striving for conventional (albeit alternative/chic) hotness until I die. And wouldn’t that be…. kind of a waste??? To have this incredible canvas or raw tool that can be manipulated to such great effect, and to only use it to try to… titillate and appeal? In the same way I eat bitter greens or dank fermented foods, going to make an effort to incorporate different flavours when it comes to form. Incorporate the grotesque, the masc, the statuesque, the jacked, the magnificent. Call it “refusing to believe that’s all there is to a fire". Okay, some life dispatches in photo form.

Hot girl munchies… greenmarket is going crazy rn… kuku with kewpie one of the crazier but sicker things to emerge from this brain.

The acne is active but the fits are cute

God tier snack… that’s all I’ll say….

Glasto by Lauren

Some snaps from Oslo/Stockholm… god damn it was beautiful

Turtle pond in Central Park

Everyone who was at Ally Pally, I wanna say thank you — you guys raised over $33k USD for the Brigid Alliance, thank you so much for that, I’m really grateful. I felt really supported at that show too, I was feeling really emotional about Roe v Wade, felt special being able to kick and rage and sweat it out with you.

Last thing: Really enjoyed this profile of Yuval Sharon, who makes me want to get into opera. “I wanted it to feel like Japanese calligraphy, where you can’t remove your brush from the page,” he said in a talk before the show. “That’s what I’d like this production to feel like: one brush stroke, quick. Like being young.” I’ll drink to that. Love you. Stay cool. E

(source: received this email)

[vonlipvig]

Weird shit from Not For Broadcast - The Lockdown, and how long it took me to realize none of this was real

The fact that there’s no day number AND that nobody bothered to pick Alex up from their workstation where they got electrocuted last time: That’s just how capitalism is.

“Make sure to blast the demon hellspawn toys off from the TV tower with the dedicated demon hellspawn toy blaster 9000 button”: Too busy blushing because Jenny is talking to ME. If she says it then it must be true. On it boss.

“Electric Fever Dream” in the up next screen: You’re insane if you think I can spare any attention to read those while getting ready for the broadcast.

Rich people being filled up with helium and floating away or sOMETHING idk: I just picked the funny headline picture and immediately stopped listening, sorry.

The world outside the window turning into cartoonland: Clearly this is just a game mechanic to let you know you don’t have to zap the demon hellspawn toys outside anymore. I am very smart.

The psychic lady accurately reading Jeremy’s future: WHY WAS THIS THE ONLY THING THAT WAS KINDA ACTUALLY REAL WTF.

“I’m Megan Roof”: You can literally just say whatever cause I’m clearly not paying attention.

Ą̸̊̈́̐P̵̤͂P̷̯̙͛E̶͙̐̄̃A̵͙̝̘̓̕S̵̺͖̊Ḭ̸̙͈̑͠N̸͎̍G̷͈͎͌̒ ̵̥̃͊̊T̷̞͋H̵̦̹̀E̶̤̻̋̐ ̶̘͓͚͋̈́͝Ą̷̙̯̽͆N̶̺͖̠̓́C̴̝̀͑̒Ì̴̪̫̂̏E̶̢̢̛͌̔N̴̯̆̓T̸̨̒͊ ̴̛ͅO̷̮̺̔̽͝Ṉ̷̏ͅÉ̷̛͐͜: Weird, but I broke down by lockdown day number 3 so who am I to judge.

Jeremy’s sandwich oddysey: Yeah this is just lockdown, I did this too.

Bannon being attacked by said demon hellspawn toys: This is so fucking funny and also normal.

Jeremy changing ties in every scene: I literally would not notice anything less than him dyeing his hair bright red so yeah.

Jeremy’s subtitles changing everytime he’s addressed by a different name: This is the demon hellspawn toys’ fault, which has been already established as normal. Or I’m having a stroke.

“My name is Jeffrey Donnington”: Ok yeah I may be having a stroke. Still normal.

Everyone knowing the lyrics and choreo for the Mr. Bear song: That’s just how musicals are.

Everyone in the Mr. Bear song passing fruits to each other? They’re in different places? HOW ARE THEY DOING THIS?: I JUST NOTICED THIS WHAT THE HELL.

Megan, in a fancy sequin dress AND turning the screen into black and white, singing a scathing song about Alex’s personal life directly at you, Alex: nOW HOLD ON A MINUTE SOMETHING’S OFF

Bonus:

“Tune in tomorrow when Jeremy will wrestle an alpaca, and I will be naked”: Alex, put your fingers in the electrical outlet NOW I can’t miss that.

Aggresively Scottish (?) Megan: PLEASE I LOVE HER SO MUCH.

Very blatant occupational hazards ad complete with shock board offer: OK I GET IT. I’M STUPID. 

#not for broadcast #sorry im STILL thinking about the lockdown it was so fucking funny #there are probably more that i forgot and or didn't catch cause i literally just caught the fruit thing lmao

[just-horrible-things]

‘Verse: Resistance Story: Unlikely Salvation, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Arc 2, Alex and Ari are getting used to living together

Ariadne Burns Herself, pt3 [ First | Pt1 | Prev | Next ]

The whip waits for Alex in his dreams. Waking gasping and terrified is an almost nightly occurrence. Usually the warmth and softness of a real bed is enough to be sure he’s out, he’s not shivering on cold tile or concrete waiting for the whip to come down again.

This time he wakes feeling trapped. Drenched in sweat and suffocating, a weight on his chest too heavy to fill his lungs, unable to kick the covers off because he is pinned.

For a few seconds he doesn’t understand at all. He is paralysed, struggling to breathe, unable to decipher where he could possibly be.

Then memory returns and he recognises the weight draped over him as interrogator - no, Ariadne – and he remembers falling asleep like this, and he understands. Panic edges back a few inches. But he is no less trapped.

He’s too warm and he can’t breathe and he knows she isn’t going to hurt him like this but he still needs to get away from her, he needs space and he can’t have it. Every breath is effortful and the air he does get is stiflingly warm.

