#i feel i must rekindle with nature for a while

[builtbybrokenbells]

ah, so idk if we have time to unpack all that. um. anyway. hope everyone is having a wonderful day. remember this is a positive and safe space, I really try to emulate that and would love to keep it solely as such. thanks 🫶🏻

#yeah #so #pls keep my tags/mentions positive #not what i wanted to wake up to #this is a blog coded w kindness #so i won’t say anything further #but that was… something #and the whole thing felt quite… #phobic #and i am v much part of THAT community #i feel i must rekindle with nature for a while #perhaps touch some grass #just… take a step away for a moment #anyway #feel free to message if a chat is needed #gvf #greta van fleet #josh gvf #josh kiszka

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

VII ║Fleabitten

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 6: Mustang | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: You and Jack spend your last night together in the mountains - for now.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, handjob, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 4.2k

Notes: I know I made you guys wait for this one, I'm sorry it took so long! It's no secret that I'm dragging my feet because I don't want this packtrip to be over, but we all have to brave and face the inevitable 🥺 I hope you enjoy spending the last night in the mountains with Jack and his Darlin' ❤️

Fleabitten: A colour consisting of a white hair coat with small pigmented speckles or freckles.

You’ve never considered yourself a creature of habit. 

You have your routines, of course. But habit is more. It’s a dependency, emotional and physical. It’s something that’s hard to give up. It’s a prickle under the skin that is only soothed when said habit is fulfilled.

Surely, habit is hewn over time. A quiet, imperceptible chipping away at your bones until it becomes part of you. It must take more than a week to make a habit out of something. 

Except, it feels a lot like habit when you wake up to pink skies and take your first breath of sweet mountain air to start the day. That first mug of coffee warmed over rekindled embers from the night before. How Scotch always prances into a little canter to warm up when you hop on, but not until he knows you’re fully sat with the tips of your toes through the stirrups irons.

It’s the way you angle the brim of your hat and flip up the collar of your shirt even before the sun hits just so. It’s the all-consuming awe that pins you to the spot, wherever you are, whatever you’re in the middle of, when the sunset paints every inch of earth in rose gold.

And for the past three nights, it’s the assuring weight of strong arms around your waist that has lulled you to sleep, the kiss of warm breath on your temple - a familiarity that runs too deep in too short a time for you to comprehend.

Habit.

It’s the sixth day of the pack trip - first thing tomorrow, just after breakfast, Jack will be leading you across the mountain, back the way you came, to get back to the ranch by mid-afternoon.

Words are scarce when the two of you approach the last Statesman campsite on the trail, the neat stone pit now a familiar sight.

Even the horses are subdued. Scotch stands obediently, flicking his tail while you untack him, when he would usually be nudging at your hands with his velvety nose, snickering for a cheeky apple slice before supper.

It’s second nature to you now, hanging the sweaty saddle pad on a low-hanging branch to dry before setting the saddle and bridle on the wooden post for cleaning. Jack follows, standing on the other side, handing you a wet rag. You get to work, scrubbing out the grime and sweat from the well-worn leather.

His eyes are on you, a phantom weight on your shoulders - they’re not exactly sore, having grown used to long hours in the saddle over the week, but you are tired, albeit the good kind. One that a good, long soak in a hot bubble bath would fix, with a certain cowboy in the same tub -

‘Whatcha smilin’ ‘bout, Darlin’?’

Glancing up, you match his arched eyebrow with one of yours, planting your elbows on the spine of the saddle and standing onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his. Well, a portable shower ain’t the same, but -

‘Shall we clean up, cowboy?’

Jack groans deep into your neck, the taste of soap thick on his tongue.

‘Is this how you jerked off thinking about me that first day?’ you tease, your grip sliding slickly along his cock.

‘Oh fuck,’ he pants, brow scrunched up in pleasure-pain, scraping his teeth on your collar bone. ‘Didn’t feel half as good, darlin’.’

A moan slips from you when one large palm finds your backside and squeezes, his fingers digging into the plump flesh as he whimpers by your ear. Bowing his head, he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking on your sensitive skin until you arch into his mouth.

It doesn’t take long for him to come all over your hand - sticky, milky strands slipping thickly down the gaps of your fingers, stringing between them like spider webs. You’re reluctant to let go, humming soothingly into his ear as the last of his orgasm shudders through his body.

He holds you tight, his heart a sharp staccato against your chest, as the slow trickle of lukewarm water washes away all traces of him.

Once the portable shower is empty, you take your time getting dressed. Jack wipes you down with your towel while you rub his hair dry with his. Walking back to camp hand in hand, you grin when the horses come into sight, chasing and egging each other on like puppies at the dog park.

Thousand-pound puppies, more like. 

Dropping the dirty laundry by a tree to be packed later, he whistles with his fingers. ‘C’mon boys, supper time!’

The trio line up smartly by the wooden post as Jack preps the feed, measuring out the grain and hay pellets by sight, filling their buckets. Their nostrils flare and ears prick up at the sight of their dinner, but other than a stray nicker or two, they remain impressively patient.

Their buckets are dropped in front of their hooves when he’s done, and you may be imagining the sharp intake of air as the horses await the okay from their cowboy.

At his nod, all three practically lunge at their supper, munching happily. You laugh, and Jack watches on proudly.

A quiet desperation slinks in when you’re not looking, winding tighter and tighter around your ribs like a vice that leaves you short of breath as the minutes and hours slip by. You’re restless, your legs bouncing in agitation, your eyes darting about, frantically trying to commit everything to memory, yet never lingering anywhere long enough to do so.

But it’s not really about the things you can see. It’s the bitter bite of smoke in the clean mountain air. It’s the orange heat of the campfire that you wear like a favourite cardigan. It’s the simplicity of getting from point A to point B, with nothing but grassland and forest in between.

But real life isn’t simple. Things that you vowed to push to the back of your mind at the beginning of the trip bubble to the surface for an unwelcome moment. You have bills to pay. You have a deadweight of a house to sell. You have an ex not pulling his weight -

‘Darlin’?’

The white noise that you weren’t even aware had filled your ears subsides, and your gaze snaps up to Jack, blinking. The weight of the knife in your hand comes back to you, and you glance down at the bell pepper you were in the middle of dicing up.

You give him a shaky smile and carry on with your errand. ‘Sorry.’

He brushes a thumb on your cheek. ‘You were thinkin’ mighty loud.’

Not wanting to dampen your last night together, you shake your head and lean over to kiss him. You huff, ‘Just hungry. Get cooking, cowboy.’

Jack knows you’re fibbing, but he says no more. He can admit to himself that you’re not the only one struggling with loud thoughts tonight.

You’re right, he should turn his focus to making dinner instead - chili and cornbread, classic southern comfort food. Lord knows the both of you can do with some comfort tonight.

‘Want to help me with the cornbread?’ he asks, knowing you’d want to keep your hands busy.

‘Damn, I sure miss the days when you insisted that I shouldn’t help with anything at all,’ you tease, which makes him chuckle.

‘C’mere, darlin’.’

He’d measured out the dry ingredients for the cornbread back at the Halfway House and tipped it all into a mason jar - flour, cornmeal and raising agents. You whisk the batter with a fork as he cracks in three eggs and pours in the milk (he usually uses buttermilk, but it has to be shelf stable milk on the trail) until it’s smooth and thin. You carefully pour the mixture into a well-oiled cast iron skillet, which he then nestles in the heart of the fire. The batter bubbles like slow-burning lava as it cooks, the savoury sweetness filling the evening air.

‘That’ll cook in a half hour, so we should start on the chili,’ he says. ‘I normally simmer it for at least an hour, but I think we’re both hungry, right?’

‘I’m fine with express chili, cowboy.’

Jack sets a deep-set saucepan on the pit, drizzling in olive oil to preheat it. He knows the recipe by heart, but with no fresh beef mince on hand, he has his usual substitutions when cooking it on the trail. Into the pan goes finely diced cured sausage, onion, red bell peppers, peeled carrot ribbons and celery.

‘Is that Poppy’s recipe?’ you ask, tummy rumbling at the vivid scents as the pan sizzles.

‘It’s my mama’s, actually,’ he smiles, stirring with a wooden spoon. ‘It’s the one recipe Poppy allows on the trail that is not hers.’

‘If that isn’t a stamp of approval, I don’t know what is,’ you chuckle. ‘And where’s your mama?’

‘Still lives with my old man back home in Kentucky,’ he answers, scraping in minced garlic, a good squeeze of tomato paste and one big can of plum tomatoes, which he crushes one by one with the back of the spoon.

‘What do they do?’ you ask, genuinely curious. His family hasn’t come up in conversation in the past few days.

Jack is happy to indulge you. ‘Pop used to run a little corner shop in town, but he’s retired now. My ma’s an equine veterinarian, used to have a practice, but she shut that down a few years ago and is mostly a lady of leisure nowadays.’

You nudge his shoulder with yours. ‘Horses run in the family, I see.’

‘Never stood a chance,’ he jokes. ‘She still helps out on my uncle’s farm if they need an extra pair of hands. My cousins mostly run the place nowadays.’

The saucepan sputters at the generous pouring of barbeque sauce (homemade of course, Poppy’s secret recipe) that goes in next, followed by a can of beer, a beef stock cube (crumbled), Worcestershire sauce, balsamic vinegar and honey.

‘Are your parents from the same town?’

‘No, ma’s from the city, moved to the backwaters to marry my country bumpkin daddy,’ he replies, flashing you a meaningful smile. 

Your cheeks heat up unbidden, and you bite your bottom lip, the shyness that rears its head  feeling very alien after being so comfortable around this cowboy for these few days. You meet his eyes though, cocking your head to one side. ‘Is that so?’

He grins, stirring the chili as he continues. ‘My papaw Henry nearly disowned her, didn’t even go to the weddin’, but he came round when I was born. Turned out he got on with my other grandpa Noah like a house on fire. They used to come and spend a week in the mountains with Champ and I every year before Henry passed.’

You reach out and squeeze his free hand. ‘And where is Noah now?’

‘He lives in a little cabin off the main house with my uncle. Can barely walk, but he still rides every morning,’ he shakes his head fondly, tipping in the drained kidney and black beans.

