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#ill stop looking at this before i hate it and delete it

rmbaloncesto · 2 months

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Happy 25th birthday, Luka 🌟

5× NBA All-Star (2020–2024)

4× All-NBA First Team (2020–2023)

NBA Rookie of the Year (2019)

NBA All-Rookie First Team (2019)

FIBA World Cup Top Scorer (2023)

All-FIBA World Cup Team (2023)

Olympics All-Star Team (2020)

EuroBasket champion (2017)

All-EuroBasket Team (2017)

EuroLeague champion (2018)

EuroLeague MVP (2018)

EuroLeague Final Four MVP (2018)

All-EuroLeague First Team (2018)

2× EuroLeague Rising Star (2017, 2018)

EuroLeague 2010–20 All-Decade Team (2020)

3× Liga ACB champion (2015, 2016, 2018)

Liga ACB MVP (2018)

All-Liga ACB First Team (2018)

2× Spanish King's Cup winner (2016, 2017)

#cant believe he is 25 already...#luka doncic #dallas mavericks #look i have not gifed in YEARS #so this is very meh #but its luka so its automatically amazing #ITS ALMOST 7 AM #IM TIRED #but its still the 28th in dallas #so im technically not late #i was going to make 10 gifs but no <3 #anyway: happy bday wonder boy i love you so much #my gifs #mavs #luka #wonder boy #goodnight #ill stop looking at this before i hate it and delete it

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grippingbeskar · 1 year

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salt, ice and fire | frank castle

chapter twenty six - you bring me home

frank castle x fem! reader

warnings: 18+ content minors dni! (car sex lmaooo, mxf nothing you haven’t seen before, its pretty sweet <3) swearing, canon typical violence, mention of scars, injuries, blood, literally packed everything into this chapter its a big one

a/n: wow. this was so rough oh my god. the entire first draft deleted itself and i had to re write the whole thing from memory, so i lost my planned chapter. i really hope i got everything in here, and im sorry for the wait AND how long it is lmao but i just. can’t believe i really finished it. ill rant at the end, but if you only read this part, i love you. thank you for letting me share the absolute vomit that is my brain. you are the best.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“How was the drive?” Franks voice sends a shiver down your spine, even hundreds of miles away through a crappy phone line.

“Boring.” You sigh, pacing around the tiny motel room.

“You were meant to call an hour ago. Got me waitin’ up for you.” He sounds tired, and it makes your heart skip a beat. It’s stupid, but the image makes you a little giddy. Waiting up for you.

“There was… traffic.”

“You get lost?”

“Fuck you.” You bite automatically and he groans.

“So yeah?”

“Yes, Frank. I got lost.” He laughs, the sound managing to take your mind off the dark room you’d managed to secure for the night, the bedside light doing nothing to brighten the small space.

“I gave you a map. It’s a straight shot from where you started.” Rolling your eyes, you look at the map you’d now bundled into a ball and thrown into the trash.

“Who uses a printed map? Seriously, how fucking old are you?” It’s playful and familiar, and all the frustration of driving for 10 hours melts into the bed.

Being a key witness in a now ongoing case apparently didn’t come with any frequent flyer miles, because both Matt and Frank had said you couldn’t risk going through airport security and being flagged in a system, so it meant you had to drive nearly 18 hours to Florida. You thought you didn’t mind road trips, but after today you think it’s only road trips with Frank you don’t mind.

“Maps don’t change, baby. Besides, you’d drive yourself into a god damn tree the second that voice in the car told you you’d missed a turn.” You hate that he’s right— even the thought of that monotone voice droning in your ear for ten hours makes you cringe.

“Whatever. Tell me about something. You said you were going to speak to Madani today?” He’s the one sighing now, and clearly the talk was about as fun as your drive.

“She’s all over the place. Some mishandled evidence fucked their entire case, and Bobby’s lawyers were too well paid to let it go. Murdock said they’ll be able to find more— the appeal’s already been approved cause of how high profile it is, but he’s got no new evidence. He said he doesn’t know if they can get him.”

“That’s… what I expected, I guess.” Frank agrees, and your sudden silence only serves to bring the real issue to hand. “You know where he is?”

“Yeah. I got it covered.” The line goes quiet, and you don’t really know what to say.

On one hand, you want Bobby dead. You know can’t do it- it wasn’t smart, and the last thing you were going to do is drag everything Matt and Madani had worked for through the mud for someone like him, let alone put Sam in danger. Some fucked up part of you is a little mad that it won’t be you, but Frank has every reason to hate him as much as you. You know Frank wants this, and that telling him to stop is like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Your hesitation would only spur him to do it faster, be more impulsive. You don’t want to say anything to put him off.

On the other, you just want him with you. You worry like some love sick child, scared he’s walked out the door and isn’t coming back. You worry he’ll get caught, and end up in the exact spot he was trying to get you out of. You’re scared he’ll get hurt, or worse. Every time you close your eyes you can see him bleeding out, dark red staining your hands until you can scream yourself awake. There’s so many things that could go wrong, and ten hours staring over the hood of your car gives you way too much time to think about hypotheticals.

“It’s gonna be okay.” Frank says softly, and you flop yourself back on the single bed.

“Are you?” He huffs like the question is irrelevant.

“Madani asked about your dad today.” He ignores the question, and you’re too interested to poke him on it.

“Oh?”

“Asked what he knew about your time there. If he ever worked with the Gnucci’s.” A lump forms in your throat.

“You think she knows about the weird... blood stuff?”

“Don’t see why she would. Either way, it’s not gonna matter once he’s dead.” The bluntness of it almost makes you laugh. “He’ll be gone, and no one will come for it. Or you.”

“You don’t have to do this for me, Frank.”

“I’m not.” He pauses, and then sighs. “Alright, I am, but not just that. The shit he said to me in there— the things he said about you. The way he looked at you in there… I watched that shit, and there’s no way in hell that asshole does what he did and lives.”

“What if he was found guilty? Would you of left it alone?” Maybe if you’d been more helpful to Matt and Madani, it would of gone better, and Frank would be here.

“You want me to answer that?” A part of you knew he wasn’t going to let it go. That wasn’t who he was. It shouldn’t make you feel the way it does to know that Frank would kill for you— just to make you safe. It does anyway, and heat flushes over your face.

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” He agrees, a low sound rumbling from his end of the phone. “I spent most of the day wishing you were with me, you know.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Turns out I fucking hate driving.” He laughs again, and if you could listen to the sound all night you think you’d sleep peacefully.

“You remember how mad you were that first time I didn’t let you drive?” Shaking your head, you flick off the lights slide under the covers.

“I was mad because you had a concussion and tried to fucking kill us.”

“Least I was gonna go the right way.”

“You tried switching drivers on the freeway, Castle.”

“Alright, I was a a bit out of it.” He says plainly and you smile so wide it hurts your cheeks. “Wished you were here, too.”

“I bet you did.” He groans, and you hear him shift on the bed. Your bed.

“Too much space in here. Didn’t even know we had this much blanket.” He makes a real noisy show of it, tossing around the blankets you usually roll yourself up in. It’s meant to be a light hearted thing, but for some reason the idea of Frank spread out on your shared bed, one that you’ve both used extensively— it makes your heart race.

“Dickhead.” He groans again, shuffling around some more. “This one’s too small. Probably have to sleep on top of each other if you were here.”

“M’alright with that.”

“Not a lot of room to move, though.” You look around at the room, hardly enough space to stand in the corner.

“We’d figure something out.” You let your eyes flutter closed, humming high pitched at the idea. “What are you thinkin’ about, sweetheart?”

“You.” You admit, and he seems to like it.

“Me too. Haven’t gone a night in this apartment without fuckin’ you in this bed. Drivin’ me crazy.” You hum again, pressing your thighs together to try and dissipate the heat that’s suddenly overtaken your whole body. “You thinkin’ about it now too, aren’t you baby?”

“Yeah, Frank.”

“Don’t say my name like that.” He growls, and you bite your lip to hide your laugh.

“Why not, Frank?” You practically purr the word, drawing it out and saying it all breathy like you do when he’s teasing you.

“Cause you’re gonna make me drive ten hours just to fuck you in whatever dirty motel you pulled off into.” You’re still smiling, but you think if you keep messing with him, he’d do it. He’d drive ten hours, a hundred of them if it meant teaching you a lesson. Or just being with you. “I’ll see you soon. Real soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You breathe out, knowing if you keep talking to him your entire plan will crumble in front of you, because you’re half considering driving home just to sleep next to him. “Soon. Be safe, okay?”

The words tumble out, and you try to hide the guilt you feel when you say them. He was only not safe because of you— because you couldn’t finish the job yourself. You’re glad he can’t see your face, because you hear him mumble on the other end and your eyes close listening to him.

“Always. Tell the kid I said hi.” With that, Frank hangs up the phone, and you slide it onto the table right next to the pistol you keep loaded and ready to fire.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Frank pulls the saturated beanie over his head, and it’s probably doing more harm than good at this point, but he doesn’t have a second to really give a shit. His eye-line is perfect— directed straight into the penthouse apartment Bobby Gnucci was driven to three hours ago. He’s been tucked away in the corner of the rooftop for just as long, watching the man pace and yell on the phone.

It had taken him a few goes to get the right frequency to listen in on the calls he was making, but once he had he took as much information done as he could. He’d had enough of watching, and now he was satisfied with the phones calls he’d listened to that the man was alone for the night; not counting his extensive security team layered through the apartment block. Frank felt the familiar hum in his veins, shoving his loaded pistol in his jeans and swinging the strap of a rifle over his shoulder, he headed down the stairs, across the street and slipped into the back of the building.

There’d be witnesses if he didn’t take the right route, and to make this work he needed every chance at an alibi he could get. He was so used to not caring— every time he’d gone into something like this, he didn’t have something to get back to. He had no preservation, no concern for what came after. Hell, if he was honest, he didn’t care if he went out doing something like this. He would of preferred it, maybe even hoped he’d die somewhere in the cross fire.

Even just talking to you on the phone had him itching to get back to you now. He wanted to be careful— something he never really thought of before. A heavy ache in his stomach that twisted something violent when he thought about not getting home, not making good on his promise from a few hours ago, it made him sick. He planned as much as he could, as much as he was capable of, and hoped to God it was enough.

Frank hid his body behind the corner of the wall. He hid his face, too, even though he’d already had Micro’s help shutting out the cameras. He knew it would set off alarms for the security team, but he planned for that. They’d spread out, follow orders that he’d listened to over the radio, three men on all the entries and exits, and then ten through the penthouse. If he timed it right, he could clear the first few levels before the guards arrived.

He didn’t care about making noise now— slamming his way up the fire access while Gnucci’s men no doubt got into position. He’d just past a number 6, and Bobby was on the top floor. 23. He kept going, not hearing any doors open. When he passed 9, the door on the level below him cracked open and he jammed through the next exit he reached, getting into position.

He could hear voices coming from his right, and steadied himself as he turned the safety off his gun. He had a small army of men to get through, but he knew if he could make it, landing the hit on Bobby would be easy.

He wasn’t nervous. Pure adrenaline flooded him, like it always did, and he didn’t think twice before standing out of cover and pulling the trigger.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“How have you grown so much?!” You nearly shout, hugging Sam tighter as he all but latches onto your leg. “God, you’re gonna be my height soon.”