The street lights outside cast stripes through the blinds, yellow against the ceiling. Alex tries to focus on that and not on panicking.

Very gingerly he gets his elbows under him and tries to shift. Her grip on his hips tightens, her face presses against his stomach.

Alex can’t breathe.

His chest hurts from trying, his heart is pounding faster and faster with every passing second. He’s too warm but he’s trapped and he can’t get enough air and he can’t move and he can’t breathe.

He can’t tell how long he’s stuck there, hyperventilating.

Eventually she stirs. She lifts her head, and he can barely make out her features in the dark but he sees her eyes go wide –

– and suddenly she’s moving, scrambling to get up, a hand pushing down too hard on Alex’s leg but it doesn’t matter because she’s pushing away from him. “Oh shit,” she is saying, “I’m so sorry–”

And then her weight is off Alex and he can breathe. He gasps in deep lungfuls of air, nearly sobbing, a trembling mess in the middle of a tangle of sheets, as Ariadne backpedals and practically tumbles off the edge of the bed.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats, still backing away, sounding as breathless as Alex, “I didn’t… I didn’t mean…”

The snap of the whip is still vivid from Alex’s dream. The way she stood over him, looking down at him. But so is the fever heat of her skin, tear-filled eyes looking up at him, a whimper on her lips.

Don’t hurt me, he wants to say. Please don’t hurt me. 

They’re still the first words in his head, even though she is sorry, even though her back is pressed to the wall as if she is the one in danger.

Don’t hurt me?

Shouldn’t he know by now that she won’t? She’s told him so many times. What if he annoys her by keeping on asking? What if that’s the final straw that gets him hurt?

Carefully he sits up. In the darkened room she looks scared and overwhelmed and not dangerous at all. “A-are… are you okay?” he asks. She doesn’t answer at once. Alex can’t see if she’s crying now but he remembers her tears so clearly. “I’m fine.” Her voice wobbles.

She is the heartless interrogator who broke him. She is the guilty, frightened woman who cried into his leg. She hurt him. She hurt herself. 

She can’t be both.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats weakly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… shouldn’t…” In the empty space between apologies, Alex makes a decision. “You can come back if you want.” “... I can?” A little hopeful, a little concerned. “Yeah.”

It’s only about a pace from the wall to the bed, but she manages to start and stop twice on the way, as hesitant as Alex. Away from the wall she’s swaying on her feet.

“Are you… just saying that?” she asks tremulously. “I… I don’t want… I only wanna if you…” Her words trail off into the strained silence of the sleepless room. She is tired and confused and unhappy, just like Alex. “Come here,” he says, and she does.

She climbs onto the bed next to him, legs almost brushing his, and folds her knees up to her chest in the dark. Alex reaches out nervously, and she leans forwards to let him check her temperature. Too warm, still, but much better. He doesn’t have to be scared for her any more.

He pats the sheets closer to him, and she obeys. There’s a stop-start frightened-animal nervousness to her every movement, but she lets Alex lean her against his shoulder and put an arm around her back.

If he’s holding her like this, if she’s letting him hold her, she cannot be about to hit him. The two realities cannot coexist.

She’s shaking, just like Alex. “I don’t want revenge on you, Ariadne,” he tells her softly. “I know,” she murmurs. “I’m never going to want that.” “I know, I’m sorry. I … didn’t mean it to be your problem. It was stupid.” There’s so much venom in her voice when she talks about herself like that. Alex squeezes her shoulders a little tighter.

She’ll let him hold as tight as he wants. She’d let him do… all kinds of things, Alex is sure. She’s not dangerous, like this.

“I also... don’t want to be alone,” he says. “I’m sorry,” she starts again. “You deserve better–” “Ariadne.” He cuts her off, and for a second his heart stops at the boldness of it, but she falls silent obligingly. “I left the Resistance because… because the idea that some people deserve to be in pain is why the whole world’s in pain.” She nods, slow and uncertain, against his shoulder. “If you think I deserve better,” his hold on her tightens again, “then be better. From today on. Because you’re what I have. I forgive you. Please forgive yourself.”

Maybe she’s too feverish to really understand what Alex is saying. Maybe that’s why he’s able to say it.

Her shoulders shake, but she turns towards him for comfort, not away. 

Gingerly at first, Alex runs his fingers through her hair. There’s an undeniable thrill to being able to do it and know that she won’t lash out. When she stays relaxed, he gains confidence. His fingertips comb across her scalp and sense that her headache is back, so he uses a little magic to soothe it away like he did before. She sighs softly in relief, and Alex smiles.

[Next]

#my writing #unlikely salvation #verse: resistance #ariadne milonas #alex morgen

[commaclear]

Dream au time but we’re uhh,, flippin the switch,,, giving comma what he wants

Also this is based on the dream au big where Wilbur was sick

Cw //sick?? Illness??

—

Quackity punched his heater, trying to get the damn thing to start working again. $60 a month for what? The damn thing never fucking works. He tightened the grip on his blanket and went back onto his bed. He wiped the snot running down his nose onto his thin blanket that was barely holding on. He remembers using this when Karl and sapnap did their backyard picnics, the dirt stain was still on the corner. Quackity winced at the memory, he tugged his blanket and tried to feel any ounce of warmth under it. It’s probably colder in his apartment than it is outside.

Quackity felt his stomach growl loudly.

Shit

When was the last time he had food? He ate some chips earlier that morning?

… shit that was yesterday

Quackity shivered as he grabbed his phone out from under his pillow. He opened his savings account on his phone as sighed, tears at the brink of his eyes. He was so hungry but he can only afford anything after his next PI job. Quackity grabbed one of his pillows and hugged it tightly before falling in a deep sleep.

—

Quackity yawned as he awoke.

“Good morning,” Wilbur smiled, “how are you feeling?”