He’s quiet for a moment as he studies the chili, simmering away, then gives you a sidelong glance. Despite a deliberate attempt to keep his tone light, the weight of his words cannot be erased by simple inflection. ‘I’m sure they’d love to meet you, darlin’.’

But as soon as he hears himself - the absurd wishful thinking in it - he shifts in his seat awkwardly, clearing his throat. You fuckin’ clown. How is this appropriate conversation when he’s known you for six days? Hell, you’d only just started sleeping together what, three nights ago? Fuck, has it only been three - ?

Two gentle fingers hook under his chin, turning his face towards you, cutting off the jumble of voices in his head. You shuffle closer so that you’re pressed right up against his side, warm and soft, and when you kiss him slowly and sweetly, it tastes like reassurance. 

‘I’d love that too, cowboy.’

The chili is the best you’ve ever had - smoky, spicy and balanced out with a touch of sweetness from the barbeque sauce. The cornbread fresh from the skillet is so moreish, there’s nothing but crumbs left in the skillet when the two of you are done.

You’re close to bursting, sprawled lazily on your sleeping bag, your back propped up against a log. The fire has died down to a low-burning flame, and you’re right on the brink of nodding off. 

But as it turns out, Jack still has a trick or two up his sleeves. 

He reaches over you to grab one of the saddlebags, rifling around and you laugh as he unveils, one after the other - a bag of jumbo marshmallows, Graham crackers, and a bar of dark chocolate. 

‘Can’t say I pegged you for a s’mores kinda cowboy,’ you tease as he lays out the ingredients on the ground. 

‘It’s a Statesman tradition, we always close out a pack trip with s’mores. C’mon, I’ll show you how to make a proper one.’

You huff a laugh. ‘Oh, are we really going there?’

He feigns ignorance. ‘Whatever do you mean, ma’am?’

‘The shortest way to an argument is anything to do with s’mores.’

‘Don’t worry darlin’, I’m sure we’ll kiss and make up.’

Jack gets up and steps briefly out of the orange halo of the campfire to rustle up a couple of sticks for the marshmallows. Knees creaking as he sits down next to you, he pulls out the knife from the holster he wears on the back of his jeans, sharpening the wooden ends with a telling familiarity.

The chocolate bar is wrapped in fancy, gilded packaging, the words organic and bean to bar glowing gold in the firelight as you turn it over in your hands. ‘Huh. No Hershey’s?’

The cowboy waggles one perfectly pointed end of a stick at you in warning. ‘Rule number one - do not mention the H word in front of Poppy. You will be evicted and barred from the state of Wyoming till kingdom come.’

‘Oh, I believe you,’ you chuckle, tearing into the packaging and breaking up the chocolate into tidy squares along the grooves.

Sheathing his knife, Jack reaches for the saddle bag once again. ‘Can’t forget the secret ingredient.’

You blink in incredulity at what he brandishes, the familiar whiff registering. ‘Is that - applewood?’

He winks, testing the weight of the logs in his hands. ‘The applewood infuses the marshmallows with a sweet smokiness - I’m tellin’ you, the Statesman s’mores is somethin’ else.’

With a shake of your head, you grin. ‘Alright cowboy, show me how to make some proper s’mores.’

Twenty minutes later, you wish you could take it back.

‘Scientific’ doesn’t even begin to describe Jack’s process. You’re huddled in a blanket, hugging your knees, watching as he turns over the marshmallows with methodological precision and infinite patience - neither of which you possess. He’d confiscated yours when you tried to stick them straight into the flames, declaring that you’re unfit to make your own s’mores.

The night air is singed with the delicate note of apple blossoms, while four chocolate squares slowly warm on graham crackers where they sit on stones around the campfire. 

You sit poutily, glaring at the fluffy white blobs that look just as pale as they were straight out of the bag.

‘I could’ve made about three s’mores by now,’ you gripe.

Jack doesn’t look up from the fire, but the corner of his mouth curls in amusement. ‘You’re on holiday, remember? Relax. Patience is a virtue, darlin’.’

You tilt your head in a challenge. ‘Do you really think I give a damn about virtue, cowboy?’

His grin turns brash, eyes crinkling mischievously at the corners. ‘No, ma’am, and I thank my lucky stars that you don’t.’

‘C’mon Jack,’ you whine. ‘Let's just eat the stupid s’mores and go to bed.’

‘Good things take time,’ he says simply. And then, with the minutest flex of his tone, he changes tact. ‘Will you be a good girl for me and be patient?’

You watch his smile widen as he obviously hears your breath hitch.

Biting your lip, you goad him, ‘Oh, is that how you’re going to play it, sir?

The gentleman in him recedes, and the rake glimpses through in the way he eyes you with a deliberately smarmy want. ‘I don’t hear you complainin’ when I take my time with you, darlin’.’

Your mouth hangs open in affront. ‘Are you seriously comparing me to roasted marshmallows?’

He leans over and purrs into your ear. ‘Well, your pussy is just as sweet, and soft, and warm -’

You groan and push him hard on the shoulder. ‘Thanks ruining marshmallows for me, cowboy!’

With a laugh, Jack nods towards the fire. ‘Grab the graham crackers please, darlin’. They're done.’

Sure enough, while you were distracted, the fluffy white blobs are finished with a perfect, golden crust, but have enough structural integrity to hold shape on the ends of the sticks.

‘You ready?’ he prompts.

A graham cracker in each hand, one with chocolate and the other without, you admit, ‘I hate this part, I always make such a mess.’

He smirks, ‘Didn’t think you minded makin’ a mess, darlin’.’

You roll your eyes at him, with no real annoyance. ‘You’re insufferable, cowboy.’

Cushioining one marshmallow on the chocolate side of the cracker, he instructs, ‘Now put the other one on top and grip the whole stack firmly. Got it?’

At your nod, Jack carefully extracts the stick, wriggling as he goes, one thumb against the end to keep the marshmallow from sliding out.

With a dramatic flourish, he ta-das. ‘There you go, a Statesman s’mores for my cowgirl.’

Something in your brain short-circuits at him calling you his cowgirl. 

Not just his. 

But the cowgirl to his cowboy.

Unable to conjure up any words, you fixate on the melted marshmallow on his thumb. Grabbing his hand and bringing it to your face, you wrap your lips around it, sucking the sweet smear of residue right off his smoke-tipped finger.

His gaze is dark even as the red and yellow flickers in his eyes when he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, his voice a soft rasp. 

‘Good girl.’

‘So - what happens tomorrow?’

Your question is quiet, half murmured into the hollow of his neck in the twilight zone, on the cusp of sleep. Your head is tucked under his chin, his arms around your waist under the blanket.

‘We’ll get back to the ranch around three. The team will get the horses settled in, unpack everything, and you can have a nice hot shower. Then we’ll have sunset drinks and dinner.’

You hum noncommittally. The silence cackles for a beat, before you venture, ‘And then?’

For once, Jack doesn’t have an answer.

He doesn’t sleep that night. 

He holds you close, running a calloused palm against your back when you shift restlessly in your sleep, feeling the rise and fall of your chest against his own.

The sun rises pink and gentle. This camping spot was a deliberate choice - it hangs over a small slope, facing east with an open view of the plains below, where the horses are dozing, the Bighorn rising from the horizon straight ahead. 

He must have drifted off without him noticing, because he wakes up to your lips on his.

He blinks, lids heavy with slumber. ‘Mornin’.’

You smile through hooded eyes, cording your fingers through his hair. ‘Morning, cowboy. It’s a pretty sunrise for our last day in the mountains.’

‘Who says it’s our last, darlin’?’

His challenge lingers between you, the tension sinking its hooks into his skin and pulling - until you close the gap and kiss him. 

It’s sloppy, clumsy, teeth clunking against teeth - it’s too damn early - and he pushes you back to nip and suck his way down your neck, undoing the top three buttons on his flannel that you’ve taken to wearing to bed before pushing it over your head.

‘Jack,’ you whine as his hands push your tits together, smearing open-mouthed kisses all over them.

‘Fuck,’ he grunts, the harsh sound catching in his throat. Grinding his cock between your thighs, his big hands push your panties down in a hazy frenzy, followed by his sweats, which he kicks off blindly.

‘Please,’ you choke out, voice breaking as your soft, naked body arches into him.

He hushes you, breath hot and heavy in your ear, teasing his length slickly between the wet lips of your pussy. ‘Yeah? Desperate for this cock, are you, darlin’?’

Through a broken moan, you whimper, ‘Yes, please please please, Jack -’

‘So pretty beggin’ for me,’ he grins, but he knows it probably looks more like a pained grimace as he trembles above you. You're soaking the curls at the bottom of his cock even though he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

‘Please, want you inside me, cowboy -’

He holds out, letting the arousal swell and mount between you with a recklessness that is unlike him, demanding, ‘How, darlin’?’

‘Hard, want you to fuck me hard -’

Rolling you onto your side so that he brackets you from behind, he opens you up with one hand under your right knee, pushing it against your front so that he can see your dripping cunt. Running his thumb over it, you jerk in his hold, moaning for him. ‘Jack, please -’

‘What did I say about patience bein’ a virtue, hmm?’ he teases through gritted teeth, dipping one finger shallowly into you, which is enough to make you keen.

You’re babbling incoherently as he lines himself up against your entrance. ‘Fuck me, please, need you inside me -’

You break off into a strangled sob when he pushes the blunt tip of his cock into you, a hoarse groan in his windpipe as he feels you stretch around him. It feels different, more intense, but his sleep-clouded brain can’t grasp why. He pumps into you slowly and deliberately, eyes screwed shut as your cunt squeezes him, his fingers sure to leave marks where they hold onto the swell of your hips.

‘So - so good, Jack,’ you pant.

‘Yes, darlin’,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, fucking you in firm strokes now, palming your tits from behind. ‘This gorgeous pussy grippin’ me so tight, gettin’ so wet on my big cock.’

‘Only for you,’ you declare, rolling your hips so he hits a particularly deep spot inside you.

‘For me,’ he echoes with a groan, planting one foot on the ground to fuck into you harder.

Snaking one hand between your legs - hot and sticky - two thick fingers find your clit, drawing back the hood to rub circles where you can really feel him.

‘Fuck!’ you exclaim, almost bending backwards.

