#making really sick people get out of bed and do exercise

[cloverthebarbearian]

I am here to feed the Rugan community to the very best of my ability 😌❤️ she's a long list fella's so get comfy

Masterlist of Rugan HCs (NSFW under cut)

Rugan on the Road

With the Zhentarim

He's incredibly bossy while never doing much hands on work himself

He's always trying to find shortcuts to getting a job done quick and easy

Constantly pulling 'we're a team here we're family c'mon now' if his crew starts bickering

Empty promises of promotions or good words put in for low ranking recruits if they do extra work for him

But if you ACTUALLY manage to impress him though? He will show favoritism and not even try to hide it

Doesn't care much for following orders if he can get more from a better deal, but has been getting sloppier about hiding his schemes with age (girl why did you offer to split profits on a smuggling job with a complete stranger for real)

Big drinker, heavy sleeper, still somehow the first to wake up every morning

Also the first one to duck during a battle if he finds an opening

First one to act like 'we sure showed them! By working together. As a team.' When the fights been won

As much as he loves to slack off and take shortcuts, you'll never catch him complaining about the 'little' things. Low rations? Not hungry. Long journey? We need the exercise. Small crew? Good for stealth, travel light.

Even though he's a selfish asshole, he has a really charming demeanor and good enough attitude during the shittiest of situations that most people find themselves enjoying the journey with him by the end of the day

With Tav's Party

(Let's say after you've saved him from being near beat to death for finally getting caught scamming the Zhents, you convince him to let you escort him to Baldur's Gate just to make sure he doesn't get jumped again and fucking Die)

The man is SO flirty. He can't stop flirting. Depends on if Tav is into it or not will drastically change how he comes onto them, but note its not JUST Tav hes flirting with. He's got eyes on practically everyone. (Except Laezel. He tried, once. She threatened to kill him) No one knows if hes serious or if its just his personality but the man can't stop flirting.

At first, he puts in some work. Wanting to put in a little effort to carry his own weight and not be a burden, though Tav insists on him resting after the ordeal

But it doesn't take long for him to milk the mothering. His injuries suddenly become too distractingly painful. Even though Shadowheart absolutely mended that broken rib two nights prior. He insists the bruising is still pretty serious. He needs to save his strength for travel.

The entire party gets pretty sick of his BS after a while, but its not enough to kick him out or anything

Phrases like 'shut up rugan' or 'fuck off rugan' become campsite mottos

Once you all get to Baldur's Gate, its a funny, bittersweet dynamic of everyone saying they're releaved he's finally leaving, but reluctant to say goodbye

The first night without him is unusually quiet without his drunken campfire stories and earth shakingly loud snores

Rugan as a Mentor

No ulterior motives in the sense that, he only ever recruits people he also finds attract. A bias he refuses to outright acknowledge ('I have an eye for talent! Not my fault the talents also a looker 😏') so he would recruit Tav with every intention of possibly bedding them. The motives are not ulterior. They are perfectly apparent.

Similar to in game canon, he'd recruit them by trying to come to some sort of sale arrangement. Though lets say instead of selling the chest to split profits for themselves, he convinces Tav that rescuing him would surely warrant a reward back at their base, which would in turn lead to more jobs, which would lead to more money for them

Always insists on training his personal recruitments himself (for the non-ulterior ulterior motives)

Is FULLY the type of coach who has to insist their stance is all wrong so he can stand intimately behind them and guide their limbs to the proper position

He's got his cheek pressed to their's, gruff voice low, talk'm'bout 'You're far too tense, Sweetheart. You really need to relax those shoulders and widen your stance, like this...'

He's entirely aware of what he's doing and makes Zero effort to be subtle about it

General Rugan HCs

SFW

Drinks a lot but holds it well

Getting him truly drunk is VERY funny and usually ends up with him gushing about how much he cares about his friends, his guild mates, stuff he'd never be caught dead saying sober, and will insist he never said drunk either

Has 101 stories of his decades running jobs on the road, most of which you're certain are entirely made up... Until you meet an old business partner of his one day, who can corroborate the tale

For such an experienced merc/trader, surprisingly light on battle scars

Very, VERY ready for retirement. May have even been getting sloppy with his scams on purpose in the hopes of being kicked from the zhents all along...

NSFW

The man fucks. The man FUCKS. Rough and sloppy and hard and like its the last romp he'll ever have every single time.

Will always make sure his partner finishes, typically more than once

Likes to choke his partners

Likes to cum on their face

*Gasp*! Oh noooo, we can't find/afford a room to rent for the night. I guess I'm just gonna have to take you right here in this ally by the bar 🤷🏼‍♂️ but you better be quiet, unless you want to get caught...

Big into dirty talk and will practically narrate his plans for the evening as he acts on them

Has the stamina to last hours and prefers to take his time but still always down for a quickie where he can get it

Sorry everyone, but the idea of aftercare is lost on him. When you're both finally spent he's literally tossing you a damp rag while he steps out to smoke a Fantasy Cigarette

Cuddles in his sleep, and doesn't even know this about himself. But you will wake up in a near-suffocating bearhug if you fall asleep together

#rugan #rugan bg3 #bg3 rugan #rugan x tav #tav x rugan #this one goes out to the rugan fuckers! all four of us I see you

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Safest with You (Ch. 12 - The Workout)

7.2K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: You and Din “work out” at Mando’s gym and you end up getting sick.

Warnings: 18+ content (MDNI please), reader ogles Din like a piece🥩, smut, unprotected PiV sex, semi-public sex (car), new-ish established relationship, dirty talk, light degradation, light daddy kink, pet names as usual (pretty bird, baby, sweetheart, bunny, etc.), description of flu symptoms (it's gross y'all), reader is described as shorter than Din and he strokes her hair while she's sick.

A/N: Oo! This is a long one; it's just because The Workout and The Cold used to be two chapters and I ended up shmushing them together. There was an ask about Din taking care of reader while she's vulnerable; I hope this chapter fulfills that ask! 🥰 Thank you as always for reading!

Series Masterlist

“You know, you can come work out at Mando’s, if you want.”

“Really?  That won’t be weird?  Like, I’m moving in on your space?”

“I like you in my space.”

Din says it like a simple statement of fact, not even looking up from the cutting board where he’s slicing the steak he grilled for dinner.  You’re not big on working out, but once in a while you just like to go for a run or a row and zone out to some TV; it’s not a regular thing so you don’t have a membership anywhere, and your building has a gym on the third floor that you can use whenever the urge strikes you (not often).  But this morning when you went downstairs, ready to put in the hour you needed to catch-up on your favourite trashy reality show, you had found a temporary closure notice on the gym entrance.

It's not a bad idea.  The weather is getting a bit chillier so your walks with Al haven’t been as long as both of you would like; it might be nice to have another option to get a little bit of exercise, “It’s okay if I just use the cardio machines?  I won’t use any of the weight lifting equipment or anything.”

“You can use whatever you like.  I’ll even have Jimmy fetch you water and towels.”

“Noooooo,” you make a face and shake your head.

“Yessssss,” he mimics you, “You’re the boss’ girl, you should be treated special.”

“You treat me special enough, for you and Jimmy both, thanks,” you say, still scrunching up your nose, but you tell Din you’ll take him up on his kind offer.

---

The next weekend, you leave Al snoozing on the Din’s bed and head down to the gym with the intention of saying hi to Din while he works, but also to run off some of the stress from the work week.  Like the gym in your building, there are enough empty machines so you have your pick, but unlike your gym, the patrons all seem to know one another and are treating their workouts like a social event.  Din’s helping out with the training today; you give him a little wave when you walk by the ring so not to distract him, and pick a treadmill off to the side so you can still see him and also simultaneously do some innocent people watching while you run.  Headphones on, your phone jacked in to the console so you can stream your show, you pick the program you want the machine to run and start your work out.

Your plan is almost immediately derailed.  As the familiar title sequence of your show starts to play, your eyes drift up past the screen and lock onto Din’s figure in the ring.  He’s sparring with Chris today; having already gone a few rounds while you were upstairs, both men are sweaty and breathing heavily, chests and shoulders heaving as they circle each other.  Din has sweated through his t-shirt so that it’s now sticking against his body, making him look even more immense than usual, and you openly gawk at the strong lines of his back and arms visible through the darkened fabric.  As if he’s somehow reading your mind, Din puts a pause on the bout in order to remove his wet shirt; it’s not an easy task given his gloves, but he manages it with some grace and the use of his teeth to pull and hold the collar.  When he finally whips the shirt over his damp curls, you’re treated to the sight of his thick, hard chest, glistening and flexing as he stretches out his arms; you feel a heat pooling below your abdomen and a flush spread across your chest that has nothing to do with your lackluster exercise efforts.

Far from doing any people watching like you had planned, you’re now struggling to make sure that you yourself don’t become a spectacle by openly drooling while you watch a shirtless Din fight in the ring.  Every one of his punches is quick and agile, arms extending perfectly to show off his control and precision; his muscles prominent and flexed, the veins on his forearms protruding as his gloved fists clench, ready for impact.  He’s a mammoth force, a powerhouse, somehow both immovable and unstoppable, and he looks good enough to eat.

You haven’t watched single a minute of your show and it’s actually getting to the point where the voices coming through your headphones are an unwelcomed distraction from the actual show you’re engrossed in, so you take off your headphones and place them next to your water bottle.  Big mistake.  Now, you can very clearly hear Din’s groans and pants as he ducks and punches.  It’s like the thirst trap video you’ve been watching all of a sudden turned up its pornographic soundtrack.  Din’s low, throaty grunts as he exerts himself, coupled with the words of praise you hear him shout out in his deep, encouraging baritone, have your mind running wild.

When Chris lands a hard punch to Din’s shoulder and you hear him grunt out, “Fuck!”, you nearly trip over your own feet. 

You’re pounding back your water, throat parched and sweating profusely, and you’re barely 20 minutes into the preselected program; you’re not even going to lie to yourself, the flush of your skin and your shortness of breath have absolutely nothing to do with this treadmill.  You’re about to admit defeat and cut the run short, thinking you could definitely benefit from a cold shower, when you see Chris and Din touch gloves, seemingly done training for the moment.  Din ducks under the ropes and starts taking off his gloves; as he walks past you, he throws a towel around his neck and you a quick wink.  Where is he going? You watch as he heads to the front of the gym, disappearing around the partition wall that rests between the front door and the main gym.

Without even thinking, you stop your machine, grab your things, and try to quickly and discretely follow.  You find Din outside, having put on a dry shirt, standing behind his truck with the trunk door opened above him as he rifles through the box full of equipment he keeps in the trunk.  Wordlessly, you put your things down on the trunk bed next to the box, surprising Din at your sudden appearance, “Hey pretty bird, what are you doing here?  It’s cold, you sh-“.  Taking his hand, you lead him to step back before pressing the auto-close button on the trunk door; as it folds down; you open the door to the back seat of the truck, and gently push Din to get in, with you following directly. 

Din chuckles as you situate yourself on his lap, straddling his thighs, looking at him with a hunger in your eyes, “Baby, what’s all th-?”.  He’s cut short when you silence him by throwing your arms around his neck and attach your lips to his, hard and hurried.  You’re embarrassingly pent up from the last 20 minutes of watching the hottest man you’ve ever known show off his power and skill on what was basically a stage you had a front row seat to, and now you need to feel the strength of those muscles on you, under you, fucking up into you.

“Want you,” you mumble against his lips, “…so turned on. Watching you.”  You’re barely able to string together your thoughts, you’re so consumed with exploring the cavern of Din’s mouth with your tongue, but Din gets the idea.  Feeling incredibly needy, you start lightly grinding down on Din’s lap, and he encourages you by placing his hands on your waist and helping guide your movements; even this light friction feels overwhelmingly good against your aching clit, and you throw you head back and cry out, unabashed and loud enough for anyone walking by Din’s car to hear. 

“Fuck, daddy, need you.  Please, please…” your mouth back to messy kissing Din’s as your hands thread through his damp hair, tugging at the curls at the base of his neck and earning you a deep growl from the back of his throat.

“Look at my desperate, pretty girl,” groans Din, eyes greedy as you take off your t-shirt, then your sports bra, letting your tits bounce in his face, “…can’t even go a whole work out without riding her daddy’s dick.”