Quackity groaned as Wilbur brought a hand to his forehead, “you still got a bad fever darling.”

Quackity melted At the touch, it felt so warm. Wilbur chuckled and got up slowly.

Before quackity could start complaining Wilbur brought a tray and sat back down, “here, made it before you woke up”

Quackity looked at the bowl of soup, it smelled so good. God he wasn’t seriously dreaming of food was he?

“Sit up, I don’t want you to choke.” Wilbur spoke softly

Quackity chuckled and faced away from Wilbur, “I know you’re not real okay? You don’t have to do this whole… thing every time”

Wilbur laughed, “you’re foods getting cold q”

“Don’t call me that.” Quackity muttered

“Cmon,” Wilbur nudged quackity playfully, “you need food in your system you can’t just sleep”

Quackity peaked over his shoulder at the bowl of tomato soup still in Wilbur’s hands, “fine.” He sat up, “only because I’m starving”

Quackity sipped the soup slowly, clenching his spoon in response. He couldn’t believe how warm it felt running down his throat. He was just about to cry.

“Are you okay darling?” Wilbur asked gently

“Yeah- yeah I’m fine.” Quackity sniffled

“Here finish up I can go grab another blanket”

“Alright”

Wilbur came back with a thick quilt and took the empty bowl away from quackity. He got in their bed and pulled quackity towards him.

Quackity felt too sleepy to fight back, simply melting into the embrace and tightening his hold around Wilbur. He slowly closed his eyes again.

-

Quackity groaned, he was suddenly cold again and felt a headache come in. He grabbed his phone and couldn’t read anyones contact, they were so blurry. He clicked the contact he was looking for and rubbed his nose

“Hey hon…” quackity felt sleep drag his eyes again, “you mind bringing more…more of that soup” he sneezed

“Maybe another blanket…” he spoke gently , “it’s a bit chilly here” quackity thinks he hears something over the phone but blacks out before he can make it out.

-

“Hey” quackity awoke to a nudge on his shoulder, “get up.”

Quackity attempted to shoo their hand off and tucked himself further in his blanket.

“I have soup. It’s heating up right now but it’s almost done”

Quackity looked over and sat up slightly

“Here… I’ll be right back” quackity felt his head burst with every step that echoed in his apartment. He soon smelled tomato soup come his way, getting handed a bowl with a spoon.

“I brought some blankets too I just want to make sure you can actually eat before I go to the car” quackity slowly nodded and took a spoon of soup to his mouth. It felt warm and well seasoned, made him feel so much better.

The door shut as he continued through the bowl sleepily. Once he was done he heard the door open again.

“It’s just me.” Quackity put the empty bowl on the floor next to his bed before it was picked up.

“I’ll put this in the sink, lay down” quackity hummed and did as told. He felt a thick blanket wash over him.

“I left some more soup in the fridge, there’s some more blanket in the closet if you need them”

Quackity felt a light kiss on his head before he fell asleep, feeling much better than before.

———

“Yeah I just left”

“Was he okay?”

“Yeah he just got a fever, his apartment was insanely cold makes sense”

“Is his heater broken?”

“Not sure, his stove took forever to heat up so I’m guessing it’s just his apartment”

“Oh”

“He was pretty out of it…fell asleep right after he finished the soup”

“…”

“You there?”

“Yeah… are you on your way home?”

“Yeah, be there in 10”

“I’ll see you then, I love you”

“I love you too”

Sapnap hung up and sighed, resting his head on the steering wheel before driving back home.

// end

Okay how was that?

*rubbing my hands together like a scheming vizier and cackling quietly to myself*

*slowly adds this ask to my scrapbook of ideas for btp 3 and feeds you a graham cracker*

#I LOVE it #I'm taking it #I'm using it #it's mine now #anons my beloved #bone to pick #btp dream au

[garoumylove]

Golden Hour Part 9

Domestic fluff ♥️GarouxReader♥️. Taking care of sick Garou in this part... You can also read it on AO3 here :)

I will myself to wake up. I gather all the fucking mental capacity and energy I have left and will myself to wake up. To push through this half-asleep, half-conscious blackness that I keep drifting in an out of for fuck knows how long.

Somewhere, as if distant and far away, I can feel her pressed against me. I need to wake the fuck up. I need to get closer. I need to feel her closer.

I also feel something soft and purring, like a little motor, next to my head.

Wake the fuck up.

I remember feeling so fuckin’ hot. So unbearably fucking hot.

I’m still feeling way off but at least it’s not a fucking hell sauna anymore.

Wake up, goddamnit.

How many hours has it been?

I feel I’m getting a little closer, can feel more of her weight on me, her head on my chest. I don’t feel her move. I think she’s asleep. Did we sleep together all night like this? Words I never thought would drift through my mind…

I need to open my fuckin’ eyes and see it for myself because right now I don’t believe it. Maybe I’m still fucked up and delirious and this is just some fever dream. In which case, let’s not wake up yet. Let it burn if this is what my mind gives me in dire circumstances. Maybe I should get sick more often if this is how it is.

I feel her stir a bit, get more comfortable on my chest.

No. I think this is real.

Fuck.

Wake up, son of a bitch.

Finally, my mind seems to come back into focus. Suddenly, I can feel everything in real time, the warmth of her body against me, her light, slow breathing as she sleeps, the cat curled up next to my head, this sweat-stained t-shirt. I hear a car drive by outside. The late morning light cutting through the window.

The fever seems to have passed but I feel so fuckin’ worn out even though I’ve done nothing but lie here all night next to her. Everything feels so fuckin’ heavy. I lie completely still. I want to put my arm around this woman lying half on top of me. This woman who stayed all night looking after an insolent asshole like me.

I remember that last thing, when she said ‘I’m here’ before I passed out again.

And she’s still here. I’m surprised she hasn’t had enough of my shit and just up and left. Sometimes, when I come in through her back door, always open for me at any hour, I get this thought. This thought that I’m gonna come in to find this house empty. That one day, I’ll open that door and she won’t be here. But it hasn’t happened yet.