‘Good girl, takin’ me so well,’ he cooes into your ear. ‘She’s goin’ to cum on my cock, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, Jack,’ you whine, getting impossibly wet now. You leak messily down your thighs as he feels you begin to clench around him, your voice running ragged. ‘Please, sir -’

He fucks you through it, jaw clenched so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t crack under the pressure, his hands holding you down as you buck and writhe.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he growls into your cheek, his pace slackening to a languid rhythm. ‘Do you hear yourself? Hear that drippin’ pussy when I fuck it nice and slow?’

Turning over your shoulder, you kiss him, pupils completely blown as you slur drunkenly against his lips, ‘Yes, cowboy. S’ fucking good.’

Jack smiles and he sucks on your bottom lip, you’re so wet that he barely has to roll his hips to sink deep into you.

But even as he lets the moment consume him, something niggles at the back of his mind. It feels too good, as if there's some detail he’s missing - 

And then it strikes him, like lightning on a clear day. Every joint and muscle in his body locks up when it does, and he feels you stiffen instantly in response. His words tumble out in a panicked jumble. ‘Oh fuck, oh fuck! I forgot the condom, shit, I’m so sorry darlin’ -’

When he tries to pull out of you, you hook one foot around his shin and stop him with a hand on his hips. ‘Wait, Jack - just wait.’

He shakes his head in confusion. ‘Wait - why?’

Twisting around so that you’re looking him in the eye, you tell him quietly, ‘I got tested after my ex and I broke up, and - I haven’t been with anyone since.’

While he takes a moment to process, his cock throbs almost painfully inside you. He answers, ‘I haven’t had unprotected sex since my last girlfriend, and I got tested afterwards as well.’

You smile, one hand finding his and slipping your fingers into the gaps between his. ‘I’m just - I’m not on the pill, so we can keep going as long as you don’t cum inside me.’

‘Fuck, darlin’, it's dangerous, talkin' about me cummin’ inside you like that,’ he chides, brow creased in mock reprimand.

You wink. ‘We’ll save that for next time, cowboy.’

‘Next time,’ he promises, with a determination that soothes the anxiety in him.

And so your breaths mist and intertwine, catching the morning light as he thrusts into you, again and again. He doesn’t know where this will go, except for the vow of a next time, but he knows he has this -

The orange wash of dawn over you, his spend on the soft skin of your stomach and your beautiful tits when he cums, his heart beating - hard and sure - with what has deserted him for long years.

Notes: I didn't have as much time to edit this chapter, and I'm still trying to get more comfortable with spending less time overall on both writing and edits, and being more ok with mistakes/typos. The flip side is that what goes on the metaphorical paper is more spontaneous.

There will only be two more chapters before Palomino wraps up. Thank you for sticking around and for being so supportive despite the slow updates recently. It's strange that we're approaching the end for real now, excited isn't quite the right word, but I am looking forward to giving this story the ending Jack, Darlin' and you guys deserve ❤️

Thank you for the love. Comments, reblogs and asks are always appreciated, as always 🥰

Update: I can’t believe I forgot to mention a huge thank you to everyone who gave me all the cool tips for the s’mores and ideas for their last dinner on the trail! This one is for you guys 😘

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #agent whiskey fanfiction #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x fem!reader #jack daniels x female!reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x fem!reader #agent whiskey x reader #kingsman golden circle #jack whiskey daniels

[pearlywritings]

To wear white once more

synopsis: wedding is one of the most memorable and happiest days in one’s life. What are the chances of you dressing in white again to capture this moment on canvas? Diluc makes it possible.

pairing: Diluc x fem!reader

tw: established relationship, fluff, newlyweds, Adelinde is a mother figure we all need

word count: 1.7k+ words

a/n: a portrait after your wedding was suggested by a lovely @bobaboob​ who, by the way, said that she had this fic in mind while drawing this piece of art

Looking in the mirror makes all the memories of nervousness and excitement wash over Diluc again, sending a shiver down his spine. Everything is as just as it was a month ago - his white suit hugs his body in all the right places, the long-tailed jacket complimenting his height, the golden lines on its and vest's lapels along with golden buttons forming a perfect wedding attire. The only standing out feature is a ruby brooch pinned to his cravat, matching his flaming locks, reflecting light just like his crimson eyes, momentarily clouded by recalling the events that happened on one of the happiest days in his life.

His heart skips a beat when he remembers a mesmerizing venue organized in the gardens of the Winery, guests - mainly from your side - on the benches, Kaeya and Adelinde by his side… Come to think of it, his adoptive brother was present in this very room while Diluc was getting ready, lightly joking and unknowingly helping Diluc with his nerves. Yeah, the day was a rollercoaster of emotions. Especially after you appeared.

The man adjusts his sleeves, making sure he looks perfect - it's only logical he'll match you in that. Brushing a lock of hair from the left side of his face, he hears a soft knock on his door, immediately knowing who it is.

"Come in, Adelinde."

The older woman enters the room with the most adoring smile on her face, eyes crinkling in joy, just like on his wedding day, which brings even more blissful memories back. She walks directly to him, reaching out to help with hair a little - she knows him too well, and Diluc is grateful for that.

"I've just met Master François Clouet and offered him brunch. He was very eager about it, given his long journey, so you might have another 20 or so minutes."

Diluc hums, closing his eyes and letting the maid work her magic.

"Good. And my wife?"

His wife… it rolls off his tongue so naturally and the golden ring around his finger becomes so palpable.

"Checked on the girls and they said she was almost ready. I think you can go and see her already.”

She can clearly see he wants to - it’s in the smallest details honestly. The way his lips are twitching in a hardly contained lovesick smile, the trembling of his for once bare fingers, the darting of his eyes to the door behind her and it’s quite obvious from how he forces his body to stay still in place until she is finished. If she wasn’t helping him with his hair, Adelinde is sure - he’d be running out of the door the moment the words left her mouth.

Cute. The glimpses of a young boy she used to know and care about as a mother come through, and the woman can’t thank you enough for it, for the happiness you brought in this lonesome mansion and love you rekindled in the hurt man’s heart.

“All done, Master Diluc,” when he shifts his eyes, not spotting his bangs in sight, he doesn’t even have to look in the mirror to know Adelinde recreated his look perfectly.

“Thank you, Adelinde,” and he means it, not stopping his body from moving, just like it did a month ago, enveloping the woman in his embrace, squeezing just a little. The blond-haired maid laughs, standing on her tiptoes and hugging him back.

“It’s always a pleasure to me. I dreamt of helping you with the wedding one day, and I must admit, doing some of it the second time is just as thrilling.”

Diluc cannot agree more.

When the door of your shared bedroom is right in front of him, the owner of the Dawn Winery feels his heart thumping in his chest, cravat feeling a bit suffocating and hand twitching. He hears excited giggles of the maids on the other side and your soft voice speaking to them, so full of glee and eagerness, that he doesn’t notice his fingers curling in a fist and knocking against the wooden surface. Instantly the sounds of laughter and conversation disappear, but the redhead makes out quick steps hurrying to the door.

The maid opening it gasps and turns around, immediately ushering others outside. The man moves to let five girls out of the room, all bowing and greeting him, to which he answers with a nod, entering the moment the last one leaves, closing the door behind him.

“My love, you are here,” your sweet words pull crimson eyes to your figure and his breath hitches. Basked in the sunlight pouring through the big window, your body is swarmed in pure whiteness. The dress, tailored together with his suit, makes you the loveliest bride a man could wish for. Long flowing skirt consists of many layers, streaming and moving with the slightest of your turns, the corseted waist pushes your chest up a little bit, though leaving half of your back bare… Oh how many kisses he placed there when the night was over and his fingers were working on the strings-

He clears his throat, coughing in his fist and fighting back the rising flush off his cheeks. Your smile turns teasing, lips wearing a pretty shade of lipstick, and Diluc notes in disappointment that he won’t be able to kiss you before the work on the painting for today is over. It doesn’t stop him from approaching you though, arms wrapping around your waist and bringing you closer to place a gentle peck on your cheek.

“Aren’t you a romantic one, my dear husband?” He shudders at the new term that was applied to him the moment the rings were slipped on your fingers and you two were proclaimed wedded.

“Can’t help it when my wife is this gorgeous,” it’s your turn to become bashful, sliding your palms up his back in an embrace, being careful not to crumple the jacket.

“Honestly, I didn't think I'd get to wear this dress again, not to mention so soon.”

“Sorry for keeping it from you, my flame.”

Despite already exchanging wedding presents, Diluc kept one more surprise from you. He knew you adored his father’s tradition of keeping paintings of not only nature, but important events of the family life, and your newlywed husband fully shared the sentiment. Undoubtedly, you two hired a photographer from Fontaine to capture the day marking your journey as spouses, and now have plenty of photos, but Diluc knew that it would bring you both absolute joy to have a portrait painted to hang it in the hall for every guest to know what a happy couple lives in this mansion.

Today is exactly the day for it.

“It’s alright,” your lashes flutter as he leans close again to plant another kiss - on your forehead this time. “Had you told me earlier, I would’ve been too excited to properly enjoy our honeymoon. So, good timing.”

Diluc chuckles at that. Then, on a whim he gently grabs your waist and starts swaying slowly, twirling your bodies in a tender dance, still flash to each other and foreheads pressed together, gazing into each other’s eyes. Your palms shift to his shoulders, feet moving back, right, forward, left, creating small waltz squares under the guidance of your husband who, as it seems, doesn’t want to let you go.

You dance like this for just ten minutes, but for Diluc it’s an eternity spent in your arms. He almost forgets you have plans and a man waiting for you two downstairs, until you stop, huffing a little when he bumps into you driven by inertia.

“Shouldn’t we go?” You don't know why you are whispering, but the moment is so innermost, that even the slightest rise of one’s voice might break it. You see how he releases a small breath of discontent, but doesn’t let it be shown in facial expression - after all, you are right.

“Of course, dear," your heart skips a beat, when he brings your hand to his lips and kisses the back of it, right over your wedding band. "Let’s go, Master Clouet must be waiting for us.”

The old man, who happened to know Master Crepus personally, seems to be gruff at first, but turns out to be a sweet person at heart, being extremely patient with both of you and occasionally commenting on how nice it is to see the boy, whom he last saw as a little kid, standing in front of him all grown up and with a wife by his side.