Unable to wait another minute, you peel your wet shorts and panties off in one go, now completely naked, sweaty and panting on top of a still fully clothed Din. “Not my fault, daddy,” you pout as you press yourself down on Din’s clothed cock, making a wet mess of his gym shorts.  “You looked so fucking good in that ring, then you were making all those grunting noises. Couldn’t think of anything else but you filling me with your cock.  Ahh-,“ you gasp out loud as Din takes one of your nipples in his mouth, nibbling and rolling the sensitive bud between his teeth before sucking down and flicking it with his tongue.  You whine and increase the intensity and tempo of your movements while he moves to do the same to your other nipple, hand palming and tweaking the now abandoned breast.  Din’s free hand snakes its way down to your core only to find you slick with want, a sticky mess already coating your inner thighs and soaking through his shorts, “Messy, messy slut.  You get this wet just from watching me spar?  Good thing you followed me out here, can’t have you leaking all over the gym floor like this.”  He brings up his fingers so you can both see how your wetness coats his fingers, even though he has yet to insert them into you.  When he pulls them apart, you watch the fluid web that connects his fingers stretch, proof that your pussy is positively leaking; you whimper at the filthy sight and bring Din’s hand to your mouth, popping his fingers into your mouth so you can suck off your own arousal.  Moaning at the taste of your own indecency, you grind down hard against Din’s groin, his hard-on straining painfully against his shorts. 

“Fuck me,” you mumble, Din’s fingers still in your mouth.

“Let me make you come first, pretty bird,” Din pleads, always putting your pleasure first and wanting to lesson the sting of the first stretch of his cock within your tight walls.

“Can’t wait, daddy… please, I can take it, please.”

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” grits Din, as he pushes his shorts and boxers down; his leaking cock springing out and slapping against your stomach, coarse hair at the base tickling your clit and making you gasp in pleasure, “YES!  Please, daddy, need to bounce for you.”

You’ve never taken him without having come first, and if you weren’t so far gone, answering only to your lust, you would probably be worried; but as you line yourself up with Din, the shudder you get just from swiping his swollen head through you folds and tapping it on your clit makes it impossible to care about anything other than having him inside you right now.

Slowly, slowly you sink down on Din’s length, taking him a little at a time.  Din grips your waist tightly, eyes closed, forcing himself to breathe; you’re so incredibly tight this, warm cunt practically strangling him, he fights the urge to move and bury himself in you fully.  The stretch of Din’s fat cock is almost too much, your soft walls molding so tightly to him you can feel every ridge and vein as you slowly spear yourself downwards.  The pain doesn’t register so much as the overwhelming feeling of fullness, your body needing more time and space to accommodate Din’s thickness.  When he finally bottoms out, you just sit and sigh, sated from just warming his throbbing cock in your tight heat. 

Your lust driven frenzy quelled, you now rest serene in Din’s arms, drinking in his gentle kisses, soothing touches, and words of praise of how good you’re doing for him; Din worshipping you as you take his cock so perfectly, and you getting used to his size and relearning how to breathe.  Finally, finally, you look up at Din’s face to see his eyes filled with adoration, and your breathing evens, allowing you to kiss him with renewed passion.  Grinning against your lips, Din murmurs, “Thought you wanted to bounce, bunny?”

Pulling away slightly and grinning back, you nod and lift yourself up a little, then slowly push yourself down back down fully onto Din’s length again, eliciting a heady groan from you both.  You repeat the action, again and again, each time increasing the amount of Din’s length you work in and out of your pussy, until you’re panting and bouncing up and down on the full length of Din’s dick, “Feel so good, daddy.  So full.”

“So fucking pretty, bouncing on me like a whore, bunny,” groans Din, as he mouths at your tits.  You love his new pet name for you, the endearment spurring you to bounce harder and chase the high that’s been building since you saw him land a thundering cross punch to Chris’ jaw in the ring. 

“Love being your slutty bunny, daddy,” you cry, head thrown back in ecstasy, “wanna ride this cock until it’s all creamy.  Until it fills me up, ngh..ahhh-“

Din thinks he’s going to explode from your filthy words, then he knows he’s going to explode when he looks down at where the two of you are connected and sees a ring of white around the base of his cock, “Holy shit, baby.  Look at you already creaming around me.  My perfect bunny.  Doing so good riding this dick, taking me so well.  So fucking perfect.”

He presses one of his hands against your stomach, balls tightening when he swears he can feel some movement against his palm from the inside, and uses his thumb to draw his name on your swollen clit. 

It’s too much, too much.  The stretch and burning sting of having taken Din’s cock without much prep, his filthy words of praise, the lewdness of fucking in his car in broad daylight parked out in the open in front of his place of business, the tenderness of your new pet name, the delicious pressure on your clit – you come.  You come with a soundless scream, the stuttering of Din’s name punctuated by sharp gasps of air, you body shudders and shivers as you clench down hard on Din’s cock.  Hand threading, then fisting the hair at the base of your neck, Din fucks up into you as he praises you through your high.

“So fucking gorgeous when you come for me, pretty bird.”

“My little bunny did such a good job on daddy’s dick.”

“You feel so good, baby.  Made for me.”

You’re still so full, but now also so pliant and eager to please; with what remaining energy you have, you bounce down hard, meeting every one of Din’s upward thrusts so he bottoms out in you each time, the force of each drive has your ass jiggling as it slaps down on his thighs.  Din grunts and pants as he chases his own finish; you hug yourself around his neck, and babble, “Thank you for making your bunny come, daddy.  Felt so good to gush all over your dick.  Want to do the same for you, Din.  Please, please, fill me up.  Need your cum, please.”  Never one to deny you anything, Din comes with a roar, filling your pussy with rope after rope of his milky cum so you grow even fuller and continue to hum, “Thank you, thank you, daddy.”

Your post “workout” cooldown comprises of gentle strokes to the back, soft cradling of heads, and quiet words of devotion; tired and satisfied in Din’s embrace, you start to shiver, and this time not from pleasure.  Coming out into the cold air while sweating from a run, then getting naked in a colder car was probably not the smartest idea, but you hadn’t been really thinking about the well-being of your health at the time.  Din rubs his big hands over your arms to warm you up, “Pretty bird, let’s get you dressed.”  You find your gym clothes but the idea of putting on damp clothes is wholly unappealing, so Din reaches his long arms into the trunk and roots around for some spare clothes.  Stepping out of the truck in an oversized yellow Lakers t-shirt and Din’s sweatpants that you’ve rolled up multiple times, you realize it couldn’t be any more obvious what the two of you have been up to.

Getting your things from the trunk, you decide to go through the side entrance straight up to Din’s apartment to avoid any walk of shame embarrassment in the gym.  Giving him a parting kiss at the front door, you whisper, “Hope it’s okay we did that, Din.  Don’t want anyone to file a complaint against Mando’s.”  You look so cute, worried about the reputation of his business, Din can’t help but yank you against him via the waistband of his pants and give you a deep reassuring kiss, “Perk of being a Mando, pretty bird – no one can say shit to you,” before sending you upstairs with a spank.

---

You start to feel a tickle in your throat when you go to sleep on Sunday, and by the time you wake up for work on Monday, it’s a full-blown sore throat.  You trudge through a morning of meetings, trying to avoid the pounding of your head and attempt to soothe your throat with lozenges when your team gathers at the door to your office and point a makeshift cross made out of pens and rubber bands at you, telling you to go home.

You gather your computer and some files and tell them you’ll work from home until you’re better, but they insist you rest; you compromise and say you’ll be available by email before heading home.

Din is doing double duty again his week; although you haven’t voiced your concerns, you've noticed that Din’s been a little restless as of late, him and Paz meeting more frequently over an increasing number of border skirmishes and disputes that need to be handled.  You’re not sure if it’s anything serious, but you do know that the need to step up security has been weighing on Din – he himself stepping in and putting in more face time than he has since his retirement.  You call Din to let him know that you seem to have caught a cold, and you think it’s better if he doesn’t come over, in case he catches it too.  With him working long hours, you don’t want anything to risk him getting even less rest than he already is.  As expected, he protests, but you insist even though you will miss him.

The next morning you wake up feeling like hot garbage.  You slog through about two hours of work before making the executive decision to put your out-of-office on and reschedule you remaining meetings.  Your team tells you they don’t want to hear from you until next week but know you’re likely too stubborn to agree to that.  You take a bunch of drugs and wonder how you got sick.  You’re usually pretty healthy and while the weather is getting chillier, you’re not out much without being bundled up? 

Oh. 

Your drowsy brain flashes a vignette of sweaty bodies in the backseat of a car, windows fogging as the heat from illicit activities condense against windows cooled by the lower outside temperatures.   Of Din’s face buried into your neck, holding you close as you both calm down, your naked body cooling and shivering after your explosive highs.  So, this man really will be the death of me, you think, as you pass out.

You wake up groggy and with your throat on fire later in the afternoon.  Popping some more drugs, you reply to some work emails and the messages from your friends and Din checking in.  You know he’s doing another late night with the Mandos, so you downplay your symptoms a bit so he will acquiesce to your suggestion that he go straight home to rest again.  It’s easier to do over text; a phone call would have given away your loss of voice and sent him racing over.  With your friends, you can be more candid, I’m dying you tell them – they all immediately volunteer to come over but you tell them to stay away for their own sakes.  Going to bed early after taking Al out, you debate dinner but ultimately go without because you can’t handle swallowing any food.

Wednesday is… a blur.  You don’t even turn on your computer today or look at your phone.  You drag yourself out of bed, take Al out, feed Al, then curl up on the couch shivering.  Shit.  This is the flu.  Your muscles ache, your head is splitting open, and you can add a stuffed-up nose to your growing list of symptoms.  Using the energy you have left to grab more blankets, take some drugs and pull down the blinds, you’re guessing the fever is next. That or death.

It's dark when you finally wake up to your phone buzzing on the coffee table; you groggily look at the time, shoot, it’s 7 pm already? You don’t feel well rested at all.  You need to take Al out.  Ignoring the call and what you think are a bunch of missed notifications on your phone, you thrown on a jacket over your sweats and apologize profusely to Al while waiting for the elevator.  Once outside, you have to admit that the crisp cool air feels amazing against your hot skin, and you’re debating if you should risk taking Al for a short walk when your phone rings again.  You pick up when you see it’s Din, “Hubo?” you croak out, barely audible.

“Pretty bird… you sound terrible,” Din’s been worried about you all day.  He hasn’t liked the idea of you being alone and sick, but you were pretty insistent that it wasn’t anything to worry about while encouraging him to stay at his place.  He’s been feeling a bit off kilter being apart from you; even though he’s exhausted from pulling double duty with the Mandos, he misses at least seeing you and Al for your nightly walk.  Now he’s even more thrown when he realizes you’ve been downplaying the severity of your illness for whatever reason.

“Thanks,” you joke, but it doesn’t come out sounding jovial; in fact, it’s barely the sound of a scratch.

“Baby, I’m going to come over and-” Din starts to say when you interrupt, “No, no, you’ll get s-” before you’re stopped mid-sentence by a coughing fit.

Din’s already gathered his things and is getting in his truck by the time you’ve finished coughing, “I’m fin-” you’re saying when you’re cut out by the sound of a siren going by.

Din says your name.  He hardly ever says your name; it’s always pretty bird, or baby, or sweetheart, or some other endearment.  And he never says it in this low, warning tone, like he’s afraid of what he might say if he doesn’t say your name instead.  He repeats it, then, “Who is walking Al while you’re sick?”

Why do you feel like you’re in trouble whether you answer or not?  Your body clearly doesn’t want to get in trouble either because it figures the best thing to do is launch another coughing fit.

Din softens a little, “Pretty bird, get inside and get in bed, I’ll be over soon,” and he hangs up before you can attempt to argue.

When you and Al come in a few minutes later, you feed him and give him some fresh water, all while giving him as many fussings as you can muster as a continued apology for having ignored him all day.  You trudge over to the kitchen thinking you should eat something, clearly the lack of food has not been aiding your recovery, but as you peer in your fridge, the idea of having to prepare anything overwhelms you.  You pour yourself some orange juice and use it to wash down some more flu medication and then look through you phone at the messages you’ve missed while sleeping.  You’re mid-scroll when there’s a knock on your door; after opening the door, you quickly step back to let Din in and cover your mouth with your hand so you don’t breathe your germs all over him.

“None of that now, pretty bird,” Din says firmly, reaching for you and pulling you in close with one arm before planting a kiss on the top of your hot head. 

“You’ll get sick,” you murmur into his chest. 

“Then I’ll get sick,” he puts the bags he brought on the foyer table before gently shuffling you towards your bedroom.

When he sees that your made bed (when did you do that!?) does not look slept in, he tsks, “They say that doctors make the worst patients,” he lays you down after pulling the covers back, tucking you in after, “but I think it’s actually stubborn little girls that work in finance.”

