#that it can be so freeing and beautiful. and though I do value my alone time and a certain amount of independence is important- it’s okay

[claymorexpunisher]

Imagine trusting a man enough to let yourself be the perfect ✨passenger seat princess✨ at least 98% of the time.

Wonder what that’s like…

#one day lmaoo #✨manifesting✨ #a couple weeks ago one of my besties asked me being single has me feeling lonely. #no im not lonely. I think loneliness can cloud your judgment and can make you make poor decisions that will have you settling for less than #you deserve just to fill that void. #so no im not lonely. i have other relationships that are just as important. #but im def more open to meeting my Prince Charming. #i used to think that relying or depending on others in some ways was a sign of weakness. but now i know that there’s strength in that. and #that it can be so freeing and beautiful. and though I do value my alone time and a certain amount of independence is important- it’s okay #to pass your burdens onto someone who’s willing to take them on sometimes. and I’ve realized that Ive been so hellbent on not being #dependent on a man bc I didn’t have a man I could depend on. ever. I didnt have that example of a man in my life who would hold it down as a #father or as a husband. but I know they exist. bc I see it on the daily. the man of my dreams is out there and I’m patiently waiting to meet #him and to love him for all eternity. #i totally might delete this later lmao. #but for now if you’re reading this word vomit- I hope you meet your person too and if you already have- I hope you cherish them as much as- #-they cherish you. ♥️♥️♥️🌹 #IM IN MY FEELINGS DONT MIND ME. #🤮 😂 #love #romance #soulmates #fate #trust #romantic relationships

[theladywholivesonthemoon]

hello ! I read your Kitana fic and I must say your a really talented writer! id love to see you write some general sfw headcannons on her if you wouldn’t mind ! thanks :)

KITANA SFW HEADCANNONS

pairing: kitana x reader

warnings: none!

a/n: my first sfw headcanons. Thank you so much for the kind words ♡

Kitana is not a very emotional person on the outside, but she is a wonderful lover. Due to being raised as the princess of Outworld, she was taught to conceal her feelings, keeping them hidden away from the public as to keep the image of the royal family prime and pristine. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel her feelings, specially through her acts of love.

First, there as somethings that make Kitana, well, Kitana, such as:

Kitana is definetly a very serious individual, years of royal training leading to it. She tends to keep to herself, her interest hidden from view from most people, exept her close ones.

I image her being into dancing, due to all the acrobatics she performs while fighting with her fans, but she prefers to dance alone in her room than in a room full of people.

Kitana has a collection of fans ranging from all the colors of the wheel made with materials from all regions of Outworld. Her favorites being the Fartahk Cutters and the Nekrotonan Bladed Fans. She collects them like someone who collects card seals.

Due to her long life span she has seen a great deal of thigns, so I like to imagine she keeps multiple diaries to keep track of all the happenings. These diaries are carefully made with leather bound covers painted in the most intricate designs, the writing on the inside pristine and sophisticated. They are stored carefully in wooden bookcases in an adjacent room next to her bedroom, to be read when desired.

I definitely see Kitana’s love languages being quality time and physical touch, let me explain

QUALITY TIME:

Kitana cares for her loved ones deeply, but because of her royal duties she hardly had time to spend with them. So she tries her best to aline her schedule to do something with her special one at least for a few hours of the day. This is where I see a bit of acts of service coming in. Kitana, with all her decorum, arranges a diner on a quiet and reserved part of the castle, complete with fairy lights, rose petals on the ground and a good variety of Outworld’s finest beverages. As soon as she is freed from the thousands of appointments os the day, Kitana pushes through the tiredness and heads towards their shared quarters. It would be easy to order a servant to invite her lover to the planned diner, but she prefers to spend every little moment with them. The diner goes perfectly, just as something planned by a meticulous princess would. They talk for hours, the warm colors of dawn slowly merging into the night sky, conversation flowing swiftly as neither seem to notice how late it has become.