You are awe-stricken by the speed with which his dry and sinewy hands are moving, putting layer after layer of paint on the canvas, glancing up and down with his strikingly lively and bright eyes. He is nice to have around, and he treats you like human beings and not like statues, which many artists tend to do. He gives you breaks of course, doesn’t scold for moving an inch and doesn’t have a problem with fixing your poses if one of you happens to ruin it. He readily partakes in lunch and dinner and accepts Diluc’s offer to stay in one of the guest’s bedrooms, promising that it’ll take him only three nights.

And just as promised, on the morning of the fourth day, you watch the big painting getting hung in the hall as Diluc is handing Master Clouet a heavy pouch of mora, shaking his hand and saying something that makes an old man heartily laugh and pat the redhead’s shoulder. He then nods in approval, adding a couple more words of farewell, before following Adelinde to the exit. Diluc returns to your side.

“It’s brilliant,” your voice is shaking a little, happy tears brimming your eyes. Your body leans back on your husband’s chest, feeling him wrap his arms around your middle and putting his chin on your shoulder. “I love it so, so much, ‘luc. Just… I didn’t know a brush could recreate something so accurately! It’s unbelievable. Just look at our faces! It’s so detailed, I can practically see hearts in my eyes! Yours too, by the way,” the man snorts, pressing a kiss to the side of your jaw, absolutely enjoying your amazement and teasing. He fully shares your feelings about the painting and almost opens his mouth to tell that he made a deal to invite your recent guest to make more paintings of you - some of the walls are pretty empty, if you ask him. However, he decides against it - after all what is life without pleasant surprises?

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #diluc x fem!reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc ragnvindr #genshin impact fluff

[eatmangoesnekkid]

I generally do not care 5 cents about celebrity culture but I find the conversations around Ashanti and Nelly’s rekindled relationship interesting. Many say he should have proposed to her as soon as they got back together. Others think she did too much by buying him his dream car. The fact that Ashanti has that kind of wealth is remarkably outstanding and powerful. Archetypal energy! I don't think it occurs to anyone that maybe Ashanti does not want to be a wife and is content with living life on her terms. Even if she does desire to be a wife and they get married and have children, the social programming is so thick and deep and wide that women never allow themselves to consider the possibility that maybe a woman doesn’t want to be married and/or birth children. Ultimately this channeling is not so much about their relationship. It is, however, celebrating the awareness in how the ability to merely consider other options in how we perceive womanhood, this story, or anything else.... installs a level of freedom and expansion into our magnetic field that we can transfer into other areas of our personal lives. Transmutation. How we perceive -even something as distant to us as celebrity culture—is everything true and holy for what we create in our own lives in the future. There is nothing wrong with having the authentic desire to be married and have children. I find that when it's truthful, it is beautiful. And what's also true is that so many women in marriages are bored to death and miserable AF. Not all women enjoy being mothers or being married. Many will never admit that while they love and adore their children, they don't love motherhood and unconsciously numb out and dissociate. But I can feel it. I have always felt it. I started noticing these patterns in women when I was in my teens, but didn't have the language or maturity to name them. A pattern master is who I was by the age of 15. If you want to begin to master any part of life, you must be willing to look at the patterns and re-pattern your subconscious accordingly. That's why I truly believe one of the greatest uplevels happen when a woman stops believing that being a wife or having children is the ultimate prize and value metric. Having a lover (or lovers) who loves you, adores you, honors you, respects you, adventures the globe with you, invests in you and is not trying to control you or place you in a box as you do the same thing is the pinnacle of love and winning, whether dating, in a committed partnership, or married. The more you unlearn programming and conditioning, shift how you think and perceive reality, the more you realize that this world was built to extract from women, to shrink her spiritual capacity by tying down her life force energy, making her more subservient and exhausted than truly alive and free to pleasurably overflow in her body and life as ordained by Source to live. Less miserable exhausted women and more fully awakened pleasured women in touch with nature and ritual are essential for tapping into real healing solutions that open up the collective mind and heart in a violent chaotic world. Whether taking dance lessons, traveling the world, bathing in sweetwaters, making love, or getting married and having babies, accessing real pleasure has to be an important part of her life. Think about it: She is the only mammal on earth whose body contains an organ for which the only purpose is pleasure. This divine-given anatomical design has to begin to mean something to you. -India Ame'ye, A Plump Clitoris Venusian Channeling

[a-strange-inkling]

Me: You have an enough works and WIPS to finish. No more ideas. You have to stop.

Also me: HellCheer Hunger Games Mentor x Tribute AU

(They have major Finnick and Annie vibes, I don’t know why, it must be the tragic, unlikely soulmate thing)

• Eddie Munson is a former *very unexpected* Victor made Mentor of District 6. He won at sixteen years old and developed a drinking and morphling addiction to help cope with the horrors he had to go through. He works with the only other living Victor, Jim Hopper to train new Tributes every year. None of their Tributes have won from their District since his victory. After the death of their first Tributes, he began to work on giving up his vices to be a sharper and better Mentor.

• His heart sinks when he finds out Chrissy Cunningham is drawn as Tribute during her last year in the Reaping and the male Tribute is none other than her old flame Jason Carver.

• President Creele seems interested in a different narrative this year after four years of Career victories. He wants to give the lesser Districts a little hope to keep their spirits. Not too much of course.

• Their Capitol personas aren’t difficult to create, both being attractive and popular even back home. Chrissy is good at pretending to be something she’s not to get people to like her, she becomes a Capitol darling overnight. Whereas Jason doesn’t have to pretend at all, he takes to the Capitol way of life quite naturally. Plus people love that they were former lovers and can’t wait to see that drama play out in the arena.

• Hopper wants to focus on Jason for training. He’s stronger, more determined, and has a willingness to kill. Whereas Chrissy, while athletic and smart, is too skittish and tender hearted to last very long in the Games.

• Eddie however tries to convince him to focus on Chrissy instead. Jason is full of himself, too arrogant and unwilling to adapt to his surroundings… that and Eddie has been secretly harboring feelings for Chrissy since their school days, even though it seems she doesn’t remember him from back then.

• Chrissy tells Eddie to listen to Hopper and choose Jason because he has an actual chance at winning. She tells him she doesn’t care if she dies, that she really has nothing to go home to. She would much rather Jason live instead.

• Jason is still in love and very possessive of Chrissy despite their situation and is determined to keep her safe in the Games and willing to die to protect her. He believes if their Mentors focus on him and keep him alive, he can keep her alive in turn. He tries desperately to rekindle what they had before, but aside from the fact they will be pitted to kill one another, she is seeing a different side of him as the Games approach. Something dark and twisted. Almost an eagerness to get out in the arena.

• They decide to split mentoring, Eddie with Chrissy and Hopper with Jason. Giving both Tributes a chance. Eddie teaches her that there is more than one way to win, and that strength and brute force isn’t necessarily the most important attributes. He won his Games by running away, leaving everyone else behind. He only killed one person.

• They both begin to open up to one another, Eddie about his trauma surviving the Games and Chrissy about her abusive home. He sees and understands her in a way no one else does, not even Jason. As they spend more time together, their deep attraction and admiration for one another grows to be too much to bear until one night he kisses her on the floor of the training room.

• Hopper warns Eddie not to get too attached to her. Reminding him that he knows how this ends; with him watching her die and not being able to do anything about it. But Eddie is determined that she will live, that she’ll win.

• Jason notices the two of them growing closer and becomes consumed with jealousy. He quietly becomes volatile and resentful toward them. A bloodlust taking root deep inside of him.

• Every moment with Eddie makes Chrissy feel like there’s hope. They spend the night before the Games in each other’s arms and Eddie cries, begging her to win, to come back to him because he can’t live without her, he can’t watch her die. She brushes his hair back from his face and promises, for him, that she will try.

#of course it comes down to chrissy v jason in the arena #hellcheer au #hellcheer #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #munningham #chrissy x eddie #hellcheer fanfiction

[beevean]

Hecula. Isaactor. Joaactor ;)

Alright, if I must be brutally honest:

where is the porn?

Like. To me the setup "the Lord and his pretty loyal knights who'd do anything for him out of gratitude" is so damn obvious. I know CoD cannot compete with SoTN or AoS in terms of popularity, but really? Nothing? I was lucky to find any scraps of Isaactor by digging into the 10+-year-old trash of blogs here! Where is the material?! I feel like I'm having visions! Or maybe I came too late to the party 😭

(well, I did find two Draactor fanfictions. they were bad. one of them was pretty good except Hector was so OOC it hurt, and the other was NFCV levels of WTF. so yeah. let's just say they were inspirational...)

anyway I don't know what else to say, Draactor in general has consumed my mind. Isaactor is a fun divorsties ship because I love to imagine how their relationship, potentially solid and wholesome, crumbled apart due to their life circumstances, a tragic case of "they were at the wrong place in the wrong time but they couldn't meet anywhere else". I love how they are very different, but with just enough similarities to mesh together, and those similarities is their brand of toxicity (I want Hector to be more of a bastard lol, down with "meanie Isaac abused poor Hector"). And Hecula just hits all my favorite tropes that make me go "oh this is very gross and bad and disgusting 🥰" while also keeping the themes proposed by CoD about Hector being forced to be Dracula's reflection <3

(special shout out to Isaacula for being an evergreen villain/simp ship!)

Anyway, I know the actual opinion you want :P

Joachim is kind of a freebie, for lack of a better word lol. We don't know much how he'd be free from his cell, let alone several centuries into the future. But I like the proposed version of him being sarcastic, irriverent (too old for Dracula's shit lol), constantly on the edge of snapping, but also still unused to being loved and appreciated. Much like a certain redhead :P so, somehow, the two fit together like a glove. Isaac would not be disturbed by Joachim's nature and appreciate being appreciated. Joachim would simply admire Isaac's qualities like his passion and wit and not compare him with anyone, and himself being touched that he's not considered a "crazy old vampire".