“I missed you!” He says, words muffled in your jacket. You don’t even have to bend really, he’s that tall. It is even possible for him to grow that much in just a month? “Come! I want to show you my stuff. Me and Niko share a room, and it’s the coolest thing…”

You let him drag you around the house, showing you the bunk beds that are set up for him and Nikolai. He shows you books he’s brought home from school, and it makes you smile how chaotic his room is. There’s piles of books and papers everywhere, stuffed under the bed and nearly toppling on the tables. It looks like it’s lived in… like a home, and your heart warms and breaks all at once.

When he finally finishes his impromptu tour, he pulls you outside where the rest of the family has set themselves up, and runs out into the giant back yard to chase after Nikolai. You hardly had a chance to say hello to them, but if you were honest you hadn’t thought of anything but Sam since you saw him.

“Did he show you the bunk beds?” The doctor— Zaed, you remind yourself, comes up behind you on the deck. “He hasn’t stopped talking about showing you.”

“I thought he was gonna explode.” Zaed laughs, and you turn to look at him. He’s still sporting a scar across his forehead, and it somehow makes his older features look slightly hardened. His face was still soft, something about him gesturing kindness, an observation you never made in the months you were locked away. “He told me you made them.”

“It took me weeks. I am not very… handy.” Smiling, you turn back to watch Sam and Nikolai screaming and laughing as they chase each other with Nerf guns. “I am sorry for what happened with the case.”

“So am I. If he’d gone away, you wouldn’t have to stay in Witness Protection.” He nods, turning away for a second only to return and offer you a can of something. “What is it?”

“It’s Russian. You’ll like it— it’s strong.” You crack it open and take a long drink, hoping to drown the rising anxiety that kneads the back of your mind at the thought of what Frank was doing right now. “We don’t mind it so much here.”

“Florida?” He nods.

“We want to stay. Corinne thinks the children— with what they’ve been through, shouldn’t move too much. They seem happy here.” You hum in agreement, listening to the light squeals of the youngest girl, who’s name you haven’t learnt yet, who’s got the biggest Nerf gun of all and is shooting the shit out of both boys. “It was my idea. To offer to take him in. If you are upset, please lay the blame with me—“

“Upset? God, why would I ever be upset?” He blinks in surprise, looking to you.

“You are here with him, and yet you still seem far away. I figured the suggestion was weighing on you. We only offer because… well, we have all grown quite fond of him, and for you— to you we owe our lives. I thought if we could make any of this easier…” You shake your head, finishing the bitter liquid in the can.

“You looking after Sam is about one of two good things I have going right now.” Zaed seems to relax, leaning forward onto the railing as you both stare out to watch the kids. “I think he’s happy here.”

“He is. He misses you, but he is happy.”

“And safe.”

“Of course. I pity anyone who would try to get past Corinne now.” You laugh at the tinge of genuine anxiety in his voice, as if he imagines it, but his eyes are full of admiration.

“I want to talk to him about it… make sure he’s okay, but if he wants to, I think him staying here would be the best thing for him.” Zaed doesn’t answer right away, just lets the echoed laughter of the kids fill both of your ears before he nods simply.

“He will be safe. And I am sure you will learn to love Florida, too, with how much you will visit?”

“What?” Again, a look of surprise crosses his face.

“Sam did not show you the spare room? We have cleared a space for you— whenever you need it. You… it is the least I could do. You saved my life—“

“Hardly.”

“I owe you it. My families life. My own. Whatever you should need here, the door would be open to you.” You have to look away, because it’s too much, and you don’t know when you became so soft that shit like this made you tear up.

“You don’t owe me anything. You keeping Sam safe is everything I ever wanted. I think we’re even now.” You laugh, your throat suddenly feeling a little tight.

“I couldn’t help but notice you arrived alone.” He questions, and you hide your face, unsure if the way you chew on your bottom lip gives too much away.

“Yeah.” No amount of alcohol could drown out the thought of Frank. You hadn’t heard from him in a day. Zaed looks at you, his eyes crinkling as he assess you.

“I thought he was going to drown with you that night. When he saw you go into the water… I recognise that look in a man’s eyes.” It seems so long ago now, and your hand instinctively goes to your stomach, where Frank sewed you up the first time. “He is coming soon, I assume? I doubt he would let you get too far from him right now.”

“Yeah, he’s…” You trust Zaed— but there’s only one person who takes precedent over the people taking care of your brother. “He’s just finishing up some stuff with the case in New York. He should be on his way now.”

“Ah.” He says, his eyes lingering on you in question. You say nothing, just sink a little more of the can. “Well, when he kills the ублюдок, I hope he makes it last.”

Before you can recover and wipe the shock off your face long enough to ask him how the hell he guessed what Frank is doing, Sam and Nikolai are in front of you, and Zaed disappears back into the house.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Frank grunts, a loud nearly animalistic sound vibrating off the walls as he clears the 23rd floor. Every time he breathes out, blood sprays out of his mouth. He can’t tell if it’s his own or he’s just covered in so much that it’s dripping off him. Either way he can’t help it, chest burning for oxygen after he laid the lower floors to absolute waste.

He’d ditched the assault rifle somewhere between the 18th and 19th floors, not even bothering to pull out his pistol. No— he’d fought every single one of them with his bare hands, and anything he could find scattered between dead bodies.

His right hand was fucked, and he’s pretty sure he got shot. Somewhere on the right side of his body, there’s a shooting pain between his thigh and his ribs, but it’s not enough to slow him down. He shoves his body weight into the penthouse door, throwing himself into guards he knows are ready and waiting for him. He reaches for his pistol, shooting three guys in the head before his eyes adjust to the dimmer lights in the room.

He hears them shouting orders, and he kills three more as he crosses the living room. One of them he puts through the TV screen, glass shattering under his hand as he crushes the man’s skull between the hard surface. The other two he shoots, and then moves towards the last four. All of them shield the door to the bedroom— putting their lives on the line for a man who doesn’t deserve the air he’s wasting.

Frank doesn’t have a moral compass when it comes to revenge. Not when it has to do with the people he loves. It’s why he clears the round of bullets in his gun on all four of them in less than thirty seconds, watching the lifeless bodies pile up in the doorway, there isn’t a single moment that he hesitates.

“Bobby!” Frank shouts, his voice horse and so loud he’s got no doubt the dead hear it.

He hears shuffling, and drops the pistol before stomping his way through into the bedroom. He sees Bobby, crawling across the floor in an attempt to reach for a gun dropped by one of the guards, but just as he goes to reach for it, Frank slams a bloody boot down on top of his hand, feeling the crush of bone under his weight.

“Fuck!” He shouts, and Frank smiles sickly, blood dripping from his teeth. “Get the fuck off me, you animal!”

Frank kicks him in the face, two of his teeth flying out and scattering across the carpet. As he rolls over, Frank grabs him by the collar and sits him up, watching his head lull to the side.

“Wake up.” Frank slams his fist into his skull. There was no way he was passing out this fast. Not after what he’s done. “Wake the fuck up.”

His hands shake with how hard he’s holding Bobby upright. So hard he feels the bone of his collar begin to give, and Frank chases the idea. Bobby thrashes, screaming as his eyes shoot open, the sound kicking Frank back into gear. He lets go of his shoulder long enough to pull back, only to drive his fist and crack the rest of his shoulder.

“Help m—“ Bobby tries to shout, but Frank shuts him off with another well placed shove of his weight into Bobby’s stomach, winding him. He wheezes, the pathetic sound something like music to Franks ears.

He punches him again— over and over. Not enough to kill him, though. No, Frank wasn’t done, he was just feeding the thrill. He’d been waiting too fucking long for this, and there was something satisfying about seeing this man— this weak excuse for a man being blinded by his own blood as he cries for someone to help him.

“Ain’t no one comin’ for you.” He growls, and grabs Bobby’s face so it hangs straight. His jaw is slack, but his eyes go wide when he feels the blade at his ribs. “You know that? That there ain’t a single person out there comin’ for you. No one gives a shit about you. You’re alone in here— your life in my hands.”

“Haaa—“ Bobby tries but whatever it is fades out into a scream when Frank slides the blade between his third and fourth rib. Slowly— real fucking slow. “They… they’ll come. Th-They’ll come f-for me.”

“No one’s comin’. Dead. All of ‘em. You’re alone.” He slides it a little deeper, watching the realisation wash over his face.

In truth, Frank wasn’t doing this for him. Sure, it felt fucking good, and Frank was enjoying the sight of the life draining out of his eyes, but he wants him to know why. Why he’s here, why he took out every last man in this building so he knew there was no hope. No one for him to go to.

He knew that’s what it was like for you. Frank couldn’t give you back those years, and he couldn’t take that much time with this— he’d thought about it, but he wanted this to end here and now. He could do this here, for you. Could make him know just how it feels to have all that power beat out of you, and know that there’s no one out there coming to save you.

“Stop…stop!” He wails, and Frank hits him harder. Every crack of his fist sends Bobby further into unconsciousness, and when he manages to stop himself, he shakes him awake again.

He gurgles on his own blood, dark red pools choking out of his mouth. His face is unrecognisable, already starting to blow up as he strangles in a few short breaths.

“I can… I have money. I can p—“ The effort of the words sprays another load of blood out of his mouth, and even though he’s exhausted, Frank laughs.

“You think I want money?” He leans down, yanking the knife out of his ribs and shoving it in again.

“Fuck! What do you—what do you want?!” Bobby wails again. Frank smiles.

“I want you to know that she’s the reason you’re dead. The last thing you’ll know is me— my face, and you’ll know it’s because you ended up just like you made her. Except she got out, and you never will.” Frank loses sense of time, his injuries starting to catch up with him as he yanks the knife out one more time, before slamming it home into Bobby’s skull.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I’m watching!” You shout as Sam lines up again, taking a few steps back before rushing forward and kicking the ball towards their make shift goal in the yard. You have to admit, for only been playing a few weeks, he’s got a hell of a kick on him.

“See! I’m getting better— my coach says next year I can try out for the first grade team if I keep training!” He’s smiling so big, and then he’s gone again, picking up the ball to take another shot at Nikolai who’s got goalkeeper gloves on, ready to catch it.

You’d be happy to watch this all day, but then Corinne calls out to you, telling you your phone is ringing, and you all but leap over the railing of the deck. When you race inside, you expect to see Franks name, and your heart sinks when you don’t. You knew he wouldn’t be able to call until it was over, but it’s been nearly two days since you’d heard anything. Then, you see it’s an unknown number calling, and your hands are shaking when you disappear into what is meant to be ‘your’ room to answer.

“Hello?” You recognise the voice instantly when she says your name. “Fucking hell, Karen. You scared me. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but are you?!” She nearly shouts, and you are still coming back to your mind with relief it wasn’t someone telling you Frank was dead. “I don’t even know how you did it, but I don’t want to. The way they found him… Jesus.”

“Wait. What? Karen, I’m in Florida.”

“What?”

“I’m with my brother in Florida. I came up here two days ago after the trial.” She goes quiet, and you can hear the commotion in the background. Remembering it’s a Tuesday, and that she must be at work, it only furthers your suspicions. “Who’s dead?”