Kitana values all the little moments she shares with her lover, specially long walks in the palace gardens. They walk unhurriedly through the hanging gardens, admiring the beautiful scenery. The bioluminescent flora lights up the lovers way as they cruise through the garden. This is usually where Kitana feels most free- free from her royal duties, her worries and her fears. Something as simple as walking with her lover brings her a sense of calm that no other thing can reproduce.

Even though it’s not her favorite thing, she allows her lover to accompany her in missions. As the empresses most trusted assassin, she would often lead missions with the Umgadi, and even in a band of most trusted allies, it can turn dangerous at any minute. But, depending on the nature of the danger, she would rather have her lover closer than away, even if she has the utmost trust in the Umgadi. She knows her lover could manage by themselves, but she would rather not take any chances.

PHYSICAL TOUCH

Kitana is very touch starved, even though she won’t show it. She was deeply loved during her childhood, by both her parents, specialy Jerod, so the distance brought by royal duties was often breach through warm hugs and that love for touch carries to her romantic relationships.

During the time spent together, Kitana always has a hand on her lover. She either holds her special someones hand or has a hand strung around her lover's arm when promenading through the hanging gardens.

She also tends to have an arm behind her lover's waist while guiding them while socialazing in royal events so as to never lose sight of each other. Royal events can be very stressfull for Kitana, as she is usualy the one organzing them as Mileena is not as inclined to participate is such events, leaving Kitana with most of the organization and meddeling with the public. As such, it often leads to burning her out, so being around her lover and with her hand touching them keeps her grounded.

#kitana #kitana x reader #everwritingannafics #wlw #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat imagine #kitana imagine

[torchwood-99]

Eowyn's Will

"May I not now spend my life as I will?'

'Few may do so with honour.' "

Eowyn's one driving wish in a nutshell, to live her life as she will. To live as a being with a will of her own.

Eowyn having a will of her own is perhaps the crux of her character, her conflict with the patriarchal paternalistic men around her, and the expectations and limitations of her society.

Aragorn gently chides her for wishing to spend her life as she will, stating few have that freedom. And yet while Aragorn may be pressured and pushed by such things as honour and duty and conscience, how these influence his choices is essentially up to him. He can choose, he does have a will of his own. Often he chooses to act against his own inclinations (hide away with Arwen) but he can choose.

Eowyn cannot.

Aragorn; as a noble man in this patriarchal society, has a completely different understanding of what it means to live life as you will to Eowyn. Aragorn sees it as living life selfishly, seeing as his own sense of right and wrong is what causes him to go out and face hardships. Eowyn sees it as simply living as an autonomous being. A right Aragorn has rarely, if ever, been denied.

Both of them have had to act in a way that opposes their will on occasions, but for Aragorn it's because he personally feels a duty towards greater things. For Eowyn, it's because the very existence of her own will has been denied by those around her, and in authority over her.

'Where will wants not, a way opens, so we say,' he whispered; 'and so I have found myself."

The first time we see Eowyn putting her will into action is when she sneaks into battle, and brings Merry with her. This is in defiance of her uncle, and Aragorn himself. Once she looked to Aragorn to set herself free, now she's doing it alone. Back when she was begging to ride with Aragorn, she was still half stuck in the cage, looking to be freed by another, looking for permission from another.

She deserts her post, she fails in her duty, she acts out of bitterness and a longing for death as well as out of courage and a love for her kin and her land, and she's rewarded for it.

When she finally goes to battle, it is by her own will and her own will alone.

That is why I think the narrative awards her a victory (albeit a bitterly won one), that is why it vindicates her decision by having her slay he who wouldn't be killed by hand of Man, and has her win greater renown than she could ever have dreamed of. Because it was an act of freewill, riding to battle, bringing Merry, facing the Witch King, she does all this on no one's orders, but her own.

The narrative rewards this. it rewards freewill.

Now here's this line, from Faramir, after Eowyn reciprocates his love.

