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astralnymphh · 22 days

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♯┆spacesoldier/spacescientist!ellie: who won't shut up about the hookup between you and her from the night before, and longs to do it again, fully. .ᐟ ★

literally don't question the randomness of this blurb. i run on revelations and sudden visions, and this one was just too hot to let rot. i had to pause a whole request for this thing. and it's a bit rushed, i'll like expand on it some other time i just wanted to return to this trope. anyways, I digress— space scientist ellie, nine month voyage through the cosmos, hookups.. tipsy hookups.

it'd be morningtime in the wake of certain events preceding that memories would slowly begin to prick through the surface— owing to ellie's imperfect subtlety. hills and hills of planetary research, prototype weaponry, instructions on how to properly utilize said prototypes, and coffee-stained reports, dawdled through like the process couldn't get any more boring than it presently is; stress, procrastination, a murk in the thick of your thoughts— literal brainrot. then, the main office zone gate slides open, that little airy whir pulls through your ears, and the person that walks through foments sudden recollection to the promotion party last night. ellie. a new recruit under your stations wing— and the immodest girl who was under your hood many hours ago.

ellie is a damnable pesterer of love; portending that if you've ever been intimate with her, she'll be stuck to you like an idiot's tongue adheres to icicles in wintertime. and tipsy her definitely was after you two had sex: pleading for you to stay a minute longer to cuddle, pressing every work-related praise hot into your nape, mentioning how good you taste out of the blue, so on and so forth. yet now that it is a bright and advantageous morning, and considering that she woke up to the scent of you woven through each fiber of her clothes— she remembers, and she reminds.

ellie's got her legs crossed, arms crossed, leaned against your desk's edge, small butt of hers rudely stamping one of your precious folders; the usual stance she does when you're plying your trade, and she prying for attention. "seriously. thursday, you and me, conference room number twenty-seven, i'll bring wine and fetch dinner from the canteen— please?" an earnest ask, you can sense it in her tone; evenly pitched and soft, softer when she pleads, as always, albeit that the spaceship you dwell in has no actual restaurant so dating environments are centered around some good old D.I.Y and empty meeting rooms. her foot winds out slightly to tap the spokes of your office chair, nudging the focus you so dearly casted to the papers below you, to her instead. which regrettably works; tossing an eye roll as you spin, "dates and recreational dinners don't fit into anyone's schedule here, you know that." it aches to claim that, and aches harder to see her take that hit of an that answer. watching her head drop and her mouth tug into a contemplative shape that wanted to battle it out with excuses, loopholes, promises— but it forms into a grin rather, and decides to be impish. "had time for last night though, didn't we? a great time, actually, n' i wanna see where that.." her voice sinks into the pit of her throat— deep and reserved — and her thumbs start to do that cute fiddly thing at her waist, rolling over each other while the rest of her fingers intwine and overlap, "—takes us?" modifying her words into a delicate, unsure question. a toothy, one-sided smile and sad puppy brows, ugh you could just pinch her cheeks. but of course, she spices up the deal, "hopefully.. back into my room, if my flirting skills aren't total shit." annoyingly rambling as a way to showcase how gravely you've impacted her mind the last twelve or so hours. so grave, you're the only thing her motivation could cling upon to urge her limbs and weasel her sluggish weight out of bed earlier. "please?"

that please chisels a smile into your lips, unfortunately-fortunate, "god, you're so bad, williams." poking fun at her and coasting the wheeled chair away with the back of your knees straightening, rising from your seat with documents in-hand, and agreeance in-mind; written ripe on your lifted cheeks.

"was i?" said indirectly, a cocky implication twisting her cheeks to the same level as yours. it took you— let's say, two, three, awkward seconds of squinting before you understood her crafty-ass joke that took your words a completely different, and lewd direction. stupidly faced too: cocking her brow with the scar slicing through, and cocking one side of her head upwards too, overall just cocky. now you could just squeeze her annoying face until it exploded. figuratively.

"shut up." "okay."

MASTERLIST . DAILY CLICK . READ THIS . PALESTINE MP . DOC VER

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tooruhearts · 2 years

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they’re in love!! (with you)

→ feat. atsumu miya, oikawa tooru, hinata shoyo, sakusa kiyoomi || genres: fluff

KIYOOMI is late to work. and it's not his fault. no, he didn't sleep in. he didn't forget to turn off the stove. he didn't forget his keys. in fact, he woke up at seven am like he always does. but kiyoomi is late to work and it's because of you.

"baby, one more kiss? the last one," you say, lips already chasing after his.

but kiyoomi puts a hand over your mouth. "you said that twenty kisses ago."

"last one, i promise, please?"

and now you're holding onto his necktie, eyes blinking at him, waiting for him to say yes. but kiyoomi is already ten minutes late to work and he knows that if he caves into you he will be even later. so he opens his mouth, about to say no, but then you kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear.

"please?"

god. he can't say no to you.

kiyoomi kisses you, sighing into the kiss. he can feel your smile against his lips. what a little devil, he thinks. but that doesn't matter right now, because your lips feel like heaven and kiyoomi thinks this is paradise. and kiyoomi kisses you again and again and again until you're both breathless.

maybe he should call in sick today.

ATSUMU sometimes gets this overwhelming warm feeling in his chest, a feeling that makes him want to almost cry. and it is times like these, as he’s laying in bed sick with a wet towel on his forehead, as you are holding his hand, that he realizes how grateful he is that you chose him. that you wanted to stay with him.

“babe, i love ya, will leave all my fortune to ya."

“tsumu, stop acting like you're dying. it’s just a cold.”

he snorts at your reply, but the warmth of your fingertips on his palms doesn't stop the tears from appearing in his eyes. he can feel his lips quivering, his face growing red (and not from the fever). so he pulls you closer to him, until your face is pressed into the crook of his neck.

“ya know i love ya, right? i love ya so much,” he whispers in your ear.

"i know tsumu, i love you too."

"even when you make me burnt porridge, i love ya a whole lot."

"yes, yes, you big baby," you giggle, lightly smacking his arm, "my big baby."

the night ends with you kissing atsumu's face over and over again until he stops crying (he stops when he falls asleep).

TOORU knows all good things come to an end eventually. that forever is not a word that lasts, it's not a word that makes sense to him. that one day he will have to let go. but when his arms are tightly wrapped around you as you bask in the afternoon sun, your hair tickling his cheek, he thinks it might make sense after all.

forever is a word that tooru can finally picture and it takes shape in the form of you.

"you smell like me," he says, kissing the top of your head.

"you noticed? i used your shampoo."

"you're also wearing my jersey," he teases, "you like me that much?"

"tooru, you're literally my boyfriend."

he laughs. tooru can't help but tighten his arms around you, still laughing, your face pressed against his. you whine, saying he's crushing you. but tooru keeps you secure in his embrace, kissing your cheeks, your ears, your neck. kissing your lips. and yes, oikawa tooru is your boyfriend. he's yours, forever and more.

"you're soo clingy," you say.

"only for you," he replies.

tooru doesn't think forever is a word that lasts, but if it's with you, he will try. he will try to make it last until his last breath. only for you.

SHOYO thinks you look stunningly beautiful. even now, as your clothes are soaked and you look terribly pissed off because the weather forecast didn't announce it would rain. even now, as your hair clings to your forehead and you're squeezing his hand a tad bit too hard.

"our picnic is ruined.”

"it's fine, we could always go tomorrow! and now we can go home and cuddle."

but that doesn't take away the look of disappointment on your face, or how your body slumps, or how smaller than usual you look. so shoyo pulls you towards him, making you drop the picnic basket, his face a mere inches away from yours.

"dance with me?"

and shoyo doesn't even wait for you to answer before he's twirling you around. hands around your waist, pulling your body each time closer to his, until all he can feel is your warmth instead of the rain soaking his clothes. until all he can feel is your heartbeat.

"shoyo, stop, this is embarrassing!" you say, but you're laughing and laughing with each twirl, with each step.

shoyo thinks you look stunningly beautiful. even now, as your hair clings to your forehead and your clothes are drenched. even now, as the rain pours over both of you and you two are dancing and laughing like mad.

a/n: tooru’s is inspired by the song forever by lee junhyung!!

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killxio · 1 year

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bluecollar!reiner headcannons

word count: 725 [ 2 min 40 sec read] | ✪ content warnings: smut, kitchen sex, blue collar men :/ but a good one, p in v sex in general, fingering.. uhhh

bluecollar!reiner x black!reader / constructionworker!reiner x black!reader

✭ you and your blonde-headed personal bob the builder

bluecollar!reiner who does construction and pools.

bluecollar!reiner who sleeps like a LOG. like, has rolled over ontop of you on multiple instances and it’s taken having to literally slap him to wake him up.

bluecollar!reiner who absolutely throws down at cookouts and get togethers, you and your friends and family are just so good in the kitchen and babyboy needs to EAT.

bluecollar!reiner who works so hard because his favorite view of you is on a beach, or poolside at a fancy resort taking his cock in a risky, barely covered blind spot.

bluecollar!reiner who, 8/10 times cannot sleep without your manicured fingers scrubbing at his scalp or smooth palms scanning over his body and rubbing soothing circles.

bluecollar!reiner who sometimes brings you small bouquets if the landscape of the construction site he’s on has some pretty ones for the taking.

bluecollar!reiner who saved the petals from those flowers and proposed to you surrounded by them.

bluecollar!reiner who walks so hard for literally no reason. :/ like, he comes home late after pushing through the end of his customers pool build and i stg you think the rapture is occurring. it took you a few months of dating to get used to the fe-fi-fo-fum ass walking he does but even sometimes he still manages to wake you up.

reiner finally emerges in the bedroom after putting away his lunch box and heavy work boots to see his poor poor fiancé glaring at him from underneath a pillow.

“i woke ya’ didn’t i?”