“Bobby is. They found him. They found his body— but…”

“Karen, tell me.” All you need to hear is Frank wasn’t found. That he got out of there before anyone saw him. It would be your fault— all of it would be your fault if he was found. You needed to get back, you needed—

“Sorry. Sorry, I just thought… with everything that happened before, I thought it might of been you. Bobby’s dead, but… there’s nearly 50 men in the building with him. They’re all dead. And Bobby; he was hardly recognisable. It took them nearly 24 hours to identify him.”

“24 hours?” Frank needed to get out of New York as soon as he killed Bobby. If the police had been crawling around there for nearly a day… “Karen, I gotta go. Thank you for calling.”

You cut it off before she responds, and call the only number saved in your phone. It only rings twice before he answers, and you could nearly cry when you hear his voice.

“Stop fuckin’ ringin’ me, Murdock. I don’t know shit and I’m busy.” He grumbles through the phone, and you choke out something between a laugh and a sob. “Oh, fuck. Sorry— hey, sweetheart. Was just about to call you.”

“It’s… did the— job go okay?” You try to calm your voice as best you can, knowing that if anyone traces the call he’s done for.

“It took me longer than I thought. Had to get stitched up, then Curtis drove me halfway— passed out for most of it.” Before you can ask, he answers. “I’m fine, don’t do that.”

“You’re okay?” Relief floods your body, phone nearly slipping out of your hand with how hard you were gripping it. “Everything’s… everything’s okay?”

“Come see for yourself. I’m pulling up.” Like a kid on Christmas, you toss the phone and basically sprint to the front door, hearing an unfamiliar truck rumble down the isolated street.

He’s driving, clearly having ditched Curtis, but when he gets out he’s got a limp, and his hand is bandaged. You don’t run, instead you stand in the driveway and soak up the image— Frank; leaning against the door of the truck, sunglasses covering up what you have no doubt are black eyes. Alive. Favouring his left side and still with dried blood on his head, but fucking here.

“You’re hurt.” You say it when you finally reach him, but it sounds pathetic, closer to the tone you’d whimper his name in.

“Don’t worry about it.” He says huskily and reaches out, yanking you forward and slamming his mouth to yours.

The soft touch of his bandaged hand is opposite to the greedy grasp of his free one, the one wrapping around your back and fisting the material of your shirt, pressing so you were flush against him. Both of your hands cup his face, feeling the rough surface of his skin. You lose yourself in the taste of him as your fingers trace the patterns of scars peppering around his head— a constellation you’ve memorised a million times over, and yet it still feels as illuminating as the first.

He groans your name, sliding his hand up to grip your jaw, thumb tugging on your bottom lip. You lean back slightly, staying at close to him as possible. His eyes look you up and down, and there’s a glint in his eye; a hunger that never seems to be satiated when he looks at you. He’s still feverish for it, and it makes your toes curl in your shoes.

“Fuckin’ missed you.” He mumbles against your lips, and it makes you smile against his.

“I can tell.” His other hand forgets it’s injury as he searches your body, gripping your hips and pressing you closer.

“Get Sam. Let’s go home.” He tucks his head lower, mouth kissing under your jaw, and as much as you do want to get the fuck out of here with him, you pull away.

“He’s… he’s staying here.” Frank pushes the sunglasses off his face, looking at you through what is actually only one bruised eye.

“Staying?” You nod. “You sure?”

“I talked to him about it. He fucking loves it here, Frank. He didn’t want me to go again, but you should of seen him with them. They treat him like their own, and he adores them. It’s so much better than anything I could of thought.” Frank wraps his arms around your back and hugs you right, and your eyes flutter closed. “And you can’t just leave. They’re expecting you to come in and say hi.”

“Why?” The way he says it makes you laugh, as if you’d just asked him to drink gasoline.

“Come on.” You tug him by the wrists, and even though he groans and leans on you up the driveway, you both stagger inside and follow the sounds of Sam’s laughter, leaving everything else behind.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“They were being nice.” You haven’t wiped the smile off your face since you slid into the passenger seat this morning. “Well, I slept great. I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

“Mhmm.” Frank grumbles, clearing having a much worse sleep than you did.

It was sweet, and truely, you wanted to take them up on it. When Frank dragged himself through the front door of where Sam had been staying, everyone had nearly jumped on him. Sam couldn’t contain himself, clearly trying to play it cool but simultaneously thinking Frank was the coolest person he’d ever met. It was sweet, the way Frank was with the kids, the sight making you both smile and want to cry.

Either way, when Corinne and Zaed had offered for you both to stay the night, Frank agreed and all but dragged you down the hallway after dinner. The spare room was nice— set up clearly for two people, and you were only human.

It would have been perfect— had the room not been sharing a wall with your brother and his new best friend. A very fucking thin wall. One that was nearly vibrating with how loud they screamed every five minutes playing some game on the TV. The louder they were, the more it became apparent that neither of you would be getting a lot of sleep, and not in the good way.

Having Frank that close all night but not being able to do anything about it reminded you of the start of this whole thing. How you shared a bed with him but had to force yourself to keep your hands to yourself. It was borderline painful, but eventually you managed to drift off to sleep, not missing how hard Franks hands were gripping your hips like he had to physically cement himself to stop from fucking you through the bed.

When you woke up, Frank had all your shit shoved in the car, and was outside cooking pancakes with Sam. You took your time saying goodbye— making sure to thank both Corinne and Zaed properly, and then promising you’ll be back. Soon. ‘So soon you won’t even have time to miss me’ you’d promised Sam, and he grinned and hugged you before disappearing to get ready for school.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Frank looked to you before shifting in his seat, one of his hands resting on your thigh and squeezing.

“Got a stop to make before getting back to New York.” You’d been driving for a while now— about half way between New York and where you’d left Sam. You turned in your seat, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Don’t be cryptic.” You try to sound assertive, but you can’t seem to hold any resentment when you could feel the warmth of him palm on your thigh.

“It’s close, alright? Promise.” The words eased something in your chest, the same way his smile did when he looked at you.

A small silence drifted between you as a Billy Joel song hummed softly on the radio, and your head dropped, eyes tracing over the bruises left on his knuckles. Your fingers dance around them, careful to keep your touches light. You follow the lines of black and blue up over his wrist, watching them disappear under the arm of his jumper. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and when you push up the sleeve just slightly, you swear loudly.

“Fucking hell! Is this broken?” You pull the sleeve up higher, and you tighten your grip on his wrist when he goes to pull away. If you hadn’t watched him so closely, you would of missed the way he winced, and you let go immediately. “Sorry. Sorry— fuck, Frank. Is this all from—“

“I’m fine. Just a couple scratches.” He says, keeping his blackened eyes trained on the road. It would of been easy to miss— not seeing him without clothes since he’d come back. Bile rises in your throat at the thought he was hurt because of you— because he was doing this for you. Suffering for you. Like he has the entire time.

“Are you lying?” He shakes his head, and you lightly poke him in the side. He hissed loudly, flinching away from you and swerving the car. “Pull over.”

“I’m not pulling over.” Frank groans.

“You’ve been driving for hours, just—“

“It’s fine. We only got a few more miles till—“

“Please.” There must have been something in your voice, some kind of soft vulnerability that even he isn’t used to hearing, and then the car is pulling off the side of an empty highway, dusk rolling over the hood of the truck.

You reach out, pulling the sunglasses off his face to reveal him slowly. This part you’ve seen, but it still knocks the wind out of you. The cut along his cheekbone, not deep enough to need stitches but you know it will scar over. His right eye is a deep purple, the left nearly green. You go to draw your fingers over his face, but hesitate, worried you’ll hurt him. He sees you pulling back and catches your wrist, placing your palm between his cheek and his own hand.

“Don’t do that.” You choke out a laugh, smoothing your hand over and back into his slightly longer hair, pulling him closer over the console of the car.

“I’m not doing anything.” You say softly, something guilty in your voice. When he hears it, he shakes his head at you.

“Can read you like a book. You got nothin’ to do with this, alright?”

“I have nothing to do with it?” You want to laugh. “I’m the reason you were there. The reason all this happened.”

“I would of been in the same place with or without you. This part?” He gestures to himself, his torso that you know all too well is littered with scars. “This isn’t a part you blame yourself for.”

“But it is. My fault.” He opens his mouth but you talk first. “All of this… watching those kids today, watching Sam— all I ever did was put him in danger. And you. It’s better for him to be there, away from all this. Away from me. Maybe now all this is over, it would be better…safer, if you—“

“Stop. I don’t wanna hear that shit. You know how selfish you sound?” You blink a few times, eyes meeting his. At some point he’s leaned even closer, and you can feel the heat of his body thawing you out. “You’re right— I wouldn’t of gone back to New York the past two days if it wasn’t for you. You know why?”

“Listen—“

“No. I wouldn’t of gone back because I would of killed that asshole six months ago and been home in time for dinner. I’ve been doin’ this a long time, and there’s nothin’ you could of done that would of changed how this ended.” He holds your face up to his, rough hands holding you as gently as they could, and his thumb traces the scar just above your eyebrow. “Sam is safe with them, but don’t think for one fuckin’ second he’s better off without you. God knows I’m not. You’ve done nothin’ but good for that kid, and I’d… fucking hell. I’d be dead without you, you know that?”

“No you wouldn’t.” Your voice was so soft it hardly broke the silence, but he leaned in, his forehead pressing to yours. “You could probably jump out of a building and walk it off.”

“Maybe. But now I gotta be careful nd’ come home to you, don’t I?” He smiles, and then kisses you and you forget where you are. Words die on your tongue and are replaced by the taste of him, mind freezing over when he touches you. He does it every time. Every time he manages to take your breath away with one whisper of your name, one swipe of his thumb over your mouth. It’s intoxicating and dependant, something you never thought you’d want, but it feels so good with him. His hands drop to your waist, their pull demanding and needy as he yanks you up and over the centre console and onto his lap.

“I’d do it again. All of it. Kill every single—“ You kiss him again, squeezing your eyes shut, and he groans as you shift on his lap. “Fuck, baby we should wait till…”

“Till when?” You say breathlessly, and despite his words his hands are already sneaking underneath your shirt, his cool hands meeting your feverish skin. You can hardly keep your eyes open, and your hips roll forward again, seeking him out. “I want you now, Frank.”

“Fuck it. Doesn’t matter.” He says and then crashes into you, your back nearly pressing against the dash with how quick he moves. Your gasp of surprise is lost in his mouth, and you can feel the sparks he makes in your chest crackling their way through you, toes curling in your shoes.

Your half bent backwards, legs in either side of his as he keeps your chest pressed to him, both arms wrapping around you to hold you steady. You tug at his shirt helplessly, getting it stuck around his arm and he smiles against your mouth, leaning back to look at you before whipping it over his head.

In the dark of the room last night you wouldn’t of seen it, but now the lights streaming in from the car window, and Franks torso is nearly a rainbow in it— blue, purple and green bruises all up his side, with a short but deep cut on the low right side of his abdomen. He’s taken the bandage off it too early, the stitches still healing, but you can tell it’s expert work. Much better than the botched job you did a month or so back, something he still bares the reminders for.

“Just… just a couple scratches, huh?” He grunts something illegible and hauls you back to him.