" Yet I will wed with the White Lady of Rohan, if it be her will. And if she will, then let us cross the River and in happier days let us dwell in fair Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there, if the White Lady comes."

Compare this to Eowyn's first introduction, when Eowyn is sent away by Theoden and Gandalf, where she waits on her uncle and her brother and their guests, pouring drinks while they sit and speak of weighty things, and even when she is being honoured, she is ordered to go to Dunharrow without consultation. An order that makes her feel as though she's in exile. She is silent, she stays on the side, and she serves. She has great value but no will.

Faramir speaks of Eowyn's will twice.

Eowyn's has been kept in a cage, kept on the side-lines, and denied choices. And here, when Faramir describes a dream of their future, he twice spells out it all depends on Eowyn's will, and he has them dwelling in a land known for its beautiful landscape, and building a garden together.

He speaks of of "us", showing he thinks of himself and Eowyn as a partnership, yet at the same time he also gives importance to Eowyn's personal will, and at the end speaks of Eowyn alone, Eowyn's influence and Eowyn's presence and Eowyn's special title, also showing Eowyn as independent being.

She is his partner but not his adjunct, and her personal will is valued enough to be spoken of twice, and his whole vision depends on her being willing.

She is neither side-lined as she has been in the past, left behind while the men join together to do great things, but her individuality isn't consumed by Faramir either. They're a team.

"Faramir, Steward of Gondor, and Prince of Ithilien, asks that Éowyn Lady of Rohan should be his wife, and she grants it full willing."

When Eomer announces Eowyn and Faramir's betrothal, he also describes Eowyn as agreeing to marry Faramir as being "full willing." This suggests a change to me, a small but significant hint, coming after Gandalf's speech, where Eomer is described as looking over their life together. He doesn't grant Eowyn's hand to Faramir, as might be expected in a patriarchal society. She does.

"May I not now spend my life as I will?'

Yes Eowyn, yes you may.

#Lotr #Lord of the Rings #Eowyn #Faramir #Farawyn #Aragorn #Eomer #meta #Eowyn-x-Faramir #Faramir-x-Eowyn

[ronearoundblindly]

The Root Of All Ransom (Finale)

Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader (see previous or series)

Summary: Ransom figures out how to undo his disinheritance.

Warnings for language (I'm never kidding about how many f-bombs this boy drops), smut (blowjob, p in v sex that is consensually unprotected, general smuttery), vague contemplations of murder but we ain't going the canon route. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY. There is plenty else for you to read on my Light Masterlist. This is not your story!

I have somehow managed to put Ransom Drysdale deep in his feels. This is only OOC if you haven't read up to this point, but we do end on a soft!Ransom note. WC 6954 (oh my fucking wat???)

Ransom huffs out a foggy breath in the night air, cold in more ways than one. All the windows glow from the mansion, yet it looks completely different in light of what Harlan’s done.

Thrombey Manor is his birthright. He doesn’t love the architecture or the eccentric layout. He hates the furniture. He’s never really enjoyed anything about the place. It’s the polar opposite of his own house, but it was his in a way, part of his status, part of his baseline of existence. He’s not prepared for any other eventuality. Ransom built his life on a perfectly stable bridge that some idiot just blew up with C4.

No, no, not some idiot. His own family. The only member of his family he would think could never do this to him. Fuck Harlan.

Ran’s been flying high on a lie, and the magic money carpet’s been ripped away.

He has one lifeline, one option he’s grasping onto.

If he can manage this, nothing will change. He won’t lose the allowance. He won’t lose you. You’ll never know how unworthy he is. He can just have everything and never speak of this again.

Harlan. Marta. Inheritance. Killing two birds with one liquid stone.

Ran could do it. He will do it, but you cannot know. He can’t have you around. He has to push, to start giving you a safe distance, to leave you plausible deniability. If you suspect, you’ll leave him anyway. 

If he succeeds, worst case? He’s rich and alone. If he does nothing? He’ll be poor and alone.