Hector is harder to fit, and it feels like it's mostly "Isaac and his two boyfriends" lmao. However, Joachim would not create that competitive environment Dracula did, the opposite in fact, which might allow the two boys to relax around each other and rekindle that old friendship they had as kids. I like the idea of Joachim seeing himself in Hector (arrogant but so vulnerable to the manipulations of a bastard vampire lord who is keeping him in a cage of sorts) and so gently trying to steer him away from Dracula. Maybe they wouldn't fall in love, they're not each other's type at all, but they could grow close.

also i still haven't grasped joachim on that front but i have my headcanons on hector and isaac's lax/concerning relationship with sex and good luck to the vampire trying to fix it :P

This has turned into a incoherent rant lmao, I'm still trying to sort my opinions here 😂

#don't feel like tagging lol

[zealouscanonindeer]

9. Fortitude and forgiveness

Series Masterlist

Emily Cartwright:

How warm he was! How warm, and solid, and comforting – three qualities not ordinarily associated with the Great Detective, but at the moment I could think of no-one I would rather have by my side after my terrifying encounter with the icy hands of the Ghost.

I half expected him to be uncomfortable with the close proximity – considering modern rules of propriety and his own naturally prickly nature – but to my surprise he actually put his arms around me and held me while I regained my composure, stroking my hair with a gentleness that I would not have expected in him until I had stopped shaking.

After a few minutes he pulled away slightly and looked at me. "Now," he said, "Are you all right? Were you hurt at all?" Although his voice was unreadable, I saw concern in his eyes – concern and something else, though I couldn't decipher this second element.

"I'm fine," I assured him, "Just a bit shaken, and it's freezing cold in here, and I feel like I want to have a long bath." I glanced over at my physics book on the floor. "I don't think you can say the same for the Ghost."

He followed my gaze, then stood – deftly removing himself from my arms – and looked down to the book, stooped, and picked it up. While he was still bent over, something else on the floor, something small, caught his eye, and he retrieved it as well. He looked at the smaller object under the light of his lantern before placing it in my palm.

"It appears that you have taken your pound of flesh from the miscreant," he said, and nodded to the item of interest in the palm of my hand. It was an eye-tooth, apparently broken off when I hit the rogue with my book. "Would I be correct in assuming that our poltergeist has been taught a thing or two of his own about physics?"

I smiled wanly, but before I could reply, he suddenly straightened in an attitude of intent listening, putting his hand up to silence me. I listened, straining my ears to hear what had caught his attention.

"How very odd," he said.

"I hear nothing," I replied.

"That is the odd thing," he returned, "For your shriek must logically have roused the whole house – with the exception, perhaps, of Mr Hammond. Yet no alarm has been raised, no-one is coming to see what the trouble is, and no-one even seems to have stirred." His eyes clouded, and then brightened. "And I think I have a fair idea why not." With that he darted like a hare through the connecting door, leaving me in the freezing room. I pulled the coverlet over myself for warmth. In a few moments he had returned, holding an open book in one hand and leafing rapidly through it with the other. Apparently he'd momentarily forgotten about me in his zeal to investigate this prospective clue. I grumbled and slid shivering out of bed, pushing my feet into my slippers and pulling on my robe, meaning to rekindle the fire.

Holmes glanced up at me, apparently surprised that I was still there. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm getting ready to get the fire going in the fireplace again," I returned, a bit sharply I'm afraid, "Maybe you don't care if I get frostbite or hypothermia from sleeping in an icy room, but I do."

I'd inadvertently touched a nerve. He shut the book with a loud snap. "You listen to me, Emily," he snarled, jabbing a finger at me, "I happen to care very much what happens to you. The sound of your screaming was the single most terrifying noise I've heard in a very long time, so don't you dare imply that I don't care about your continued well-being!" He opened the book again and found what he'd been looking for.

That stopped me in my tracks, as one could well expect. In retrospect, of course, his behaviour made sense for his nature. How very like him to reveal tender feelings for me, while at the same time yelling at me!

He pushed the book into my hands and pointed out a section with the heading _Valerian_. "You might find this educational," he said shortly, then turned away abruptly and started attending to the fireplace.

I started reading, and found that he was quite correct.

Sherlock Holmes:

That I had figured out the cause of my moment of weakness did little to make me feel better about it. Additionally, I bristled at Emily's implication about my supposed callousness; I was trying to solve this mystery every bit as much as – if not more than – she was.

I will concede, however, that I probably should not have yelled at her. What is done is done.

As I knelt in front of the again-cold fireplace, I saw what else had been done. To the casual observer in dim light, it would have appeared that the fire had smothered in its own ashes and, upon relighting it, destroyed the evidence to the contrary. I saw, however, that the pieces of kindling were not sufficiently consumed by the previous fire to warrant the amount of ash apparent in the fireplace. The intruder had been thorough, but not vigilant – else he would have noticed and remedied this. To my own expert eye, the fire had not burned out on its own, but been smothered by a quantity of dust or cold ashes poured over the flames. There were no tapestries or wall-coverings in the room to hold in the heat, so it could very well have taken an extraordinarily short interval for the room to take on a chill. I made a mental note of this and set about clearing away the dust and relighting the fire.

"This certainly explains why the coffee tasted like it did," Emily said from the vicinity of the lantern, "It says here that the root of Valerian has a distinct, slightly bitter camphor taste and smell. And it says further down that it's used to remedy insomnia and nervous tension. So if someone drugged the coffee with something made from this, then anyone who drank it must be out cold. Except…"

I could hear her working it out in her mind. I did not turn around, though, until I had the fire safely alight and thus would have its warmth at my back.

"You drank it too, didn't you?" she asked, a legitimate inquiry under the circumstances.

"Yes," I confirmed shortly.

"So… how is it that you're still awake?" Again, this was a perfectly legitimate question.

I closed my eyes and did not answer. That was, I suppose, all the answer she required.

"It wasn't your fault," she said quietly, "You were drugged. Everyone was. That's why nobody else is coming. You fought it off, Holmes. I'm not sure how but I'm glad you did."

I opened my eyes again. "Not everyone was drugged," I observed, "If it was in the coffee – and that is the only way it could logically have been administered – not everyone was drugged."

"I hardly drank any… and the Fairfaxes didn't join us, so we can reasonably conclude that they didn't drink any either. That leaves us with three viable suspects."

"And our culprit should be easy to identify in the morning," I responded, "considering that you beat him over the head so violently that he lost a tooth in the process."

She smiled briefly. I was glad that she'd gotten over – or else redirected – her trauma.

"So, what do we do now? I don't think I can get back to sleep, not in here anyway, after what happened."

I considered the problem. I couldn't force her to sleep in the bedroom again, in case the Ghost returned with vengeance in mind.

"We will relocate to the study," I said finally, "I will need to question you about what happened, in case it yields further clues as to the identity of your attacker. Try to remember all you can." She nodded, and I continued, "Afterwards, if you are tired, there is a couch in the study where you may sleep. I shall take the wing-backed chair, so no-one can accuse either of us of impropriety. Will that be amenable?"

"I think that will be perfect," she replied, "But only if your fireplace is working better than mine." She relieved the bed of its coverlet and one of the down pillows.

Inwardly, I heaved a sigh of relief. I was well on the road to redeeming myself. To be sure, she had already forgiven me for falling asleep – but now I had to forgive myself.

#sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x ofc #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x y/n #henry sherlock #henry!holmes #henry!sherlock #henry!sherlock x oc #henry!sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x oc #sherlock fandom #sherlock fanfic #sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock holmes fandom #sherlock hound #sherlock holmes fic #sherlock holmes fanfiction #henry! sherlock x oc #henry!sherlock x you #victorian sherlock #ronald howard holmes #ronald howard #sherlock holmes 1954

[sunder-soul]

Hi Sunny! As a former HP imagines writer and someone who's very particular about Tom Riddle characterization (he's my favorite!), I just needed to say that I absolutely ADORE your work.

The way you approach his character is with so much love and care -- it especially shines through with how you write his emotions and expressions (i.e., every time I see the "colourless" descriptor in one of your pieces sparks joy!).

Your Take a Bite mini-series has me hooked, which is saying a lot since normally I lean more toward White Dove kind of Tom characterization. I honestly don't think there's a way that you could write Tom that I wouldn't like. The way you play around with "what if"s for his personality is just...it's so, so very good.

Your writing flows wonderfully and your banter dialogue is sharp and fun, while still feeling realistic and flowing naturally -- that's not easy to do! I often find myself grinning like an idiot when I read your works because of it.

Writing reader inserts is very difficult to do well and your works are so well balanced with giving the reader personality, but minimal description. It's always a lovely read. I have so much respect for reader insert authors who can pull off mini-series, I always found it to be a struggle! The pacing on yours is always very satisfying.

I understand very, very well how writing on tumblr can feel; there's often a lot of silent spectators who adore your work but don't interact and many of those who do tend to be more request oriented than AO3. It can be very demoralizing and just;;;stressful? Hope you find whatever works best for you and keep it up!

Seriously, thank you for sharing as much of your writing as you have! It rekindled my love for Tom's character amidst all my complicated feelings toward the HP series, so thank you for that, too. I missed reading about him a lot and I'm excited to keep reading through your backlog.

Sorry for the rant in your inbox!

- VII.

Hi VII :) I'm in love with you now.

I really don't know how to say how this made me feel, it really feels like you GET it 😭💖

First of all, thank you so much for all your amazing, lovely compliments and observations, I was absolutely beaming like an idiot reading this. I really agree it can be a weird experience writing publically, and tbh I think I got super bogged down with peoples' expectations/feedback and that's why I crashed a bit. I've got to let go of thinking about how things are going to be received and just write because it's fun to just write, ya know?

I hope you're also feeling more in touch with your writing spark! Sad to hear you're a former writer and not current, but I totally get how these things change. Pls feel free to message me if u ever want to yarn about such things 💞 we must stick together 💪

Thank you again, I've been low key hoarding this message in my inbox bc I loved reading it so much. It really means a lot to me 💖

#VII #ask #anon #tom riddle #the absolute loveliest of people #favourite

[giftfromblythe]

Circle of Life

There’s something in the gaze Of every picture on the wall And as I walk on by I’m sure they’re waiting for me to fall There’s nothing left within me Of the girl I once was Only bitter remnants Of a pain without a cause And these captured memories Only remind me to press on To leave long behind me All I thought I should have won These days I only ever Do what I must The seeds of ambition Left there in the dust Yet somehow I know That if I walk on ahead The flower I abandoned Will be growing there instead I walk and walk in circles Only seeing the return But in each repetition There’s something I will learn

Something that becomes relevant to me every few years is the cyclical nature of life and how that plays into mental illness.  My depressive episodes seem to operate on a 2-3 year cycle—thankfully they’re not always severe, but they do impact my daily life in a lot of ways.  I lose interest in things I enjoy.  My projects get put aside because I lose motivation.  I have difficulty envisioning the future in a positive sense.  I react to perceived obstacles and inconveniences more strongly than usual and get stuck mentally on the most challenging part and assume everything hinges on dealing with it first.  That’s probably also anxiety, but it’s not exactly easy to separate out what symptom or habit belongs to which diagnosis.  My point is, I fall into patterns that I’ve established over countless repetitions and the nature of my mental illness makes it hard to see how I can get out of them.