“Shut up.” He keeps you pressed close, not giving you a chance to say something back, but then his hands dip lower and you’re a goner.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Yeah. Fuck waiting.

He’s got you here— now, on top of him, and he can’t even fucking think of anything else. Your hands are being so gentle and cautious when he really couldn’t care less about the pain, but you do. You always do.

He wasn’t gonna waste another second, and seeing your eyes close the second he got your pants off and dipped his hands between your legs… it’s pretty much as close to heaven as he was going to get.

You fall forward, Frank catching you with one arm and pulling you close while the other continues slow, teasing circles just how he knows gets you all worked up. Your head tucks away into his neck, and he lets you hide for now, but when he’s got you home— real home, then he’ll be able to look at you as much as he god damn wants.

Your hips move against him, chasing his slow rhythm, and he feels your teeth scrape agains this neck, wordlessly rushing him along.

“You need me that bad?” He says lowly, and watches in awe the way his words wash over you and yank you closer to the edge. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Shouldn’t of left you so needy—“

“Fuckkk… right there—please.” Your voice was so high it cracks a little, and it fucking sets him on fire.

“Get my belt for me, baby.” He whispers, feigning a bit of self control as he watches you quickly fumble with the buckle. The slight brush of your hands could finish him then and there, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to try and remember why he wanted to wait. He had just one more card to play— one that you’d seen him play a few times before, but he doesn’t think you expect it this time, and he needed some semblance of composure to remember it.

A real house, white picket fence and all, smack bang on halfway between New York and Florida. He couldn’t leave New York, not ever, but he had a new anchor now, one that deserved to have it all.

Frank planned to take you straight home. Make a ten hour drive and keep his hands to himself, but how the fuck could he when you were like this? Looking like you do, touching him so fucking sweet and soft and saying how much you missed every part of him— it was a dream come to life, and one of the few moments he’d let himself go in.

You shuffle as close as the seat allows, your now naked chest pressing against his. He dips his head, kissing your jaw, and he’s suddenly surrounded by you. Arms around his neck, warm and soft as your fingers thread in his hair, both of you moan at the feeling of him sliding into you. It’s white hot and nearly painful, how even with the way you’re dripping down your thighs, it still takes you a second to take him all the way. You wriggle your hips, trying to settle yourself and Frank nips at your neck, slowing your pace just slightly. He can hear you sigh, but you listen. You always fucking do.

“Shit— so fucking good. You can take it.” He hums and runs his hands over your skin. You lean into the touch, and when you sigh again he sinks your hips lower, a short punch of your name bursting from his chest when you slam yourself down. “Fuck. There you go.”

He’s a wreck underneath you, and your hands slither away from his hair to his face when you pull him up to kiss you. As much as he loves the feeling of your hips grinding down ever so slightly right now, it’s this part he loves the most. The slow intimacy of it— how he knows he can stay right here for the rest of the day and nothing will change. He can feel how much you love it, how much care you handle him with, and it cracks something old and hard in his gut.

You shudder as he lifts his hips, keeping your mouths together and kissing hungrily. He’d think you’d both been starved for a year the way you two act, but he’d admit it to anyone that asked that he was gone for you. He knows it well and true, in his chest and in the way you bounce in his lap, moaning into his mouth like he’s breathing air into your burning lungs.

“Fuck— fuck, I love you. I fucking… Jesus Christ, you’re so good. I love you.” He can’t shut himself up, and your breath gets faster. He knows you love it when he talks. “C’mon, baby. Let me see you— wanna feel you. I know you want to.”

“Slow… Frank, you’re gonna hurt yourself—“ You suck in a breath and squeeze your eyes shut. His hands stay tight on your hips, and he feels the pleasure buzz under his palms, your skin nearly alight with it on top of him. “Oh my god, don’t stop.”

He wraps his forearm around you and fucks you harder, any pain and injury burnt out by how tight you are around him, and how perfect you fit him. He’s close, so close that he’s hardly able to kiss you now. You both collide in a mess of tongues and sighs, and when he hears you croak out his name into his mouth, he knows you’re cumming for him.

He can’t hold himself back, chasing you into that high with blinding abandon. It hits him like a freight train, bowing him over you like he’s taken a hit, but it feels so good he can’t register that he isn’t breathing like this. He keeps kissing you until he’s sure he’s going to pass out, and only stops when you pull away, eyes darting to the highway where headlights slowly flicker on the horizon.

“Shit.” You say breathless, and you laugh. He can feel it, the sound shuddering through him from where he was still deep inside you, and your giggles soon turned to something less innocent when you heard Frank groan into your chest. “C’mon. Someone’ll see us.”

“Don’t move yet.” He puts his hands on your waist, fanning them out to reach as much of you as possible.

“Mhmm.” It’s like your body gives out at his request, slumping forward and moulding into him like you were made to fit this way. This was what he was talking about. The way you fit together— something that should be out of the question for him fits so right. “I love you, too.”

“Mhmm.” He copies and feels you smile against his skin. His hands trail up your spine, tracing the line of bones lightly to leave goosebumps in his wake. “What time is it?”

“Who gives a fuck?” You mumble, the words half muffled into his neck.

“I want you to see the house in the light, but you wanna go at it blind, be my guest.” It takes you a second, a scoff coming out of you before you sit up abruptly, making him groan again.

“House? What house? Another safe house.” Frank couldn’t keep a secret to save his life when it came to you.

“It’s a house. Twenty minute drive from here.”

“But New Yorks not—“

“I know. Good thing we got cars, yeah?” Your eyebrows are crossed together, and Franks thumb slips over the small scar he left on your face. The movement shifts your gaze to something softer, and he feels the brush of your eyelashes on his finger as you blink up at him.

“You did it on purpose. It’s right in the middle.” You say softly. “Jesus, Frank. You didn’t have to… I mean you—“

“Take a breath. I didn’t buy it. Was a gift from the US Goverment. One thing those guys are good for is their money. I just picked the spot.” He could nearly hear the rave of your heart, and you crushed yourself into him, words hushed and mumbled into his ear, but they melt him to the core all the same.

He’ll never get over hearing you say things like this to him. That you’re grateful for him, that he’s doing a good thing. It’s like nothing he did before you was ever good enough. There was always the next job, always the next group to track, but nothing would be enough. There wasn’t a light at the end of the tunnel for him. But here you were, telling him that he was the reason you were gonna be alright, and if he squints he can see it. The flicker of something hopeful, and if he holds onto you as tight as he can, he might just live to see it light him on fire.

“Did you say… you said twenty minutes from here. Why didn’t we just wait until—“

“Would’ve ruined the surprise.” You laugh again, and the feeling has him gripping you tighter. He leans closer to whisper in your ear, his voice low. “And I wanted to fuck you here and now. Don’t want there to be a single fuckin’ surface where I ain’t had you.”

“Better get driving then, Castle. Sounds like you got a job to do.” The glint in your eye nearly makes him drag you outside and bend you over the hood, but the kiss you give him after is sickeningly sweet, so much so that he lets you slide off him and back into the passenger seat without so much as a nip of his teeth. “Tha–”

“Wait. Wait til you see it.” Frank said, and something about the way he looked at you had you nodding simply, and watching the trees race by as he sped you home.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were asleep on the balcony again, and Frank moved as slow as he could to let you stay that way.

In the two weeks you’d been here, he could count on one hand how many times you’d actually slept in the bed. There were no neighbours for miles, nothing interrupting the stretch of sky all the way to the hills. Even Frank had to admit it was a killer view.

He came inside, pouring himself a drink, and a strange pit in his stomach settled after the burning liquid soothed his throat. He can’t seem to kick that feeling when you’re asleep. When you were awake, next to him, there wasn’t anything else he could think about. But alone, walking around a house he owned, a life he might try and live staring him in the face, he felt guilty. There were parts of him he wouldn’t ever get back, but this wasn’t something he thought he’d ever have. Peace and quiet, time to himself. A woman he loved within eyesight, buried under blankets cause she was too stubborn to come inside when it got freezing. He couldn’t figure out why now, of all times, was the time to be thinking of Maria. The weight of the ring around his neck was like an anchor. He knew it was stuck on the bottom of the ocean, but he couldn’t find it in himself to let go. He would sit there, hand cut up and bleeding, holding on for dear fucking life if no one moved him, waiting until he drowned.

Your footsteps were soft, in a way that he knows you can’t help. You tread through the open double doors, and Frank would roll his eyes at the way he could hear your teeth chattering if he wasn’t so distracted.

“You should of woke me.” You say, voice muffled from the mess your head was buried under. He took a step toward you, pushing it back so he could see your eyes.

“It’s late.”

“Couldn’t tell.” He can hear the smirk in your voice.

“You finally frozen to death, smart-ass?” You grumble something in reply, and he catches a few curse words before you look at him again. It’s nearly scary, the way you can read him with one sweep of your eyes. You clock his tone, the way he isn’t leaning into you with his full weight, and squint your eyes.

“What is it?” Frank sucks in a long breath, and kisses you.

He’s a complete idiot. That’s what it is. He can feel the buzzing pulse you wake in him, every movement of your lips on his rooting you deeper in his soul, chipping off ice until theres only warmth. How’s he supposed to tell you, after you’ve just kissed him like that, that he was thinking about his–

“You can talk to me about her, Frank.” You say with your head against his. Not it, her. Before he can ask, you smile a little. Even just a hint of that smile and he’s forgetting how to breathe. “You play with the ring when you’re nervous. It’s actually a bit of a tell.”

“Yeah?” He manages, hands trying to search their way through the blankets for you.

“Yeah. You have a lot of tells. For someone in your line of work, it’s actually a bit worrying.”

“You got me all figured out.” He says and means it, but you just roll your eyes.

“And you lean to the left when you think you can’t make a shot. You think it helps your angle.”

“Who woulda thought you were so observant.”

“You know, I actually did watch you when you were teaching me how to shoot.” Frank smiles, your skin finally under his palms. His hands splay on your back, and you lean closer.

“You were trying to fuck me the whole time. Don’t blame me for being surprised.” You try to whack him but your arms are pinned under the layers. Your laughter carries through him, skittering into his chest until he can’t help but laugh too.

“You came onto me.” He laughs harder. “It was very unprofessional. I was there to learn.”

“Damn fucking right I did.” His voice is low, and you shuffle around under his hold until your hands snake up behind his neck. His hair is too long, but he hasn’t cut it just yet. He tells himself that he hasn’t had time, but truthfully he likes the way it feels when you sift your fingers through the ends of it. Like now.

“You can tell me.” You say again, softer. He’s softer too– more malleable now you were here.

“I can’t help it.” He looks over your shoulder, and you follow his gaze to where the sun is now just starting to rise. “She woulda… woulda liked it here. The kids, too.”

“You think so?” He nods, still staring into the orange sky.

“Probably would of had a lot to say about the inside, though.” You wrap around him tighter, head on his chest. “She was so good with those things. She loved when we painted our house. She had all these colors painted next to each other on the wall. All these different kinds of green. Everyone kept sayin’ it all looked the same but she... she could tell the difference. I could see what she meant when she put the couch next to it and shit, you know? She was real good with that stuff.”