One of those scenarios used to be acceptable, but not now, not anymore.

Pushing you away tonight might be the last time you ever look at him without pity, and he’s not ready for how heavy that sits in his roiling gut. He has to though. He has to make you leave, if only for the rest of the night—but it might be forever, his brain reminds him. Fucker. It’s not like Ran’s pleasant to be around. Getting away from him shouldn’t be a hard sell.

When you emerge from the house, however, what he hoped would sound sharp and dismissive sounds oddly open-ended.

“You could just walk from here,” he tries wishfully.

True to form, beautiful, pissed-off you sidesteps his expectations.

You take his coat, your coat, and the Birkin to the passenger’s side with a ferocious look.

“Get in the car,” you manage through tight lips.

Fuck. He misses you already. He hasn’t given up. He won’t, but his center of gravity is gone. He’s reeling from this.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale revolves around money.

His whole life he has stretched wide and greedy limbs to capture numbered, green rays of meaning. He hasn’t only lost the light of his sun now. No. Nuclear winter has just stripped him bare and knocked him on his ass. Ran cannot articulate all the reasons he’s so upset.

He values you and him together for relatively selfish reasons. From all he’s seen, you don’t need any more people in your life that exist so far below you. You don’t need ‘help.’ You need an equal, a free and independent equal. Ran isn’t even fucking close anymore.

With a stroke of a pen, he’s now dependent. It’s pathetic. If he stays without even the means to be your not-quite-equal, then he’s everything he hates. He’ll be clingy. He’ll be needy. He’ll be in the way. He’ll finally do it; he will annoy you.

He will bore you.

What a fucking world.

You snap him out of his dashboard stare.

“Do you want to talk about it now or at home?”

“Neither,” he quips easily. “I’ll drop you at the Carlyle’s.”

His eye twitches at his faux pas. You don’t have to correct him. He knows it’s your place, your name, your property, and your right to claim. He doesn’t need reminding.

His key twists in the ignition just as your hand comes up to his shoulder.

He can’t even glare at you properly because a tap rings off his window pane. Both of you jump in alarm because night fell hours ago. Who sneaks up on a car in the fucking dark?

Ran’s father is fucking who. Of course. The window peels down, and Ransom feels as if the last seconds of his life are draining away after the plug’s been pulled.

“Trouble in paradise, you two?” Dick asks with cheeky concern.

“No, Mister Drysdale,” you say politely, no hint of insincerity in your smile.

“Richard, please, honey. You’re practically family.”

Smug asshole, do NOT call her ‘honey.’

“Eat shit,” Ransom mutters overly loud again, but your sudden slow grip on his kneecap tells him to behave. Ol’ Dick has no right to call you ‘honey’ though. Ran’s not even sure what he’s allowed to call you, and he’s pissed, sure. He’s…something else, too; he’s obedient beneath your hand.

Richard ignores Ran’s attitude. “Listen, son, I just wanted you to know that whatever happens, your mother and I will always love you. In case…ya know, in case you ever doubted, and…well, we’re family. We stick together.” He even gives Ran a squeeze on the shoulder for emphasis.

Ransom has no fucking clue what his father intends with that entirely useless statement but doesn’t fucking care. “You know what?” He’s about to lunge out the window to choke that fucking prick. “Definitely eat shit.”

Your grip tightens, and Ran’s insides clench, knowing he toes a line.

“We should really go,” you add with a now painful, strained civility.

“Okay, you crazy kids,” Richard pats his heavy hand on the door frame. “Thanks for coming to the party and we’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Of course, Richard.”

Ransom rolls the window back up without looking at you. That sure as shit was not his father’s reaction to Harlan throwing millions at Marta fucking Candelabra. He can’t be near these people anymore, so Ran slams his foot on the gas, peeling out of the driveway, and scattering gravel in his wake.

Your sigh releases with the pressure on his knee. “I suspect it’s about his affair.”

As if that narrows it down. “Which one?”