I open that door and she’s always here. Either cooking, or watching tv or reading or if I’m very lucky, I find her on the couch very much waiting for me wearing nothin’ but her heels, very impatiently waiting for me and that is always a fun time. Always. No matter how damn tired or sleep deprived I am, I make sure I show my fucking appreciation.

And she’s here now, letting me rest, sleep against her, never leaving my side.

And I remember thinking ‘Fuck’ as I heard those almost silent tears. I’ve really goddamn fucked up now. So waking up to this feels like a fucking miracle.

I open my eyes. I can’t see her face like this but the sight of her body next to mine is more than enough proof. Her arm wrapped around my chest is more than enough.

She’s wearing this big, thick jumper but suddenly I realise she’s been here like this on top of the covers all night. The heating is on but my arm reflexively goes around her. Fuck. How cold was it last night? I press my arm tighter around her, hoping she didn’t freeze.

The cat notices I’m awake and uncurls, stands up, her purring growing louder and more excited as she starts to knead the pillow next to my head with her paws, pokes at my forehead with her tiny nose.

I give her a warning look, ordering her to stay quiet but she doesn’t give two shits, as usual, starts walking around the bed, all over me.

And of course the commotion wakes her up. Goddamn cat. I was good like this. So fuckin’ good.

I feel her move softly against me, her head turns a bit and for a moment there I feel like she presses herself closer into me. I can feel her hand curl around my t-shirt, as if she needs me here, and it seems like she’s going back to sleep before suddenly lifting herself up, looking beautifully sleepy and dazed and surprised.

That’s it, I think. Heaven is fuckin’ over. Hello real world. I’m about to get my ass handed to me.

She blinks a few times, adjusting to the light, looking around. And then her eyes settle on mine. Here it comes.

“You’re awake,” she whispers with the most relieved biggest smile I have seen. This was not what I was expecting. “How do you feel?” she asks, but before I can answer she starts fussing over me, the questions one after the other.

“Do you want me to get you anything?”

No. Just stay here.

“How do you feel?”

Like shit, but I’ll survive.

“Did you sleep ok?”

Better than ever.

“I wasn’t bothering you?”

You could never bother me. Get back here. Get under the covers this time so I can keep you warm.

“Do you still feel hot?”

She puts her hand to my forehead softly but feels that’s not enough and suddenly I feel her lips light against my skin instead, her hand on my cheek.

“You’re still pretty warm,” she says, quickly pulling away, kneeling next to me.

I have no idea what the fuck she just said.

What the fuck just happened?

I know it means nothing. But she can’t keep doing this. She can’t be giving me these moments of her. Because moments are not enough anymore. Barely fucking enough. Barely fucking enough to stay sane.

“I’m going to make you something easy to eat,” she informs me with the most gorgeous smile, running her hand through my hair casually, just like I pet Delilah. “I’ll be back soon.”

“No, you don’t-” I start, try to sit up but she’s way faster than me in this fuckin’ sorry state.

“Can’t hear you,” she says all sing-song and bounces out the door and I can hear her hurrying downstairs and out of the house. Of course. There ain’t nothing that good to eat here.

I sit there, my body adjusting to being upright. Fuck, this is shit.

I sit there and I try to piece all these moments together. That first one, her naked in the lamp light, in the dark blue night, my head in her lap, her hands bandaging me, her fingers raking affectionately through my hair and so many others. I add the warm feel of her lips on my forehead.

It’s like this fuckin’ puzzle. I feel I have all the pieces but they won’t fit together. Won’t turn into something whole, something that makes fucking sense even though I feel like they should. This frustration is startin’ to drive me fucking mad. What the fuck more do I need?

I feel like a starving man invited to a fuckin’ banquet but all I can do is stare. Like if I reach out and take something it will all disappear in a goddamn wisp of smoke.

All that fuckin’ power and all that fuckin’ pride I’ve been collecting. They can’t help me here.

I find myself laughing quietly at the bitter fucking irony.

The cat looks at me, probably wondering if that fever didn’t do a number on my brain.

And I start to wonder too.

I notice I’m gripping the edge of the covers, my fingers aching. No real, no satisfying outlet for my frustrations or desires.

Anyway, she went back home. I doubt she’ll be rushing back here and I need a fucking shower, I think, suddenly feeling less than comfortable in this shirt.

I let the covers go and get up and it takes me a few moments to walk straight but I make it to the bathroom.

And I know that look now. I know what it meant. Know now that I wasn’t the only one fuckin’ drowning when we were together. Though I was probably more honest about it with myself than she was, as surprising as that is. I started drowning a lot earlier than her. And then it seems she jumped in after me and then we were both in trouble. I remember her wearing that look still the first time it happened, the first time when she was finally in my bed, and not because I was fucking sick or needed nursing. That first time, that I still have a hard time believing really happened, I remember the first taste of her mouth, the feel of her hands, her hot skin, the scent of her, warm and intimate. That first time that felt like an eternity in the making. The feverish relief of finally having her… I could forget anything in life, but I ain’t going to forget that until the day I die.

Under this shirt things are looking better. I stare at myself in the mirror, turning but not too much because it still fucking hurts. I’m still black and blue but it’s a much lighter shade. I’ve still got a pretty evident purple stain across one cheekbone but even that is going down nicely and will probably be almost invisible by tomorrow morning.

At least that’s something, I think as I get in the shower.

As I stand under the hot water, I feel somewhat more alert and awake, though still like I’m one step behind reality.

I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated a fucking shower so much in my life. And that’s really saying something.

How long do I stand there, spaced the fuck out? Fifteen minutes? Twenty?

Eventually I hear the cat meowing and realise she’s probably getting mighty hungry too.

“Yeah, coming, coming,” I call to her as I turn the water off and shake the water off my hair.