“yes mister braun. you did.😐”

bluecollar!reiner who does that thing in the gym where he uses you as a weight for his pull ups sometimes. your lock screen is a photo of you smiling as reiner is doing a pull-up and you can see his abs on full display overhead.

bluecollar!reiner who looks forward to the massages you give him every night, working out the knots in his shoulder blades, soothing the aches in his biceps..

bluecollar!reiner who thanks you for the massages by doing you one better:

the plat plat plat of his dick sliding in and out of you resonates through the room, and your back is arching off the wall. reiner was supposed to be carrying you back to bed after a show and a massage on the couch, but here you are only halfway down the hall and coating his dick in cream.

“please please kiss me” you plead, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten and swell.

he huffs a little and between your deep kisses you can feel the stubble of his beard.

“reiiiii ‘m gonna cummmm” you whine, looking at him with that hazy glint in your eyes as you release on him.

“good girl, so so good for me doll.”

bluecollar!reiner who’s socials are empty besides a few photos of you or you and him and MAYBE a selfie.

bluecollar!reiner who you send video rants to throughout the day to keep him company while he works. he responds with videos of his own if he can.

you open the video reiner sent twenty minutes ago.

he’s propped his phone up on the back of his truck, his work shirt is absolutely covered in wet cement so as he’s responding to whatever you said in your previous video, he’s taking off his shirt and putting on a new one.

“.. oh yeah and lunch was amazing. not burnt or overcooked. thank you princess.”

his video ends after a quick wink and pop of his gum. meanwhile, you’re thinking about the way reiner was far from concerned about his lunch while you were trying to make it. he had you bent over the counter, knuckle deep in your cunt and tongue circling your clit. reiner wasn’t focused on anything besides the way your wetness was dripping down his arm, but you’re busy struggling to keep tell him about the food on the stove.

“r-rei baby.. i have- fuck.. i have your lunch for t-tomorrow- ah.. on the stoveee.”

“uh-huh.. god this pussy is so fucking delicious.” he says, only coming up for air for a brief second and continuing to ravage you.

bluecollar!reiner who has a photo of you on the dashboard of his work truck.

bluecollar!reiner who loves letting you ride him slow while he talks over the plans and spreadsheets for the next big project he has.

bluecollar!reiner who loves you to the moon and back and will build anything for you.

#aot au #reiner smut #aot reiner #reiner brainrot #reiner x y/n #reiner headcanons #reiner imagine #reiner imagines #attack on titan reiner #reiner fluff #reiner x you #reiner x reader #reiner x black reader #reiner braun #he’s mine #he’s so sweet #reiner braun x reader

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auras-moonstone · 10 months

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mad woman — ethan landry (part five)

words: 1,769

pairing: ethan landry x gf!fem!reader

based on: mad woman by taylor swift

author’s note: only one more part left ! and the epilogue (if i decide to give y/n and ethan a happy ending).

previous part ; next part

Y/N AND ETHAN WOKE UP AT THE SOUND OF THEIR PHONES RINGING. The girl groaned in annoyance as she reached for the device laying on the drawer. Ethan mumbled something under his breath before grabbing Y/N by the waist to push her against his bare chest again.

The girl laughed kissing his cheek “Eth, it might be important” she whispered. He sighed, letting her go. She took her phone and read the texts that were sent to the group as Ethan pressed short kisses on her neck.

mindy

y/n, ethan we have a plan.

meet us at the park in an hour

tara

hello????

everything okay???

chad

answer us!!!

mindy

fuck he killed her

i told you not to go with him y/n/n

wtf mindy i’m okay

why would you text that if you thought i was dead??

mindy

idk maybe you are seeing me typing

maybe you are stuck in this world trying to get revenge

you want to haunt your boyfriend for killing you!

please stop watching paranormal movies minds

we are okay. we’ll meet you there in thirty minutes

chad

*20

we texted you 40 minutes ago, mindy told you to meet us in an hour

yeah we are not going to make it in twenty

we need to shower

sam

but you went to his dorm specifically to shower

why didn’t you do that already?

i did. but i need to shower again :)

mindy

i’m throwing up rn

tara

she literally gagged

chad

ethan my man!! so proud of you buddy!

he’s still sleeping i tired him out

mindy

DONT PUT MENTAL IMAGES IN MY MIND THAT IS DISGUSTING

lmao i’m just messing with you, minds

mindy

thank god.

because virgins survive, so you two might have a chance

oh i was kidding about him still being asleep

the rest was all true :)

mindy

just stop taking and meet us there🤮

“Why didn’t you get rid of Mindy instead of Anika?” Y/N groaned as they made their way to the shower. “I actually really liked Anika. And my patience with Mindy is running out. I swear next time she says something mean to you I-“

He cut her off with a kiss “God, I love it when you get protective” he pressed against the wall of the shower.

“The shower is for showering, babe” she pulled away.

“Can’t help it” he said kissing her neck and shoulders. Y/N smirked as she turned on the cold water, Ethan quickly stepped back.

“Y/N! What was that for?” he glared at her.

“You are in desperate need of a cold shower” she laughed “Come on, we need to hurry. Your dad said it was important for us to be there”.

Ethan sighed in defeat “Fine”.

“I promise that once this is over, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me” she gave him a peck.

“Anything?” he smirked.

“Anything” she confirmed.

QUINN ATTACKED GALE AT HER HOUSE, ALMOST BEING SUCCESSFUL IN KILLING HER. Right now, the whole group, minus officer Bailey and Kirby, were at the hospital lounge, waiting for any news on the reporter’s health.

Y/N and Ethan were internally fuming. How many fucking lives did Gale Weathers have? It was ridiculous. Though, they really enjoyed seeing Sam’s guiltiness eat her alive.

"What do we do know?" Y/N asked, sitting on Ethan’s lap. He tightened his grip on the girl's frame as she drew invisible circles on his chest.

"Maybe he gets to win this time" Sam said, her voice was a bit shaky. They all looked at her as if she was crazy. "He wants to punish me. Me. So maybe I'll let him. I'll just give myself up. If this is what I have to do, to keep you safe, it's worth it".

"First of all, you are fucking insane if you think we'll let you do that" Y/N told her, no hesitation in her voice.

Tara stood up. "Y/N/N is right. You always protect us, now it's time we protect you. We are a team, remember?".

"We are family" Y/N corrected, standing up and walking towards Sam.

"You can say it, Chad" Mindy said, standing up too.

Chad got into his feet and with a excited smile he said. "Let's go! Core five!".

"Core what?" asked Danny.

"It's an us think" Chad explained briefly.

"He's gonna keep coming after us" Sam warned them.

"Isn't there somewhere safe we can hold up in?" Ethan asked.

"He's just going to keep finding us" Tara told him, making him sigh. "We could use that, though”.

THE FINAL ACT WAS ABOUT TO BEGIN. The group planned on luring Ghostface into a secure location and trap him inside. The final reveal was getting close, and Y/N’s heart beat with excitement. She couldn’t wait to see the life draining from Tara’s eyes. And then, she would continue her life with the love of her life.

"Is this even a good plan?" Ethan asked, his hand gripping Y/N’s tightly, as they walked down the stairs to take the train.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to" Tara replied.

"So we just peel off so the killer takes us off one by one? No, thank you" the curly-haired boy said, making his girlfriend look at him with her eyebrows raised. "And I don't want to leave Y/N alone, of course".

The girl laughed. "You really don't have to come, you know? We are not going to blame you for not going".

Ethan sighed. "No. Like I said, I won’t leave you alone".

“Yeah, very romantic, lovebirds. Can you move now? We are going to miss the train” Mindy said annoyed from behind them.

They walked through the current of people, pushing and shoving to try to get into the train. Just as they were about to enter it, the doors closed right in front of their faces.

"The next one should be here any minute. We won't be that far behind" said Y/N to Ethan and Mindy.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go away" Mindy said to the boy.

"What do you mean?" the girl asked her confused.

"I don't trust your boyfriend".

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Mindy, not right now. Leave your stupid accusations aside, we need to stick together".

"Fine, you can stay with him. I'll wait a couple of feet away" she replied stubbornly.

"Mindy, come on" she said tiredly, but her friend didn't listen. She turned to face the tall boy. "Can I be the one who gets rid of her?".

Ethan tried not to laugh “I’m sorry but we have to take advantage of her stubbornness. Text Quinn, it’ll be less suspicious if you do it”.

“How disappointing” she scoffed, pulling her phone out.

hey quinn. we are about to take the train. we missed the first, so we are taking the next one.

mindy distanced herself from us cause she doesn’t trust your brother.

it’ll be a great opportunity to get rid of her

(i’m so jealous you get to do it btw).

quinn

roger that:)

aw i’m sorry, i promise i’ll be extra brutal for you :)

stop flirting with me!

quinn

no can do ;)

“Hey, what the fuck?” Ethan whispered, reading the conversation over her shoulder.

Y/N laughed “Don’t worry, pretty boy. My heart is only yours”.

“That’s right. You are mine” he said, gripping her hips.

“You are so hot when you get territorial” she said pressing a kiss on his jaw.

When they boarded the train, Mindy walked towards the end of the wagon, away from them but at a reasonable distance so she could keep an eye on Ethan.

“This is perfect” Y/N whispered, looking around. The train was crowded with people dressed as famous killers—Jason, Michael Myers, Ghostface, Pennywise.

"What’s your favorite scary movie, darling?” the boy joked. He was towering over her, and her back was pressed against a metal tube.

Y/N rolled her eyes "Shut up, idiot. I was never a fan of those types of movies”

“Maybe that could be one of our dates, watching scary movies”

“I’ll do anything as long as it’s with you” she smiled sweetly. He got closer to her, now they were chest against chest, and kissed her cheeks multiple times.

“Gross” said a familiar voice from next to them. Just after that, the light went out.

“That’s your cue, Quinnie” Y/N told her.

“Don’t call me that” she grumbled before starting to get closer and closer to Mindy.

On the next stop, when a big number of people stepped out of the train, the couple turned around to see Mindy sitting on the floor, hands pressed to her stomach and blood staining her shirt.

"No, fuck!" Y/N yelled faking concern as she ran towards her. She wanted to smile so badly at the sight of the girl in pain "You've got to be kidding me! I'm so sorry, Minds".