His words are lighthearted but you know he’s worried about you, so you play along and whisper as loud as your painful throat will let you, “Sorry, daddy.”

Din kisses you on your forehead, “You’re burning up.  I wish you had let me come over sooner, baby.  Take care of you and Al.”

“Didn’t want to bother you, Din,” you murmur, snuggling down into your bed; just being in his very presence has relaxed you. That and the drugs kicking in, has you feeling pliant and snoozy.

“You never bother me, sweetheart.  Except maybe when you don’t tell me how sick you really are and you go out in the cold while you have a fever,” he says pointedly. 

You yawn and close your eyes, confessing, “You seem so stressed out with all the stuff that’s going on with the Mandos lately, Din.  Didn’t want to add to your load, make you feel like you have to come and see me and Al when you’ve already had a difficult day.”

“You ever think that maybe seeing you and Al is exactly what I need after a long hard day of seeing some bad shit go down?” says Din, quietly.

Your eyes open wide; you can’t believe you haven’t thought of it like that.  You know that anytime you’re having a bad day, it’s been made better the instant you see Din’s face, and even while you’ve been sick this week, you’ve longed for his soothing embrace.  Why didn’t you think it would be the same for him?  You sit up so fast you get dizzy, but throw your arms around Din’s shoulders and bury your face in his neck, “Oh baby, I’m so sorry.  You’re right, I shouldn’t have kept it from you.”

“It’s okay, pretty bird.  You were just trying to take care of me.  You need to let me take of you too, okay?  I like taking care of you.”

You nod into him and let Din gently lay you down again.  As you snuggle back into your covers, you pat the other side of the bed, “Come and sit with me and tell me about your day and all the shit that’s been going on until I fall asleep.”

Din climbs onto the bed and starts to pet your hair, “Sounds good.  But whenever you wake up next, I’m going to feed you some soup, okay?”  You nod, and feel the bed jostle some more as Al hops up on the bed to join in on the family time.  He lays down between you and Din, resting his head on Din’s lap so Din can pat his head as well.

When you’re all settled in, Din looking like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, starts to share.  First you learn some background: in addition to the Fett family, there other powerful syndicates in play - The Pykes, the Hutts, the Guavians, to name a few.  You make a face when you remember Gorga Hutt and his slimey cronies from Jimmy’s fight night and Din chuckles as if reading your mind.  Apparently, years ago, before Boba rose to power, the rival gangs ran unchecked, and violence in the streets was a common occurrence.  Gangs constantly fighting for territory or profits made for a lot of instability and it was an unsafe time for Din’s neighbourhood as well as many others in the city.  Once Boba had built up sufficient territory and muscle to be taken seriously, he had called the families together and brokered a peace treaty; physical borders and commercial limits were drawn that minimized conflict and overlap of business interests, ensuring prosperity and minimizing bloodshed for all.  Din recalls for you how many of his earlier years as Boba’s enforcer were spent strengthening and defending these borders and boundaries.  Happily, for the most part things have been stable for many years; nothing is ever truly peaceful but everyone has been co-existing without issue. 

However, in the past month or so, something had shifted; little problems and violations have been occurring with increasing frequency. 

“What kind of problems?” you ask, you’re fighting sleep to make sure you don’t miss any of what Din is telling you.  Din sighs, “Things that if they were to happen as a one-off, wouldn’t necessarily be concerning. Like vandalism of a business under one family’s protection, or minor altercations among lower ranking members from rival families in public places, or even the theft of known family members’ property.”  Din rubs his face in frustration. There’s nothing to prove it but Din doesn’t feel that these incidents are isolated; there must be something bigger at play.  For now, the Mandos are being dispatched to put out these figurative (and in one case, literal) fires, and to beef up security where future infractions are likely to take place, but Din thinks they need to investigate these events as a whole to see if there is something more sinister behind it all.  It’s really been stressing him out.

Holding Din’s hand and stroking it so that you’re the one now comforting him, “I think you should trust your experience with this type of unrest. Plus, you don’t have any reason not to listen to your gut.  What does Paz think?”

“He agrees with me, but he’s the leader now and his orders are to quell and prevent further disturbances.  Any investigation has got to be secondary.”

“I see.  What do you think is going on?” you nuzzle Din’s hand with your cheek, letting him know he can think out loud with you.

Din rubs his chin, “I don’t think it’s a new player, they seem almost too careful.  None of the incidents ever hit any big enough targets or players that would lead to full scale retaliation.  So it has to be an existing family in order to be in the know.  The problem is, I can’t see any of the families risking all out war… for what?  A couple of corners?  The cost of a few repairs?”

Your analytical brain is turning, “Are the other families run like the Fetts?  I mean, when you say it can’t be one of the families, what you really mean is you don’t think it’s a family sanctioned plan or attack, like it isn’t approved by leadership? But, are any of the families big enough or loosely run enough that people could go rogue?  Or get away with stuff without their leaders knowing?”

“Hmmmmm… good point, pretty bird.  None of the other families are like the Fetts, actually.  Boba’s power never came from numbers, but from solidarity… stronger together, is the family motto.  Everyone knows what everyone is doing and we stick together, no secrets.  As I understand it, that’s not how the other families are run – they’re bigger for one thing.  And there’s a lot of segregation so no one knows everything. Everything is need to know and people sort of stick to their own lanes – it’s so no one amasses enough power within the organization to overthrow anyone.”  Din shrugs, “I mean, seems like a weird way to run things to me. What you're suggesting would still be risky, and I don’t know why someone would take that risk, but it's definitely possible we should be looking for people who are doing things without proper family sanction.”  Din grins down at you, “Smart girl.”

You smile back, “Really?”

“Really.  I can think of a few people I want to look into right off the bat.  You’ve given me lots to think about, pretty bird.  Now go to sleep.”

Yawning a big yawn, you close your eyes and smile, murmuring, “I helped.”

---

When you wake up, it’s nearly midnight; you’re groggy and still feverish, but your stomach is growling and there’s a delicious smell coming in from the kitchen.

You pad out to living room to find Din working on his laptop, a pair of reading glasses perched on his adorable nose.  When he sees you, he sets everything down on the coffee table, “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

Having decided that honesty is the best policy, you croak out, throat still scratchy, “Hungry.”

“Good!” Din guides you to the kitchen and gently helps you up onto a high top at the kitchen island. 

As Din takes out a bowl, you ask, “What’s that?”  Curious about the pot that’s simmering on the stove; you think it’s the source of the delicious aroma you woke to earlier. 

“Peli’s famous chicken noodle soup,” Din ladles some into a bowl. 

“You made this?”

“Yeah right.  No, Peli won’t share the recipe.  Says if we’re lucky she’ll will it to one of us when she dies.  Nah, she made this batch for you when she found out you were sick.”

“That’s so nice.  She didn’t need to do that.  I’ll have to bake her some cookies to thank her when I’m better.”

“She’ll like that, but she wanted to.  Pretty girl, don’t you get it?  You’re one of us now and we take care of each other.  You have more people than you know that have your back.”  He puts the steaming bowl of soup in front of you and tells you to wait.  Grabbing a blanket from the couch, he wraps it around you, tucking in your arms.  You manage a small laugh, “How am I supposed to eat my soup?”

“I’ll feed you,” he holds a hand up when he sees your expression, “you said you’d let me take care of you.”

You nod. It’s not in your nature to let people wait on you hand and foot, but you still feel bad for not telling Din how sick you were earlier so, you sit, bundled up on your chair, and let Din spoon the soup that he blows on to cool into you waiting mouth.  It’s incredible.  Even your stuffed up head can taste the explosion of flavours, the ginger clearing up your sinuses a bit, and the carrots, chicken and noodles all tender enough to be swallowed painlessly.  Din patiently feeds you the entire bowl, and you patiently let him; the look of relief and devotion that Din is giving you is enough to make you glad that you let him.  After you’ve brushed your teeth, Din sends you straight to bed, hardly needing any convincing to stay with you until you fall asleep.

The next day, Din calls out from work, both jobs.  He knows if he goes in, he’ll just be distracted by how you’re doing – plus, he’s making some headway in the investigative notes that he's making for Paz. He does all the walks with Al, and feeds you more soup.  He runs you a hot bath filled with eucalyptus bath salts and stays with you while you soak your achy muscles.  When he dries you, you try to give him a seductive look, but end up doubling over coughing and he tells you that while he still finds you very sexy even sick (Is that sarcasm?), you need to conserve your energy.  You make a face at him when he tucks you into bed.  You sleep.  By the late afternoon, you feel like you can sustain consciousness for more than an hour and you opt to lay on the couch and hangout with Din.  He puts on the comfort movie of your choice and massages your feet while you eat a yogurt.  You fall back asleep before the end of the movie, barely registering when Din turns it off and takes you back to bed.

It's past midnight when you wake up again and the first irrational thing you think is that you’ve somehow gone back in time and gotten sick again, but this time worse.  You feel disgusting.  Your nose is no longer stuffy, but that’s because the snot is now just free flowing out of your face.  You’re so snotty, in no time at all you’re surrounded by a ring of used tissues from having to blow your nose so much, and there’s no end in sight.  Your sore throat and dry cough, which had been clearing up, have been replaced with rattling phlegm which you can’t seem to clear no matter how hard you hack, but you try until your eyes water.  Ewwwwwwwwwwww. 

Din, appears in your doorway when he hears you, “Baby, you okay?”

You look up at him, squinting through your tears at his sleep tousled hair and the wrinkles on the pajamas he must have changed into.  You woke him.  And this is the thing that just breaks you and you start to cry for real.  He rushes over, scared, “Pretty bird, does something hurt?  Let me make it better.”  His obvious concern and caring tone of voice just make you cry harder, and now you’re snotting even more.  Great.  You hate that he’s seeing you like this.  You’re not the smart, pretty, funny girl he dates, you’re this weak thing, sick and tired and gross.  Totally unsexy.  Completely unhelpful.  Needy.  Putting so much on him.  He can’t even get a decent night’s sleep around you. 

You don’t realize you’ve said this all out loud until Din tuffs out a little laugh.  He climbs onto the bed and sits right across from you taking your hands in his, kissing them. 

“Sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s okay.  I’m here.”

“No, it’s not,” you choke out between sobs, “You shouldn’t have to be here.”

Din sighs, but it’s not a sigh of exasperation, but of understanding; he tips your head up to meet his eyes, “I’m not here because I have to be, I’m here because I want to be.”

“Why?  I’m so gross.”

Smiling, Din patiently explains, “Why?  Because I love you, pretty bird, that’s why.”

Your eyes widen; your drowsy brain isn’t sure you heard him right, “You love me?”

He nods at you kindly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  But to you, in your current state, you can’t comprehend it, “Like this?”

Din lets out a deep laugh, one that fills the room, and he strokes your hair and looks lovingly at you, “Yes.  I love you like this.  Like the sweetest woman I’ve ever met, one who never ceases to think of the welfare and comfort of others even when she’s in an obvious state of discomfort herself.  Like someone I truly love taking care of because it’s such an honour to take care of her.  She’s strong and capable, and she doesn’t really need me and never asks anything of me, but trusts me enough to let me be around her when she’s not feeling strong and capable even though she is definitely still all those things.  It’s an honour to be good enough to take care of you, pretty bird, because the only person that can do the job properly is you, and it’s an honour to come second to you for anything.”

“Yes, I love you like this.  And I love you when you’re playing with Al, when you’re sneaking the treats you bake to Jimmy when you think Greef isn’t looking, and when you’re happy just to keep me company while I work.  I love you when just the sight of you brings a peace into my life that I didn’t know was possible, and when you laugh, or call me ‘old man’ or when you listen to me talk about the Mandos and never judge.  I love you when I see your name pop up on my phone and when you hold my hand when we walk Al together.”

“I love you all the time, pretty bird.”

Now you’re crying for a different reason, though no longer hysterical; just silent tears running down your face as you come to the obvious but inescapable conclusion about your connection to this magnificent force of a man in front of you, “I love you, too, Din.”

And you do.  You do love him.  You love all that he is, all that he’s capable of, and all of who he chooses to be on a daily basis.  You love his kindness, his protectiveness, his compassion, his gentleness.  You love that he lives by a code that values loyalty, respectfulness, and helping others, and he practices this creed in every little thing he does.  You love his playfulness, and his sharp wit, and how being able to make him laugh feels like an incredible accomplishment and when you do it, you just immediately want to do it over and over again.  You love that he always makes you feel wanted and cherished, but never treats you like you’re breakable.  You love how he’s constantly pushing up his reading glasses, and thinks they make him look old but will blush when you tell him how attractive you find them.  You love him when he’s bringing you and your work team dinner and remembers that someone’s gluten free.  You love him when he places his hand on your thigh when he’s driving, and you love him when he pushes up your sleeves when they start to slip when you’re washing dishes even without you asking him to.  Yes, you love him all the time too.