I go to put some clean clothes on but realise I ain’t brought any with me in my fucking stupor and her meowing is just getting louder.

Ah, fuck it. I just wrap the towel around my waist and head out.

She purrs happily as I come out of the bathroom and leads me down the stairs. Fuck, I want a Coke so bad, I think as I follow her, suddenly feeling the thirst in my throat.

I give her her food and she goes at it, completely forgets I exist. That’s the thanks I get, eh? I shake my head as I stare out the kitchen window, savouring the familiar carbonated taste as I look out over this small jungle. Once upon a time, someone kept this little backyard all neat and presentable. Not me. I got better fuckin’ things to do. But it might be nice if-

I hear the rustling sound of a plastic bag and footsteps approaching. Fuck, that was fast! And before I can do anything she’s right there and we’re almost face to face as she comes into the kitchen and catches me wearing almost fuck all, Coke in hand, Delilah still happily face deep in her bowl.

She stops in her tracks and stares at me, mostly in surprise, plastic bag with that familiar box in hand. I stare back.

And suddenly she has this look I’ve never seen before. It’s not surprise. The surprise is there but almost like a mask, superficial. And under that she’s got this look…this colour blooming across her cheeks I’ve never seen before. She looks at me like she wants to say something, do something, something that... Almost like she’s asking a question that I can’t quite understand. And that colour keeps blossoming across her face. Just like her in that window that night, being seen like this doesn’t bother me in the least. We’re all just fucking mammals aren’t we. But this mysterious look she’s got, this gaze, makes me feel particularly animal and I don’t understand why. Without a single touch, I start to feel that tension inside, that tension that will not let me rest, takes over and drives me crazy until it gets some sort of release. This moment, her…She’s like fucking electricity.

And then suddenly her expression changes to one of brief self-consciousness and then to annoyance and her eyes grow wider.

“What are you doing going around half-naked and drinking that cold thing?!” She lets me have it. “Do you want to get even more sick?!”

If it means you’ll get into bed with me then yes. I want to say that but I manage to keep my mouth shut.

“Get upstairs right now and put some clothes on!” she commands dangerously.

“Or else what?” I grin. I can’t help it. Fucking Christ, I can’t help it. Any opportunity I am given to be insolent, I will take it. And I want to tease her. I can’t fuckin’ help it either.

She just narrows her eyes at me. And I fuckin’ love it.

“Are you gonna spank me?” I say, putting the Coke down at least.

“Now,” she says her voice full of feminine authority, ignoring my remark but I see that colour in her cheeks again, as she points towards the stairs and I gotta fuckin’ obey. But that grin ain’t going anywhere. “And put a damn sweatshirt on too,” she adds as I walk past her, using all my control to not stop, to not grab her arms, pull her in, press her against me, slide my hands under her own sweatshirt…To get that release. Hers and mine. And for a moment, no, a fraction of a moment, I feel like she wants me to do just that. But this fever must've messed with my fucking mind. I'm deluding myself. There ain't no way. But this feeling as I pass by her, bodies almost touching...No. I just keep walking, like the proud motherfucker I am. I can be that on the outside at least, even if on the inside I feel I’m losing my fucking mind, trying to figure out how to make it all fit together.

“What am I going to do with you…” she sighs, just under her breath as I get further away.

What indeed darlin’, what indeed?

I ask myself the same question as I throw on the first clean sweatshirt I see.

She’s made me omelet rice and it tastes so fucking good, I think as I sit at the table and we have breakfast, Delilah weaving back and forth between our legs underneath.

“You’re going right back to bed when you’re done,” she says as she finishes her own food.

“Eh?” I frown. “Then why’d I have to get all dressed up?”

“You’re still sick,” she rolls her eyes but I can still see the concern behind her mild frustration. “You may think you’re superhuman, but you’re not, I hate to break it to you.”

“I’d say I’m pretty close,” I say, never backing down from an argument.

“Ah, the blind confidence of youth,” she says, jokingly condescending. “I love how you think you’re invincible.”

“Guilty as charged,” I say. Ain’t I proven I pretty much am?

“I love your unfailing self-assuredness but one day something is going to shatter your illusion,” she says, taking the last bite of her food. “And when it does, I don’t want it to destroy you.”

She looks up at me and there’s this quiet, sobering seriousness in her words.

The higher they climb, the harder they fall, that little voice echoes in my mind. That little voice again that seems to be becoming my constant companion.

“As if anything could destroy me,” I say, less than humbly, breaking the tension.

“Of course,” she finally sighs in agreement as she watches me finish off the breakfast she’s made. “Now get back to bed.”

I stay exactly where I am.

“And what the fuck am I supposed to do there?” I ask. I fucking hate lying around doing nothing. Usually, I feel this constant movement, this constant need for action and sittin’ still is a fucking chore.

“What do you mean? There’s lots of things you can do in bed!” She says.

Oh…don’t I know it. But I don’t reckon she’s talking about any of the sweet things that I’ve got on my mind.

“You can read, you can watch something, you can play games, talk to friends…” she lists off things that I’m sure other people enjoy doing. I just look at her, feel my eyebrow rising. That doesn’t sound appealing in the slightest.

“Does it look like I got any of those things?”

“Just get back into bed!” she says finally. “I’ll go grab you some books and whatever.”

No, that’s not what I meant. Fuck.

She sees the look I’m giving her.

“Now!” There’s that authority again and fuck, fine, I put the plate in the sink and make my way upstairs again.

I lie in bed, on top of the covers, not bothering to get undressed, the cat by my side and I hear the front door open again and her light footsteps up the stairs, and right to my bedroom.

“I thought I told you to get back to bed!” she says, exasperated.

“I am in bed!” I say, sitting up.

“I meant like under the-” her shoulders drop suddenly. “Fine, forget it. Good enough,” she says and puts a new bag on my table.