"Somebody help!" Ethan screamed, but no one moved one finger to do something. "Shit. We've got to get her out of here".

Y/N nodded. "Breath deep" she told her before pulling her to her feet. The girl let out a groan of pain as the couple lead her out of the train. "Thanks for nothing, assholes!".

"Somebody call 911!" Ethan yelled as they put the wounded girl on the floor of the station. "Are you okay?".

"Yeah, I'm so good" she said through her teeth.

"You're going to be okay" Ethan told her.

"Goddam it! I got it wrong again!" she cried. The paramedics arrived and started to check on the wounded girl.

"Is she going to be okay?" Y/N asked them.

"Yes, your friend will be fine, don't worry. We are going to give her painkillers, while we drive her to the hospital" they informed her.

“Minds, they need all the help they can get. I hate to leave you alone, but…” Y/N started.

Mindy nodded in understanding “You have to help them, it’s okay. Go”.

“If you need anything, call me okay?” Y/N told her.

“I’ll be fine, really. Just… be careful with him, okay? I know he’s your boyfriend and you like him, but never trust the love interest”.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be okay” she assured her before the paramedics took her away. “Heard that? I should be careful with you” she turned around with a smirk to face her boyfriend. “Are you gonna hurt me?”.

Ethan laughed “Depends, are you into those types of kink?”.

“You really should’ve taken that cold shower” Y/N said rolling her eyes, but smiling nonetheless. “Now, let’s go. It’s time for the big finale, baby!”.

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wosowrites · 1 year

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Smitten for you (Niamh Charles x Reader)

warnings: none

a/n: let’s pretend Niamh was at the euros based off this request here

prompt: in which you and niahm are just completely smitten for each other which is shown during a day at the beach.

Opposites attract was not the way to describe you and your girlfriend Niamh. You were the same. Both cuddly, soft, hard headed, teasing footballers. You loved being around each other and just constantly cuddling. You had met Niamh as you had started playing for the junior lioness teams at the same time. You had been together since you were 15. Immediately, you clicked, finding comfort in each other. Now, you were 8 years strong. You had announced your relationship three years ago, receiving almost nothing but support and love from fans. Key word being almost. You had gone through a hard patch two years ago, that proved to be hard for the rest of the Lionesses as well. You and Niamh were both getting excessive hate, and the pressure had made you turn on wsh other. But other than that brief, horrid week, you were un separable. The amount of time you weren’t together was scarce, and you never got tired of each other.

Today was two weeks after the Euros win, the whole team was bathing in joy. You had all decided to take the month off and go to Australia. Partly to scope out the area for next years World Cup, and partly to soak in the sun and get a tan in before the start of the club season for some. You had all been in Australia for three days now, but we’re yet to make it to the beach. Getting everyone up and out of the hotel was almost an impossible task. But today, Rachel and Mille had taken it to themselves to make sure everyone got to the beach. They had chosen one in the outskirts of Sydney after doing research on it two nights ago. A quick search on google let them find that they could reserve a part of the beach that was private and they opted for that. The area was extremely large and had a beach volleyball net.

So, at 9:30, the girls came barging into your room, how they got a card, you would never know, and woke up Niamh and you. They dragged her quite literally out of bed to demand help to wake up your teammates around the hotel. At 11:00 you were all out the door and heading to the beach that was only a twenty minute walk away.

"I hate you Millie," you groaned, having expected to sleep in, cuddle with Niamh and then have a nice peaceful breakfast. "You won’t hate me when you see that beach, it’s amazing," she said, super smiley.

You groaned in response and stopped in your tracks to wait for Niamh to catch up. "C’mon baby, we’ll sleep on the beach," you said, draping an arm around her waist. She had put on jean shorts and a big tee shirt over her white bikini, while you had opted for light and white beach pants, choosing to just wear your black bikini top as a shirt. It was warm, and sunny, and you had sunglasses on to not blind yourself.

She put her own arm around your shoulder, using her other one to hug you as you kept walking. You giggled and peppered her face with kisses, happy to be with your girl. "Keep it for the bedroom, hey!" Leah yelled from behind you, making Alessia, Georgia, Keira and Lucy giggle. Niamh kept her arms around you and you used your spare one to flip her off while keeping your gaze forward.

Just to tease them, you stopped in your tracks and grabbed Niamh’s waist to pull her into you. She lazily draped her arms around your waist and you put your arms around her neck, kissing her passionately and smiling into the kiss. "EW! CHILDREN!!" Ellie screamed, throwing an empty coffee cup at the both of you. You squealed and jumped back, scared that there was still coffee in the cup. "We’re not 15 anymore Ellie!" You yelled at her, keeping your walk going but now surrounded by the younger keeper and the girls that had just yelled at you to stop kissing Niamh. "Well when I look at you both I still see the blushy 15 year olds that freaked out of joy when they held hands for the first time." Ellie said. "Oh shush, we’re way past that," Niamh said, winking at you. "Gross!" Lucy groaned, shoving Niamh and sending her flying to the side, making you all laugh as the brit took her bearings.

You arrived at the beach soon after, surprised to see that Rachel and Millie had seemingly actually planned out things. There were dozens of lawn chairs around the area, picnic baskets and a beach volleyball court. The water was shiny and blue and everything seemed rather…

"Dude, this is kind of romantic. Like we’re one big couple," you joked, teasing Millie. "It’s not! It’s just- it’s- oh you know what. You’ll be the first in the water," Millie said.

You didn’t have time to answer as suddenly you were being thrown over Millie’s shoulder and no one was helping, everyone choosing to record instead, even your girlfriend. Millie was strong, and buff, and she ran to the water with you over her shoulder and once you got to the water, she walked in ankles deep before flipping you into the water.

Your body sunk in the surprisingly deep water, hair floating, pants soaked, the whole package deal. You came back up, hair all over your face, shivering from the oddly cold water and your white pants sticking to your body. "Millie!" you squealed, pushing the hair off of your face and rushing out of the water towards Niamh.

Your girlfriend was quick to wrap her arms around you, making her body wet as well. "That was cruel! I’ll have to walk home with wet pants!" you scowled at her, laughing slightly as it was funny. "They’ll dry," Millie said.

Everyone chose their spots along the reserved part of the beach, pulling out towels and taking off cover ups to be in their bathing suits. Most girls started off tanning, but a few of the more excited ones jumped straight into the water. You and Niamh decided to tan a bit. Or more like you decided to tan and Niamh decided she didn’t want to tan more, so you lied down on top of her. You spent the first hour sleeping on Niamh, her arms wrapped around you and yours resting at her side. Your sleep was awaken hours later by screams and splashing which could only mean one thing, Ella and Alessia had made it to the water.

You woke up first, climbing off of your girlfriend and waking her up in the process. "What’s going on? Come back," she said drowsily. "Nope, it’s water time. Literally everyone is in the water. Let’s go!" you begged Niamh, grabbing her hands and pulling her off the lawn chair.

You held her hand in yours as you pulled her to run towards the water. The splashing water chilled your bodies as you made your way into the sea, jumping into the blue ocean together.

"Cold! Fucking cold!" Niamh groaned, hugging her body. "At least you have a girlfriend to warm you up!" Mary scowled, splashing more water onto the young woman.

You all spent the next hour doing chicken fights, playing water volleyball, and just swimming in general before some of the girls decided they were going to go eat. "Go set it up! We’ll be there in a second," Niamh said, calling after the girls that were climbing out of the water.

Niamh turned to you, pulling you in by your waist and letting her thumbs slide under the sides of your bikini bottom. "Here? Really?" you laughed, looking into her eyes and subconsciously doing the triangle method.

"No, nothings going to happen. I just want to tell you that I’m really lucky. And I know I say I love you a lot but I really do. I want you to know to what extent I do," Niamh said, moving a hand up to brush wet strands of hair off of your face, and then rubbing her thumb up and down your cheekbone. You kept on looking into her eyes, tilting your head gently and smiling at her softly. "Where is this coming from, my love?" you said softly, wrapping your arms loosely around her neck and pulling her in. The water was about waist deep, and your bodies stuck together in the ocean, nothing had ever felt more romantic. "To be honest that bathing suit is just really doing it for me," Niamh teasingly whispered into your ear.

You pulled away from her and jokingly pushed her backwards, sending her stumbling. You hadn’t meant to push her hard enough for her to fall, but she went tumbling into the water, disappearing into its ocean blue. You quickly covered your mouth with your hands, shock in your eyes. But as your girlfriend emerged, the shock turned into laughter. "I’m sorry baby," you giggled, not sounding sorry at all.

"Oh i’ll show you sorry," Niamh said, rushing towards you and body checking you under the water.

You dragged her down with you, your eyes both open as you looked at each other in the water. It felt like a movie, all very disney, but gay.

She kissed you, the salty ocean water in your eyes should have hurt, but it didn’t, not really.

You both emerged gasping, clinging to each other and giggling.

The rest of the day was spent eating, playing frisbee and volleyball, and just having fun. When you got to the hotel, you laid down in your bed and scrolled on instagram. On Ellie’s story, a video of you and Niamh in the water, you pushing her, her pushing you, your laughter and fun radiating through the phone.

Little lovebirds, it was captioned.

#woso fic #woso imagine #woso x reader #lionesses #engwnt #niamh charles

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riality-check · 1 year

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part two of angsty soulmate things, a continuation of this

There's an after.

It's not that Eddie isn't grateful that there is one. He's like most people only in the sense that he would rather be alive than dead. And while being eaten by demonic bats is a very metal way to go, it's slow, and it hurt like hell.

Not worse than cutting the string, but it still hurt.

Eddie isn't ungrateful for the after. He's just confused as to how he got here in the first place, and he's scared because there isn't supposed to be one.

But he doesn't want to think about that. That train of thought makes him nauseous, and he's barely been able to eat anything as it is.

Hospital lights, he thinks instead, are a constant. They're the same everywhere, that bright, sterile white that makes people look sicker in a place that's supposed to make them healthy. In the chair next to his bed, for example, Steve looks like he should be admitted himself.