“The first one as far as your grandpa knows,” you snort, “which hopefully Linda buys too from the way you’ve talked about it. Jesus, really? Slow down!”

Ran doesn’t want to slow down. The car is finally catching up to his racing thoughts and a plan coalescing. If Harlan knows about Richard’s affair, then his mother will absolutely divorce him, leaving Dick with nothing—and if you know that Harlan knows about it then—

“Hugh—” the hand has slid from his knee to his crotch, the heel of your palm gently digging into the stiff fabric of his jeans “—we should have taken care of you before…”

Fuck, that feels good.

You’re right, of course. Ran really should have planned a few minutes of privacy for you both to get off after the airport. Not that it’d have to be private for him (parking lot, terminal, or tarmac—he wouldn’t fucking care), but the thought flashes in his mind like the bright spots behind his eyelids that he might not get to fuck you again. That’s profoundly upsetting, and your grip on the outline of his swelling cock is profoundly distracting.

He swats at your arm, blood rushing to his tension-white knuckles only for a second, but you simply swivel in the seat to change hands, dragging down his zipper.

“Sweetheart“ slips out. Is he allowed to say that anymore? He should still act normal, right? Except he’s been a raging mess for a quarter-hour already and oh fuck. “What are you…”

Ran’s been wrong this whole time: you are a road head bitch.

He’s so taken aback by your spit-slicked lips cooly brushing the head of him that he nearly elbows your spine. The car swerves slightly as he strains to collect himself, to think of just one other thing instead of your fucking tongue sliding down his length to tease at his still-covered balls and—

Mother of fucking mercy, he has to pull over.

Only by some miracle, some blessed (or horrible) gap in his distraction, is he able to consciously choose parking off the lane just beyond the menagerie elephant statue because, otherwise, that pervy-ass groundskeeper could relive his long-forgotten past of grainy porn. Because that’s what this is turning into. Pornographic is the only way to describe the choked grunt Ran finally lets out as he slams on the brake and you snap the car into park just to get the gear shift out of your way.

“I’m only here three days,” you say around a mouthful of cock, bobbing a few more times before switching to your hand. “I’m not letting you ruin it by being fucking baby.”

“I’m not—fuck—“ he’s not expecting you to climb over him in the cramped car “—you don’t understand.”

“So you don’t want me right now?”

He shakes his head furiously, half in hope of collecting genuine thought, half in desperation for you to continue.

Space is so limited between Ran’s body and the steering column that your bent knees pin his arms to the door and the console. It should hurt but fuck if he’s gonna say anything while he watches you peel your panties to the side and line yourself up. 

“Gah, you just—“ he pants as his heart rate spikes. Instead of putting him in you, Ran’s paralyzed to stop two of your fingers from sinking into your soaked pussy. You’re drooling for him, mouth and cunt, and goddamn, he is so torn between pounding you into next week or tossing you out of the car to get on with his plan.

It’s about an 80/20 split in favor of fucking you.

And then he thinks…yeah, he could definitely get off and get you to the Carlyle’s—your place—in time to sneak back. So he just lets go, shoving his face forward to capture your lips, enjoying the wet sounds as you prep for him, and eating up your moans and curses. He knows you’re purposefully dragging your knuckles against his dick as you bring them out with each stroke. Why are you so fucking hot? Why can’t he just have this without Harlan’s help? 

He’s dependent.

Ran realizes he always was, but he fucking hates it.

Removing your fingers makes the bunched-up dress pool over your hips and graze his raging erection. Great, now your spit and his precum are smeared all over your clothes. Normally, that wouldn’t bother him. Normally, that would be even hotter. Now, Ran wonders how much that damn thing costs because he never even looked; he just knew it suited you.