You can’t tell him all that right now, though; you’re too sick and sleepy, but you think you’ll be able to tell tomorrow.  And the day after.  And the day after that.  For now, you love him by letting him love you, snot and all.  Clearing away all the tissues on your bed, you lay back down and scoot backwards towards of the middle of the bed, making a space for Din and hold your arms out, I need you.  Din’s smile spreads wide across his face, relieved and content, he climbs in and wraps you up in his arms.  Stroking your hair, your back, as your breathing evens.

Drifting off, you roll over so your back is pressed to Din’s chest, taking comfort in feeling him there, a physical and proverbial wall for you to lean on, “Good night, Din.  I love you.”

“I love you more, pretty bird.  Good night.”

#din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #modern!din djarin #modern au #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #no y/n

[moonbyunniee]

taking care of you when you're sick

characters ➵ diluc, ayato, wanderer, thoma, gorou, tighnari, cyno, childe, kaeya, venti, heizou, xiao, zhongli, kazuha, albedo, itto

he will be extra-gentle with you when you're sick - like you're a piece of china that'll break easily. he'll stay very close to you 24/7, even when you remind him that you're sick...but, in his words, "does it look like i care?" he'll get you whatever you need - water? a massage? your favourite comfort food? he'll have it in no time at all. and if he sees that you're upset, he'll immediately start blaming himself for being too pushy - even when it wasn't his fault. also when you sleep, he'll simply sit there watching over you while you sleep all through the night. it's not his fault, he genuinely doesn't realise that it's kinda creepy. but cute anyway <3

xiao, tighnari, ayato, cyno, diluc, gorou, wanderer

literally known as the worst person in teyvat when it comes to taking care of a sick person. he'll try to sponge your forehead, but the water runs down your face instead because he forgot to wring the towel first. he'll to make porridge for you because he read about it being good for sick people somewhere online, but it turns out way too lumpy and gross. he'll also make you eat it all because you can't tell him this. he'll go absolutely crazy if you look even a tiny bit down. he'll run around trying to make you feel better (bonus points if he stumbles cutely while doing so). eventually, you might have enough and tell him you're fine without his assistance. but just a quick heads-up...if you do this, you're the one who's gonna have to deal with his adorable pouty face later on...

venti, itto, wanderer (he'll act really grumpy the whole time, but it's because he can't hang around you as much as he'd like since you're sick)

oh boy. this man is really playful the whole time, and he absolutely insists on getting you up and out of bed to go places with him. if you want anything - literally anything at all - he will travel to the ends of teyvat to get it for you, no matter what. also he'll play games with you all day - it doesn't matter if these are board games or video games or whatever else you like - he'll play them with you until you both pass out from exhaustion. he just wants you to be happy, after all~. when a blocked nose or headache makes it hard to sleep at night, he'll gladly sleep by you, staring into your eyes and running a hand through your hair. he'll be telling you stories of all his adventures (or whatever else he can think of) until he's sure you've fallen asleep. his voice grows hoarse as he finally finishes whispering to you, and he falls asleep beside you. tired.

childe, kaeya, heizou, venti

the. most. wholesome person ever. he'll take a day or two off work for you. while you're sick, he'll supply you with the softest tissues he can find. he'll also brew you lots of tea and honey (since that takes care of cold symptoms really well). also, he'll cook you lots and lots of soup and porridge, etc. this man is pretty much a doctor at this point, he looks after you so well! he definitely keeps not only your area, but the entire house clean so that you can have a fresh environment. he'll open the windows so you can have a nice breeze coming in, while also taking care of your fresh air. he'll let you rest if you need it, but will encourage you to get up and exercise every once in a while if you can. this man is the literal epitome of perfection. when it's time for you to go to sleep, he'll read you a book, some poetry, or hum you a lullaby to get you to rest easily. he knows how good his voice sounds.

kazuha, zhongli, thoma, albedo

taglist ➵ @melshome @pearlygraysky

send an ask to be added to my taglist!!

#૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა writes #genshin impact #genshin impact fluff #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #diluc x reader #ayato x reader #wanderer x reader #thoma x reader #gorou x reader #tighnari x reader #cyno x reader #childe x reader #kaeya x reader #venti x reader #heizou x reader #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #kazuha x reader #albedo x reader #itto x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin impact headcanons

[differenteagletragedy]

holy shit all your headcannons are so good, hi!! i saw the tags on some post of yours saying you would write for mentally ill mcs... could we see what the boys would be like with an mc that has depression? (totally not projecting lolol)

Thank you!! And I totally get you, I’m not projecting either with it, not even a little 🤫

— If you thought Cove was clingy before, boy howdy are you in for a surprise. When he realizes you’re depressed, he’s sneaking into your window all the time, and he’s trying all kinds of different things to make you feel better. He brought you a cool shell, did you see? He brought you a pretzel from the shopping street, do you want it?

— basically the boy is flailing around, losing his mind because he wants to help you SO BAD, and it’s really sweet but depression isn’t cured by sweet presents and sweeter boys (unfortunately)

— for better or worse, Derek wants to fix things. Did you take your meds? Do you need to see your doctor and maybe try new meds? He heard exercise helps, do you want to try that? He has the best intentions in the world and will listen to whatever you tell him you need, but his instinct is to take care of you, even when the problem isn’t that easily solved

— Baxter knows a thing or two about depression, so he’s just here for you. If you need to take another nap, that’s ok. If you don’t feel like eating a full dinner, he’ll grab you some food snacks so you don’t get sick on top of everything else. You can talk about whatever and he’ll just listen and probably play with your hair

— Cove is on his laptop going into research mode for this. What can help a person with depression, how should you treat a loved one with depression — he’s doing his homework and he’s taking it very seriously. Pops up with a few clinical terms when he tries to talk to you about it and you’re like “what” but he’s going for it.

— Derek hugs! He gives A+ hugs and he’s also one of those people who are always warm, so it’s very comforting to just settle into a Derek hug. He doesn’t have anywhere important to be, so get comfy.

— Baxter will try to cheer you up with a dance. Does it work? At least for a little bit, yeah.

— If you get to a really dark place, Cove won’t leave you alone. Like at all. If you’re living at your moms’ house they’ll go along with it just because they know he’ll probably be the one to reach you, so he’s just hanging out constantly.

— Do you also have anxiety? A fun double feature for your brain! Baxter can guide you through a panic attack like it’s his job

— Cove does literally anything in his power to ease your anxiety — we saw that when he tried to give MC his homework when they lost theirs. Are you stressed about work? Let him help, it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t know anything about it. You don’t have to do it alone.

— Basically Derek just making it his life’s mission to make you feel better. If he’s still in school, he’s blowing off extracurriculars because he’s worried. He tries to convince his parents to go for a week-long slumber party so he can be there for you all the time.

— have you been thinking about trying any kind of alternative medicine to treat any of this? Baxter’s got you.

— Baxter spending all weekend in his pajamas in bed with you while you don’t have the energy for anything else.

MC: Don’t you have something better to do?

Baxter: Nothing is better than being with you.

#our life beginnings and always #olba #our life #baxter ward #cove holden #derek suarez #our life cove #our life baxter #our life derek #our life headcannons

[bigwishes]

Hey I am in dire need for some help!

I'm a 6'4 handsome jock, big beefy muscles, a deep baritone voice and got every guy on the team begging to suck my 8.5-incher.

I know this al sounds amazing and fuck yeah it is.. but the last few days I felt weak, not like I was sick or anything, but like my strength started leaving me. I heard a lot about your wishes where people drain their bullies or the jocks of their school. I'm an upstanding person, I have helped go up against bullying even from my teammates, I've helped my younger brother in the gym when he didn't know what he needed to do, even coach thinks I have everything he needs to become state champion this year.

So please save me from loosing all my hard worked size, I don't even know who is doing this to me.

Oh no you're losing muscle?!?!?! well we can't have that. The truth is mate I know exactly what is going on and who is doing it to you. A new student at the college gym always wanted to work out but his parent's never let him, worried it might stunt his growth. He desperately wanted to catch up and asked if I could put everyone in the gym's gains on him for the next week. Nobody noticed but you've got a keen eye and seem to notice what's going on so I tell you what I'll stop this guys wish, tell him to wish for something new and as a reward for being so perceptive I'll make you the new focus of the wish. Get you your gains back from the past few days and give you the gains of everyone who goes to the gym for the next week.

Day 1 was dope as fuck, your muscle felt pumped again, you were no longer tired after lifting and you felt incredibly solid after a workout. You were happy to be yourself again, working towards you goals. As much as you had prided yourself on hard work and being natural you were low key excited for a little magical boost, just a couple pounds of muscle from magic surely would still make you natural, after all the gains being sent your way are still gains worked for, just not gains worked for by you.

Day 2 was even better, whole fuck you were pumped all the time, you probably didn't even need to go to the gym but you wanted to, you loved the gym and didn't want to take the week off because you were getting free gains. After all it was like working double time getting swole, you were excited for the state championships in a few months and to go home and see your brother and show off your gains. The Christmas dinner keeps running in your head of him asking you how you got massive and you just saying diet and exercise. the thought of entering a bodybuilding comp crossed your mind, you were getting huge and its not like you could test positive for roids, and you'd never be tempted by them either.

Day 3 was different, you woke up at 12:01am on the dot and felt an insane pump, it wasn't slow and every lasting like how day 2 was this was fast, like a flood of blood throughout your whole body, like you were being pumped up like a balloon,

You struggled on your bed feeling more and more mass being added to your frame. The growth finally subsided and you passed out.

You struggled driving your car to the campas gym, the seat was uncomfortable and your thighs and swollen up so big you gym shorts felt like they were cutting off the circulation to your legs, maybe you should take the rest of the week off....or maybe ask for the growth to stop now....

Day 4 was a struggle, you had another growth surge in the middle of the night and it really set in just how much mass hundreds of people using the 24 hour gym daily can make. You would be fine to be like this, it'd be awesome and absolute easy win at state championships followed by sponsorships, you could drop out and be paid by supplement companies to simply pose with their products, but you couldn't get bigger than this, anymore size and you wouldn't even be able to get in your car anymore, no, you had to text the genie and ask for it to end early.

Day 5 was hell, you had a growth spurt in the middle of the gym changing room, bringing a whole new meaning to the words "Changing Room" not a single person in there noticed, like the magic was just making everyone thing you were always this big. Your coach had commented on how genetically gifted you were, apparently you had been made to do a random roid test several times and always come back clean, something you had no memory of. Going through old social media posts you saw you were much bigger in high school then you actually were, like the past was changing to accommodate for all this new found size.

Still after today you knew you didn't want anymore, even your best friend stood next to you as your posed your hulking frame in the mirror.

"bro, there is such a thing as too large, slim down for a few months or you'll be off the team for being too slow"

He was right, the new size was impacting your ability to play, one strong and fast you were now just strong, a brick wall no one could get by sure but what was the point it you couldn't chase a guy down or move your arms properly to catch the ball.

Day 6 was spent messaging the genie all day different combinations of "I wish to be smaller" or "please stop the growth now" any phrase you could think of to try to get the genie's attention to stop the growth. What your young mind thought would be cool t first turned into your biggest nightmare, you had outgrown your car and you couldn't even sell it for a new one as last time you got out of it you completely caved in the drivers side by simply shutting the door. You spent an hour walking to the gym, the only thing to clear your mind was lifting weights. During a rest your daily does of growth kicked in, your pecs and traps were swelling so close to your neck you could barely turn your head anymore.

Day 7, the final day of growth. You had become a fucking monster. Lost your place on the team from barely being able to move. You were staving all the time and spent most of your day now shovelling food down your throat as simply waling down the dorm room stairs caused you to burn a whole day's work of calories for any normal guy. You were anxiously awaiting today's growth and spent the whole day locked in your room. Everything around you was destroyed, unable to handle all the strength you had busted most things you touched and your furniture had all collapsed. Cheap college budget furniture could barely hold your weight how you were before all this but now it was just scrap wood and metal on the floor, you couldn't even bend down to pick it up. The whole day passed you buy and you saw the time 11:30pm...any moment now your final growth would happen and then you could figure out how to reverse it, or live with it. You tried to think positively, how awesome it would be to be an absolute monster, how much action you'd get. A deluded lie you told yourself, the truth was after what you did to your care you were terrified to go on a date or out for a hook up, every time you thought about it you could only think about accidently breaking the guys spine, but you'll finally get to figure all this out in just a few minutes, after tonight no more growth, just learning to live with the size. A message appear on your phone, from the genie, maybe he had finally seen your messages, maybe he'll shrink you back to how you were a few days ago, maybe you'd get punished for turning away the gift and turned into a twink....but being a twink would be better than this.