His skin is paler than Eddie's ever seen it, the bags under his eyes could more aptly be called suitcases, and, most concerningly, his hair is flat.

Steve "the Hair" Harrington's hair looks lifeless. Eddie really screwed this up, didn't he?

He wonders if there's adverse effects to cutting the string. Other than the pain, of course. Long-term stuff is probably a better way to put it.

He tries to remember back when Mama did it, but that was a while ago. Maybe seven years now? His recollection's a bit fuzzy, but he remembers her being almost sick, even after the pain stopped.

Then again, Mama was always sick, one way or another. So even if she's the only example he has, she's probably not the best one.

Steve stares at Eddie with wide, red-rimmed eyes. He really does look like hell.

Eddie opens his mouth to say something, to crack a joke, to do anything to make Steve look a little better, but Steve beats him to the punch.

"What happened?" he croaks.

"I died," Eddie says. It's not a lie. Wayne told him, when he first woke up, that it took three rounds of CPR to get his heart started again.

"Bullshit," Steve says.

"It's not bullshit."

"I know your heart stopped," Steve says. "But you didn't die."

He holds up his hand, and Eddie sees, stark black on his sickly pale skin, the remnants of a string curled around his finger. Black like a brand, like a tattoo, whatever.

It's there, and everyone knows black means death. Permanent death.

(Or, if they're a nutcase or a gullible middle schooler, a dagger. But normal people don't believe in those, so normal people don't ever consider that a possibility.

Hell, even Eddie wouldn't have if he didn't do it himself.)

"What. Happened."

If Eddie weren't in a hospital bed, he'd come up with a better lie. He'd say something about the bats, or the Upside Down, or, hell, he'd blame it on Vecna.

Nancy came in and told him the bastard's dead, so. It's not like he'd be able to counter it.

But Eddie is exhausted, mentally and physically. It's finally setting in, after the first few minutes of being awake, how tired he is, and how much pain he's in.

So, instead of lying, Eddie just says, "I'm sorry."

Steve frowns, confused. "What do you mean you're sorry? Eddie, I just want to know what happened. I'm scared out of my mind because this shouldn't be happening. You're alive. We should still have a string."

Eddie sees, clear as day, how he can use this as an out. He could lie so easily, could blame it on some occurrence within that parallel world. Steve would nod and accept it, not because he's stupid, but because literally anything, so long as it's awful, is possible there.

But Eddie thinks beyond the now very often, though most people are surprised by that. He thinks about how Steve will want to be with him; every time Eddie thought about his soulmate, the string appeared, so Steve was constantly thinking about him. He thinks about them five, ten, twenty years down the line. He thinks about forgetting the lie, about being inconsistent, about Steve pushing and pushing like he seems to do sometimes until Eddie breaks and tells the truth.

No. Finding out then would be so much worse.

Eddie has an out, but he's choosing not to run. Last time, that was a terrible decision, but no one, except for Wayne, really, has ever said that Eddie was smart.

So, he tells the truth.

"I cut it," he says.

Steve continues to stare at him. "What?"

"I cut the string," Eddie says. "With a dagger."

"Those don't exist."

"They do. One showed up for me. I used it to cut the string because I thought I was going to die, and I didn't want you to feel it," Eddie says.

"You're lying," Steve says, voice wavering, face crumpling.

"If I were lying, I'd do it better," Eddie snaps. He's exhausted and doesn't want to fight but he knows that's what's going to happen.

Steve thought about his soulmate constantly. Eddie cut the string.

"Do you know what it felt like?" Steve says.

"Yeah," Eddie says. "It was the worst pain I've ever felt."

Worse than the bats that laid him up in here, worse than the surgeries and the pull of stitches every time he tries to move. Worse worse worse.

"Me too," Steve says, and oh, he's gone quiet. Cold. The tone seeps into Eddie's bones, and he really, really doesn't like where this is going.

"You made me feel the worst pain of my life when we were going against Vecna," Steve says. "It hurt so bad that Robin was ready to drag me out and leave Nancy by herself. You put us all in danger."

"I'm sorry," Eddie says, but he can barely get those three syllables out before Steve keeps going.

"You put us in danger, you put the rest of the Party in danger, and for what?"

"I was trying to protect you."

"It still fucking hurt!" Steve shouts. "It still hurt. You did nothing. You accomplished nothing."

Eddie will not cry here. He won't.

"Steve-"

"Did you know that I thought about you every day?" Steve whispers.

"Yes," Eddie says, because fuck it, why not be honest? He has nothing left to lose.

"Do you know how excited I got when I saw the string? When you thought of me, too?"

"No," Eddie says because he stayed away from Steve Harrington all throughout high school on account of the principles and stereotypes he's realizing weren't true at all.

"I didn't think you would," Steve says. "Because you didn't fucking think, even for a second, about anything besides what? Your own guilt?"

Eddie won't cry. He won't let Steve have the satisfaction of seeing him do it.

It's getting harder, though.

"I thought of you," Eddie says instead.

"First time?" Steve asks mockingly, and before Eddie can say anything to that, he's out the door.

Then, and only then, does Eddie let himself cry.

It hurts.

#ria writes #angst #so much angst #i'm so sorry #many thanks to mahogany for talking this out a whole bunch #even if it was two months ago (certainly doesn't feel like it!)#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #soulmate au #stranger things #stranger things ficlet #st #st ficlet

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vilsoo · 8 months

Text

୨⎯ CHAPTER TWO ⎯୧

incubus!fushiguro toji x fem!reader

꒰ ✟ ꒱ GENRE: horror, demon au, nsfw 18+, porn with plot.

꒰ ✟ ꒱ SUMMARY: Sex demons are not as provocative as you think they are. Not only do they engage in sexual acts with humans, they thrive off their flesh and haunt them in their nightmares. When an incubus disguised as a Reverend turns a hungry eye on one of the parishioners, gruesome events at the cathedral slowly unfold; blasphemy, gore, and terror…

꒰ ✟ ꒱ CHAPTER WARNINGS: blasphemy, WC: 2,396

PREVIOUS • MASTERLIST • NEXT CHAPTER

written in toji's pov, narration style similar to the Netflix show, "You." pov may also change in future chapters. this takes place in a fictional setting; St. Reze University & Cathedral.

"Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession..."

Father Getou Suguru, the priest who ordained me as a clergy member and who I work for now, would sometimes put me in charge of confessionals whenever he’s busy. Obviously I hated it. Sitting in this mahogany booth, listening to the sins and confessions of these miserable penitents that don’t even matter to me. Sometimes out of boredom I'd feel tempted to manipulate them out of their faith, but I couldn't afford to lose my job. I had no choice.

This evening I was starting to feel a bit sluggish while confessionals were ongoing. Some were short, some were emotional, and some just didn't know what to say in the midst of nervousness or inexperience. I didn’t even have to say much except for making up their penance as I try not to fall asleep. But as I sat down and pondered while this young male penitent babbled to me, the memory of you on your knees before me during Eucharist… haunted me.

“…But this one nightmare I had a few days ago, Reverend— call me dramatic, I don’t care… but when I woke up, I woke up literally gasping for my life. I couldn’t stop thinking about it that I got so distracted in class. It disturbs me when I even think about it. What should I do?”

And suddenly a wave of clarity washed over me when the male’s unsettled voice blended with the flashback of us under the rain hours ago. It took awhile to register what he said, especially when he mentioned nightmares.

Across the decorative screen, I frowned and remained silent. It was a little frustrating taking my focus off of you and onto another concern. Perhaps this evening confession had slightly intrigued me, especially knowing the true, daunting origins of nightmares that have been ongoing. And not just any plain nightmare that adults get from stress or medications. Majority of people tend to forget those that come and go, but if they continue lurking within one’s mind for several weeks…

“Hm. You got insomnia or something, kid?” I inquired, deciding not to think too deep about this. Whatever the fuck I smoked earlier had me overthinking too much. I’m peeved about it.

“Um. I'm twenty two," the man demurred. "But, no… I don’t have insomnia, surprisingly.”

“Then don’t sweat it. Just know that you can expect spiritual nourishment in a religious campus like this," I assured sardonically. “But in case that doesn’t work… start booking your therapy sessions.”

“Therapy?” he marveled. “Wow. This is the first time a Reverend gave me a penance like that. I thought you were gonna suggest something, like, plain old prayer and scripture.”

“Churches are all full of narcissists like that, kid. Now end off with a prayer and go.”

The man thanks me and proceeds with his final prayers and blessings before leaving. I sat alone in the booth for what felt like more than five minutes, waiting for any penitent left to come in. I couldn’t sense any human presence roaming about the ambulatory and transepts nearby, which had me relieved. But just as I was about to open the door and make my way from my debased duties as a Reverend, I can hear someone scurrying towards the booth and entering inside.

I sighed exasperatingly and cursed under my breath, throwing my head back against the mahogany wall and sulked. Though it was strange that my heightened senses weren’t able to detect anyone outside the booth, I was feeling rather passive aggressive. Whoever this person was caught me off guard completely; it’s always been a bad habit of mine to put my pride first before anything.

“Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession."

That voice. That silky, radiant honey and velvety voice— You. I decided to not speak and peered through the latticed opening into the opposite side of the dark wooden compartment and see that it was really you as the penitent. My penitent. An opportunity for me to see you plead for advice and dwell in your personal relationship with your god. My disinterest may or may not have been lifted after recognizing you…

“I confess that I have been distracted from my relationship with you,” you continued bashfully. “All of my time has been taken up by school, work, the people in my life… I even encountered someone that I couldn't stop thinking about the whole night."

I shifted in my seat, the wood slightly creaking as I crossed my legs and waited for you to elaborate. My heart felt heavy with anticipation, but I still remained silent. I could see you, but you couldn’t see me. I must admit, the way you’re indirectly speaking to me right now did bring a little amusement…

“He’s… he’s a Reverend for the church that I’ve never seen before. An older man with a gravely voice and a scar on the corner of his mouth. But there was something about him that makes me feel, I don’t know— bewitched, probably? Is that the right word? Well, I couldn’t focus during the Eucharist because of my… unwanted lust for him…”

After indulging in your confessions and finally hearing your lascivious truth, what you confessed to me seemed to bewitch me as well. And I felt a growing flame of rage from allowing this to happen to me, intoxicating my inhibitions like fire to gasoline, stinging me like push pins sliding into my skin. After our unexpected encounter tonight, all you could ever think about was me, just how all I could ever think about was you.