A steady grip at his base and suddenly Ran can’t wonder about any fucking thing under the sun. Your walls welcome him inch by inch like he’s goddamn worthy of that silky squeeze, but he can’t say shit. All he can manage is craning his neck forward to mouth over your nearest breast, arms still pinned. Fuck it. More fluids on the dress. If you don’t care, he doesn’t care. Maybe. Maybe he’ll just care later. Maybe he’ll learn to look at the cost of things. Maybe he won’t have to when he succeeds at fixing this dumpster fire of a situation.

His teeth graze against a barely felt but hard-peaked nipple, and you gasp out another moan. You have to shift to wedge your leg down by his side and repeat with the other one. One of his forearms is tingling, asleep, so he switches his mouth around and uses the functioning arm to play.

You’re moving so slow, too slow.

“You fucking love to mess with me,” Ran growls, all but biting through the layers before yanking at the neckline, savoring the plush skin he exposes. “Love fucking me,” he mutters again.

“Yeah, baby, why do you think that is?” You use the name so condescendingly and roll your hips so deliberately that Ransom bites back a ‘fuck you,’ instead forcing out a strangled whine. You just drag yourself up and down until he answers, pushing his t-shirt and an errant tail of his cardigan out of the way. Your fingers gently scratch the flat plain of his abs.

“Say it.”

He knows the answer. He’s known for a while, but that’s not something Ran’s ever gonna be ready for. It’s just already the truth.

It’s as soft as a hum against your skin.

“Say it, Hugh. Tell me why.”

He can tell by how you’re getting sloppier with your movement, by how hard you grind forward against him, that you’re close.

“Because you love me.” Ran winces at how desperate he sounds. It’s almost a cry, but he can’t really resist repeating it. “You love me.”

Your hands bury in his hair, and he’s literally covered in you while trapped in this fucking steam room of a car. He can’t control anything he’s doing.

“You love me,” he says again.

“Yes.”

“You love me.”

“Fuck, yes, baby.”

You’re fluttering around his cock like a dream, shouting encouragement, and it just slips out.

“I love you.”

He has no idea if you even hear him because you come so hard that your back bends, slamming you against the steering wheel.

The horn blares in the quiet woods.

You wait for him to yank you forward and erupt into sated giggles while Ran is a whole different kind of paralyzed, hiding his face in your chest for as long as you’re simmering without care.

Your fingers card through sweaty hair, your heartbeat slowing more than his does.

“Think you need this,” you say in a breathy whisper. You pull away to cradle his face.

He’s terrified you’re gonna ask. You’re gonna want him to say it again, he thinks, and Ran’s not sure he can with your eyes boring into his, knowing what he knows, being what he is until the will is void.

“I want you to come, Hugh.” Your thumb traces across his bottom lip, gaze following before it flickers back up.

You sound so fucking innocent while your slick is smeared all over his low belly and seeping through his underwear. His boxers are kinda in the way but kinda immovable while in such cramped quarters. Pushed aside, they hinder only as much as your bunched-up panties do. Easy enough to live with.

You keep staring expectantly.

“Do you want me to stop—“ fuck NO “—or will you give me what I want?”

Ran’s whole chest clenches, and it’s only because he slams his mouth to yours that you can’t see his eyes roll in fucking ecstasy. Perfect. You’re goddamn perfect. He couldn’t deny you anything much less this, and he knows that if this is the last time, he has to take advantage.

Sliding down slightly on the seat (because everything operates in centimeters at most this close), he takes two giant handfuls of your ass and spreads you, lifting so he can thrust his hips up at a brutal pace. He doesn’t fucking care if his knees bang against unyielding metal. He doesn’t care that a vein in his neck might snap from strain. He just needs this one thing, and then he’ll let it go. He’ll be ready for whatever outcome Harlan’s death triggers.

Because Ransom needs money. He had money long before he had you. It’s what he needs the most in life. He loves money.

If losing you is what it takes to keep the money…

That’s the thought he can’t finish as control of the urge to come slips from his bruising fingers. His desire for his status quo is faltering. His equilibrium’s changed.

He does love money. He does.

Now, to Ran's surprise, he loves you, and he has no fucking clue how to love both. He doesn’t know if he can keep both.