So I often end up relearning a lot of the methods I use to maintain a good quality of life in these episodes.  Things like daily exercise, keeping my freezer stocked with precooked meals for when cooking feels overwhelming, and monitoring my energy levels are included in that, yes, but I mostly mean relearning how to experience joy, how to plan for the future, how to allow myself the care I give others.

It’s a little different every time.  Sometimes it’s harder than others.  Often, it requires acknowledging that I haven’t truly lost those things—my brain’s just hiding them from me.  I can and will find it again.  I just have to take small steps to rekindle those embers of joy smoldering in the back of my head: going for walks not for exercise but just to see something beautiful, picking up old skills or hobbies I haven’t done in a while, dancing for two minutes while my dinner’s reheating, or rereading a book that makes me laugh.  It’ll all come back to me if I remind myself of why I love these things.

That’s what this poem is about: how even though I end up depressed again, I don’t stay that way, and I ultimately get something special out of the process of recovery—I get to learn how to thrive.  Every time an episode comes around, I come out of it with a better understanding of what makes me happy, and a deeper appreciation for those things and people in my life.

So even when the wheel turns again, I know I have something to look forward to.

I hope this reminds you of what makes you happy and inspires you to look for it in your own lives.  Thanks for reading and as always, take care, listen well, and share your stories.

—Blythe

#mental illness #poetry #recovery #depression #anxiety

[prinsessportal]

‘To be Lolita’ by Princess Skye.

Princess Skye was a livejournal user and blogger from the early 2000s, she was my initial introduction to Lolita fashion and to the Lolita lifestyle and so I intend to rekindle my love for her work by posting some of her essays to this blog. Enjoy. 

To be Lolita is to live in a world of one’s own creation. It is to re-capture that child-like sense of wonder and joy at the pretty little things in life and fulfill one’s own dream of elegance and femininity. When a Lolita puts on a dress bedecked with frills and bows, ties a ribbon in her hair and steps into her mary janes she is throwing off the mantle of adult responsibility, all her worries and fears melt away and she may smile again, like a little girl and walk with a spring in her step, taking pleasure in life itself, the floral scents of the garden, the sweet drop of tea upon her tongue. The big dirty world becomes, once more, a wonderland created for her enjoyment. Who cares if the common-folk give strange glances or turn their heads? Lolita is waltzing to a different tune, living life in the here and now rather than constantly worrying for tomorrow or regretting the past. The magic of Lolita is the ability to freeze time, in an era that never was, where all girls are princesses and dine on tea and cake. It is to grow up as you imagined you would as a young girl, growing not ‘older’ but only more beautiful, falling in love with the world and gazing with awe apon a clear blue sky.

To become Lolita, to accept this beauty in oneself is no easy task however. A Lolita must surrender her concepts of what is ‘normal’ and ‘expected’ by others, for these false thoughts will hold her back from reaching for her dreams and realizing her own fantasy world. The first step then, comes in saying to oneself ‘What makes me happy, must come first.’ This is not pure selfishness, for to live only to the pleasure of others creates an inner ugliness that will consume your dreams, to follow your own happiness is an inspiration to all and will create joy wherever you go. Mockery will turn to envy when they realize you are at peace with your self and way of life. Thus Lolita must break the chains that bind her to these false notions.

When one achieves this, she will feel a sudden lightness, as if a great weight has been lifted from her shoulders and she can now fly, free from the burden she has carried ‘what do they think of me?’ ‘what should I do?’ is replaced by ‘where shall I fly today?.’ This is the state of mind we seek.

The nature of Lolita is to escape. However this is often misunderstood, for while one is choosing to abandon the mortal responsibilities; to grow up, to live as a common citizen complete with mundane worries and cares, it is not the choice to only see the bright side of life. Lolita also has her ‘Gothic’ side, that fascination with the false innocence of childhood, the surreal concept of fatality and the shadows that even young maidens cast. Some days she may choose to wear a dress of black, with skulls and crosses as her signature. For this also challenges the common ideal and fulfills the darker wishes of the child within. Even a Lolita who prefers the sweeter style may appreciate these things with a tragic pleasure.

To where does a Lolita escape then? To a world in which only young girls and dolls may live. It is a little slice of sugar-coated history, an anachronism in which she may turn an ordinary room in to a grand manor, or palace of Versailles. Her neighborhood becomes her kingdom, her city, here for her to explore and enjoy. In this wonderland curious things happen, wishes may be granted and fairy tales come true. For one never knows what is just around the corner when they are seeing the world anew, through the eyes of a joyful child. Lolita must not be afraid to explore this strange new world, it holds the very pages of her own story. Every Lolita must find her place and make it beautiful.

To transform into Lolita is to gain an understanding of Beauty. To see the beauty in oneself and the wondrous world about one. The lolita’s heart metamorphoses, like a butterfly, in to that of a beautiful young girl, lady or princess. The maiden of her own fairy tale.

These words are for you, the girl who chooses to dream. May they help you find your wings.

#skye #lolita fashion #lolita lifestyle

[faeintheointment]

A New Normal - Part 2

The next day I returned to daily life, but perhaps with a greater spring in my step. My colleagues at work kept commenting on my good mood. Not that I'm usually a miserable person, but this rekindled friendship was a source of delight. We regularly exchanged messages throughout the day. I wondered when either of us were going to suggest another meet. Given the circumstances, and my being somewhat reserved, I thought I would wait until I was invited - turning up at someone else's house is always weird. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

After a few more days, the invitation arrived. I found myself feeling excited - eagerly counting down the days until we would see each other again. It was just a casual night of drinks just like the last one, but I found myself spending a lot of time worrying over what to wear and wanting to look my best. I scolded myself as I assessed the umpteenth outfit in the wardrobe mirror. "Like he's going to even notice, you're pocket-sized to him - like a doll, what's attractive about that?" This made me feel at ease, surprisingly, and not too worried about making a good impression, because that always backfires.

As I pulled the car up into the driveway, I gave myself an appraising look before getting out and walking to the front door. My heart was racing as I rang the bell, this time knowing what to expect. I felt his approach as the ground lightly shook again as he opened the door and smiled down at this tiny guest and immediately bent down and reached out for me. I greeted him and stepped forward preparing to be picked up and taken inside.

Once again, he walked to the sofa and sat while still holding me in his hand. The conversation carried on as normal and it wasn't until a few minutes passed that we both realised that he hadn't yet set me down anywhere, I was still sat in his palm while we chattered away amicably. He blushed slightly as he let me take my seat on the arm of the sofa, but the conversation carried on regardless. We were both feeling a lot more relaxed again. There were instances when I could see him almost reach out to touch me, but pull back. I wanted to tell him it was ok, that I wasn't scared, but I decided not to make an issue of it in case it backfired. I felt hopeful that he would ease up on himself in time, but given his past experiences that might take some time. It must be awful feeling like you're a source of fear to people when that's the very opposite of your nature.

At the end of the night, he took me out to the car. As he set me down, I saw that the door hadn't been closed properly and the interior light had been left on. The battery would be next to drained. He instantly noticed the predicament as I closed the door properly and uttered some pretty colourful language.

"I know where you live from here," he volunteered. "It's not far, well, not by my standards. How about I take you home and you can collect the car another time?" Although feeling pretty foolish for my absent mindedness, this was the only workable solution. I apologised for causing any inconvenience, but he dismissed it. "It's a quiet area, I often go walking without being noticed, it's no problem."

He reached down and scooped me up, eventually holding me in two cupped hands. "Would you rather go in my pocket? It's maybe warmer?" he offered. Something about that just didn't appeal, so I declined. "I get it, it must be a bit weird," he said. "I don't see what I'm like to others - I just don't want them not to be scared of me, but it's quite difficult not to be, I imagine." As he walked, I settled into his hands and enjoyed the journey. It was cosy. It also gave me an opportunity to really look at him. I still found myself thinking he was as attractive as ever, but tried to rid myself of the thought that anything could possibly come of our reconnection. He would think I was weird for even considering it, I was so small, how could that even be attractive?

We reached my house, and he set me down on my upstairs balcony. "It's a nice place," he commented appreciatively. "I'd invite you in for a coffee, but..." I quipped, and we laughed together amicably. "How about we arrange next time? Would same day next week suit for you to come over?" he said. His tone was eager - I took that to mean that he was lonely, and felt sad that his life was so relatively isolated. Maybe I could do something to bring him out into the world a little more.

"It's a date," I replied, smiling, then immediately kicking myself. "Well, you know, I mean...." "I know," he said, reaching out a finger and softly stroking my arm. As he turned and walked away, I unlocked my balcony door and went inside, wondering what I really did mean.

#giant tiny #gentle giant #sfw g/t #gt community #giant #size difference #g/t fluff

[veralma13]

As May, my birth month, began anew, its threshold made me feel renewed with greater energy and purpose. 🍃 It rekindled the fire in me, reigniting my passions and driving me to strive for greater heights.

🎈 As a new astrological solar return or my 27th birthday draws near, I am filled with a stronger sense of urgency this time to make real significant changes in my life. 🤸🏻‍♀️ I don't have to just plan but to decide and take action with my BIG ambitions and aspirations.

The question and dilemma that really perplexes me is "If I know deep down to my core that I am meant to achieve greater things in life with my natural potential, skills & capabilities to top with my persistence, grit & passion, then why am I still stuck in my current state?" 🤔

To think of the most sensible answer after much reflection, I've come to the realization that it's not yet my time just as how others put it. 🪬 There are still many lessons to be learned, mistakes to be corrected, and unlearning to be done before I can fully get to move forward to what I really desire.

This doesn't mean that I'm discontented with my current career, location or the people around me. In fact, I am sooo much blessed! ❤️ It's just that I have a stronger feeling and "knowing" that I belong somewhere else - somewhere I can be free, loved, and FULFILLED. 🥹

But how do I get there? Do I still have to wait for my Saturn return or my 30s before I get to where I should be?