“I always come on Sundays. But this is my first time coming to the Saturday sermon, which means I might never see him again. I ask for your forgiveness of my sins, father. I also pray for your guidance to avoid whatever leads me to sinful thoughts and temptations like this. You are my god. I would never worship another being like you. In his name, my god, have mercy.”

You left the booth shortly after that, not giving me the chance to speak at all. Surprisingly that was the first confessional where I didn't have to respond to my penitent and only remained silent. Props to you for making my job easier.

But after hearing you beg to your god to avoid the sinful thoughts of lust and covet because of me… I've never felt so captivated over this. Over a human. You were the key to my dark little fairy tale that I'm so aching to taste. A chance for a lost little lamb to experience danger, corruption… and sin.

The way you’ve been provoking me tonight has me infuriated, I admit. My ongoing battle of cunning, dark, and sinister thoughts within my conscience, where I’d be tempted to corrupt these Catholic sheeps for my own satisfaction. Now I’m the corrupted one. I hate you for that. You're so ashamed to face sin, ashamed to face me. If I am your sin, then you're my impiety; I will forever have irreverence for your god without giving a damn. And what every demon like me caters to mortals, we fulfill them until they're dripping with sin and corruption.

When I left the booth and wandered down the nave, I sat on the front pew and grunted in exhaustion. I sat there for awhile, arching my neck back against the top edge like I was floating. Manspreading, my hands slid into my pockets then halted when I felt something. Your rosary.

I scrutinized it once again. Immediately my mind is cascaded by the thought of you during communion. You looked at me like I was no stranger, drinking the sight of me instead of that holy wine. A glimpse sublime, the most hypnotically sensual thing I’ve seen in this life. So ruthless of you to do. I find myself smitten by it when I play it in my mind, sanctifying me more than any holy concept in this church. I just couldn't get enough. I just couldn't stop replaying it in my head…

I glanced down at my slacks. When you looked at me drinking that wine on your knees… Oh, I was a man gone wild. Arousal had blossomed in my pelvis like an unwanted guest. My vivid imagination of you right there, right between my legs, kissing and worshiping me like how you kiss and worship the grace of your god. The never-ending eye contact. Bestowing that sweet mouth for my cock until I fuck into your throat…

Suddenly there was a noise. A noise that sent the synapses of my brain frozen, immediately taking my hand off my slacks and darting my head to the left. A strange echo reverberated through the stair tower. I held my breath and tried to make out another sound that would come from downstairs. Such eerie sounds don't really bother me, but it made me realize I wasn't the only one here at church late at night.

At first there was a hiss-like sound— like a giant serpent slithering, or the sharp growl of a feral beast. I couldn’t tell if it was my imagination fucking with me again, but such grotesque noise made me think someone's flesh was getting torn apart, followed by a prowling snarl.

There were faint screams, similar to the faint screams of the putrid souls back in Hell. But I couldn’t exactly tell because of the incense on the altar taking over my senses. My heart rate staggered and I could feel my lungs tightening from holding my breath. I was slightly perturbed, I admit. But just as I was about to stand up and investigate, a soft-spoken voice was suddenly heard from my right side.

“Toji?”

I averted to the opposite direction as if I was pulled back into a quieter reality, seeing a brunette woman in a habit. Her pale face emanated from the dark corners, approaching closer to the pew I sat at.

"Oh. It's you." The corner of my mouth stretched to a small smile as Sister Shoko Ieiri stood nearby, shoving the pearl rosary in my pockets. "What'cha doing here so late, hm?"

"I could ask you the same thing,” Shoko taunted. "I was closing the church and then I found you here. Were you on confessional duty?"

I nodded, letting her sit beside me and sighed out of exhaustion. Something shiny from her chest caught my eye— a hematite and aurora crystal bead rosary with a sterling silver pendant. It was much larger than the wooden rosary she would usually carry around. I watched as she weakly twisted it between her fingers, her expression growing melancholic.

"Everything alright?" I spoke low, trying my best to be sympathetic for the nun. She remained inanimate for awhile, like she was lost in her own complicated thoughts.

“Well, I’ve been getting less sleep..."

"Why's that?"

“…I’ve been feeling a little sick lately.” Sister Shoko rubbed her eyes and sniffled. “I’m gonna be locking the doors now, so you coming?”

This woman was obviously lying. However, I didn't really care that much to force her to open up to me. My intentions aren’t to get too involved with humans and their problems, especially with Shoko since she has a lot weighing down on her shoulders. As merciful as I can be, I followed her and waited as she locked the church doors outside.

"Want me to walk you to your car?" I ask.

Shoko hauled the keys off the doors to the narthex, slightly turning her face to me. “Uh, sure," she vacillated, smiling weakly. "I didn't take you as that kind of guy, honestly."

I pushed my shoulder off the walls and head down to the parking lot, my hands fidgeting with your rosary in my pocket. Then I kept thinking about what I've heard at the staircase tower near the cathedral’s balcony, glancing at every corner warily. The winds were small tonight, a tranquil stillness of the dark night surrounding us both while the beams of the moon shatter the sky.

"So. How are you and Sister Utahime?" I inquired, breaking the silence and my thoughts.

The brunette nun smiled down at the gravelly pavement, softly scoffing as a shade of red glowed at her cheeks. "Ah, you know. We're doing good. Thinking about moving in together next year."

"Oh. You could've brought her with you tonight, you know."

“I know," she pouted. "But she's usually asleep at this time and I didn't want to bother her. What about you, Fushiguro?"

"Hm?"

"Do you have any girl on your mind right now?" she simpered, pretending to act like some nosy high school girl. "C'mon, you sure look like you can pull anyone."

At first, I thought she was bluffing. "Nah," I replied, clutching the crucifix of your rosary chiseled firmly and sharp to my fingertips.

We finally reached her car, waiting as she fumbled with her keys to unlock it. "You sure?" she teased. "What about that girl I saw with you earlier today for the Eucharist?"

I deadpanned. "What girl?"

Shoko's shoulders dropped in disappointment. "Are you serious? The girl that drank from your wine! I've seen the way you looked at her."

I gazed into the sky as if I was pretending to remember. "Oh. Her," I spoke slowly. "I barely even know her, Shoko."

The brunette pulled her car door open. "Well, when I saw you two, it definitely looked like more than that."

"That’s insane. All she did was take the drink, what made you come up with that?” I say sardonically.

“Oh, don’t gaslight me, Fushiguro.” I wait as she stepped inside to the driver's seat and turned on the engine. "But, I thank you for keeping me company tonight.”

I smiled weakly, disregarding everything that she just speculated. “No problem. Have a goodnight.”

“You too, Toji.”

I close the door for her and watch as the nun drives away, left alone under the pale moonlight. I turn my head at the cathedral again for awhile, scanning the east stair tower outside. If the doors were unlocked and I had the motivation to investigate where that noise came from, I would've done so already. But I decided to drop it for now…

What am I to do with a stranger like you from now on?

TAGS: @suget @azanthys @haezen @heavenlyevil @saturniac @vampnyx @killzenin @diorsbrando @endurablerose @slut-manifesto @maxytx-blog @sugucidal

ALL WORKS BELONG TO VILSOO/POISEUNS © 2023. originally published April 10, 2021. do not steal, plagiarize, or translate without permission. do not repost or share any of my works where minors have access.

#ཐི♰ཋྀ ⋆ 𝐆𝐎𝐃’𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐄. ๋࣭ 𖤐 #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fushiguro toji

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 5 months

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Opinion At 33, I knew everything. At 69, I know something much more important.

By Anne Lamott :: Contributing columnist

Anne Lamott is an American novelist and nonfiction writer. Her latest book, “Somehow: Thoughts on Love,” will be published in April 2024.

Today I woke up old and awful in every way. I simultaneously cannot bear the news and cannot turn it off: It’s cobra hypnosis — Gaza, Israel, the shootings in Maine. The world is as dark as a scarab. I have two memorial services on my calendar this week. A dear friend is in the hospital waiting for a liver, dying. She keeps assuring me, “I ain’t in no ways tired,” and I say, “Oh, stop with that or I’m not going to visit again.” I’m exhausted just driving 90 minutes to and from San Francisco to see her.

My body hurt quite a lot when I got out of bed this morning, and I limped around like Granny Clampett for the first hour, until it unseized. Worse, my mind hurt, my heart hurt and I hated almost everyone, except my husband, my grandson and one of the dogs.

I don’t think I could have borne up under all this 20 years ago when I thought I knew so much about life. That was not nearly as much as I knew at 33, which is when we know more than we ever will again. But age has given me the ability to hang out without predicting how things will sort out this time (mostly — depending on how I’ve slept).

In many of Albert Bierstadt’s Western paintings, there is a darkness on one side, maybe a mountain or its shadow. Then toward the middle, animals graze or drink from a lake or stream. And then at the far right or in the sky, splashes of light lie like shawls across the shoulders of the mountains. The great darkness says to me what I often say to heartbroken friends — “I don’t know.”

Is there meaning in the Maine shootings?

I don’t know. Not yet.

My white-haired husband said on our first date seven years ago that “I don’t know” is the portal to the richness inside us. This insight was one reason I agreed to a second date (along with his beautiful hands). It was a game-changer. Twenty years earlier, when my brothers and I were trying to take care of our mother in her apartment when she first had Alzheimer’s, we cried out to her gerontology nurse, “We don’t know if she can stay here, how to help her take her meds, how to get her to eat better since she forgets.” And the nurse said gently, “How could you know?”

This literally had not crossed our minds. We just thought we were incompetent. In the shadow of the mountain of our mother’s decline, we hardly knew where to begin. So we started where we were, in the not knowing.