But friction is friction. He’s surrounded by the feel and sound and smell of sex. It’s familiar and more than a little haunting to him if this is the last time, but Ran crests that mountain before any coherent thoughts form. He can’t trust himself to speak. He might repeat what he never should have said aloud.

The groan when he empties himself inside you is almost pained, swallowed immediately by your adoring and hungry kiss. He’s sweat straight through his t-shirt and his jeans are a fucking mess. Your dress is damp, stained, and wrinkled. You’re practically bonded to the leather seat, but he just absently runs the back of his fingers up and down your thighs while he comes down.

When you release his mouth, your arms settle across his shoulders, and he buries his face in your chest again, hiding, relishing, stalling.

Shit, he’s gonna miss this.

After a minute, you rest your forehead against his and lift your hips until his limp dick slides out of you. Through half-closed eyes Ran watches you bite your bottom lip, gnaw on it like he wants to, like he moves to—

“Is this about the will?”

Ran freezes.

“Did—Harlan told you, didn’t he?”

“WHAT THE SHIT.” Ran’s rage explodes, heaving you off of him and into the passenger’s seat. “YOU FUCKING KNEW?!”

He shoves himself back in his pants and scrambles for the damn zipper.

“Ransom, it’s fine. He just—“

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you warn me? Jesus FUCK.” He’s unlatched and kicked the door open before you even get a word out.

“Harlan is my friend and—“

But he slams it shut, leaving your words muffled while Ran fumes in damp fucking clothes in the frigid air.

His fists almost—almost—pound on the hood of his car as he bites out, “I could have killed him.” 

Ran’s pacing toward the tree line when you finally shuffle from the beamer, pulling your dress back into place.

“Harlan’s my friend and he asked me in confidence if it made sense.”

“I’m sorry, he asked you? As in, my grandfather might not have done this if you hadn’t thrown me under the bus.”

“It wasn’t just about you.”

“It makes sense to leave me destitute? And you knew! You lying bitch,” he growls, immediately wishing the word hadn’t popped out, clawing at his scalp in a punishing attempt to think. “You watched me throw all that fucking money away and didn’t think I deserved to know?!“

“I’ve met you. Why would you listen to me about how to spend your money? That isn’t something you do, Ransom.”

“That’s not the point!” And stop calling me fucking ‘Ransom.’ “I can handle myself.”

“Then I guess your answer is ‘that’s how you spent the money,’ by choice.”

“I wasn’t given a choice. You lied to me. You’re the one who didn’t trust me.”

Your stalk forward in the dry leaves, stopping just outside of arm’s length away. “What the hell did I just say in there, huh? I love you. I said I love you, then you go and call me a bitch, so who’s the liar between us, huh? Who’s got trust issues?”

Ran’s face scrunches in distain. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“Guess,” you spit back easily. 

Well, he isn’t fucking saying it now. Fuck you. Fuck this. This is the worst-case scenario: poor and alone because if you know, he can never get away with his plan.

“Why do you always do that?” he growls with a venom that poisons no one but himself. “Why the fuck are you here then?” Why are you with him?

“I’m here to support my piece of shit boyfriend at a piece of shit family event because Hugh asked me to.”

Nope. The right name is wrong. It sounds much worse than he expected.

Ran doesn’t know what to do with all this sick energy churning in his gut except burn through it. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He doesn’t know what to do with his life.

“There it is. There’s the truth,” he yells, leaning into your face. “I know it. You know it. This isn’t going to work. We’re not the fucking same. We’re not even close—“

“I don’t want someone the same as me.”

“I’m a useless—”

“Ran.” Your hands fly to gently land on his face.

“—talentless—“

“Seriously, please.”

“—sack of shit and you—“

“HUGH!” The grip at his jaw slips as he jerks back.

Ran tenses, shoving his chilled fingers into his jean pockets, pushing the wet material in front away from his crotch. He goes awkwardly quiet.