“We could use her help around here. This place is sort of… ugly, on the inside.” He laughed again, his throat feeling tighter as he looked around. There was those same colour swatches, but none of them were coordinated like he was remembering. Pinks, blues, oranges and grays were all mixed together in big, sweeping strikes along the wall, stopping right above where your arm would be able to reach. “What would she have gone with?”

He looks down at you, your face washed in the light of the sunrise.

“The light orange. It looks good with the brown.” He nods over to the couch, an old leather one you’d made him pick up off the side of the road.

“We’ll do that one, then.” You tuck yourself under his chin, sighing.

“I think about ‘em everyday. What the kids would have looked like now. What they’d be doing. How Maria and I would of… raised ‘em. I was away all the time, but I just-”

“I think you would have been just fine.” You say into his chest, and Frank takes a shuddering breath.

“Why’s that?“

“Cause she was in love with you.” His chest tightens, and the grip he’s got on your waist gets a little tighter. “I’m… I’ll never be able to fix…that. It’ll always be with you, and nothing will change what happened, but I want you to know that they will always have a place here. You don’t have to apologize for talking about them– the kids, or Maria. I will never, ever not listen, and it will never be something I don’t want to hear. If they’re always with you, they’ll be with me, too.”

Frank takes two steps forward, and your feet pick up just in time to catch yourself before he throws you back on the couch. He’s never been good with words for things like this. He doesn’t think he should try to shove it all in a sentence, either. Not when theres so much he wants to say, but even more he wants to do.

You lay back, and he moves slowly. He wants you to know every move, every brush of his hand and his mouth is by design. He wants to know every square inch of you inside and out like you know him. He wants his hands to pull the strings, letting you hear all the things his mouth could never possibly form.

“Perfect.” Frank sighs against your mouth, over and over again. It was. You were. Are. The pit in his stomach disappears, pushed out and engulfed by the flames in his chest. There was no room for anything, not a single other feeling or word could possibly fit the way you two fit together. Your fingers tug at his shirt, and he takes it over his head. Your hands run and smooth gentle lines over his chest, over the healing wound on his side. It's jagged and wonky, and it nearly spelt your name. Frank thinks it’s the first time he’s looked down at himself and not hated to see the scars.

He unravels you like a gift to himself, savouring every moment even when you try to shrug off the blanket. You hadn’t dressed since last night, and Frank liked it even more this way. You sighed his name, and Frank shuddered, sealing his mouth over yours again. When his eyes opened for a split second, he could see your face, washed in orange light, and your hair swept to the side. He shut his eyes and kissed you again, the image seared into his mind forever.

Frank had faced a lot of bad things in his life. He had been shot, stabbed, pulled apart and put back together more times than he could remember. He thought he’d seen it all, felt it all before, but there was nothing like this. Nothing made him as weak as your fingers in his hair, and nothing made him as strong as the way you moaned his name. Nothing felt as good as sliding inside you, and nothing felt as empty as when you were gone. It made him lightheaded and brought him to the brink of consciousness, but he knew that this was right.

It could of been minutes or hours that had passed when he let himself go, but no amount of time with you under him would stop him from wanting more. The sun was up now, and Frank had you tucked to his side on the small space of the couch, legs tangled together in the blankets and each other. He felt you shiver against him, and the blankets wrapped around you had come loose. He bent to fix them, and when he moved you did it again.

He looked down, seeing the cold line of metal pressed against your bare back. The ring at the end was hanging over your ribs, and when Frank touched it, it was freezing. Holding it in his palm, it didn’t feel as heavy as it used to, and when he read the engraving on the back, he still felt cold.

Looking down at you, how you rolled over and sought him out even with your eyes closed, he leaned down to kiss the scar on your forehead. Then, like it was the simplest thing in the world, he slipped the necklace off over his head, and placed it in a neat circle on the coffee table next to his head.

They would always have a place here. But it wasn’t them who gave him warmth anymore.

When he tucked himself back under the covers, he knew it was you. It was always you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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okay theres going to be an epilogue at some point, but it will probably be small and have very little plot, so this is the end of the main story. so, heres a little rant for you. if you read it, thank you, and if you dont, thank you anyways. knowing anyone is reading my words is a gift enough.

i think i have been writing this series for like 5/6 months ish?? thats fucking wild. i dont have an exact word count, but all i know is its fucking long. i cannot believe i wrote this much about a fictional character, but damn. that is a lot.

basically all i want to say here is thank you. to anyone who has read, interacted, or will read in the future, thank you from the bottom of my heart. it might be a lil dramatic but having people read stuff i write, let alone actually enjoy it makes me so incredibly happy. starting to write on here, and for frank especially, is probably one of the best decisions ive ever made. this series was a struggle to finish for so many reasons, mainly my incredible lack of planning and overall dumb writing schedule, but i have met so many incredible people along the way, and i am just so grateful to have a lil space to share my work.

frank castle will probably always own a giant spot in my heart, so thank you for letting me share my version of him. and letting me add as much smut as i want to this with no complaints bc i fuckin needed it okay!!!!!! i love you all. rant over. series over. damn!

p.s. i am never not going to write frank. dont worry. i already have an idea for my next series lmao!!!!!!!! luv ya!

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x you #marvel tv #the punisher x reader #the punisher x you #marvel #the punisher x y/n

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a-rat-dressed-like-a-bee · 21 days

Text

Space.

He's lying beside me. On his back. Keeping his hands to himself.

Eyes upturned. I've stopped talking about my day. I don't think he has noticed.

Like a listener, he is quiet. Perhaps he is still listening. But not to me.

He is elsewhere. He is in her arms. His eyes gazing into their past. His past with her.

Ears are taking in what she's saying.

I wonder which memory has his attention. The time she kissed him first. His first kiss. The time she danced with him in the rain. The only time he ever danced. The time she took him home. To the silence of her room after the disquiet of forks on plates and small talk with family.

He has never met my mother. Still keeps in touch with hers.

Perhaps it is a different memory I'd never know.

I wish he would come back to me. He's been gone since he heard the news from a friend. She lies in a lonely colourless room. Terminally ill. A part of him lies with her. About to be lost forever.

He hates me now. I think. He doesn't look at me anymore. Perhaps he sees in me the reasons for him not talking to her. Him deleting their chats. Their photos.

I erased her much before the illness got to her. He hates me.

I am the cancer that ate away at a cherished past. He hates me.

I wish he didn't hate me so much. Little does he know that I would swap myself with her. Gladly be the one dying.

It would be quicker than the death he causes me now. Breaking my heart by going away from me. Taking away any love he had for me.

She has all his love again. I have nothing.

Sorry what were you saying? Nothing baby. Nothing important. I was just talking about my day. Boring stuff. You go to sleep now. Go back to your dreams. I feel hot. Do you mind if I sleep on the edge?

Surely not. More space for her.

The one you've never stopped loving.

I wasn't sure what to call it, "More space for her," or just simply "Space." Settled with the latter for now. It's a purely fictional poem I wrote after reading "Revolving Days" by David Malouf, when a wave of sadness had hit me. It is mainly about lovers growing apart because one of them is depressed due to the knowledge of a former partner's deteriorating health. I wanted the speaker of the poem to be the other partner so that I could chiefly explore the emotional turmoil of the present lover in the poem. They can do nothing but try to be understanding of the partner's depression and give them the space they need, while preparing themselves to face a more permanent space (an irreversible damage to their current relationship).

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arithecreatorsstuff · 1 year

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Things You Should Never Say To a Chronic Illness Survivor

This is a list of things that are just not cool to say to anybody with a chronic condition. I have fibromyalgia, which is a very complicated way of saying everything hurts, and no one knows why. I've heard most of this crap first hand. Seriously, y'all know this stuff doesn't help, knock it off.

"You don't look sick." Uh, yeah. Invisible illness doesn't outwardly advertise. While we may not look sick, you look like an ass saying that. 0/10, please stop.

"You're too young to be sick." You say that to a pediatric cancer patient? No? Then realize sickness can hit at any age. Another 0/10, stop it.

"It can't be that bad, you're always smiling." Here's the thing... most of us in this hellboat do not, surprisingly, like to be seen when we're not on our game, and we honestly want to just die. Unless you, like a certain very fictional SCP Foundation Doctor, can swap bodies at will, you have no freaking clue how anyone else feels. -10/10, say it again and we can and will find someone to smack the stupid out of you on our behalf.

"Are you still sick/are you better yet/you still haven't recovered yet?" Uh, yeah. Chronic illness doesn't just vanish. Supremely unhelpful, hurtful, and the next person who asks me this personally will find out I can still bitchslap with the best of them. -11/10, delete this query from your vocabulary.

"You can't always be in this much pain." No, some days are even WORSE. And the stress from dealing with unbelievers stings as much as our illnesses. Again, spend an hour in our bodies, you'll sing a new tune. -9/10, if you don't know, don't judge.

"You're just miserable." No shit, asshole. We're in pain all the time. If we complain, 9 times out of 10, we're not bullshitting you. Trust us. If we don't complain, it still hurts. For some of us it even hurts more to complain all the time. -20/10, say this one more time, we dare you.

"Have you tried (insert treatment/supplement/exercise here)?" Uh, probably. But not everything works for everybody. And some exercises just make it worse. 0/10, stop it.

"You just need therapy." While therapy helps deal with the condition, it WILL NOT FIX A GODSDAMNED CHEMICAL IMBALANCE/PHYSICAL DEFORMITY IN YOUR BRAIN BY ITSELF. You wouldn't say this to a person with a brain tumor, quit saying it to us. -11/10, do your research and learn something.

"Try to reduce stress." Uh... my body is the PRIMARY SOURCE of my stress, as it decided it hates me. So, unless you got a spare meatsuit behind your desk, this is just useless. -20/10, quit it.

"I know how you feel." No, no you do not, not unless you're trapped in your own circle of this particular hell. -25/10, this WILL result in me punching the offender if I hear this one more damn time.

"You're faking it/Fibromyalgia doesn't exist/you're just trying to get attention." Yeah, because being in CONSTANT UNBEARABLE AGONY 24/7/365 is just soo much fun. Look, no one really believed in radiation before the Curies, but it exists, and can be proven. Unlike the so-called intelligence of the idiot saying this. -30/10, if you think this, would you kindly stay the fuck away from us, as you're just a fool.

"You'll feel better after a good sleep." Assuming our bodies even let us, which is rare. And for me at least, I think the last good sleep I had was getting my gallbladder out, not that it helped. 0/10, just shove it.

"You'll feel worse in a few years." Really? Cause I legit want to die now. -1000/10, if you get the urge to say this, punch yourself in the eye and save us the trouble.

"Try (insert whatever diet here), it'll help." Not always an option on a fixed income, my dudes.

"There are people worse off than you." This pisses me off on two levels. One, comparing traumas/illnesses doesn't do much. Two, this is true for almost everybody. -250/10, mean, rude, and simply unhelpful.

"Everybody feels like that." ALL THE TIME? No? Then stfu. -1000/10, again, feel the urge to say this, punch yourself in the eye and save us the trouble.

"You're no fun anymore." Neither is our illness. -10/10.

"Why can't you just snap out of it?" DID YOU REALLY FUCKING THINK WE HAVEN'T TRIED THAT, YOU IDIOT? Chronic illness does not work like that AT ALL. -2000/10, never say this.