“Look, I got you something to read,” she says, pulling out book after book, showing the covers to me briefly before piling them up on the table.

I know she’s got that big bookshelf in her spare room but I’ve never looked at it up close. Not that interested to be honest. Not that I hate reading, it just seems somewhat pointless to me.

“I grabbed a couple of classics,” she says, holding them up for me for a second, “and here are some more recent ones. Here’s a non-fiction one. Thought you’d probably like that,” she flashes the book at me, “and…here’s a romance. I think you’ll love this one,” she gives me that cheeky grin, this book with a flowery hazy cover in hand. The kind where the people probably keep getting together and breaking up and then finally get together and cry about it or some shit.

“You know me so well,” I say, looking back up at her.

“I do my best,” she says

You do, darlin’, you really do. And so this is why I still can’t fucking understand why all these goddamn pieces won’t fit together and we are what we are, in some sort of fucking limbo, where I have you but only like this. Where I have you but I don’t.

“Also, here are some magazines,” she says, pulling out a small stack of backdated issues of those magazines you find at the checkout, with the fucked up celebrity photos and headlines about who’s fucking whom and whatever.

“You really do know me,” I say, winking at her.

“No!” she says, realising the vapidity of the cover of the magazine she’s holding. “For the crosswords! They let me take these home from work from reception when they get old enough. I like doing the crosswords!” she explains.

Oh. Never thought of that. Never really done any or been interested in that.

“Or are you a sudoku guy?” she says, flipping through the trash and getting to the back pages with the astrology and the recipes and the crosswords.

Well, I’ve always found numbers easier to deal with. But I can’t say I’ve done any sudoku either.

“Eh,” I shrug.

“You’re impossible,” she says. And haven’t I heard that before. But when she says it, with this teasing tenderness, I don’t even mind. “Well why don’t we do a crossword together, then? Because seriously, it looks like you’re bored out of your skull. Though you might still be bored out of your skull even with the crossword…”

I wasn’t counting on that. I thought she’d just leave all these things here and leave, that she’d have more important things to deal with on her weekend than me. But now I’m getting all her time and attention. And everything makes even less sense.

“Only one way to find out,” I say as that pleasant fucked up pain in my chest shows up again as she climbs onto my bed with me, sitting against the side wall, her legs over mine as I sit against the other wall.

“I don’t know why,” she says as she gets more comfortable, pen in hand, “but I’ve always liked puzzles.”

Sure. Puzzles are fun. When you can figure them out, I think as I watch her as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and folds the magazine over to have a better surface to write on.

I feel her legs on top of mine and suddenly remember that moment from this morning, when she was half awake, grabbing onto me, nuzzling in closer. I close my eyes, reliving that particular moment.

“Are you tired?” her voice brings me back. “Do you want to lie down? Should I move?”

I open my eyes again and look at her. This is a puzzle I’ll never fucking solve and the frustration it causes me…I fucking swear.

“No,” I say, giving her a nod to continue.

And even though she said let’s do it together, she doesn’t need my help at all. She reads out the clues and then fills them in straight away.

“First name of the last tsar,” she says, her eyes scanning the black and white grid. “Nicholas.”

“Zodiac sign represented by a ram. Aries.”

“Flightless bird endemic to New Zealand. Kiwi!”

And she really does look like she’s enjoying herself and despite this unidentifiable pain, despite my tiredness, despite this frustration coursing through my veins, when I see her innocent enjoyment it’s somehow all ok. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve enjoyed anything like that in a long time. Besides that ice cream that idiotic evening.

“What the fuck is the point of being a bird if you ain’t even goin’ to fly?” I say as she fills in the four letter word.

“I guess there’s no need if there are no predators,” she says, looking up at me, as if coming out of a trance. “I guess that’s why it’s an endangered species these days with all those introduced animals.”

Fucking evolution. Really fucked over that kiwi, eh? It’s all well and good to be weak when no one’s bothering you, when there are no threats but what are you going to do when everyone starts ganging up on you? When you’re suddenly the target? Are you supposed to just put your hands up and say I surrender? Wave that whtie fuckin’ flag and let them fucking kick you to the ground? No. That ain’t what you do. You get-

“What’s wrong?” I hear her voice.

“What?” I’m confused.

“You’re scowling like,” she says, imitating my anger-ridden face before cracking up and I can’t hold on to the rage either when she laughs like that.

“Nothing,” I say and try to change the topic. “How the fuck do you know all these things?”

“Oh…I am just older and wiser than you,” she says in this mystic voice before giggling and turning back to the magazine. “No. I kid. I just read a lot and know a lot of useless facts.”

Older and wiser. Yeah. That sounds about right.

“Score before volleyball team wins the set,” she reads out and I can see this puzzled, slightly annoyed look on her face now. “The sports ones always get me,” she says, the tip of the pen against her lip as she thinks.

I remember her lips on my skin again. None of this makes any fucking sense.

“Match point,” I say without much reflection.

She writes it in.

“Oh!” she says in delight. “Correct! How did you know?” She asks, turning back to me.

I think for a moment.

“P.E.,” I say.

I remember we used to play it every once in a while, before I got kicked out. And I particularly remember because I was fuckin’ good at it, like I was at everything in PE, and that last game we played… I was fucking carrying that whole game. As usual. We were at match point and I fuckin’ scored. I aimed it right at the inside of the line. I knew it would hit just inside the line, just out of the blockers’ reach. I fuckin’ saw it on the inside and they called foul, out of bounds and it didn’t fuckin’ count and the point went to other side. I remember arguin’, this blind anger taking over, and then being kicked off the court. Fucking memories. Happy days.. It was inside the line. It was just too hard, too fast for them to see. But I saw it. We were at match point. And I got told to calm the hell down and got thrown off the court.

Their fuckin’ loss I guess.

I said goodbye to that place forever soon after.

“I can’t say I ever liked PE much,” she says, her attention on me now, the magazine down in her lap. “I bet that was your favourite subject, huh?” she says.