"hey bro, hope you are enjoying all the mass from the guys in the gym, today is gonna be a bit different. I explained what was going on to the original wish maker and he felt shitty and made a new wish, he wanted the nicest guy in the gym to triple in size and well I have decided you're nicest guy! you've been great carrying your team and just being a nice guy in the gym so I dunno how big you are now mate but I hope you always dreamed to be massive. If you've gotten too big from this tell me now and Ill stop the wish but after 11:59pm thats it, it goes through and nothing I can do about it"

You laughed loudly, this was your chance, to get the body from a few days ago, be a massive goliath but not be too big. Thank god. 11:45, still heaps of time. You excitedly went to message back but your phone slipped out you massive hands. Instinctively you went to catch it before it landed on the floor *CRUNCH...you opened your hand to see bits of crushed aluminium and glass slip out your fingers and on to the floor. You stopped, in shock you simply got off your bed and walked to the bathroom mirror. No one had gotten shell shock from breaking their phone before but you just stood in your bathroom, barely big enough for you to fit in and stared at yourself in the mirror. You thought you had become a monster, no, you were a freak, a massive freak of nature but in just a few more minutes, then, then you'd truly become a monster and there was no way for you to stop it now.

---------------------------------------------

Morphs in the story done by the incredibly Max Morphs check out their blog and show them some love.

Here:https://www.tumblr.com/maxmorphs

#male transformation #muscle transformation #muscle #male tf #reality change #tf story #muscle morph

[starsomens]

hi ✨ i know that usually you’re the one that gets the prompts and writes on them but can i just give my two cents on the recent events regarding noah’s behavior on tour because there’s literally no one i can discuss this with, so naturally i need to share and i feel like this here is a safe and fun space to do that.

i know how everyone has this image of what noah’s like in a relationship or in bed or whatever and that’s okay, we can all imagine and that’s what i’m here do to today, but you CANNOT tell me this man is not fucked, foul and twisted because

1. breathing into the mic AUDIBLY right after the “the way you fuck, the way you taste” lyric is nothing close to innocent and i am pretty sure he knows what he’s doing

2. spitting in the air after “so i can look you in the eye when i spit in your face” NUMEROUS times. i’m just gonna say that he knows. spitting is spicy and he knows.

3. that devilish grin he gave right before the growl in dethrone in Austin. uhm. yeah, sadistic, sick and twisted.

also this man feeds off of dark shit. he has said it himself a couple of times. when it comes down to anime, he loves watching the really dark stuff. we know he works on the aesthetics of the band a lot and the primary colors are black, red and grey. the visuals are dark. carrying an axe around a dark hallway? wearing a ski mask for fun? and all black outfits all the time? man loves horror movies as well. im positive he’d be down to chase you down an alley wearing a mask and carrying a knife, ghostface style.

also keeping his composure and having a really cool aura and being quiet while also sounding firm and diplomatic. SCREAMS dom. but like a pleasure dom cause we know he’s the clitmaster3000.

oh yeah, i’m not even gonna mention the fact that he lowered his voice when he said “good. GOOD JOB” when he asked the crowd to make a line for the mosh pit. mans got a praise and degradation kink and no one can tell me otherwise. he loves control and he loves exercising it in all ways possible.

okay, thanks. sorry if that was too much but i can’t stop thinking about it and it makes SO MUCH sense in my head and i need to know if somebody else is gonna agree with me. bye 🦦

I am gonna make you 🦦anon

MAAM OR SIR I AGREE THANK YOU FOR YOUR 2 CENTS YOUR DONATION IS APPRECIATED

But honestly this is what I’m saying HE KNOWS! MAN KNOWS WHAT HES DOING! Because I’ve had some people here say that they know about the fan fic, so he BEEN KNOW what makes us tic! I mean look at the video of him leaning over the crowd (not knowing exactly what he was doing) BUT HE KNOWS THE EFFECT! H knows what we’re into and what makes us go wild! IM TELLING YOU. But I’m telling you it’s kinda scary how DOMINANT he can be but also like super super super calm and collected about it. He gets his fill of power from it but super controlled about it as well and THAT makes it a bit scary but also 🌝

Clitmaster 3000 IM DEAD I LOVE IT! Also you and I must be the same person because I was about to write a small thought on him being a pleasure Dom! HE SCREAMS IT! And I have said before he keeps the mask on during sex 🤠 GIRL WE SHARING THE SAME BRAIN CELL RN CUZ I CAN SEE ALL OF THIS. Hopefully my writing can improve so I can write something that rlly expressed this out if the opportunity comes up.

#🦦 anon #noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens cult #star’s anons✨

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

august 17, 2021 1:30 a.m. paradise hotel

[grant] it drove päivi insane and i just try to be considerate. like i've been dealing with this for years, but i'm very well aware it's not pleasant that i wake up sometimes because i'm pain and that when i do, i get up out of bed for a bit so i don't end up so stiff that i can't stand up at all in the morning.

[henry] shit, i didn't think about that. i'm sorry.

[grant] why are you apologizing? you didn't do anything wrong.

[henry] i don't know. because i feel great 24/7 and i'm privileged enough to forget that others don't?

[grant] well, that's not really your fault. it's not like i'm good at acknowledging being chronically ill in any overly serious way. honestly, it's just easier when people forget anyway!

[grant] talking about it is never not a little bit awkward.

[henry] yeah, i wasn't aware it was bad enough to interrupt your sleep.

[henry] i knew it was bad, you know? bad enough some doctor finally cared to figure out the mystery suffering and that it need surgical intervention, and i remember the exact day something first changed in you when we were kids, but that's about the end of my awareness.

[henry] man, you are also a chronic hider of information.

[grant] that's me! your hopefully favorite secret-keeper.

[grant] i don't mean to, like, keep you in the dark about this. it's not personal. especially not these days. i'm trying my best to be open. it's just...it's just awkward.

[grant] i've had enough bad responses to being sick in my lifetime that i just feel inclined to never mention it, you know?

[grant] have you tried yoga? have you tried CBD and essential oils? but you're young and look fine, you can't be sick, you're making this up! have you tried religion and cutting out all the ingredients like gluten and sugar that make food actually fun to consume? no, no, those things are poisoning you - haven't you read that gut health is the #1 cause of autoimmune disease? it's definitely not chronic stress plus your long family history of busted immune systems! check out this carnivore diet website, you totally won't get fatal heart disease from all that red meat and butter instead, bud!

[grant] or i get pity. or assumptions of what i can or cannot do.

[grant] you want to bash your head against the wall after a while. no one really gets it but they think they do.

[grant] not that you've ever done those things! or that i think you would! or that i think you don't get it! sorry, that was a lot. it just came out all at once. i think i have some insane pent up rage about this whole thing. but no, really, you're the same as my family; they don't respond badly either. i just, well, you know. again, forgetting unless it's relevant is probably preferable. i like it that way.

[grant] i don't want the awkwardness. or anyone to worry about me.

[henry] i wish you weren't afraid of telling me about all this.

[henry] you know everything about me. even the not very good parts. you're one of the only people i talk about having depression with and that's excruciating to bring up. people don't respond well to that either. maybe not with pity or assumptions but definitely obnoxious suggestions. sunshine and exercise do not fix me. lexapro and therapy sessions kind of.

[grant] and i'm glad you do! i do personally understand mental health issues, but even if i didn't, still, i'm glad you feel safe opening up to me about it. and i always want you to. and i'm always thinking about you and hoping you're doing well enough and if i can do anything–

[henry] oh, grant. you scramble my brains sometimes. that self-hating demon is still trapped inside you.

#ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 story #sims 4 storytelling #simblr #hlcn: everything the stars promised #I PROMISE THEY'RE NOT ARGUING THEY ARE REALLY JUST CHILLING AND WATCHING TV #but it kind of reads like an argument jfdksjfkds they just have very different styles of communicating #like that one line from another post 'grant selectively speaks his mind and henry rarely minces words' #holocene.docx #holocene.png #hlcn: grant #hlcn: henry

[strrvnge]

Dream A little Dream Of Me

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Summery: you're sick but thankfully you have your very own personal doctor

Warnings : sickness, fluff, just pure fluff

I'm sick, again. It's the second time this MONTH (I don't know how I find the time) so I'm kinda pissed because I have to study too, other than that I'd say it's some really good timing I have

‘’For the last time and in the name of god go back to bed’’ for one more time Stephen rose from his armchair abandoning for the third time that day his book and rushed to the kitchen where you were.

"Jesus Stephen, why aren't you reading that damned book!" You whined, stomping your foot on the floor like a misbehaving child and according to Stephen today you actually were.

"You know this lack of concentration is not good if you want to be the Sorcerer supreme. I mean to who do we trust our reality? A guy who can't read one page in an hour?"

"I would have if I wasn't patroling around the house like the police because you can't just go to sleep"

Without speaking he glared at you before grabbing the bag of crisp you tried to hide behind your back.

"Oh come on don't give me that look. I was hungry. I wanted a snack" you pouted puffing out your rosy cheeks and if you hadn't been so annoying and sick he would have certainly kissed you.

Instead he rolled his eyes and huffed tired with your mischievousness you somehow had even when you were burning with fever.

"I'm not going to repeat myself Y/N get back to bed" he put on a stern expression knowing you waiting for a chance not go to your bed and stay downstairs with him.

"Fine, fine but don't say like it's such a chore to you" before you could even finish your sentence you coughed loudly, your sore throat burning in the process.

"Did you say something?" Taking you by your hand he dragged you upstairs and dramatically you followed him, a sulky expression written all over your bruning face.

"For someone who's sick you certainly make sure to keep up with your exercise, taking strolls around the house. I'm not even going to mention how much you talk. Tell where do you find the energy?"

"I've been in bed since yesterday morning, I'm bored and you're not very entertaining" you said in a low tone not wanting to tire your voice.

You walked into your shared bedroom and knowing very well the way you headed to the unmade bed with the blankets and pillows laying down on the carpet.

"It's so so unfair! It's almost Christmas, outside, it's snowing , people are having fun and I'm here sick, laying in bed all day while having you nagging at me! Just so unfair!" You whined, crawling up on the bed before jumping on it a big sly smile lightening up your voice, as the bed left a loud crack with your fall.

Shaking his head disapprovingly Stephen chose to stay silent, pulling up the blankets from the floor.

"Please tell me. Aren't you tired?" He asked in pure curiosity.

"Well I might be a teeny tiny bit sick, but I won't let it take over.’’ you explained as he tucked you in carefully. "So there is no reason to get in the whole doctor mode. I'm fine" you sat up as he propped up your pillows and he raised an eyebrow at you "I swear" you said with an innocent smile.

"Your cheeks are red, where is your syrup?"

"Where is it Y/N?" With his hands both standing on his waist he looked at you with a raised eyebrow waiting for an answer. You widened your eyes with the unjust accusation.

"That disgusting thing? Pff no idea" you shrugged as he looked around the room

"I honestly don't know. I don't even want to be near it. Why would I know where you left it? But it's alright. I'm feeling totally better. Totally"

"Oh here it is. Fuck it's nearly empty" he sighted before putting it on the nightstand. "Let me see how better you are'' he mumbled to himself sitting near you on the bed before bringing his hand on your forehead to feel your temperature.

"You're burning." he stated with a spectacle expression that under different circumstances would have you laughing with how serious he could be.

"So sad that there is no syrop left to make me well"

"Don't worry there's just enough for now. But I have to run to the pharmasy later to buy you a new one" he smirked opening up the bottle "Open up"

"Yeaks. Do I really have to?" You grimaced, looking at the other way to avoid the threatening spoon. " Do you even know how to take care of a sick person? Because I'm not really sure " You whined

"Wells it had been only 14 years of intensive studying, a major and a PhD so I'd say yes I know how to treat a simple fever"

"Ha. Dear Stevie, here is what you get wrong. It's not just a fever. Every patience differs from the other even if they have the same illness and if you can't comprehend that individuality perhaps we should call someone more equipped for my situation"

"First of all please stop making up things and second of all we are not going to call anyone. I can guarantee to you no one in this state or in any other would tolerate you. Now open up" he said strictly and you stubbornly continued looking the other way.