"Have you tried losing/gaining weight?" It makes very little difference. -10/10, shut up and mind your business instead of our waistlines.

"You're not really trying to get better." Yes, yes we are. And this doesn't do anything but anger us. The very notion we like being this way implies just how dumb people can be. -1000/10, just stop this crap.

#fibromyalgia sucks #chronic illness sucks major rancid donkey dick #and if you dont know now you know

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olderthannetfic · 1 year

Note

"B sounds cold and creepy to a lot of people instead of… you know… being a sign of having boundaries and not taking on other people’s emotions to a disabling degree."

( Re this post https://olderthannetfic.tumblr.com/post/715060100649369600 )

Stop me if I'm reaching, but I've seen two unrelated contexts recently that ring of "taking on other people's emotions to a disabling degree"

"If an artist posts art and requests you do not tag it with [specific things they hate, be it kin or OC or a NOTP], you're being disrespectful and bad even if you're just tagging it because you like the thing and are using the tag feature for its benefits

"If a fic writer deletes fic, maybe they deleted it for personal reasons and you're being entitled and disrespectful if you go looking for it, such as on deleted fic archives, or even share deleted fic-finding services with no specific fic or author in mind"

I've been involved in both kinds of arguments and in both cases "It's not my job to care or think about a stranger's feelings to the extent that a close friend would, and neither tagging posts for your own convenience nor accessing deleted resources is seen as generally discourteous" was a significant part of my reasoning.

But anyway, I feel like there's a strong overlap here. Especially since artists from 1. tend to also be laundry list of DNIs anti types.

Those can seem entitled or not depending on how much they're being shoved in the requester's face, I think.

The cases I was thinking of with that particular post were something slightly different:

Often, people will make the argument that many children don't have a responsible authority figure in their lives, so saying "X is the parents' job!" is cruel. Or they'll say that lots of people have mental illness that makes it hard not to look at content that upsets them, so saying it's their own job to monitor their own internet use and mental health is, again, cruel. It all boils down to:

My Mental Health is Your Job

I do think that expecting internet randos to tag how you want them to tag is an exercise in futility, but it's only sometimes about thinking others owe you the therapy or love the rest of your life hasn't provided. Sometimes, it boils down to "I will be mad if..." and not "My well-being is literally your responsibility".

Sometimes, it's just a request made in the body of an art post where you know rebloggers saw it. It can be a little entitled since people use tags to organize their own blogs, sure, but not necessarily super entitled in the same way as assuming that people will click through to your tumblr and read your whole header/DNI/Carrd before interacting with something on their dash.

"It's disrespectful to me that any deleted fic sharing exists" is pretty entitled. "Can you stop posting requests for a public DL link to this thing I deleted?" is a lot more reasonable. Neither is the same as "It causes me psychological harm that people still like my deleted fic that I now hate, and my mental health is your problem, internet rando."

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chronicallyqueercoining2 · 4 months

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IF YOU DONT WANT TO READ THIS BIG LONG POST, SCROLL TO THE VERY BOTTOM BELOW THE DIVIDER IMAGE!!! <3!

Y'all please stop sending bad things to my inbox 💀

My asks are for requests, not for your weird frustrations in regards to my page and beliefs!!

I'd also like to clarify, unless it is a VERY important matter, or a matter in which I feel the need to respond, I probably won't respond to these rude/weird asks! Especially if someone is saying something bad/weird (/neg) as an anon. (Anon asks are OK! WHEN THEY RELATE TO MY REQUESTS OR ARE NICE THINGS :3!)

I would love requests related to what I said I'd do as a request in my pinned post! Other than that, my inbox is truly for asks!! (with the exception of kind words and nice questions, etc!)

But just this once, I will answer questions that I've been asked, albeit indirectly, because I want to just get it out there. This is the last time I will interact with those bad asks in any way!

I will NOT vilify any REAL disorder or condition unless you are harming someone and proud of it. Past harmful behaviors that are being WORKED on do not concern me, do not involve me in them. IF you feel my page is not a safe space for you or a place you'd like to interact with, then don't! I do not want you on my page if you will feel unwelcome!!!

This is supposed to be a place where you will feel comfortable and welcome. Please only interact to both of our comfort levels. If you feel safe and comfortable and welcome interacting, then be my guest!! I love seeing new blogs pop up, and sooooooo many people have been so sweet! (Honestly, some of yall are just so nice, I'm smiling over here!)

Also, I do not care if you think I am "really disabled" or if you believe me regarding my disorders/illnesses/etc. You are not my doctor, your validations OR invalidations regarding my health does not affect me.

Something about me or my page or my communities is obviously affecting you if you need to send me hate. In that instance, I recommend you to get off the internet, for at least a bit, and find and/or do something you enjoy. You deserve to feel happy, but you will not find that by sending me mean things on my page. My health and happiness are my own, and I will simply ignore your hate.

A reminder

PLEASE do not start discourse on my page, whether that be syscourse or identity discourse or any other sort of discourse. It is draining. I do have my opinions on all of these things, but this blog is not about that.

[Pt: PLEASE do not start discourse on my page, whether that be syscourse or identity discourse or any other sort of discourse. It is draining. I do have my opinions on all of these things, but this blog is not about that. End pt]

Thank you, and you deserve to be happy, sending love and joy to anyone reading this. I hope you're having a good [timezone.]

PS: if you sent an ask/request before, please resend it if possible! My inbox was being weird and I accidentally deleted a few things!

I'm looking forward to hearing from you :3!

#cqc post #long post #boundaries #inbox #requests open #cqc info #cqc boundaries #cqc abt me

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themultifandomgal · 10 months

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Cillian Murphy- Insecurities

Trigger warnings- talks about anorexia, divorce and online bullying

I meet Cillian when I joined season 4 of Peaky Blinders, I was to be Tommy Shelbys new love interest. However during this time it came out that Cillian was divorced and I was the one to blame, although they had divorced a year before I had even met Cillian. The hate I received was unbelievable, I was called a home wrecker, I was told to harm myself, told I was nothing but a gold digger so many nasty things, and since I'm 15 years younger it was worse. For Cillian this was such a hard time because he is such a privet person, but like always the hate died down. It's been a few years now and Cillian and I promoting our newest film together Oppenheimer. However the news about me being in this film had mix reviews, most positive, but there's still a handful of people who believe that I'm the cause of his divorce. I was recently added into a group chat on Twitter where they criticised my body, my acting, my relationship. This made me question a lot of this and I definitely became insecure.

Before Cillian and I met I was anorexic and when we did meet it was when I was better, although he knows all about that and has helped me through some dark moments I still have days where I feel like I could go back to my old days. Things have gotten so bad I have deleted all of my social medias. I'm curled up in mine and Cillian bed crying after looking at myself in the mirror for the last 20 minutes when the door opens

"Babe have you seen... what's wrong? Are you hurt? Feel ill?"

"I'm fine"

"You obviously aren't because your crying so come on tell me"

"Honestly Cil I'm just being stupid"

"Never stupid. Tell my what's going on in that head of yours" Cillian moves a stray hair from my face then moves to caress my check. I sigh leaning into his touch

"It's just other girls are much prettier than me. You could literally have anyone in the world but you chose me, I don't understand why. I'm 15 years younger, I'm in my 20s so my do you want me?"

"Babe come here" I sit up and scoot over to Cillian who wraps me up in his arms "I love you and only you. Your beautiful inside and out, don't listen to what other people say, because I know you do, stop looking at the news. As for your age, it's just a number we're both adults and can do whatever we want, within reason, you've got to stop letting other peoples words cloud your own judgment. This is why I stay offline"

"Yeah Will I deleted all my social the other week"

"I know you though YN, and I know that you will still search for yourself to see what people are saying about you"

"I just hate feeling like this, hate feeling so insecure"

"I know baby I hate seeing you hate yourself when all I see is perfection. What can I do to help?" I shrug my shoulders not really knowing what anyone could do "what about speaking to your therapist. Maybe they could give you some advice" Cillian suggests

"Yeah maybe"

"YN I love you so much and I will tell you everyday how beautiful you are and how much I love you" Cillian leans down and kisses my lips "I'll make sure to tell you how important you are to not only me but everyone around you. This hate will go away, or at least you won't see it"

"I love you too" I smile at him glad I have him in my life "what was it you were looking for?"

"Huh?"

"You came in about to ask me where something was"

"Oh. I was just wondering if you knew where my hoodie was but I think I've found it" I giggle pulling the sleeves down and snuggling into Cillian more. Things will be ok soon.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy #cillian x reader #cillian murphy x reader

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lorillee · 10 months

Note

btw can you tell me about how that cat is an incel

AAAHGH i typed out this whole thing and then tumblr screwed it up and deleted everything. wailing and gnashing of teeth. but thats okay. ill explain it again. anyways to any of my 5 remaining warriors mutuals if you see this post and i got something wrong i apologize to be honest its been like a decade since ive read the books that encompass this whole mess. anyways. ive provided a helpful relationship map to give you some visualization and keep these people straight

ok. so tldr. sort of. actually not really but whatever. so basically brambleclaw is a special prophecy boy who gets a dream from the dead ancestors being like "ok you need to go 🚶💼🚗 on this journey 😤💥😎 and do some stuff 😌✨🌠" and brambleclaw is like "ok got it boss 🫡" and goes on his journey to do some stuff. its not relevant to the love drama. squirrelflight invites herself along and they end up becoming friends and later start dating. at some point after this brambleclaw starts striking up a relationship with his half-brother and squirrelflight is Not A Fan partially because his half-brother is Kinda Shady and partially because shes suspicious because of his dad, who is also brambleclaw's dad, who really sucked as a person.

so squirrelflight tells brambleclaw that he needs to stop hanging out with his half-brother, and brambleclaw gets mad and accuses her of suspecting him purely based on their dad (and if she doesnt trust the half-brother because of his dad, what does that say about their relationship etc etc). so they get into a whole fight about it and its a drama and they break up. in the aftermath squirrelflight starts hanging out with ashfur who is Just Some Guy and they start dating. meanwhile leafpool gets a dream from the dead ancestors thats like "ok so get this 👀🤯💥 squirrelflight and brambleclaw 😳👫💖 are like . totally destined to be together forever 😌✨🌠" and leafpool is like "ok got it boss 🫡" and tells squirrelflight. squirrelflight is like omg for real???? and tells brambleclaw and they get back together. ashfur fades into irrelevancy.

shortly before this, however. leafpool breaks off her illegal relationship (illegal because 1) shes a priestess and cant get married or have kids and 2) because the guy shes dating is from a rival clan) but later finds out - oops ! - shes pregnant. unfortunately this is now. a problem. in the meanwhile squirrelflight gets a dream from the dead ancestors thats like "okkkkk so like 😳😭😔 sorry to break this to you but ummmm 🤯💀🧍‍♂️ youre infertile 😌✨🌠" leafpool asks squirrelflight to take her babies and pretend that they are hers and brambleclaws and squirrelflight is like "got it boss 🫡". so squirrelflight lies to 1) the clan 2) the babies and 3) brambleclaw that they are hers and brambleclaw's children. no way thisll go wrong right 😎👍

so things go normally for a few years and everything is fine. then one day theres a huge storm after a drought or something i think and the entire forest catches on fire. squirrelflight is trying to get the kids out (they are adults now) and its a problem but hey look! ashfurs here to help! oh- oh wait whats . whats he doing ummmm. so basically ashfur says something to the extent of "you ruined my life i hate you so much im going to kill your kids in front of you to make you understand how i felt every single day" completely unprompted and squirrelflight is like "um. uhhhh ok well have fun with that because theyre not even my kids 👍" <- clearly last ditch effort to get ashfur to leave and ashfur is like "wait what for real? um. well okay bye then" and leaves.

one of the kids who is a massive stickler for The Warrior Code has 57 moments in a row though because she has just been alerted to the fact that she is an Illegal Baby and Should Not Exist and murders ashfur to prevent him from revealing the truth about them but then ends up having a Mental Illness Moment and tells everybody about leafpools illegal relationship babies at the monthly gathering of all the clans and runs off into a cave and fakes her death kind of. its a whole thing

#lorillee.txt #ask #cartoonrival #also i want you to know that the dead ancestors lied to squirrelflight about her being infertile #and then later get mad at her for taking the kits and lying to everybody about it #dont ask me how this makes any sense at all. it doesnt. starclan sucks #lorillee.png #<- also. i guess

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jazzy-art-time · 4 months

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I didn’t post about it on my mod blog because I didn’t want to dampen the spirits that everyone else was having but I’ll mention things.. briefly here before the year ends.