I won't just wait. I must keep trying even if it has been many years of constant attempts.

The future ✨ isn't really scary for me at all, it even excites me that I did my own initiative by leaning over divination practices to get a glimpse of what lies ahead. 🪄 My future holds so much promise but everything in my birth and what the stars say is that I will only get there to my destination 🏁 only when I've fully matured and ready to take off. ⛵️

Many transformative events have already occurred in my life, events that are best kept as secrets. However, I'd still bring them all with me as my anchor ⚓️ - they for sure have strengthened me and will assure me in journeys, voyages, and escapades that I have something to rely on. In short — myself.

So I'm not allowing myself to be drifted 🛟 along the tides 🌊 anymore. I'm now fighting against it and embarking on a new life 🍀 that I will design & solidify - something my future Self will thank me for! 🦋

P.S. This is a personal digital diary entry. While anyone is free to read it since I published it online, these, however, are mainly my personal musings, thoughts, and reflections. 🙆🏻‍♀️ Unless you're curious about my life or if you stumble upon this post or profile and you kinda felt me and resonate with me, then tysm! 🥹My inbox are always open btw 🫶🏼

- Written on May 3rd, year 2023

#taurus #gemini #12th house #spirituality #may #musings #reflections #prose #diary #diary entry #online journal #online diary #personal post #life update #girls of tumblr #solar return #midlifewomen #life #writer #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #writers #writterscommunity #midlife crisis #late 20s #existence #ambitions #self introspection #change #growing up

[armentas]

writeblr introduction

hey there, i’m elliot (he/him)! i’m a trans bisexual guy who attempts to juggle writing on top of chronic illness. i can get pretty shy when sharing what i’m working on with other people, but in the end, describing everything is what i find most helpful when it comes to developing them... so why not give it a shot, you know? writeblr seems like such a nice community :)

here’s some other information about me:

my main blog is @hartlow.

i’m an enneagram type 9. i like using the enneagram as a loose guide when creating characters.

if i’m not writing, i’m probably playing piano, playing my ukulele, sketching my characters, or hanging out with my cats.

i enjoy reading classics, contemporary fiction, psychological horror, historical fiction, and surrealism.

themes i like to explore are anger, ableism, the meaning of life, self acceptance, and “found family” (in quotations because it’s always unhealthy in some sense). i'm very indecisive so themes and plotlines are prone to change.

you might see me post art for my stories if i'm feeling brave.

i’m going to drop a trigger warning right here.  more triggering themes that i tend to dive into are abuse, aforementioned ableism, and topics relating to mental health such as suicide, self harm, and addiction. it may be in your best interest to not interact with this blog if you are easily triggered in general.

my current wips

haven

started: november 2021

genre: contemporary coming of age

plot: shaken by her older brother's suicide (beau, 24), a once heavily sheltered and idealistic teenage girl (heather, 17) begins to question her loved ones, her past, her present, and what makes life truly worth living, and sets out as a runaway in the search for truth. meanwhile, her brother figure (skip, 19) attempts to find her and rekindle the relationships he damaged, confronting his own demons in the process.

other noteable characters: erin, milo, josie

themes: "we love each other, but that doesn't mean it works." heavy guilt and self-forgiveness. you must learn to be content with having no answers. no decision is still a decision; passivity is the worst thing you could do to yourself and others. learning that you are not irredeemable. learning to make new memories instead of always dwelling on "the good old days", juxtaposed with learning to accept the past as an inherent part of you.

possibly triggering themes: suicide and suicide ideation, self harm, drug use, smoking, physical and emotional abuse, religious trauma, poverty, general heavy depictions of trauma and grief

other notes: haven contains some characters i’ve had since i was 12, so because of that, this story is very dear to me! i know i’m not the first person who’s written a novel with this premise; it’s all purely self indulgent.

kettle creek

started: december 2022(???)

genre: surrealist horror

plot: deep in the forests of southern appalachia, two women are bound by fate in a way they can't explain and suffer together from what they believe to be possession. unable to cure their ailment through basic means, one (delora, 20) has the two join society with the hope of chasing a rags-to-riches life, while the other (stasia, 20) uses the opportunity to seek out their origins.

other noteable characters: olive, tbd

themes: "doomed by the narrative"; some circumstances cannot be changed and all you can do is accept them. some people don't want to just be positive and want the right to be angry at their situation, and that's their right. the disabled are not strong or brave for the simple act of being alive. nature doesn't uphold "survival of the fittest", people do, and not only does it not enforce this, but it actively loves the disabled and created them because it believes their lives are worth living. nature wants you to stay.

possibly triggering themes: very heavy ableism (including commentary on forced sterilization), cannibalism, murder/gore, suicide ideation

other notes: this story is about as discreet as a rainbow glowing arrow sign that says "this is about disabled people" but it is ok. we need our own nimona anyway

side note: i also post about a fucked up preacher named celio sometimes. he's just a character i daydream about; i'm not actively putting his story in writing but it's something to note lol

[keentravelerdreamer]

Getting Tired of fake bags? 10 Sources of Inspiration That'll Rekindle Your Love

I guess everybody continues to be there, that instant of standing in front of a window Show, gawking at a wonderful replica bag in The shop window… It is really Practically hypnotic-like state, occasionally I’m unable to pull myself away from it! I imply, replica bags sure are stunning, and the substantial-top quality kinds even more so…It truly is why this subject’s always a favorite when good friends and I sit down for the chat.​

Suffice it to say, it's been a while considering the fact that I to start with became interested in reproduction bags.​ I remember getting quite decided to search out the best bag that might be the right in good shape for me.​ I used to be aiming to buy a bag that suit me into a ‘T’, one which was durable, long lasting and would not conveniently buckle in a couple of days.​ Inevitably I found a thing that caught my eye and I just understood that was the one! Me Which bag had a connection, for sure!

I feel The key to finding the most effective reproduction bag lies in possessing the persistence to find the proper a single.​ It is a little bit seeking to sift with the a huge selection of luggage that appear in various variations, supplies, colours, sizes and shapes available in the market.​ So I had to set some work into finding an ideal one particular, but it absolutely was worth it in the long run.​ I such as the leather kinds simply because they look classy and past much longer when compared to the Other people.​

Then there is the sample.​ Now, this is particularly important because it speaks volumes about your personal design.​ From curated patterns, specifically crafted prints and luxe textures to vibrant geometrics, Anyone must be in a position to select a little something they locate classy and stylish that fits their vibe and attitude.​ With each new masterpiece I uncover, my delight grows.​ The range that replica bags offer genuinely surprise me and mesmerize me concurrently.​

I usually Make sure you decide on good quality prior to the rest.​ Authentic reproduction baggage are potent and durable, you don't want to be stuck carrying something which appears to be like classy but immediately begins tattering away with the seams.​ It is important to get the appropriate bag, so I decided to be certain I obtained a thing that would final from the decades, and I discovered the perfect truthful-priced one particular.​

At the moment, It is really like my small friend that faithfully will come together where ever I'm going.​ It carries my trusty pen, songs participant, tissue packs and a bunch of other necessary paraphernalia.​ The bag is with me For several years, however it even now appears superior as new.​ No surprise why replica luggage are getting to be Increasingly more preferred, I guess people today just want to obtain the most worth out in their revenue.​

pretend bags

Effectively, my Good friend, I just bought a stunning bag on the web, and I had been so enthusiastic to point out it off to you personally.​ Naturally I'm no fashionista but I do know a fake bag After i see a person.​ It did not consider me long to realise all was not what it appeared.​

I began to doubt it The instant I noticed it.​ There were some rather obvious convey to-tale signals that it had been a 'dud'.​ First of all, it absolutely was just as well fantastic being real – it absolutely was way more affordable than you'd hope it for being for its high quality and style.​ Furthermore the packaging was bad as well as the logos were not in the right location in any way.​

I started getting 2nd ideas about it and that's After i decided to do a bit of study.​ Positive more than enough, After i checked out the item images on the web site, it all started out adding up.​ The stitching wasn't appropriate, The brand was distinctive, as well as the straps had been diverse from the way it's pictured on the website.​

I was gutted After i discovered I'd been duped! I joined a number of discussion boards to teach myself a little more about how to spot a faux bag and it turns out, it isn't really as really hard because it seems.​ From Understanding the small print within and out to studying the minimal variances in the way It truly is sewn or simply paying attention to the tags, there are actually definitely methods to spot a pretend bag.​

And all my problems did not finish there.​ Mainly because I'd acquired it on the internet, it had been extremely hard to return it, so eventually I just threw it away.​ It felt like The entire factor was a pricey and totally pointless lesson.​

Nevertheless it designed me Consider lots over it, you already know? It takes months, often even yrs, for these counterfeiters to great their craft and replicate designer baggage and various items.​ It truly is an business really worth billions of pounds and it seems to be right below our noses.​ There are lots of men and women out there who are willing to pay big money for something that just isn't real and that does not make them glimpse excellent.​

It can be really brain-blowing how these fakes are so painstakingly place with each other and however folks continue to are unable to location them! These knock-off stores are appearing all over the place and they are performing a roaring trade.​ It truly is an uphill activity wanting to put an conclude to them but recognition performs A serious position With this.​

So, my Close friend, the subsequent time you see a person carrying close to a 'designer bag', rise up near and personal with it and make Certainly guaranteed what you're obtaining is the true offer.​ Test that it isn't really some cheap copy – it could end up costing you way over you bargained for.​

A lot of people will inform you It really is simply a designer bag but it is best to hardly ever acquire just about anything at confront price.​ The only real positive way to inform if It truly is actual is by inspecting it carefully.​ What seems for being a small blunder can finish up generating a huge change, and what better way to stop any heartache than by making sure your bag is the actual factor.​

Know-how is electricity, and that is why I have done my analysis and shared it with you.​ Hopefully this info may help teach as Lots of individuals as is possible and set an end to these faux bag cons, blocking long term heartache and monetary losses.​

I believe It can be no shocker that for Many of us, duplicate baggage have gotten the go-to choice.​ To begin with, the standard of these luggage has enormously improved through the years, with a lot of retailers investing in the creation of much better and highly tough components.​ Secondly, you will find the cost.​ They provide a nice compromise considering the fact that They can be priced lessen than the initial designer luggage and offer Practically the same attributes.​ As well as The style trends generally evolve plus the diversity of models obtainable now enable it to be less complicated to pick something that fits Anyone.​

They're also pretty effortless to hold and intensely multipurpose.​ For some individuals this may be The main factor as they will be able to just take it out to dance courses, to cafes, to satisfy mates As well as in a number of other events.​ Other than this, the styles are stunning and surely eye-catching.​ It is like strolling around by using a get the job done of artwork – it screams epic manner!