“Nah,” I say. I mean, I liked it but it wasn’t my favourite. It was a good way to get moving, to let some steam off. More like a period to relax.

“What was your favourite?” She asks. “And don’t say lunch. Because that’s what you said last time. And I’m asking seriously now.”

“So it’s like that, eh?” I tease. “Asking seriously are you?”

She gives my leg a little shove with her foot, as if to say ‘Oh, come on!’

I fold my arms across my chest, think about it for a bit.

“Physics,” I say finally.

“Why physics?” she asks, all her attention still on me.

“Don’t know,” I shrug. “The experiments were fun.”

That ain’t a lie. I remember always likin’ the practical stuff in science. And then when we got to launch that rocket…that was just the icing on the fucking cake. I always preferred numbers to words and calc wasn’t bad either. But maths was more abstract. The numbers were just kind of there, these nebulous equations that just generated more numbers. In physics there was something practical, tangible. Forces, actions, reactions, gravity, energy. And the laws were always the same. Gravity was always gravity. There was no escaping it. Not like all those fucking words that were so abstract, meanings subtle and changing, depending on how they were said, who said them... With physics you felt like you were on solid ground and once you understood the principles, they would always be there.

“Yeah, science was pretty fun,” she agrees. “Even though it’s like a century since I’ve been to high school,” she laughs and goes back to the crossword.

Is that it? That’s it, isn’t it? The missing piece of the puzzle. It’s our age. She always exaggerates hers. Plays it off like it’s this terrible thing but I ain’t ever seen it as such. She tells me the most interesting things, and I always end up learnin’ something new whether I want to or not. And she seems to see right through my bullshit. When I’m with her, I feel somehow grounded and can forget the fuckin’ violent mess in my head for a while. She has this talent for taking me for a total joke when my head gets too fuckin’ big and listening to me with complete seriousness at other times, preventing me from fuckin’ exploding and destroying my life once and for all.

At the time, I resented hearin’ that. No one fucking cared about me. It took me an age to even accept that she did. Anyone trying to get close, to find things out were just bound to use it against me later on. That had been my experience. And I didn’t need anyone caring for me in the first fuckin’ place. I didn’t ‘rise through the ranks’, put myself through all that just to rely on others. I had learned quickly and painfully that that was never goin’ to be an option for me. I was proud to need no one. It was fucking childish. And I can’t say I really let myself rely on anyone still or let my guard down too much, but with her at least, I got it through my fucked up head, once and for all, that not everyone was trying to screw me over. Little by little, with her, I saw the world differently, even if it felt strange and unfamiliar. She was there, and I could trust her, at least. Finally, it felt like there was someone. Someone who hadn’t given up at the first sign of my trouble.

I must’ve dozed off because suddenly I open my eyes and it’s full on afternoon, the rich light pouring through the window.

I find her sitting where she was before, against the wall, legs on mine, pen in hand.

She gives me an easy smile as I come to.

“Good nap?” she says.

“Hmm,” I turn my head this way and the other, stretching my neck. Sittin’ like this wasn’t the most comfortable position to fall asleep in.

“I picked up all the towels,” she says, pointing her pen to the floor where all those towels she’d used on me the night before had piled up.

My bloody t-shirt was there too and now I can’t see a trace of it. But she doesn’t say a word about it. She knows it was there. I know it was there. But it stays silent like a huge fucking elephant in the room.

“I put all that stuff in the wash,” she says as we avoid the t-shirt specifically.

“You didn’t have-”

“And I cleaned the breakfast dishes. Are you hungry?”

I’m always fucking hungry.

“Of course you are,” she says before I can answer. “I’ll go buy something for lunch. Anything in particular you want?”

“You don’t have-” I start again, with more intent this time.

“Are you going to tell me what you want or do you want me to choose?” she will hear none of it.

“Fine, you choose,” I concede, feeling too tired to argue for once.

She slips off my bed and I watch her go, again. But she pauses and turns in the doorway.

“Oh, your former teacher stopped by,” she says, her voice uncertain, sensing this might be something I may not like.

“Fucking old man,” I hear myself mutter.

“He seemed very concerned. I told him you were sick yesterday but that you were doing a lot better.”

Heh. I wonder what the old bastard thought of that, a woman like that openin’ the door for him in the middle of the day. What did he make of that…

“He’s always fuckin’ concerned,” I growl, unable to keep the distaste out of my voice.

“He said he’d come back another time,” she says.

“He always fuckin’ does,” my eyes roll of their own accord.

“I think he just cares about you,” she gives me a sympathetic smile and heads off.

She comes back with bowls of hot ramen from the place around the corner and up the street and it feels so good goin’ down. I feel somewhat less tired, and this helps, but I ain’t a hundred per cent yet and I’m growing fuckin’ impatient. I’m not used to bein’ down for the count like this. It makes me agitated.

I’m just getting another Coke out of the fridge when there’s a knock on the door and I know straight away.

“It’s the kid,” I say as she takes the can from me and puts it right back in the fridge, closing it shut in my face. “Make some tea. I’ll get it.”

I can hear her opening the door, Tareo’s polite greeting.

“Is Uncle home?” he asks excitedly. He is completely oblivious to any implication her being here might have. He probably thinks she’s just here to see Delilah like he is.

“He is,” I hear her say, “but he’s a bit sick.”

“Is he ok?” Tareo asks, his voice filling with worry.

“Yes, he’s fine! But he’s got a nasty cold and he wouldn’t want you catching it,” she says kindly.

And this is a lie. And I know she’s not the kind of person to lie. And I know she’s not doing it for my sake. She’s doing it for his. Because half my face is still this very pretty violet colour, she’d probably call it lavender, and I realise she doesn’t want Tareo seeing me in that state. Doesn’t want him to be scared or worried. Doesn’t want me as a bad influence.

And I don’t disagree with her.

I’m a fucking disgrace.