If you just follow me for art then you prolly wont know what I’m sayin!! Carry on soldier. I will post more art again soon, it’s just time for me to post a long text post that prolly 90% of the people here wont know wtf I’m on about!!

Putting under the cut to avoid long post/put that negative crap under wraps

This year was horrid for me. In many ways but.

The entire thing with the stalker/doxxer went.. a lot deeper than people realize it was. That’s due to me just not mentioning what happened directly but It wasn’t just hate and harassment and doxxing it was..

Abhorrent. I’ll spare the nitty gritty details, to be Frank idk what good it would do to mention it all.

But even so, I was not the best person this year due to this.

I became irrational and paranoid. I left places suddenly without a word (or was being told to and did so out of fear). I stopped talking to a lot of people and became more of a concept than a person to many. Got snappy and bitter a lot of the time as well. Just overall became afraid of everyone and didn’t trust anyone at all and it made me someone I didn’t want to be.

Regardless of the situation I was going through, I shouldn’t have acted in a lot of ways I did. I can play the “I was being abused so wehh it’s ok how I acted” card all I want but the reality is.. it wasn’t really cool of me. I’m a grown adult, I’ll own up to that.

And I know I caused a lot of people worry by my sudden disappearances or mood changes. I was too focused on trying to protect myself and those I cared about that I became a bit?? Of a prick. And honestly I feel like I caused more damaged trying to “protect” other people from the situation. Irony is a cruel mistress.

I let someone else get too much control over me and my actions and let them use my own mental illness against me and make me somewhat nasty.

But it wasn’t right of me, no matter the circumstance.

But it’s all over now! All over now… for now anyways. But I still have to look at the mess left in the wake of everything and try to reassemble what I can.

So, if you were someone who was effected by my irrational and erratic behavior.. I do apologize. Idk what real “good” me saying that does.. but I don’t want to just not say anything at all.

I’m not saying all this as a like NYEHEHE IVE APOLOGIZED AND NOW I EXPECT EVERYTHING TO RETURN TO NORMAL that’s not what’s happening trust me lol. This is just my own guilt welling up a bit and me chucking it out into the world for the time being

I’ve been drafting and deleting a post like this all week because I didn’t want to go into a new year just brushing everything aside. But kept wondering what good it would even do or who would even give a shit.

But. Here is this post! It exists, for now! Who knows I may wake up tomorrow and go WTF NO and delete outta paranoia. Idk!

All in all…

I’m going to spend 2024 trying to rebuild myself. I haven’t been.. myself in nearly 2 years due to everything (and IRL circumstances as well that I won’t get into).

I have a better support now. So that helps me and has been helping me get better again. Not just in recovery and help with legal things but like. Just emotionally keeping me in check lmao

So I hope in 2024, things will be better. If not for me, then for others at the very least.

I know this post was long and negative and repetitive, but if I spend too long revising it I’ll just delete it again.

Idk if anyone will actually read this but??? Shrugs. Oh well. If anything I’m being selfish and just posting this for my own personal “”closure”” if you will

Happy new years, see you all around.

#negative #long post #delete later #doxx mention #stalker mention #I’m not staying up to celebrate new years cuz hashtag.. work 2morrorw #but I hope everyone else has a lovely night

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jwnchstr · 2 years

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Close as Strangers | d.r3

summary: daniel trying to reach you while you’re hospitalised.

characters: daniel ricciardo x you!reader

warning: plays with your emotion, mention of corvid-19

other fics masterlists | other f1 fics masterlists | f1 imagines

* * *

“y/n? hey! it’s... it’s me danny. i... uh... i heard you fell sick the other day. um... sorry i didn’t reach you any sooner. i-- i got caught up with my job. if you got this message, please call me.”

you pressed a button and the next voice message played in your ears.

“um, y/n? it’s me again. you’re probably resting and recovering, right now. i shouldn’t... i shouldn’t be worried about you knowing that you’re very well taken care of, but please call me back.”

once that message ended, you left your phone beside your ear on the pillow and let the system plays the next voice message.

“look, i know this sounds despearate, but please call me. they wouldn’t let me visit you, but i need to hear from you. please, call me.”

the system in your phone brought you to another voice message coming from the same person -- the one you didn’t realise you missed the most until you’re lying on your hospital bed and can’t do shit -- but knowing exactly what he was going to say, you quickly stop them. you cannot hear any more begging from him. the sound of his voice hurts you, just like how this illness hurts you in the chest.

you felt like deleting daniel’s messages. it’s not because you hated them, but it’s actually the opposite. you’re just as desperate to see him and that’s what scares you the most because what if you didn’t survive this?

there were a lot more voice messages received from your friends and relatives. most of them wishing you a fast recovery and hope to see you soon. however, little did they know, you have a very thin chance at living and they have a very thin chance of meeting you again. this illness is stealing your oxygen away. your chest gets very tight every time you inhale for clean air. and it hurts everywhere.

indeed, you’re being quarantined for having the corvid-19 symptoms. you don’t know how and from whom you got it. you were fine one day, but then you had a high fever along with a very bad sore throat. the next thing you know, you’re warded because you’re very low of O2. and everyone started to get worried about you including daniel.

you haven’t had a chance to get to know daniel that long. there were only three weeks before you were hospitalised. you didn’t remember how it happened. you just knew that you two clicked just as soon as you started a conversation with him. he was funny and talented. meanwhile, you passed his vibe check. but sometimes, what hurts the most is being so close.

this stupid illness. fuck to those created this virus just to wipe half of the world’s population. who are you to do that? god? thanos? but even thanos was defeated by the avengers, at the end. and you? in your actual world? who are going to kill those people who invented this virus?

you lay on your bed with oxygen mask on your face. the oxygen tank stood visibly beside you. the heart monitor beeped very slowly in your ear as if it’s telling you that your life is ending soon. but how soon? you wish you knew. even if you’re destined to die, you hope it’s easy and fast.

after hearing the last voice message, you scroll your email inbox, your text messages, your personal instagram and twitter account. they’re filled with pictures of you smiling and being happy accompanied with the best wishes of recovery. all you can do is reply a gratitude for them remember you, but really. all you want is a friend.

not that you don’t have a friend. you have plenty of good friends who would be there for your bad times, but are they going to understand your situation now?

you found yourself scrolling through your contacts list and stopped when daniel’s name appeared. your finger lingered in the air for a few seconds, thinking if it’s worth calling him. after all, he was the only person who’d been leaving you multiple voice messages. decided not to want to make him worried, your thumb finally press the call button.

“hello? y/n?” daniel sounded unsure at first.

the wariness in his voice made you think that he must be thinking bad thing was happening to you. it might not be you who was calling. it might be one of your family members to call him. maybe to tell him that you’re gone. after all, it was in your will that you want daniel to be the first person to know if anything happens to you

you took a deep breath and sighed as if hearing his voice lifed all the stress on your shoulders. “hello, danny.” your voice was weak. you were struggling to breathe, but for danny you tried hard.

“y/n?” you heard him excusing himself from his little crowd. “how-- how are you, sweetheart?”

you smiled to yourself, hearing the nickname he’d gotten for you. much like dean winchester to every girl he sees.

“i’m... good.” you coughed. it’s so hard to talk, but you know you needed to hear his voice. you’ve only known daniel for three weeks, but as you talk to him, it felt as if you’ve known him for years.

you felt like daniel were about to say something about the cough. you waited for it, but it didn’t come. you imagine his assuring smile that didn’t reach his sad eyes as he said, “good to hear from you.”

“how’s work?”

“hard that you’re not here.” daniel was always being honest with you. you know how your presence was one of the reasons behind his motivation to drive every race. “everyone is worried about you, sweetcheeks. they talk about you everyday. they hope you’ll recover soon. they miss you.”

“aw, i miss them, too.” you smiled as you remembered how nice and welcoming you feel whenever the F1 crews are around. yes, some might treat you like you’re just a visitor, but some actually treat you good despite being an outsider. daniel brought you to his workplace as his support system since he knew you.

“and... i...” daniel’s voice cracked. he cleared his throat before continuing. “i’ve missed you, y/n. i’m not lying.”

you let out another cough when you’re chuckling at his brave confession. “we’ve known each other for merely three weeks, danny. how can you miss me that much?”

“we’ve had so much laughs together... silly jokes... i miss doing them with you.”

you stayed quiet, touched and not knowing what to say.

“you have to be tough, okay? you’re a fighter. i know you are. fight for your family. fight for yourself. fight for me, too. i’ll be here when you’re out of the hospital.”

“don’t wait for me.”

“i will always wait for you.”

there’s nothing you can say except to smile at yourself and wish daniel could hear the gratefulness in your silence.

#daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo #mclaren #mclaren racing #f1 #love story #f1 fanfiction

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blossom-adventures · 11 months

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Ok… rant incoming, feel free to ignore it, somethings just come up and it really irritated me, I’ll put it under the read more because it’s a lot… personal stuff, family stuff, I’ve kept this rant bottled up for a pretty long time so it’s a long post

I don’t mind if you don’t read it

I came so close to scrapping this again (I have typed this story out in the past and deleted it) but sod it! I need to get this out of my system!

TW: Illness, death

So… I have a half sister, she’s my dad’s daughter from a previous marriage, much older than me and my brother

I’d not heard from her for 13 or 14 years but when my dad’s health deteriorated she turned up, acting like she’d been present for the last 13/14 years, my dad had invited her over so I remained civil, as much as I hated her being there

A little extra context, she has 4 children and my dad, their grandfather, met the youngest 2 for the first time just before lockdown in 2020, they were 9 and 7 years old!

When my dad was at his worst, about a week before he died, she turned up again, at the same time my dad was being seen to by an ambulance crew (his temperature was worryingly high, given his condition) and with lockdown rules, only 7 people were allowed in the room; my mum, dad, 2 ambulance crew, our GP was there as were the 2 visiting nurses that came to the house 4 times a day to help with his care, so I went in the living room out of the way, when she got there I told her that we needed to wait in the living room, so what does she do, yep… goes into the room where my dad is, acting the concerned daughter.