In the center of many Bierstadt paintings, you sometimes see animals grazing or drinking. They’re fine, they’re animals; they are just doing animals. But they are not the point — the point is the light. No matter how low you are, the light can reach you. It falls on animals, including us. This is positively biblical. Some of Bierstadt’s animals are lined up at the water as if they’re going to march onto Noah’s Ark. Or they’re huddled together as on a park bench, just hanging out. You have to wonder if the older deer are slightly surprised upon waking every morning, as I am, fumbling around for their glasses.

The animals never seem to have anywhere to go. I used to have lots of places I had to get to. I had to go out for this or that, and it was an emergency — graph paper! I suddenly, urgently, needed to drive to town for graph paper. Also, in the old days when there was something to celebrate, I’d go out to a nice restaurant with friends. To celebrate now, I might exuberantly skip flossing for a night, and maybe if the news is good enough, the hip exercises. Wild times.

In my younger days when the news was too awful, I sought meaning in it. Now, not so much. The meaning is that we have come through so much, and we take care of each other and, against all odds, heal, imperfectly. We still dance, but in certain weather, it hurts. (Okay, always.)

The portals of age also lead to the profound (indeed earthshaking) understanding that people are going to do what people are going to do: They do not want my always-good ideas on how to have easier lives and possibly become slightly less annoying.

Now there is some acceptance (partly born of tiredness) that I can’t rescue or fix anyone, not even me. Sometimes this affords me a kind of plonky peace, fascination and even wonder at people and life as they tromp on by.

The price of aging is high: constant aches, real pain and barely survivable losses. But each time my hip unseizes, it reminds me that this life is not going to go on forever, and that is what makes it so frigging precious.

Another gift of aging is the precipitous decline in melodrama. Enjoying how unremarkable life is takes practice and time, and then the little things start to shine and delight. Life gets smaller and in its smallness it starts winking at you. On my first day back in New Mexico recently, the high desert looked barren and brown. Pretty, yes, but a little dead. Then the tiny desert flowers, yellow, lavender, magenta and baby blue, made their way into my consciousness, and the earth’s shades of ochre and red started to warm me, and before long the formerly dead desert was alive and awash in dynamic, undulating streams of color.

[Albert Bierstadt :: Yosemite]

Sometimes at the right or the top center of Bierstadt paintings is a trippy splash of light, often a mystical, jagged slash that breaks through dirty-looking or white-fire clouds. There might be bright reflections, or long, slanted fingers of sun shining down with religious airs, organ music playing softly in the background. Puffy rainclouds glow. All say, “Yes, there is the deep dark, but we have some light as well.”

Will my brothers or I inherit our mother’s Alzheimer’s? I don’t know. I do know that I recently parked in front of my house and sort of forgot to turn off the engine. Three hours later, a formerly standoffish young neighbor knocked on my door to tell me this, and I pretended to have known. I said the battery had been low and so I was letting it recharge.

“Ah,” she said.

Now she is sweet when she sees me. We wave to each other when we pass in our cars, reflecting a new affection. Reflections say, “In the dark, there’s still some light around. So don’t ever think things are too dark. We’re not going to give you the entire reserve, but we just want you to know it is there. And more may be on its way.”

[Anne Lamott]

#articles #Anne Lamott #aging #age #Bierstadt #WAPO #Washington Post #paintings #Thanksgiving #Yosemite #about art #Albert Bierstadt

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transford-pines · 6 months

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augrh aurgh aurgh aurgh ember i just signed up for a fucking ZINE. a whole FANDOM ZINE. its very lowkey and literally no competition as well as purely digital but its a ZINE. if i do this im getting my nAME published. like??? my actual NAME. (not my irl/deadname obviously, i mean my NAME). that qualifies me to give writing advice right. or like theopposite. your pick. still working on that btw. will probablyyyyy get it on tomorrow because my nanowrimo is ticking away by the second and i gotta DO IT. 3: anywaysi wanted to tell someone thing but not make it an actual Post bc idk if its supposed to be like super secret. i didnt sign a nda tho so ptobably not but i WANTED TO BE SAFE. its past midnight for u when u see this. barely 9 here actually. i still got a good 3 hours to midnight. WISH ME LUCK 🗣🗣🗣

OUHHH THATS SO COOL !!! WAIT HOLD ON . I HAVE TO GOOGLE SOMETHING . OHHH THATS WHAT NANOWRIMO IS OK- GOOD LUCK WITH ALL YOUR WRITING!! AND YES THAT DEFINITELY DOES QUALIFY YOU TO GIVE ADVICE AND ALSO I DONT KNOW WHY IM TYPING IN ALL CAPS BUT IT FEELS RIGHT . ALSO I ACTUALLY GOT THISD AT LIKE A LITTLE AFTER 11 BUT I WAS RIGHT ABT TO EEPY SO I DIDNT RESPOND THEN HDKSHFKSN ok thats enough of the all caps . why so much all caps ? i woke up like twenty minutes ago my brain is an enigma man . anyways im going feral so ill be in your inbox to ramble about the running minds au sillies soon because God im losing it and also my packages arrived !!! The glass scientists physical copy..... its going to save my life 2day from the crushing boredom of church (id complain that i have to go but i Did sort of agree to it- i made my bed now i have to lie in it (im an atheist for the record dhskhdksjd)) See im having like a little transgender crisis here . because i generally am Out but its a church man . not even the fun kind like The Church its just A church . and i used to go there a long time ago so people are gonna recognize me and theyre gonna have questions abt my short hair and junk and im Scared man . i mean i live in a really good state for this kinda stuff but its a Church . anyways did you know theres a legoset of dt87 scrooge and the triplets?? i have it now and im going FERAL man cant wait to build it . my hyperfixation shelf is THRIVING also did u know theres a donald duck hotwheels . cuz there is and i have it

was too lazy to go take a picture of my own but Look At That Thang !!!

#the guys (with a z!)#Im so good at not going off on a million tangents (Lying)#i hope you like my rambling replies and asks <3

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thethistlegirlwrites · 7 months

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Cold-Blooded

Vampires are cold-blooded.

It’s an academic observation in southern California.

It’s far more real in Appalachian Tennessee. Sierra is feeling the chill herself. It’s not below freezing, but there was definitely some drifting snow in the air when she woke up this evening, and her breath is making faint foggy clouds. She’s keeping her hands in her sweatshirt pocket, and the tip of her nose is tingling.

Shay has been quiet for a while now. Sierra had thought maybe it was just his usual quiet unless he has something to say thing, but now she’s worried. Vampires don’t self regulate their body temperature in any way, and loss of proper circulation can send them into a torpor state not unlike cold-blooded animals.

“Shay, you alright?”

“Do I look alright?” There’s no chattering teeth or tremor in his voice, just snark.

Sierra scoots a little closer to him on the log anyway, adjusting the blanket spread over their legs, then looks up at the sky. “Where did you say the meteor shower is gonna be, Pete?”

Pete looks perfectly comfortable in a quilted flannel jacket and fingerless gloves. Sierra kind of wants to punch him. Totally unfair. “A little to the northwest.” He pushes up his sleeve to check his watch. “In about twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes?” Shay asks. “Seriously?”

“We got up here a lot faster than I thought we would,” Pete says. “Someone cleared the trails out. A few years ago I was climbing over fallen trees and having to go around branches.”

“So your idea of a fun-filled night is drag your best friends through a potential obstacle course?” Sierra asks.

“You’re the one who said seeing the meteor shower would be cool.”

“It is cool. Literally.” Sierra rubs her arms. “Should we maybe start a fire or something?”

“If we do, it’ll make it harder to see anything up there,” Pete says. “We can light one for a bit and then put it out, though.”

“That sounds like a great idea to me,” Sierra says. “Shay, how do you feel about a fire?” Vampires aren’t fond of cold temperatures, but they’re also very averse to fire. Uncle John has apparently endless stories of how Robin has pissed Emma off with minor (controlled, or at least so he claims) arson.

There’s no response. Sierra turns to Shay to see him slumped forward, head resting on his chest, lips bluer and skin paler than even his normal.

Idiot. He wouldn’t have been shivering or had chattering teeth, because those are the responses of something warm-blooded trying to regulate itself.

He may not have realized how bad things were getting, himself. Sierra thinks he would have told her if he did. He’s usually pretty good about being honest about an issue, unless it’s going to involve him needing real blood.

This won’t. But he’s still a new vamp and this is his first time in colder weather. He’s used to human indicators of hypothermia, and probably didn’t recognize the vampire ones as anything other than discomfort.

“Pete, we are gonna need that fire.” She nods to Shay. “Because I do not want to try and carry him back down that trail.” Having him as virtual deadweight in flat desert was bad enough.

“If we can get him warm he should be fine,” Pete says, digging some matches out of his jacket pocket and picking up a handful of twigs and fallen leaves. “He’s basically going into hibernation because of the temperatures.”

It’s certainly not the worst off Sierra’s ever seen Shay, but that doesn’t mean it’s good. It’s more easily fixed than open wounds or blood loss or exposure to silver, but given that vampires can’t help their own bodies warm back to a functional temperature, Sierra and Pete are going to have to do all the work.

She slides her jacket off her arms, pulling Shay into a clumsy hug and slipping her hands under his shirt to wrap around his back. His skin is like ice. She shivers from the contact.

Pete takes a moment away from the tiny flickers of his fire to drape the blanket around the two of them like a miniature tent. The wool is scratchy against Sierra’s cheek, but it traps her warmth between herself and Shay, and she feels him shift against her.

She curls into him, watching the firelight flicker on his features, bringing out the color again. The reddish glow makes him almost look human again. It’s honestly a strange sight.

She isn’t sure what she would have thought of him if they’d met while he was still human.

The only Shay she knows is the vampire.

And she likes the person she knows.

He blinks lazily, and the fire’s light brings out the flecks of gold ringing the center of his irises.

“Welcome back,” she says, laughing out a huff of relief.

“Wh…” He sounds groggy, dazed.

“We let you get too cold. We’re just going to get you warm and then go home,” she says.