"Can you behave for me please?" He said "I know it might not be perfect but it can't taste that bad"

"That's because you haven't taken it!" You exclaimed crossing your hands over your chest "but I felt terrible so I let it slide. Just this one though" you said pointing your index finger at him.

Opening your mouth you stuck out your tongue and swallowed the disgusting liquid, trying not to vomit.

"That's my good girl" he said, biting down the inside of his lip so he wouldn't burst into laughter.

"Am I gonna die?", you coughed with the terrible taste "because if I am you might as well tell me. I have so many things to do"

"Yeah like what. Nag me all day long? Because for a soon to die person you're pretty ahead of schedule" he said and closed the bottle of medicine.

"So I am going to die?"

"No darling you're not" he laughed with the desperation on your expression.

"Then are you going to stay here and keep me company?" With dove loving eyes and honeyed voice you looked at him, putting up all of your charm to make him stay.

"Well I don't want to get your sick gems"

"Come on!" You whined "If you don't I swear I will not stay a minute in bed and won't let you rest for a minute"

"Well I'm not the one who is sick here. You'll eventually get tired and stop. So why would I care?"

"What you say is very very awful because I'm sick. But since you don't care I will go outside where it is freezing, cold and snowy so I’ll sneeze and get a runny nose and I'll get even more sick. Then I will hunt you around the house to give you kisses and hugs so you'll get sick too" you finished crossing your hands over your chest with a proud look.

"God you're such a child and if you hadn't been that sneaky and sick I might even kiss you" he laughed, raising up to go to the closet.

"Thank you" you said with a hoarse voice that made your throat hurt.

"And what I'm gonna get out of this?"

"So here's the plan. You're going to put up your evil plan for another time and rest here while I run to the pharmacy and then perhaps I might bring you something for your throat. Then I'm gonna make you soup- and before you say it" he quickly said raising his index finger on your lips to stop you from talking

"Yes I know how to make soup so you don't have to worry about me burning down the kitchen" he finished and went to put on his coat "Not like I did last Sunday" he mumbled to himself.

"You're gonna get well, I'm gonna cook for you and we'll watch your favorite movie Barbie a christmas carol"

"I thought that was your favorite movie" you sneered and content you laid down. "Kissie before you go?"

"Why? So I can get sick too?" He asked fixing his collar.

"If you get sick you'll be with me then. Wouldn't that be great?"

"Fine" he kneeled over your tired body pressing tenderly a kiss on the crown of your head and then on your forehead. "Happy?"

"Very much kind sir" you smiled with your eyes closed from when he kissed you.

"Good because that's all you'll get for a while" he said

"Wait! I've really tried but I've been having trouble sleeping. Could you perhaps lay with me till I fall asleep like I so much want to?" You innocently batting your lashes. "Pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top?"

He groaned softly, acting annoyed as you immediately rested your head on his chest nuzzling your body to his. A happy hum escaped your lips as he started running his hands along your hair, twirling them around his fingers and pushing them off your face.

"Alright alright but just for a while and that's because I know you won't shut up"

Too tired to put up a fight with you he walked to the other side of the bed and pushed the blankets aside before slipping under them beside you. Quickly you wrapped hands and legs around him, trapping him close to you so he had no escape.

He could feel your body instantly relaxing on top of his. His fingers ran easily along your hair and your sweet scent he so much had missed after a day of not sleeping with you, filled the room. Relaxing now himself he rested his cheek on your burning cheek and even though he knew you wouldn't stay too long in that position eventually getting too hot or cold his mind really tried to hold onto those moments of blissful peace .

He knew that you did. If you had the power you would stay like this for an interanty.

"Stevie", you whispered sweetly, your voice cracking however.

"Yes dear?"

"Could you hold my hand while I'm sleeping like my doctor advised me? Please?" You said and he smiled to himself happily.

"Of course dear" his hand found yours that rested on his chest, your fingers locking as you let out a sheepish yawn. "happy? Now sleep"

"I know you love me deep down," you said and smiled proudly. Stephen raised up your hands bringing them close to his mouth and kissed your knuckles.

Bonus: after cuddling and watching every barbie movie stephen gets sick too so they have to spend two days in bed together, playing boarding games, cuddling, making bets while taking each others temperature about who will have the highest and watching every single christmas movie that exist, while Wong cooks for them soups (spoiler he is very responsible and kinda scared of getting sick too so he is very strict about the staying in bed rule)

"I'm allowed to have flaws, aren't I?"

#dr strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #benedict cumberbatch #dr strange x you #sinister strange x reader #dr stephen strange #stephen strange x you

[broodsys]

never felt the need to make one of these before, but why not? i've given much of this advice piecemeal over the years, so here it is all compiled. note that none of these are rules, they're just suggestions for things that have served me well. my biggest writing rule is to reject all writing rules tho, so :)

brood's writing advice:

"just write" is overly simplistic. sometimes you have to seek out the reason you're struggling to write and you have to be accepting of your own limitations. are you really stressed lately? are you sick? is there a major change in your life? if you're struggling in other ways, creativity is going to be harder. it can be extremely frustrating, but it's worth being gentle with yourself

two cakes. i think the vast majority of creative individuals deal with imposter syndrome, comparing their work to others, etc., but the cliches are true: you're the only one who can write your story. and there will be people who appreciate it. you have a specific voice and you can't eradicate that from your work in order to replicate someone else's voice, but your voice has a range, i promise, and you can find many ways to utilize it. also true of other forms of art, but i'm just talking writing rn

beginnings are hard. endings are hard. and sometimes you have to let things percolate for a while, let your subconscious untangle it for you. in these instances, i find switching to another project or a writing exercise to be helpful - it keeps me engaged with literary processes without undue pressure to begin or finish one individual piece that's troubling me

writing exercises: they're sometimes about writing, of course - stream of consciousness, poetry, planning, whatever. but i've also found it useful to have them be about words. one of my most productive writing exercises is to just start writing words. they aren't meant to go together at all, it's meant to explore my personal vocabulary, to find terms that have drifted away from the front of my mind, but it also loosens you up and gets creative energy going in a very low-impact way

scene transitions can be really difficult, as can moving from the climax into something with lower energy. something i've found generally effective is to showcase your pov character's reactions, either through introspective reverie or action, even and maybe especially mundane action. they just had a massive climatic moment? okay, how are they going to act when they're getting ready for bed that night? will they be distant and distracted, will they be hyper-focused on the small tasks, will they be clumsy, will they throw themselves into bed carelessly, will they be unable to sleep? following them through their reaction lets you guide the reader through the decreasing energy as well

smut writing: ik ppl can struggle with this and there's so much to it, but the one piece of advice i will offer is to lean into sensory experience outside of the smut. what surface are they on? how does it feel? are they cold, do they warm up, are they sweating? ongoing work setting the scene can help break up the monotony of action that can sometimes be troublesome in smut, bc a lot of the actions are repetitive

#writing advice #shrug emoji #feels so arrogant to post writing advice but ajfksjfsk ppl DO like my writing so idk.... here.

[canirove]

Best friends… forever? | Chapter 22

Author’s note: Next Tuesday’s chapter... 👀

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

"Good morning, Mila."

"Morning."

"Are you... Making breakfast?"

"I am indeed" she says. "It's my way of saying thank you for putting me to bed last night."

"I couldn't leave you on the sofa. And you kind of were glued to me" Rúben smiles.

"I can't remember that. I was asleep" Mila shrugs.

"Yeah... You were" he says, still smiling. "Anyway, what are you making?"

"Your usual avocado toast. And I got you your ginger shot too" she says, putting the little bottle in front of him. "I don't know how you can drink that."

"It's good for you."

"Seeing the faces you make when you drink it, I'm not so sure."

"It is good. Look at how healthy and strong I am" Rúben says, flexing his biceps and making Mila feel her cheeks get warm.

"I actually think you drink it so you can be around the house like this and don't get sick."

"Like this?"

"Shirtless, Rúben. Since we started living together, I think I've never seen you having breakfast with a t-shirt on."

"Are you complaining?" he asks with a cheeky smile.

"Whatever" Mila says, turning around and moving to the fridge to hide that, this time, she is properly blushing, something he would definitely be able to notice.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"What are you doing at the door?"

"Watching" Mila says.

"I thought we were going to train together. Burn those chocolates, you know?"

"You have to burn them. I ate one, and I eat some chocolate every day. It's part of my diet, I don't need to do anything" she shrugs.

"Not even some stretching from falling sleep on a weird position?"

"You have a very comfortable shoulder. But I could do with some yoga, yes. I'm gonna see if I left any work out clothes in my room" she says as she leaves the gym. When she moved to her own place, she left some clothes and random things at their apartment. Rúben didn't mind that she used it as some sort of storage room.

After getting changed and going back to the gym, Mila can't help but stare at him. He's resting next to one of the machines with his back to her, and in a position that asks for his butt to be slapped. That, or for a photo. Or both, to be honest.

"What are you doing?" Rúben asks her when he sees her in the mirror.

"Taking a photo to put it on my stories. After the one with the chocolates, we need to make sure Pep knows you are burning them."

"Does he follow you?"

"Nope. But his daughter does. She knows Manchester is red" Mila says, putting her phone down and picking a mat.

"Manchester is red..." Rúben repeats, shaking his head.

"It is and you know it" she replies, lifting her arms and bending down.

Now Rúben is the one staring. Since when is yoga this... Sexy? He's seen people doing those same moves many times before, and he's never felt anything. But seeing Mila arch her back during the cat cows, and the way her butt is popping out, is making him think of things they've done and...

"Focus."

"What?" Mila says while looking at him, her body on that exact position that is driving him crazy.

"Nothing. Just thinking what I'm doing next" Rúben says, moving to one of the machines.

"Ok..." she says, going back to her routine. She's so focused on it, that it isn't until she gets up and does her first warrior two, that she notices that Rúben has taken off his shirt. And to make things worse, he's doing some back exercises. "Oh, c'mon."

"Uh?" Rúben says, looking back at her.

"Did you really need to do that?" she says, not being able to hold her pose anymore.

"Do what?" he asks, taking a towel and rubbing it over his chest.

"Jesus Christ, Rúben" she says, rolling her eyes. "Did you seriously have to do that shirtless and in front of me, when you know they way the muscles on your back make me feel? And now... That too?" she says, moving her hands in the air and in front of his chest.

"Me? You are the one sticking out your butt while stretching, and you perfectly know how that makes me feel."

"That's how the moves work!"

"And with a t-shirt it's uncomfortable to make my moves!"

"Since when?"

"Always! When have you seen me on that machine and with my t-shirt on?"

"Maybe never" Mila says after thinking about it for a few seconds. "But things are different now."

"They are, yes. And we need to do something about it" Rúben sighs.

"What do you mean?"

"We need to get this out of our system."

"Rúben... We are not going to..."

"We are going for a run" he says, cutting her before she can finish her sentence. Though he knew what she was going to say. The smile that he's trying to hide says it all.

"Running? On our free day?"

"Yes, running. Did you leave any shoes here?"

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"I fucking hate you, Rúben" Mila says, trying to catch up her breath once they make it back to their building.

"What?"

"That was horrible."

"That was nice" he says with a big smile.

"Nice is the bath I'm having the moment we walk through the door. That run... That run was torture."

"C'mon, Mila. You are a professional football player, that should be nothing for you."

"I'm a professional football player, yes. But I'm not a freak. Only freaks like you can run like that, my God."

"Maybe you should try being a freak, it can help you against certain players. That West Ham goal from the other day? I think you could have avoided it if you were a freak like me."

"Oh, fuck off" she says.

"It's the truth" Rúben shrugs.

"Did I ever tell you that Rodrygo, the one that plays for Real Madrid, follows me on Instagram? He sends his regards."

"Oh, that was low, Mila" he laughs.

"It's the truth" she shrugs before walking towards the door.

And that's the mood for rest of the morning. They keep teasing the other and laughing, feeling like the old days. Like what they've always been. Like two best friends.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━ 

#ruben dias #ruben dias fanfic #ruben dias imagine #football fanfic #football imagine

[creativesplat]

Do you have any head cannons for Alfred, Alear, Etie, and Veyle?

Thank you for the ask! :)

Alear: 

Has a massive scar where Sombron fatally wounded her, it occasionally still twinges, particularly when she’s stressed 

Likes almost every food under the sun. She's not the biggest fan of meat for breakfast, but aside from that, she isn't fussed. She loves practically everything.

She sometimes has nice dreams about children playing with her, or a sweet woman talking to her. These are vague half-heard things from her time asleep, like Queen Eve keeping her company when Lumera wasn't able to, or Alfred playing make-believe beside her bed when he was too poorly to go outside.