When she gets told to go and wait in the living room by my mum she comes in and sits down, never asking if I was ok, or anything like that, no she says “what’s wrong with dad?” Oh I had to hold my tongue sooooo much, I could’ve gone off on a rant, but I didn’t, I said “they’re making sure his temperature isn’t because of COVID” then she says “how would he have got that?”

Now bare in mind… I was still working full time, I was going into work not knowing if he would be there when I got home, I was at the end of my emotional tether, if it wasn’t for a couple of friends at work, I’d have exploded at that comment, I read it as she was blaming me for making my dad’s health worse, I couldn’t deal with her, so I retreated to my bedroom and cried for a while.

So… dad died in October 2020, I made it clear that I would not sit next to her at the funeral, we shared a hug at the end but she said nothing to me, not that I wanted her to, and that was the last time I saw her.

Fast forward to today… a whole 2 years, 7 months and a few days after he died, and my mum comes down with piles of photos, and she says “I know you’re going to ask, so I’m just going to say it, I got a message from her (she used her name but I’m not going to use it here) the other day asking if we had any pictures of her with dad, I know we have a couple so I’m going to look for them”

And this is what has irritated me, after nearly 3 years of no contact she asks if we have pictures of her and dad?! And assumes that my mum can just say “oh yes, we have a lot, I’ll send them you, dad kept them in a special box” because NO, he didn’t, we have like… 3, and they could be scattered in various piles of photos!

So now my mum is having to search through photos to find pictures of her… it’s just… it’s really annoyed me…

My mum has been avoiding looking through the pictures, because it upsets her, I know it does, so I insisted that she put some upbeat music on (Pet Shop Boys, mums favourite) and to stop when she needs to

Ok… rant over… I’m just going to… go and calm down for a little bit

#blossom rambles #blossom rants #ignore me I’m just ranting #feel free to ignore #I needed to get this out my system #💙🌸#sorry for the long rant

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existentialdread0 · 11 months

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I feel so torn. I finally decided to shoot for recovery, but I feel too scared to start. I told my friend about it who also has anorexia and she wants to recover too. I don’t know how to challenge the thought that I need to lose more weight before I can start recovery. In my mind, I can justify eating more if I’m really underweight. Right now, I’d have to gain a little over xx pounds, which isn’t a huge amount, but I know even gaining that would be terrifying.

Note to self: Stop letting weight determine how sick you are! You are fucking underweight and miserable. You’re a straight A student in school and can’t afford to lose that at your age. You’re lonely, isolated, and depressed. This illness isn’t doing anything positive for you.

Ugh what sucks is that I actually kind of like how I look right now. I’m fucking miserable and hate my life, but I feel like my underweight body is “me” if that makes sense. When I’m in a larger body, I don’t feel like myself. I have to remind myself that normal people don’t think I look good at all. My view is completely distorted. Even as I’m saying that I like my body, I still think there’s “room for improvement,” so I know the ED is lying to me to keep me from recovering.

I can’t keep saying that I’ll “recover tomorrow.” I need to start ASAP. I told my friend last night that I would delete MFP and I didn’t even do that :(

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vannahfanfics · 2 years

Text

My dearest Mouse, hopefully you see this. In all my brilliance, I accidentally deleted the Trick-or-Treat event request you made for Keigo last year, so I’m having to post it this way :’D I would hate for you to miss out on Rumi tricking Hawks as revenge for “Carrot Hijinks” lol

Carrot Hijinks, Part II

Word Count: 809

Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Friendship, Pranks

Summary: Rumi does not appreciate hijinks when it comes to her carrots.

Rumi cackled deviously as she carried a red-and-white paper bucket down the sidewalk. Inside, several crispy-fried drumsticks and thighs jostled about with every springy step. Any passerby would assume that the rabbit hero had stopped after a long day’s work to buy some hard-earned fried chicken from the nearby fast-food chain. However, they would be wrong, at least partially. Though they looked very much like fried chicken, what filled the top layer of the bucket were actually pieces of tofu that had been meticulously crafted to look like chicken.

“Hehehe... This ought to show him,” Rumi cackled deviously under her breath. “That birdbrain will think twice before ever messing with my carrots again!”

Though Keigo had made good on his promise to deliver carrot cake, Rumi was still pissed. It had been a week now, but the cruel prank still haunted her; every time she went to eat a carrot, she had to check and make sure that it actually wasn’t Play-Doh in disguise. An annoyance at best, but the sanctity of Rumi’s favorite snack was forever poisoned by his ill-contrived little joke.

Quite simply, Rumi could not rest until she had gotten proper payback.

Rumi turned the corner, and there was Hawks’ agency. She made sure that the last of her evil cackles had left her system before purposefully strutting through the striding glass doors. She wouldn’t want to spoil her little surprise by laughing.

A few of the sidekicks gave Rumi a passing glance, then shrugged. Given how close she and Keigo were, her presence was not unusual in the agency—just as his was not unusual in hers. Thus, when she strode up to the receptionist’s desk, she was greeted with a jovial smile.

“Mirko! Lovely to see you,” the receptionist chirped, and then her eyes dropped to the paper bucket in her muscular arms. “Oh! Hawks will be so pleased! He’s been working extra hard today.”

“Perfect,” Rumi purred devilishly, but the receptionist seemed not to notice her dark tone of relish.

“Go on ahead; I’ll buzz you up.”

Rumi did as bid, and one elevator ride later, she was stepping out into Keigo’s office on the top floor. The winged hero was currently splayed out in his desk chair, snoring loudly with his mouth agape and drooling. As soon as Rumi stepped off the elevator, though, he could smell the aroma of grease and fried batter wafting in the air. His wings twitched, and he jerked awake with an ungainly “Snnrrkkkk!”

“Rumi?” he asked when he lifted his head unsteadily to look at her with bleary eyes. He squinted, then continued groggily, “Izzat chicken?”

“Sure is,” Rumi grinned, carrying the bucket over to his desk. “I got off of patrol early today and thought I would bring you a little gift.”

Keigo warbled in delight, and the desk chair squeaked as he hastily righted himself. He’d snapped awake in an instant, his eyes bright and eager as they beheld the glorious bucket in Rumi’s arms. No sooner than she had set it in front of him, he dove in, snatching up a drumstick and tearing into it.

“Thanks Rumi, you’re the be—”

He stopped short, his expression of delight slowly morphing into confusion. He pulled the piece away from his mouth and looked at it. As soon as he saw the white, spongy tofu peeking out from where he’d bitten, he gasped in horror and slapped a hand to his mouth.

“Rumi! How could you?!” he cried behind his hand, eyes owlish and full of betrayal.

“Ha!” Rumi laughed and pointed at him. “That’s what you get for messing with my carrots, you feathered bastard! How’s it feel?!”

“... Not good. Not good at all,” Keigo crooned sadly, his shoulders slumping and feathers drooping. Tears brimmed in his eyes, and he looked pitifully at the chicken-shaped tofu. “I have been delivered a taste of my own medicine, and it is bitter indeed...”

“Chill, Socrates, there’s regular chicken under the top few pieces.”

“Oh, thank God!” Keigo cried while tossing the piece of tofu across the room. It landed against the wall with a squishy slap. He jammed his hand into the bucket. He pulled out another drumstick, sniffed it experimentally, and then took a tentative bite. He melted as the taste of chicken rather than tofu flooded over his tongue. “Oh, yeah... That’s the stuff...”

“So?” Rumi huffed, crossing her arms. “What have we learned?”

“Don’t mess with your carrots...” Keigo answered sullenly, the chicken still in his mouth. “Ever.”

“Eeeeeeexactly. Now we’re even, okay?” she smiled and reached out to ruffle his wavy golden hair.

“At least until I prank you again,” Keigo grinned mischievously. When Rumi raised a threatening eyebrow, he hurriedly clarified, “But the carrots are off-limits! Promise!”

“They’d better be, or next time, the whole bucket will be tofu.”

“Rumi! Noooooo!”

#mirhawks #mirko #miruko #rumi usagiyama #usagiyama rumi #hawks #keigo takami #takami keigo #my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha

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csmeaner · 2 years

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I want to get something off of my chest, so I don’t care if this is posted or deleted.

A follow up to the Edeia voiding post; It’s not my style to go against CS rules for the most part but I can’t afford to spend that kind of money just to walk about of the species with the designs I love. And even if I could afford it, I am… hesitant to give the owner another cent after the sheer amount of money I already gave them. I know some of my friends read this blog so I might be about to lose friendships for what I’m about to say, but it can’t be helped. No matter how much I like a CS, I won’t support a practice that I feel is unjustified.

So, I’m erasing all connections to the species from my characters’ TH profiles, and treating them as one-offs without getting them “officially” voided. I just want out of this shitty place and having to pay to void my shit feels like I’m being held hostage at this point. I’ve talked to enough people, family and friends and others IRL, about the situation and no one sees the point of paying extra just to freely use the characters I already bought. Christ, even people I talk to who are presently still IN the species didn’t know there was a voiding fee, and even they think it’s stupid after finding out.

I tallied up the cost of the Edeia I wanted to void, and the combined price of them was $1,175. I shouldn’t have to pay another $390-$455 on top of that. That’s just robbery at that point, considering the void fee wasn’t in existence when I got my designs. I don’t know when it got added, but I really don’t remember it being there before I walked out last year.

In the end, what came of my initial conversation with Auspice was me handing back $230 worth of designs to get my sona and his husband voided, and to obtain ownership of a fusion I co-owned with Auspice. It wasn’t a good deal by any means; voiding my sona and his mate would have cost $70, which leaves $160 for the ownership transfer and the… “Redesign” of the fusion. Which was a fucking fuss, I was handed a design I hated, and when I did my own variation, Aus fucking whined because they didn’t like me keeping the cape-like sleeves or stars on the inside of the clothes because that was “their sona’s traits.” The redesign, the time spent negotiating, and the transfer of the ownership rights definitely should NOT have cost $160 for what I got in the end. And the reason I wanted the fusion at all is because it would have otherwise just been deleted and I didn’t want my original $175 going to waste.

After some… “negotiating” on the areas of tension with the design, we “settled” on a redesign that was just a glorified version of my own sona, which wasn’t what I wanted. But I was fed up and dealing with Auspice gives me severe anxiety, so I approved it anyway just so that I could stop interacting. After ownership rights were handed over to me I tweaked the design on my own to restore the vibe and look I wanted. I compared the redesign and Auspice’s sona with a bunch of peeps and we all determined it’s very different from their sona in appearance.

oh ill definitely answer this one. auspice can suck it, edeia and its entire foundations can suck it, and that 35usd per character voiding fee can suck it the hardest

i wouldn't feel bad a single ounce it's unreasonable to expect people to pay to leave a cs and is in similar maliciousness for scummy services to create cancellation fees to force people to stay in the service or exhaust them so much they can be squeezed for a few more pennies. that shit's awful in real life what makes you think it's not a slimy practice in cs too

fuck are they going to do edeia can fucking suuuuuck itttt and burn in hell

#edeia

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