Pete sits down on the log next to them, re-adjusting the blanket so it now wraps (almost) around all three of them. Sierra shudders at the momentary gust of chilly wind, then leans into Pete’s warmth. The fire is crackling cheerfully, several crossed logs forming a solid base that smolders determinedly. There’s only a low red light now, but it’s reliable, steady and warm.

“Hey, look.” Pete detaches one arm from the cocoon of warmth to point upward.

Sure enough, a scatter of pinpoint lights is making their way to earth.

Sierra watches them, burning so bright until they go out, and settles a little closer into the bodies surrounding her.

Falling stars only last for a few moments. But the best of them never go down alone.

Everything, even going down in flames, is better done together.

You can read this story and more from my universe on my WorldAnvil here!

@nade2308 @catwingsathena @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk

#whumptober 2023 #no.4 #shock #original character #shane barrett #sierra aguirre-stoker #pete jemison

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uraberika · 5 months

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Paparazzi

Rating: T Fandom: Inazuma Eleven Chapter: 1/? Relationship: Domon Asuka/Urabe Rika, Ichinose Kazuya/Urabe Rika Characters: Domon Asuka, Urabe Rika, Ichinose Kazuya Summary: Domon Asuka is a twenty-something fashion journalist stuck between last-minute speed-running articles at midnight and editing photos of fashionistas who think way too highly of themselves. But when he accidentally ruins the career of celebrity model Urabe Rika, he finds his life suddenly turned upside down as he is forced to help the insufferable fashion icon (quite literally) get back on her feet. On other platforms: AO3

A/N: This work is inspired by a model!Rika AU by @inazuma-art from like four years ago (check her art of model!Rika here). The recent actor!AU by @misfitmiska and @irisviel101 might have also inspired me to create this celebrity/model!AU. :D I first had this idea years ago and then completely forgot about it, until @frosty-tian asked me about DoRika and now I have the urge to turn my idea into something written. I have some ideas as to where I want this story to go but I have yet to write most of it so updates are most likely going to be sporadic.

To put it plain and simple: Domon Asuke was fucked and he did not know what he had done to deserve this. Everything started great when Domon woke up in the morning, fresh and well-rested, a feeling he rarely encountered in his busy life split between last-minute speed-running articles at midnight and editing photos of fashionistas who thought way too highly of themselves. So when Domon woke up energized in the morning, he should have been more suspicious, really. But it only occurred to him after he had brushed his teeth and had his lazy morning coffee to glance at the digital clock on the coffee table which was… in the simplest of terms… not working. The numbers 04:32 were blinking on the screen accusingly, which could only mean that there had been a power shortage at around dawn. The third fucking time this month. Domon stopped dead in his tracks (and in his pajamas) to take a look at his phone. Shit, it was already 8:30. The journalist cursed, throwing his phone in his bag while trying to strip off his pajamas at the same time. Shitshitshit, he elaborated further to himself as he haphazardly threw on a shirt and plucked his camera’s battery from its charger on the wall. He hoped that despite the shortage, the batteries still had some juice in them. He quickly tossed the camera into its textile case, pondering his options. If he managed to catch the metro leaving in seven minutes, he might just make it. He cursed his stupid decision to have moved the digital clock into the living room, but the bastard machinery made such ungodly alarm sounds that it would give him a heart attack if it would go off in his bedroom. Hit by a sudden burst of determination, Domon slipped on his loafers and closed the door behind his apartment with more force than it would have been necessary. His shoulder bag was practically holding onto dear life as he made a run for the station, ignoring the curious stares he earned along the way.

He just cannot fuck this up, not when this was his biggest opportunity ever since he entered the scene of fashion journalism, just fresh out of college. Domon has been working as a fashion journalist for four years now, and maybe that was the problem: maybe his content started to lack originality or it was just due to the sudden rise of self-proclaimed tik-tok influencers, make up artists and thrift girlies, but Domon was not doing so well in terms of money. His agency paid him by his articles, but also by the popularity of his articles which left a lot to be desired in terms of engagement. Domon was sure that it was the internet’s fault: these youngsters raised on five minute make-up tutorials would never be able to understand the fine details of the honored craft that was fashion, let alone read about it!

But this gig, he swore to himself he wouldn’t fuck it up. It was Tokyo Fashion Week and every reporter worth their salt from teenage girls on social media to world famous fashion moguls fixed their gaze (and pens and keyboards and cameras) onto the imposing catwalks of the capital of Japan. Domon, being a mid-tier journalist at an averagely acclaimed journal with a dwindling fanbase, failed to snag a press pass (not that anyone expected him to get one in the first place). Luckily, his best friend came through: Ichinose Kazuya, world-renowned football player, fashion icon and the object of adoration of many adolescent girls had managed to pull a few strings and get him a press pass. Ichinose could convince the hot model chick he was currently seeing to put in a good word for Domon’s agency and the next day, Domon found a velvet black lanyard on his desk with his name and “PRESS” on the tag. Domon was most grateful for his best friend’s help which made the fact that he might just miss the whole shabang starting at 10:00 am even more so embarrassing.

He tried not to cringe too hard as he stepped out of the metro car he luckily managed to catch, and took off, taking the escalator two steps at a time, ignoring the other passengers' scandalized stares. Of course this would happen on the only day when everything hinged on him being in the right place at the right time! As he quickened his steps (he still needed to cover ten minutes of walking within seven minutes, or ideally, within five) he tried to make a mental list of any potential disasters. He had no clue how long his camera’s battery would last, but if push came to shove, his Iphone made decent pictures enough. Since live streams were forbidden during Tokyo Fashion Week, novelty preceded quality: the first ones to report on the event got the most views, not those who had the most perfect pictures. Domon would try to take perfect photos anyway, but he was not in a position to aim higher than “good enough” at the moment.

If he was really honest with himself, for all the glitz and glamor, Domon was not fond of fashion weeks anyway: they tended to center around female clothing too much, while his main interests lay in men’s streetwear. But obviously, Ichinose’s chick asked the lanyard for Domon specifically which might have earned him some jealous glances from his female colleagues in the office who would have been much more suited for Fashion Week, but he felt little remorse: fashion was a dog-eat-dog world after all, just as much about connections as craftsmanship.

Domon’s lungs were begging for mercy but he was not in a merciful mood at the moment. The building was a glorious tower of glass windows with multiple stories and it seemed to be shining condescendingly down on him as he pushed the glass doors open with much less grace than the occasion would have required. He waved his pass at the security guard, then scanned it at the electric gate: he was lucky that his show was on the ground floor. As a good journalist, he had done his research before the event: he knew that the collection presented by the fashion brand Aldena would be centered around buzzwords like “chic”, “formal wear” and “postmodern” which honestly gave him no clue on what to expect other than it was surely to be way out of his comfort zone.

The door was already closed but thankfully it gave when Domon pushed the silver handle down. He glanced at his watch: 10:02. He barely just made it. The commentator was already on stage surrounded in the sharp white halo of stage lights, and he was in the middle of introducing the collection. Thankful for the dimness, Domon made his way among the rows of seats, whispering soft sorrys and trying to ignore the low grumbling of those who were forced to stand up to let him through. He peeked a glance at his pass to find his seat: A22, the letter corresponding to the row and the letter to the seat. In regular shows the lettering of rows usually started from the back, A referring to the furthest row, and the one closest to the end of the alphabet would mean the closest one to day runway. To Domon’s shock and surprise, Tokyo Fashion Week did the reverse: the journalist tried to calm his heartbeat as the realization hit him that he was going to be sitting in the first row.

Shit, Ichinose’s girl was not fooling around, that’s for sure! The poor woman must be smitten with Ichinose if she arranged a seat in the front row for his best friend, someone she could have only heard about. Ichinose was very adamant about keeping his love life and professional life separate, and Domon separate from both of those things. Despite Ichinose’s good appearance and charming personality, the football player failed to keep a girl for more than three months and he did not want to risk his friends getting way too attached to any of his girlfriends for that reason. The tabloids called him a womanizer but Domon suspected that his best friend might have some underlying issues concerning commitment and that was why he was secretive about his partners, even in front of Domon. The journalist humored Ichinose for his nonsense, understanding that this was his way of regaining some control over his life. Not that Domon would not instantly side with Ichinose if he had any sort of conflict with his girlfriend: their friendship ran deeper than that, he made that clear to Ichinose a long time ago. Bros before… supermodels, or something like that.

The presenter now moved aside and the stage light increased tenfold the same time as the lights above the audience went out. Right, time to get to work. Domon took out his camera and angled it towards the stage.

The first model to enter the stage was a petite girl with bubblegum-pink pigtails. Her hair was styled in small little bubbles and the orange eye makeup only further enhanced her youthful features. To snag a position at a brand like Aldena so early on in one’s career can only mean that she was especially talented, Domon knew this much at least. He did not know whether to be impressed or feel pity for the girl for dropping into the fashion scene at such a young age. Shaking himself out of his thoughts of sympathy, he turned his head to observe the outfit. The model was wearing a two-piece set made of black satin that glistened under the white stage lights.The legs of the dress pants were exaggerated to absurd proportions, exceeding the size of regular flares; Domon could almost hear the swooshing of the material as the model passed him. Embroidered fire lilies climbed up her pants’ legs in orange and salmon threads; her blazer had the same pattern on the lapels. The model wore a comically ruffled white blouse under the blazer and the whole outfit was topped off (if Domon could afford the pun) with a top hat. The journalist broke out in cold sweat. The outfit was no doubt pretty but this style was way out of his league; he did not know if he could do it justice in his writing. He felt dread climbing up his throat. What the hell was he doing here anyway? He looked around himself in panic; the guests seated were all dressed in over-the-top outfits with crazy accessories and here he was, just regular old Domon in a black t-shirt and cargo pants. The realization hit like a punch to his gut: he was severely underdressed and severely underqualified for this event.