And for the first time, I’m not proud of it.

And I feel like the idea of ever solving this puzzle that is us slips even further from my reach.

#taking care of Garou #garou #opm #garou one punch man #garou x reader #garouxreader #x reader #xreader #reader insert #garou fanfic #garou fanfiction #garou fluff #opm fluff #opm fanfiction #one punch man fanfiction #fluffy fanfiction

[electric-indigo0913]

I’m so fucking gay, dude.

A lot of profanity upcoming? And not an important read. But also, I like figuring things out and I haven’t thought about this kinda stuff since my brain developed and it’s interesting.

I think about sex a lot, right? Always have. In a pleasure seeking way. In a “oh those feelings are nice” way; an entirely selfish way. Never once have I had sex with a man and enjoyed watching them cum. It’s always a confidence booster, like a “wooo I made that happen”, but I’ve never enjoyed watching or experiencing it happening. It was more like “it’s fine”.

I. Love. Watching you cum. Sorry if that’s super profane. It clearly is. But that makes a lot of sense, right? First of all because I love you; and I’m now entirely certain that I’ve never loved someone else as deeply as I love you. But also…I’m super fucking gay, dude. Goddamn I sure do love you. The first person I had sex with was a man (which also, that’s a deep dive for another day. as a warning, I’m also very time based as a person and sometime in August I will likely have a manic episode associated with that and I’m sorry in advance. August and October are typically really rough months for me for different reasons and we’ll deal with those fever dreams then).

Right. Anyway. I think it was impossible for me not to hold that experience as what was supposed to happen. Coming to terms with liking women (not actually liking in a casual way, in a like oh fuck I’m old enough that I wanna do something with this kinda way) was and still is an incredibly uncomfortable thing for me. That’s also directly related to how I was raised, I was really not raised in a way where we used “real words” or talked about feelings. They didn’t tell us about sex, or how bodies work. They opted me out of every health class. The only reason I learned what a period was is because I had unmonitored internet access and I swear to you, I learned from Wikipedia and yahoo answers. How are you supposed to tell your mom you started your period when she hasn’t even found a way to tell you what that is? (spoiler- the answer is you don’t tell her for a year until you get so tired of trying to make pads out of socks and toilet paper you actually have to say something). Sorry, rambling. It’s the shrooms, you see.

Anyway, I think that most of my issues relate to how I’m perceived by other people. Which I’m learning to give less of a fuck about, but there’s absolutely people I’m still anxious to have perceive me in any type of way. The concept of “coming out” to people is stupid, I’m not hiding shit, they’re just not asking. Does that make sense? But I still tried to do that in high school. I remember it being a way big thing that I absolutely had to do. It didn’t go great, for reference. It’s going to be really funny for the people who I confined in that we’ve come full circle. I had this dude I called my brother (absolutely convinced some people he actually was) that used to work for my mom when I was like 13. He was the first gay person close to my age that I had met even though he was like 18. We got close quickly, but he fell into drugs and shit and ended up going to jail when I was in high school. Then we did the whole pen pal thing for the years he was locked up. I had a whole box of letters and I can’t express how much he meant to me. I actually just stopped writing this so I can talk to him about this. He never shut up about how funny it was that I married a dude.

Anyway, he was the first one I came out to. Still couldn’t use my voice, I told him in a letter. Obviously he was not surprised, but he still made me feel safe. I’m not sure where I was going with this detour anymore because shrooms. He’s a great dude. He always kept me safe in a way where he never said “don’t do drugs”, but instead would say hey, here’s what to expect, here’s what dose to shoot for, also remember that if you get anxious you can do x/y/z to calm down”.

But yeah being gay makes me anxious. After all the coming out bullshit I started dating one of the girls in marching band and that shit was tight. But I was still too nervous to tell anyone or say anything in public because I gave too much of a fuck of what anyone thought.

But I don’t think it makes me anxious anymore. Because all I want to do is scream from the rooftops about how deeply I love you. I want to show you off to the world so everyone knows how goddamn lucky I am to have a human as amazing as you by my side.

[suresne]

i had this really vivid dream and i want to write it down so i don’t lose it. and so i can have feelings about it i guess

so in the dream it somehow emerged that i had recently had a baby but didn’t remember it. but then when i held her, i knew she was mine. and i could see all her facial expressions so vividly and she had this physicality to her that is rare in dreams for me. like i could really feel her little body moving around and see her face looking at me. i feel like i could even smell that newborn smell parents rave about. and i really loved her.

and i was married in the dream, but not to my real life husband. and he was irish?? and for some reason i was speaking with an irish accent? or a combination of irish and american accents. but it didn’t feel forced. and i could like…feel my mouth forming the words i was saying as if it were really happening

i dont think anyone in the dream told me what her name was, but i somehow knew it was madeline (pronounced mad-lin)

which is not a name i have ever latched onto

and i had been holding her and talking to her for a while, feeding her a bottle, etc, feeling like A Mother. and then i just kind of woke up like “shit.”

it’s not the first baby dream i’ve ever had, but it’s definitely the most prolonged and real feeling one

i go back and forth about whether or not to eventually have a kid, but i always come back to 1. not having the money, 2. being worried about miscarriage/stillbirth and anti-abortion laws, 3. worries about medical complications and postpartum mental health because of my history of anxiety, and 4. just generally worrying i would be a shitty parent and, you know, worrying about the state of the world in general

there’s so much warning against it, but i’m pretty sure that if we lived in a better society, i would want to do it

i dont have baby fever per se. not like i did in my early/mid twenties, when i probably would have just said “fuck it” and gotten pregnant if husband and i had been together

but the idea is still just kind of…there, like a vestigial organ that gets inflamed every once in a while but can’t be removed but also isn’t a threat to my life

anyway. time to start the day i guess haha

#what’s my personal tag?? do I have one??? idk #talk of parenthood/pregnancy under the cut if you want to steer clear