She never fully understands why the corrupted scare her so much.

Is the biggest sommie lover ever. She’s the sort of person to carry round photos of him and show them to everyone and then herself. She loves Sommie. So. Much.

Sleeps with Sommie on her bed when she’s frightened, or feels like she’s going to have nightmares 

She hates cooking but can. Like. Sort of. It’s bland and kind of meh, but at least it’s not what Alfred cooks. 

Sleepy. Always sleepy. Just a very tired bean. 

Only exercises and trains out of necessity, if she had it her way, she would do less of it. She is not the biggest exercise fan 

Slowly gains a few more memories after the war ends

The nightmares she gets are mainly memories that she repressed or half-forgot 

Enjoys playing with Veyle’s hair. She sometimes does haircare days with Seadall, Celine, and Veyle. 

She hated her red hair at first, but tries to start liking it, after Veyle mentioned struggling with accepting her Fell heritage. 

Plays the piano and sings well, that and polishing weapons and jewellery are some of her favourite hobbies 

If she was in a modern au she would be a bit of a gamer

Alfred: 

Literally a menace of a brother. Has stolen Celine’s makeup, hair kit, and perfume before, but also buys her the best teas ever so, she doesn’t complain (too much!) 

When he was sick as a child he cuddled Sommie a lot (because his family visited the Somniel and Lumera was a family friend)

Very fussy eater, he only eats ‘healthy’ food, and also crepes on occasion. He does like crepes. 

The WORST cook ever. Absolutely disgusting. 0/10 never let him cook

Picked up the flute to strengthen his lung capacity, and has become rather good at playing

He didn’t have many friends as a child, because he spent long stretches of it bed ridden, so he would play imagination games with Alear the Dragon princess, and Alfred the cool-and-strong prince. Most of them involved playing tag together but sometimes he would imagine them battling against evil armies (there was always a bad wizard who caused sicknesses in those) 

As a child he needed mobility aids, and particularly liked his wheel-chair (which he used with a hobby-horse sometimes) and later in life, when he had attacks of his illness, he had to use mobility aids again

Like the Pinterest of the Somniel. If Rosado is ever art-blocked he’ll just go and sketch Alfred 

He’s canonically a very handsome guy (Sharina’s intro etc) but he’s fairly oblivious to it. 

With such muscular retainers, and people like Seadall around, he can sometimes feel quite insecure 

Etie: 

Buff as heck. I don’t care about the character model. She’s ripped

Quite intense as a gym friend. She and Alfred sometimes egg each other on too much, and Boucheron has to step in to make sure they don’t hurt themselves via overexercising 

She has given Alfred food poisoning before with one of her ‘muscle stimulants’ 

Can jog for longer than Alfred. He is very jealous. 

She can almost lift the same weight as Boucheron, if she really pushes herself, and is working up to beating him in deadlifts 

Veyle: 

She keeps pieces of Alear’s dragon stone with her always, and eventually makes some of them into two rings, so she and Alear can always be connected 

Her spice tolerance is higher than anyone in the army

She doesn’t like milk or cream that much 

She needs her hair trimmed a lot, but mainly the black bits. She gets a lot of split ends. 

She really likes swimming, and is regularly at the pool 

Plays tactical RPGs with Robin and Lucina’s emblems. 

Sometimes imagines what life would have been like growing up with Lumera as her mother and Alear as her big sister.

#veyle #alfred #Etie #alear #f!alear #alfred fire emblem #Etie fire emblem #Queen Eve #Celine #Boucheron #creativesplat rambles #head cannons #fire emblem #fire emblem engage #fire emblem heroes #engage #fe engage #robin #lucina #fire emblem engage spoilers #sommie #lumera #she/her pronouns for Alear #because that's who I played originally and who I'm used to

[moonshine-nightlight]

Being sick for the past week meant that I had nothing better to do today than lay in bed and refresh tumblr waiting for chapter 34, and seeing it at the very top of my dash was the highlight of my day! The wait was definitely worth it, my health for the duration notwithstanding lol

SPOILER WARNING FOR PAST CHAPTERS IDK HOW TO PUT READ MORES IN ASKS I'M SO SORRY

You made the right call taking the extra time to edit this doozy of a chapter—figuring out how to share Dale's exposition in a way that made sense and fit into the events of the story while maintaining tonal consistency must have been quite the process, between the restrictions of Sana's POV, regency genre conventions, and the story's (heh) natural climax being Dale's identity "reveal" followed by the wedding. I'm very curious if you currently have any ideas for how you're going to tackle this exposition in the novelization, or if you're inclined to handle it differently at all!

@weasellyferret

i hope you're feeling better! i'm so glad you enjoyed the new chapter!

i hav no idea if u can even put a read more in an ask anymore and i can't hide it now but my answer will be under the read more

thanks! i think some people really underestimate how helpful even self editing is to make things coherent, especially for a long chapter like this one that covered so much but also was literally just two ppl talking to each other (ppl lov to say they'll take any update, but lik, thats cuz they dont knooow lol and i dont just want it to b passable, i want it to b good).

with lore/backstory like this i also have to make sure it makes sense to readers who havent read any of it before nor know any of the even more info that I know because there's even more worldbuilding and dale backstory that wont end up in the story.

i'm glad u think i pulled it off to any degree because i was still pretty nervous when i was posting it that it did make sense, fit in the world, was followable, interesting but not just exposition monologue, etc

yeah, chapter 30 where they have the reveal convo is the primary climax of the story and that's also 'just talking' in a sense so its interesting to write this story in that sense lol

while i had the broad outline of the world and dale's backstory from the beginning (i did a little exercise where i sketched out a sort of Dale POV of chapter 6 to get into his mindset which was super helpful) as I wrote the story a lot more of that info became fully fleshed out/defined. so for the novelization, i'll probably try to work more of the info in earlier or have better allusions to it, which will make some of the info in chapter 34 more of a quick confirmation than the exposition itself

ie i might add a chapter with more detail on Sana researching with Dale's books that Bilmont smuggles and plant suspicions of what went wrong with the summoning; i might adjust the chapter after the attack to be more of a convo about the assassination that the grandparents interrupt where Sana can suspect more of Dale's past etc and generally spread out what i can so its more foreshadowed/natural - things like that

other aspects sort of have to be told to Sana because its POV limited, evn when it is updated to 3rd POV. i'll probably do a straight POV swap and minor edit ; then take a look at it as a whole, reassess things on my own, run those ideas by some writer friends/betas and get their thoughts, and finally my editors (who i used for DSM) are also very good with making sure worldbuilding fits in right and so their advice will be helpful - especially since they will only get the draft i giv them without knowing how it was and what changed etc

once chapter 35 is out (which i'm still writing because smut is a challenge to right and i write it more slowly than other things) i'll start slowly editing and passing along to betas the rest of the story (i've got thru chap 11 done and betas who only read those and who are chomping at the bit - u think u've had a long wait? lol) but it will be spring by the time i do any big edits/revisions and then i'll giv it to the editors, who i already lik, semi-lined up for that time period and idk how long they will take because its a long book and then i'll need to process their edits too so it'll be a lengthy process, but i hope everyone knows it will 100% b a novel and i hope they enjoy it!

now back to stabbing away at the smut writing ;)

#asks #writing asks #story asks #nothing's wrong with dale #worldbuilding #exposition #backstory #lore dump #editing #my process? #lol idk - i think i went on for too long #hope someone finds this interesting #especially u #weasellyferret

[gaytotaldrama]

duncney week day 4 (a day late): first 'i love you'

an unsent letter from C to D, years after the end of the show.

duncney song of the day: 'i've got your number,' elbow

also on my ao3!

Dear Dunc

To whom it may conce

For the idiot with the green mohawk

Duncan, 

I don't go to therapy, but Bridgette does, and she told me about this exercise her therapist set her where you write down everything you want to say to someone in a letter and then you don't send it. Therapy would take up way too much of my time, yet here I am on my bed, writing to you of all people.

It's been years since we last saw each other, or even spoke - since they carted you off the island and tossed you into some disgusting cell. I'm sure you're already aware, but destroying Chris's house was a really  stupid  idea. I understand that you were trying to prove your "villain status" or whatever, but all I could think about watching you leave was DJ and his rabbit. It made me feel  sick,  seeing what happened to you. Gwen and I pretended to be happy about it, but I don't think either of us were at all. 

I know she called once or twice, while you were in there. I know Geoff and DJ came to visit you. I know Bridgette sent you little care baskets through the mail.

I know I never did any of those things. It all hurt so much, still. And even when it didn't, I never figured out what I would say to you.

But now, I have an idea. More or less.

However angry I was with you after you and Gwen kissed, it didn't mean I wanted to see you thrown in  prison.  I know I can be petty and vengeful at my lowest moments, but I always imagined you'd be eliminated in some humiliating spectacle. You'd go home. And we'd never have to see each other again, unless Owen ever decided to throw that reunion bash he was talking about.

And then when that bash happened, you were locked up again for violating your parole. And you weren't there.

I thought about filling these pages with all the reasons you were awful to me, every nitpick and tiny detail that made me hate your guts. But it's not like I was the perfect girlfriend, either. And, Duncan, we were just  kids.  None of us knew what we were doing, what it was we even wanted. Chris knew that and he used it against us every which way, exploiting us on international television.

I don't know if I really forgive you yet. I guess I'd have to see you in person to know. I've spent most of my time post-Total Drama working to forgive myself. Which has worked. Somewhat, at least.

Geoff says you're in Seattle. He says you're working as a tattoo artist. He says you go to AA meetings every week at the recreational center. That's good. That's really good, Duncan.

I work. Sanford, Sanford & Patel - started as a secretary, but I've clawed my way up a bit since then. Helped win some major cases. Hopefully it won't be long before they're adding a Reyes up on that sign.

Bridgette, Geoff, and I have game night every Wednesday evening. We take turns cooking dinner. Sometimes Bridgette slides me a CBD gummy to help me fall asleep at night. I jog, in the mornings. When I can, I go to the gym. Every now and then, I pick up Geoff's guitar and strum it a little. I still remember when you taught me my first bar chord. I couldn't make a  sound  on the B minor then, but I've gotten better, now. I've really gotten better.

I have a cat. This little precocious furball that Bridgette brought back from the shelter. She likes to claw at my nice leather desk chair and she doesn't like strangers at all; I adore her. Her name is Scruffy.

Every couple of months, I fly out to visit Gwen in Vancouver. They showed me the inky moon you put on their collarbone - I think it's beautiful. We go and get coffee together, catch up. She's got an art exhibition down in Bellingham in the fall - I plan to go, but I don't know if you'll be there. I don't know if I want you to be or not.

I've had a few boyfriends, but none of them could keep up with me. One time, Gwen and I got drunk and slept together. I'm not sure why I'm telling you this, but it was kind of good. Which is kind of funny. To me, at least.

Oh, and Geoff and Bridgette are engaged. Which I guess you already knew. It only just happened, so there are no real plans yet, you know those two. Never once made a list in their lives. But I guess if you're not at Gwen's show, we'll see each other at the wedding.

Would you talk to me? If we met again, would you even talk to me? I like to think I'd talk to you. But it's a hell of a lot easier to say it in writing than it is to do it in person.

Would you miss me?

I've missed you. I know people say you never stay with your high school sweetheart, but look at G and B, case in point. We didn't stay together, but sometimes I imagine what it would have been like if we had. Where we'd be right now.

Damn it, ok, I'm just going to say it: I love you. We never got around to telling that to each other while we were dating, but I think it's always been true, since all the way back in season one. I love you, Duncan Russo. It's totally humiliating, but I do. I still really, really do.

And I wish you were

Maybe if I

And I guess there's nothing to be done about that. Over a decade, and I'm still hung up on the boy who I kissed in the back of the Killer Bass cabin, right after puking my guts out. There's only so many people who would kiss someone with vomit breath, but you did. You didn't care. I mean, it was totally disgusting, but you kissed me back. I'll always remember the way you kissed me back.

Just...I just hope you're ok, ok? Or if not, then that you're something close to it. That show screwed every single one of us over, some more than others. The shit Chris did to us was messed up, and if I could go back and time and withdraw my audition tape, I would.

But then I guess I'd never have met you. And I don't know if that would be better or worse for me in the long run.

Thank God you'll never see this letter. 