By the time the girl reached the end of the runway, Domon managed to gather his bearings. The journalist rarely felt small but the atmosphere of the crowd emanating such high class and professionalism started to mess with his head. However, he would not fuck up this up; he had promised himself he would not. Most importantly, Domon could not put his childhood best friend to shame after he went so out of his comfort zone to help him. He reached for his camera and quickly snapped a few shots only to fight back an exasperated groan. Ichinose’s girl might have managed to snag a spot in the front row but the seats were arranged in the shape of a U around the catwalk and his place was the last chair at the end of the U, almost at the jut of the stage. It was impossible to get a good shot from here, by the time the model would be close enough for Domon to capture the outfit, she would be obscured by the expensive-looking velour curtains on the two sides of the stage. Domon grumbled and got out of his seat. He would need to move closer to get a better shot. Getting up seemed like a rude gesture at an event like this but Domon's previous experiences at fashion shows were that photographers with little inhibition would do that every now and then. And oh boy did Domon not give a fuck about these mighty ass fashion moguls at the moment! He still crouched down to avoid causing an uproar amongst the people sitting behind him: there was brave and there was foolish and Domon prided himself in usually knowing the difference.

The next model appeared on stage and Domon’s heart jumped in his throat. The woman was tall, taller than the previous model at least and her height was further played up by her hairstyle: she was wearing blue-black box braids twisted into a large bun on top of her head. A few braids slipped their confinement (or, more likely, intentionally left out by a hairstylist) and showed off how the model’s own blue hair transitioned seamlessly into black extensions midway through the braids. The contrast was striking, especially with her vivid purple makeup, complimenting her dark skin. For a moment Domon, forgot to look at her outfit, completely enthralled by the extravagance of the model herself. Then he was all professionalism again, observing the clothes in front of him. The model was wearing a form-fitting lilac dress, satin ruffles cascading down the neckline. The dress was most likely an off shoulder one but the woman’s shoulders were obscured by an oversized dark blue tuxedo jacket ornate with digitally printed roses. The influence of Y2K, his brain helpfully supplied, as his writing gears finally started kicking after much delay. The homage to the early 2000s is clear in this design of Aldena’s: the digital floral print gracefully mingles with the sleek and clean style of formal wear. The overexaggerated, floor-length swallow-tails pay a respectful nod to the high-fashion of corporate dressing as while doing justice toAldena’s personal style that is usually characterized by the enlargement of garments to an almost disproportionate degree. Yes, that definitely sounded professional in Domon’s head.Engrossed in his own thoughts about his article, Domon almost forgot to take pictures, yet again as the model finished her poses at the end of the catwalk and turned to leave the stage on Domon’s side. The journalist crept a few steps closer again and his loafers bumped against the ridge of something hard, causing his stance to waver in his awkward crouch. To save the precious cargo, Domon raised the camera in his hands up above his head on instinct as he tried to regain his balance. He looked down at his feet and realized that he had gotten too close to the stage: he managed to bump into the large cables running along the foot of the elevated platform of the catwalk. He let out a shaky breath in relief: he had almost tripped over them and mentally chided himself for his unawareness. He could have fallen! Just as the thought crossed his mind, Domon felt a tug at his hands and suddenly, the camera was abruptly jerked from his hold by the strap of the machine that Domon should have been wearing around his neck. He turned his head in fear towards the catwalk, towards where his camera disappeared but the stage lights were too blinding for him to see anything. Unfortunately, his hearing was working just fine: he heard the sound of lens shattering as well as the deadly silence that fell onto the ridiculously large room afterwards. Then, the woman on the stage fell over with a dull thud and a sharp scream. Chaos erupted.

#inazuma eleven #domon asuka #urabe rika #ichinose kazuya #dorika #mystuff #myff #i11

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sauntering-down · 6 months

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dreams

first, i joined a marching band. now i play zero (0) instruments irl so i'm not sure what i was thinking, and immediately upon arriving at a football field for the first game i was handed a trombone and told 'yeah, we have no trombones and we need one because they play all the solo parts in the school's fight song, here's your music and good luck lol'.

didn't know how to play the trombone in the dream, either, btw. so i fucked around for a bit, made some horrifying noises. and then it was game time and we were sent out onto the field... except for me and the drum major, who both had to stand up on this platform so we could be seen. and then i had to start playing the song, which was inexplicably 'La Marseillaise'. only know about the first ten notes of that song. tried to play them and absolutely fucked it up. like, i sounded like a tortured cat. idek what i played because, as stated, i only know ten notes of that song thanks to Casablanca. but then the band started their part (they sounded much better) until i had to play the ending solo... anyway, we finally finished and the spectators clapped. pretty sure i was not included in that applause. i actually wanted to borrow a microphone and apologize to the audience and tell them i literally picked up this instrument for the first time about twenty minutes ago...

different bit of a dream, then - i was biking around a hallway in a massive Toys 'R' Us store?? didn't make much sense.

and then the last part of the dream... i was at this big shopping center close to my house. got out of my car, walked around a bit, and then went into Books-A-Million. i tried to leave after a little while but found out my car wasn't working and apparently a cop had deliberately sabotaged it?? and then people started shooting up the various stores in the shopping center... the cop who'd damaged my car said i had to come back into the bookstore with her and protect her from the bullets or i'd be arrested. didn't really have a choice, so i went along with it. 'protecting' her entailed holding an umbrella over her and her partner's heads as we were shot at from the second floor. idk. then the dream repeated, but i remembered what happened the last time and also Mary was there now! so i warned her what was about to happen and we booked it over to my car - actually caught the cop in the act of sabotaging my car. she left and we threw ourselves into my car because we knew the bullets were going to start flying any second now, and i fuckin floored it out of there lol. except then i realized all this was just a cartoon i was watching about a group of kids who'd stolen a dragon from the government... one of the kids woke up one night and looked out his window and realized there was a pickup truck driving back and forth in front of his house... idk.

#dream

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timemachineyeah · 2 years

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This is going to be a vent post. I’m fine. It’s okay! Sometimes I just need to rage uselessly against things no one can control before once again trying to be my usual pragmatic make-the-best-of-things self.

If you do not wish to read a vent, that’s understandable. Please scroll. Okay. 😘

Jesus Charcuterie Christ I am so fucking sick of chronic illness.

I am tired of the dirty bathroom, which I cannot clean because the energy just doesn’t exist even though I want to clean it. Even though I like cleaning a bathroom! When I was a kid I used to volunteer to be the one assigned to the bathroom!

This morning I woke up and changed the litter and I think a box was heavier than I had anticipated or something but I ended up so exhausted I couldn’t really stand or move my arms. It took me twenty minutes to eat a yogurt cup. My brother came home with groceries and I couldn’t jump up to help him put them away. I wanted to get out of his hair by going back to my room but I needed to sit for another hour before I had rested enough to walk back up the stairs.

It’s not always this bad. But god, when it’s this bad I want to scream. I want to tear out the tongues of every well meaning person or doctor who’s ever told me to just slowly try to build my stamina. Have you tried yoga? You should be doing aerobic exercise to the point of not being able to speak between breaths at least three time a week! My body gives out before I can get winded. My hands shake. I can’t open the cracker box. I can barely swallow. Sometimes I can’t hold a conversation. I hate it. I hate it.

I went to the doctor in March and made a follow up appointment that was supposed to happen today, but I got a call that it was canceled and rescheduled for next month. I should be relieved because I was really going to have to push myself to get there. I was able to go back to bed. Instead I just want the doctor to see me. To hear me. To do something.

“We’re not going to be able to support you forever”, my mom tells me, at least once or twice a month. Not to be shaming. She’s just telling the truth. My parents are aging. Their income is decreasing, their health is declining, they don’t know how Dad’ll ever be able to retire but his job is actively killing him. I never know what to say. I always say, “I know”, because I know. But I also know I literally cannot do any more than I’m doing. I had to take breaks between lifting the yogurt spoon to my mouth. I had to take the stairs one at a time.

I want to do so many things. I have so many ideas, so many dreams, so many causes. I want to scream, “Mom, you more than anyone know how stubborn I am! How determined I can be!!!” I am too tired to even have big feelings. Anger and despair are both exhausting. A good mood gives me more energy, so I have become So. Fucking. Tempered. Kind. Balanced. Rosy. I can and WILL find the bright side if it fucking kills me because if I don’t it will. But even that is tiring. It’s so tiring to not be able to have the bad feelings because you know the bad feelings will cost you even more of your life.

I know this is real. I just want any other person to know it too, as surely as I do. I just wish a doctor could see it, acknowledge its truth, tell me why. Bonus points if they can make it even a little better.

I looked up the date of my first MRI, the one I got when this all started. A few weeks ago while lying on the floor between my bedroom and the bathroom I started to wonder about MS, the disease that killed my mother’s little sister. It was the first thing I suspected when this all started so it was the first thing they looked for. I looked up that MRI, and it was in 2014.

Eight years. This has been going on for eight years.

I might have them do another, on the off chance this IS multiple sclerosis and the first MRI was just too early. I was gonna ask about it today, but the appointment was canceled.

I want to clean the bathroom. Maybe I can just clean the sink. Maybe that won’t be too much.

I miss going on long walks. I used to walk ten miles in a day. Now a block wipes me out.

I am adjusting. I am accommodating myself as much as I can. I am doing my best. If it never gets better I will find a way to make the best of what I’ve got.

But eight years. God fucking dammit. I could’ve done so much. Who would possibly fake this and why. For what??? Attention? Sympathy? Where. I don’t get those things. To get out of work? Even the work I love? Even play? Even free time and friends??? I lose those things as much, if not more. I am not married, I don’t have kids - these are things I wanted! I want to date! Fuck! I’m so mad. It’s 2:30 in the afternoon on a Monday and I am sitting in my room with the lights off and all the curtains drawn around my bed typing on my phone made as dark as possible so it doesn’t strain my eyes and I would rather be doing so many other things. Instead I’m probably going to go back and forth between a video game and my bed all day. Maybe I’ll wash the sink.

It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. But this is real. This is so real. I have lost so much. This isn’t fun for me. It’s not a game. And it should be a cry for help, because I need help, but I actually fucking hate asking for help. I just want to be able to do it myself. That’s all I ever wanted.

#timemachine wuz here #chronic illness #cn vent #this is okay to reblog if it resonates

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