The possibilities are endless In regards to duplicate luggage.​ There is certainly replica bags designer the micromodal and 3D versions, multicolor combos, bright designs and prints and the good aged neutral kinds.​ It truly is hard to choose which a person to Select however it's just heavenly just to look through.​ You regularly question why persons squander dollars over the costly originals when you will discover these wonderful reproduction bags in a fraction of the fee.​ It is really a no-brainer, don’t you think?

I'm absolutely sure any one would concur that reproduction luggage are the right mixture of trend and practicality.​ Insert to the actuality that they're Tremendous cost-effective and classy, and you've got the right staple that is suit for every problem.​ I mean, each individual demands a very good bag to bring out their greatest design, and replica luggage do make a fantastic perception.​

#fake designer bags

[lizardgimpking]

Book Review: Dead Ground (M.W. Craven)

Before reviewing this book, I suppose I should point out that this is the fourth installment in an ongoing detective series. I picked up the original, ‘The Puppet Show’, on a whim at a second hand shop back in late 2020, and I’ve very quickly picked up each following installment since then (I recently purchased the newest release, ‘The Botanist’ to read after my next book). I’ve not really got into a lot of book series’ since my post-COVID rekindled love of reading, preferring instead to jump around, trying new authors, styles and genres. But these Washington Poe (The main character) novels have become very entertaining in-between reads to some of the longer books I’ve picked up over recent years. They’re just about the right length, they’re very easy reads and offer the wonderfully pulpy crime/mystery vibes of something like BBC’s ‘Luther’, which is a show I love very much. In a lot of ways these books feel made in much the same image as that show, they prioritise thrills, tension and creative set-ups over procedural realism, which is very much my lane for crime fiction. They aren’t “high art”, but they’re exactly the kinda thing I enjoy reading.

So yeah, here we arrive at the fourth entry in the series, ‘Dead Ground’, which sees lead detective Washington Poe and his techie analyst partner Tilly Bradshaw embroiled in a seemingly random murder case that has gained the focus of MI5. This ultimately results in a very twisty turny conspiracy thriller involving the armed forces and international cover-ups. Oh, and a heist featuring James Bond masks. It’s a weird one.

I must say that this is probably my least favourite of the series so far. I noticed that the author himself (M.W Craven) ranks this as his personal favourite, and a story he’d wanted to tell for a while. I can understand why, as the writer, that this conspiracy/politically charged narrative might be a fun creative pursuit, and it’s at least admirable that the series has managed to find multiple sub-genres to put its lead characters through. But I felt that, as the main conceit of the case was set broadly in the past, it meant there wasn’t a lot of high stakes or potential for ‘action’ in the book itself. There’s a pretty strong final conflict, but, especially compared to the dramatic and shocking nature of the previous book ‘The Curator’, this one sadly felt a little dry. All that said, despite it being the weakest of the novels, it still features many of the plus points that have made me a fan of the series from the start. The writing is very punchy and easy to binge your way through, and the core characters (Poe and Tilly) continue to make for a great double act, in the same way that the lead pairings from crime shows such as ‘The Bridge’ also did. They give the story so much personality and humour, and mean that, even if you aren’t as enamored with the case they’re on as in previous installments, you’re still engaged with the novel because of your rapport with its cast. There are a lot of ongoing elements to the wider story across each novel, that have become engaging in of themselves at this point. So as long as the writing continues to be sharp and engrossing, then I suppose it doesn’t matter how strong the cases are themselves. Of course, it helps when they’re good as well.

And I mean, the case isn’t BAD by any means. It just feels a little dull compared to prior entries. It’s fair to say that you can’t put the lead characters in peril, or at the center of the case in EVERY novel, but without any major dangers, it can feel a bit sedate by comparison. Political conspiracies obviously have the potential to be quite high-stakes for those investigating them, so I’m not sure you can purely blame the shift in genre either. Also, a little pet peeve, but I do feel the chapters have increasingly relied on “And then it all came together” closing sentences FAR too often at this point. It happened in the other novels, but not nearly to this extent, I swear. Especially given most of the “And then it all made sense” chapter closers in this book actually aren’t accurate, it got a bit silly when about 40% of the chapters ended that way. Hopefully the next entry will dial that down a tad.

So yeah, despite it being the weakest entry so far, I still really enjoyed this fourth installment of the Poe series. There’s just something about the tone, the humour and the writing that make these so addictive to read. It’s the perfect easy and fun blockbuster of a novel to check out between other, headier/older reads. I could  probably blast through an M.W. Craven novel in a few hours if I didn’t pace myself in installments. It’s perfect for holiday reading, that’s for sure. Maybe one day I’ll actually go on holiday and take one. For now, I’ll just enjoy them in the comfort of my own home.          

Read it or Leave it : Read It.

Reading Next (The Living Dead by Daniel Kraus & George Romero)

#The Stickman #Novels #Reading #Books #Washington Poe #Tilly Bradshaw #Crime #Detective #Review #m.w. craven

[sendflowerstophilippines]

7 Tips That’ll Help Keep Your Long-Distance Relationships Alive & Exciting!

Maintaining a long-distance relationship is tough. This might appear as a generalization or a sweeping statement, but it has been proven time and time again by people who have been in such a situation. There have even been psychological evaluations and scholarly studies on why some LDRs (that’s the acronym used by Gen-Z) work while some others fizzle out.

Of course, it requires commitment and discipline from both sides.

Still, that spark, that mojo, that resonance – call it what you want – often goes MIA when it comes to such relationships. Partners living in separate countries or continents often begin feeling that they are trapped, and that they were never meant to be together.

But all is not lost! If you are having a tough time rekindling that spark that brought your kindred souls together, you must try some of the following ideas.

Making LDRs work

While there are hundreds of tips and hacks that you can find on the Internet, these are perhaps the most crucial ones.

Send surprise gifts to one another

Gifts can be magical if you know what your partner likes; they are even better when you create bespoke gift baskets or hampers just for him or her. That wee bit of customization shouts out “I care for you and miss you” in a way that cannot be unheard.

Combos make for fantastic gifts. A professional florist, for example, can help you select the right flowers. You can choose a box of chocolates to go with them. Other items that add value to combos are bottles of bubbly, online gift cards (Amazon, Alibaba, JD, Otto, what have you), a handwritten note, a thumb drive containing old photos, and even small nothings like a pendant you once were gifted yourself!

Virtual date nights actually work

Technology is often blamed for the breakdown of societies. While it is true that Smartphones have connected us better than ever in the history of mankind, we often become so absorbed in these gadgets that we forget about our offline lives.

Instead, use technology to amplify your relationships by arranging for virtual date nights. Put on some light background music, arrange your snacks or your favorite drinks, and turn on the video calling applications.

A fast Internet connection actually helps ensure that everything goes smoothly and without loading times!

Watch a movie together

This work best if both of you are cinephiles. Thanks to the proliferation of streaming services that allow you to share an account, time zones are no longer a stumbling block.

Of course, it might be a bit tricky working out a perfect movie date. But some brainstorming does go a long way.

Decide on what you are planning on watching together in advance. Popular movies that couples in long-distance relationships often order on Netflix and other apps include ‘The Notebook’, ‘The Fault in our Stars’, ‘Sleepless in Seattle’ and ‘The Japanese Wife.’

Binge-watching superhero flicks (The Dark Knight trilogy) works just as well. As does the documentary, ‘Catfish.’

Dirty talk is not dirty at all!

If both of you feel comfortable enough, sexting and dirty talk also works wonders. All romantic relationships have a sexual edge that requires honing. You can safely ignore the puritanical advice that many self-help gurus often spout and engage in dirty talk as much as you want to.

Innuendos and double entendres are the hallmark of such intimate conversations. Don’t push it; let it flow naturally.

How about an LDR playlist?

Yup, a common love for music is a fantastic starting point for rekindling your relationships. As is a common love for books, according to F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Assuming that you know what your partner loves hearing, you can create your own playlist on Spotify or any similar service. Better yet, both of you can chip in with 6 pieces each. That would be an hour spent well.

Some tracks that do not have an expiry date include:

‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’ - Marvin Gaye/Tammy Terrell

‘Leaving on a Jet Plane’ - John Denver

‘Time in a Bottle’ - Jim Croce

‘Wouldn’t It Be Nice’ - The Beach Boys

 

Set a countdown timer for your next meet

There are several free apps on both Google’s Play Store and Apple’s App Store which have this functionality. These apps are eminently customizable and you can sync them across all the devices you own.

Some apps have advanced features like spelling out the time left for your reunion, cracking jokes to humor you, and helping keep your mind occupied with other tasks at hand.

The constant yearning and the burden of expectations can be tough to handle. These countdown timer apps do help.

Or you can simply use the timer in your device and go totally off the online grid!

Get yourself down there!

If you can arrange for leaves from work, the best thing you can possibly do is to pay your partner a surprise visit! There’s nothing better than meeting the love of your life in person, especially if it has been a while since you last met.

For this to work, divulge you plans only to your closest pals who won’t talk. Arrange for tickets and everything else surreptitiously, somewhat like a spy out in the cold.

You can also carry something that s/he loves with you. Try arriving at his or her place early, do the laundry, arrange for champagne & food – and then wait as the hours fly by.

That last bit only works if you have a spare key, however!

A few last words

The pandemic has destroyed countless families and taken a huge toll on long-distance relationships. Every one of us has been affected to an extent. Keep that in mind before you pull the plug on your LDR.

These are only 7 tips; that’s barely scratching the surface. Adjust your long-distance relationship based on the dynamics since there is no one-size-fits-all thumb rule here.

Remember that true love is something only a few blessed people find. If you have found yours, don’t let distance get in the way!

#Send flower to philippines #Love #relationships