Love,

Courtney

#duncney week 2023 #duncney #td fanfiction #my writing

[bloodanddiscoballs]

Alright I said I was gonna make a sappy post for my 30th birthday so here it goes!:

I never thought I would live to see 30. I know that many people say that, and I'm sure that sentiment isn't unique on here. Here's the thing; I'm disabled. I have almost died due to my health 3 times since 2011 and indeed did once before being brought back. My immune system is nonexistent, and my chronic pain has me at currently 6 reconstructive back surgeries and round the clock pain medication.

When I was 17 years old, I became a victim of medical malpractice and had my entire life changed in an instant. Didn't get to go off to college, didn't get to work normally, didn't get to move out - didn't, didn't, didn't. For years, I was told that I would heal. That I would be fine. I was young! Young people don't get sick. I'll bounce back. Just be patient. But I didn't get better, I got worse. And every year older was another year into my 20s where I wasn't able to do "the normal stuff." I never finished college, but I did get some classes done. I would work for a few months before needing to quit. I got married and then divorced. All "failures" due to my health.

At 27, I went to see my therapist and sat down and told her that I couldn't see into my future. I remember telling her, "Every day is hell. I can't do this for another 10 years. I've barely made it through this last 10. I don't even know if I can do it for another 3." I was at the end of my rope, convinced that I wouldn't make it. My back was crumbling underneath me again, and insurance was fighting me tooth and nail to be approved for another surgery. I was bedridden. I was on the highest medication load I've taken, and it wasn't even touching my pain. I wasn't connected to anything - not my art, not friends, not the world around me. I was looking very seriously at my options of what I thought was either suffering or dying.

So, she suggested a mindfulness program. It was a 6-week course at UCSD (University of California San Diego) that taught you how to. essentially, live in the moment. At first, I thought it was honestly the stupidest thing I'd ever heard. I'll admit that I was sour on it, but I said I would try it and I paid for the class so I did it. I sat through the meditations, wrote on the topics they gave, went through the exercises they instructed, and did the full day retreat. And at the end of those 6 weeks, I was alive again. I learned to savor every bite of my food. I learned how to pay attention to the sun on my skin. I learned to enjoy how it felt to have my air move in and out of my lungs. I learned how to look in the mirror and love what I saw and dress myself in what made me happy (this is when I started with the disco clothes). The warm feel of skin, the taste of my favorite soda, the beautiful way my cat purrs, the glorious smell of rain, the lovely way dust looks illuminated by the sun - I learned how to Live.

My life is still hard. My pain has not improved. I did get that surgery, so now my back is thankfully more stable than it's ever been. I know that I probably won't live a very long time compared to most, but none of that makes me sad anymore, not really. I have my bad days, and I have my good days, and no matter what, I live in the moment. I feel my emotions and let them have their space within me before letting them flow. And after over a decade of not touching my art because I felt like it was robbed from me, I paint now. I paint for myself, and I paint for others, and by God, I enjoy every second of it. I feed the little barn cats out in the back of where I live now, and I love them. I enjoy the sound of the wind through the oak trees, and I listen to my music, and I take pictures of the bugs. I watch the clouds race by when it's about to storm, and I talk to the flowers that grow outside my fence. I love my bed for holding me on my bad days and love that I have pretty artwork from friends hanging on my walls to comfort me when I can't leave my room. I dress up in my fun disco stuff whenever I can, and on the days I can't, I enjoy my soft, comfy pj's. I talk to my friends online every day and apologize for the days I can't when my pain makes it too hard to think. I play fun video games and watch good movies and enjoy fun podcasts. I Live.

Today, I am 30 years old. I have lived through what should have killed me many times over. And I am so, so happy I am here. And for however long I have, I will continue to live in the moment, enjoying the days and moments I can and allowing the bad to simply be bad. I plan for tomorrow because that is all I can plan for.

I live, and that is enough.

#not sure how to tag this #hope i guess #also you can reblog this of you want #i dont mind

[kaija-rayne-author]

I went thrifting with the kids a couple of days ago and I'm still in so much pain it's making me teary. I don't cry easy. My therapist scolds me about it. 5 hours of shopping with two well behaved kids and I sat down through most of it. I could really use a wheelchair, but I can’t afford one. It would have to be electric, because my EDS is degenerative.

Guess I'm stuck in bed again.

I really wish people would understand that I would give so much to be able to just... live. Even the limited existence I had before covid was better than it is now. I can't go to a movie, or the zoo, or the aquarium. I leave the house for supplies and medical care. That is literally it. I risk my immunocompromised life every time I leave the house because people won't mask. I risk my minor children's lives and my partner's too. We're all immunocompromised.

I used to hike, ride horses, dance, bike, practice 3 types of martial arts.

Then I caught swine flu and my body gave up. I was diagnosed with me/cfs (which is now usually considered a post viral illness, meaning you got sick with a virus and never got better).

Then 3 years ago, I caught version 6 of the first wave of covid. I barely survived, but I never got better.

I honestly can't imagine how people can be so blasé about viruses. They can absolutely destroy your life. They've destroyed mine. I was healthy! I exercised and ate well! I was vaccinated! (Antivaxxers fuck off. I have science degrees, you're really badly misinformed.) I did everything right and it still took me down.

There's nothing you can do behavior wise that will guard you from viruses except masking, vaccinations, and social distancing. Setting up air cleaning options helps too, but since we can't even get people to mask, I'm not holding my breath on that one. (Har, har, I'm hilarious.) Vaccinations are imperative, but they don't do anything for transmission. They exist so that if you do get it, you have a better chance of survival.

And humanity could have defeated this illness 3 years ago. Except because selfish people wanted their 'normal' back... we didn't. PSA? Your 'normal' sucked a lot for disabled people already. It's worse now.

I do the best I can, but it has robbed me of so much. My scientific career, my ability to make a living that doesn't mean just scraping by well under the poverty line.

I can't hike anymore, or bike, the brain knowledge of my decades in martial arts and dance is still there, but I probably couldn't take a hit anymore. Being around horses again is an impossible dream.

Hell, just getting out of bed some days is an impossible dream.

I have nightmares of being without a mask, and people walk around bare faced.

I fucking guarantee there isn't a 'fun' thing on this planet that is worth living like I do.

The worst isn't when the virus kills you, it's when you survive it and have so little ability left.

And more people survive SC19 than die from it. They survive, but millions of people are already disabled from it and the numbers rise every day.

How are people not fucking terrified? How?

#SC19 #chronic pain #chronic illness #me/cfs #long covid #disability #my disabled life #kai's rambles #about kai

[drdemonprince]

hey!! i've been watching your amazing top surgery recovery on insta and i'm wondering if you have any tips/secrets to recovering so quickly??! i've been looking into top surgery but have been so intimidated because everything i've read about the recovery process makes it seem like it'll take months and that's something that's not realistic for me with my limited support system + limited time off work but goddamn i would love to get my tits chopped off asap. i read something about how you gotta b

continued: be prepared to not physically be able walk around or lift more than a jug of apple juice for like two months post-op and that's been scaring me off top surgery cuz that's just not sustainable for me!!

Yeah, so I do think some people are really really overstating how incapacitating the procedure has to be, and that some of that is a holdover of doctor's historical approaches to treating patients.

Like historically, wealthy pregnant women were sometimes in bed nearly the full duration of their pregnancies, and just in general medicine used to believe that the best way for a patient to heal was for them to be lying down doing as little as possible (and being as compliant and inobtrusive as possible), and I believe that might still color some surgeon's recommendations today. Even though we know that gentle movement and maintaining function where one can is good for healing!

Now, my experience with surgery has been far and away better than that of anyone I've heard of so far for a couple of reasons, some that are within a patient's control, some that are not.

The first thing is that I have a high pain tolerance and love moving around, I need to move around to feel good, it's just very helpful for my mental health and sensory regulation. Even when I have the flu or COVID, I still tend to lift weights and take walks -- maybe at a slightly diminished capacity, maybe taking a day off if I feel incapable, but I generally want to move and find it easy to start moving quickly even when I'm sick or in pain.

2. The second piece is, you guessed it, my activity level. Before surgery, I was lifting weights for a half hour each day, five days per week. I'd been doing roughly that amount for a couple of years. I also live in a city and don't have a car so I walk a lot, take the stairs when I can, go out dancing sometimes, and just generally stay pretty active. We could chalk this up as a "choice" but that would be to ignore the fact that I'm capable of doing that much activity and I enjoy it. If I had kids, a 9-5 office job, physical disabilities that impacted my ability to exercise, elder care responsibilities, or anything else, I couldn't work out five days per week. But I personally can. And that has either been good for my health, or is just a signal of the fact that I am in good health.

3. That brings us to the third piece: I don't really have any health issues that get in the way of healing. I get over colds relatively quickly, and aside from a bout of anemia and severe burnout in my mid 20s and some knee pain that I gave myself from using a standing desk for two long that seems to never go away, I've made it to 35 without too many scratches on the vehicle.

Right now I'm probably in the best health of my life, both because of my activity levels and just really finally getting on top of cooking myself meals most days of the week, lots of like fish and veggies and rice and quinoa and shit (I used to survive on power bars far too often. they're still nice. but cooking dinner regularly has made me feel more nourished and strong). Again a lot of that is being lucky enough to have time to do the things that help me feel good.

4. Before surgery, I was hydrating and fibering like a mother fucker, up until midnight the night before my operation, when I was supposed to begin fasting. I also went two weeks without any alcohol, weed, cigarettes, delta 8, or any other substances, and no medications other than my testosterone. I also quit caffeine several months ago which has had a DRAMATIC impact on my mental health and improved my eating and hydration as well. Three hours before surgery I took a prescribed anti-nausea pill, and a celebrex (a prescribed anti-inflammatory, basically it dulls nerve pain a bit) as advised by my doctor.

5. I chose to work with a surgeon who does not use narcotics -- this is a huge one. Opioid pain medications pack a whallop, and if you need them, you need them, there's no shame in that -- but I think the American medical system is still skewed towards using them too willy nilly compared to most other parts of the world. They make you groggy, slow down your digestion, can make you depressed, make you nauseated, and just generally keep you from moving around and eating, and you really do want your physical system to be moving and metabolizing so it can heal you.

I would not have been up and walking around the day of my surgery if I was on opioids. The day after surgery I was able to stream for three hours, ride the train to my post-op appointment, and walk to a restaurant a few blocks away for dinner because I wasn't loopy or medicated at all. And I truly did not need them. Because I wasn't on opioids I was also able to shit the same day I had surgery instead of battling bloating and constipation for days, which most guys describe having.

Rather than giving any hard core pain meds to me, my doctor used numbing injections during surgery, which blunted the pain for the first 48 hours post-op, which is the worst period healing wise. Beyond that, he put me on antibiotics and a celebrex in the morning and at night. I've never felt much pain at all.

At this point, my pain is like.. less than a period cramp? Similar to muscle soreness from working out? I feel fragile because my skin is stitched together, so it's not like I could run a marathon or climb a rock wall, and I can't cook or carry anything over a milk jug. but I can walk around, shower, take the train, open light doors, get dressed, feed my chinchilla, stuff like that.

6. My surgeon encouraged movement. Many surgeons tell you not to lift your arms above your head for weeks, but this can result in you needing physical therapy afterward and losing mobility in general. Now if that's what your doctor tells you to do, you should listen to them, but my doctor told me he wanted me to maintain range of motion. I am allowed to open cabinets, shampoo my hair, and reach above my head to grab things -- GENTLY and SLOWLY -- and i do very very light stretches. In the weeks to come I'll need to weigh two competing concerns against one another: the desire to maintain mobility, and the desire to have thin scar lines. I'm still being very delicate but I am using my arms all day and sometimes raising them.

Now, I can't promise you that any of this will happen for you. And since you mentioned wanting to be as independent as possible, let me tell you: do not push it! you will need help! Not getting enough help will dramatically increase your risk of complications! I have someone with me to lift heavy objects, cook, wash the dishes, help me shower, open heavy doors, and to tell me to slow down when i'm going too hard.

The people i know who did have complications got to that point because they didn't ask for enough help. You will need to take time off of any labor intensive job, and you wont be able to move furniture, make your bed, do your laundry, cook a meal, carry groceries, or do other intensive things for a while. I understand the motivation to get back to 'independence' as quickly as possible, but you can't guarantee that will happen.

This week, I will be doing some light work (grading and reading copy edits) because I am able to, and because I'm high energy enough to be getting bored. But I couldn't count on that. I told my boss and my editor I'd be offline for at least two weeks, more if I had complications. Since I didn't, I'm bouncing back way sooner, but it would not have been healthy for me to set out with that as the expectation. I needed to mentally offload the stress of having a job or I wouldnt have healed as well as I have.