Yelling. He remembers the yelling. He’s been comfortable with yelling for longer than he’s been comfortable with affection.

“For fuck’s sake, just shut up.” You cross your arms over you chest and shiver. “This. This bullshit is why I didn’t tell you, but so what? You don’t have your own money. How do you think Harlan and I started out?”

He gives a look that shouts back everything he can’t put into words.

“You’re not useless or talentless. You’re entitled. That’s all, and you can change that state of being pretty fucking easily.”

“How? What am I supposed to do? Be a houseboy who eats you out once a week?”

“A week? Well, I hope I pay better than that.”

“Oh, what the fuck,” he grouches.

You giggle. You fucking giggle at that. “You started these jokes!”

“You don’t have to rub it in—”

“—just rub it out, huh?”

He doesn’t want to laugh. It’s not funny. His fate isn’t a laughing matter, but like everything else tonight, he fucking fails. A smile twitches at his lips.

“Ok, asshole, you want to be useful? How ‘bout driving us home? I’m freezing.”

He starts to protest but is cut off by a flinging arm.

“If you don’t get in this damn car, you will be helping me balance to pee in those woods.”

“Fucking gross,” Ran whines.

“Yeah, well, your ability to self-access is appalling too,” you jovially clap back, “but we’re working with what we’ve got.”

Fair.

Savage but fair.

He frowns and follows you into the car.

You talk his ear off on the way to his house, but he isn’t in the least bit annoyed. He’s engrossed. It’s all a type of flattery Ransom can hardly fathom: honest praise.

“I was miserably alone before you.”

He wouldn’t have pegged that based on how he saw you at all those events, but now that he considers how you’ve opened up about your frustrations and the exhaustion of being the center of attention, it makes sense. Ransom takes attention away from you. He loves that shit. He doesn’t even care if it’s negative attention. Hide behind his broad back and shine that spotlight on him; he’s game.

“You know what people you pay to be around you—people who want something from you don’t do? Argue. No one has a real conversation. No one has an opinion contradictory to yours. No one calls you out on your shit. It’s so…”

“Boring,” he whispers without thinking.

There’s a long pause until you continue softly.

“No one calls me out on my shit except you, only you.“ 

Your hand finds his. Though your skin is cold, he’s warmed by the touch. 

“So no, I don’t think my money will change anything. If money—mine or yours—were going to change you, it would have done it by now. I mean, sure, you could stand to be less of a dick sometimes, but you don’t have to. I already…”

Your voice trails off, and Ran knows. That’s just it. You love him and he’s a dick, the poor asshole who understands what the feeling is, the one who can’t say it, not on purpose, not yet. The tectonic shift in his life’s framework leaves him uneasy. As wonderful as you are, as perfect as this has been, he has to start over.

He has to build himself up from scratch. He’s been transplanted to an alien planet that he doesn’t have the means to make hospitable. Money was his means to everything. Money provided for him. Money protected him. Money separated him from others.

He never had space for two in his now-demolished castle of selfishness.

“I thought I’d be with someone so different from you,” you laugh without heart. “I’m…glad I was wrong.”

All he can manage is a squeeze of your hand.

“But Hugh, you’re proud of my success, not fucking threatened by it. You let me work, but you also know when I need a break and won’t take one. You’re devoted without being smothering because you have your own damn life, things you want to do. You aren’t intimidated by all this shit in my stupid world or the money. You don’t give a fuck what other people say.”

That’s true.

“You make me laugh,” you say quietly, and though he can’t see your face in the dark of the road leading to his neighborhood, he hears your smile. “You asshole.”

As he turns into the driveway, he glances over and winks. “I try my best, sweetheart.”

He watches that throwaway statement melt you, and then he realizes why.

Ransom trying to do absolutely fucking anything is a big fucking deal, and he has tried. He simply has no idea where to go from here.

He turns off the beamer and makes no move to get out.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Your hand releases his to glide up his arm and lace through his hair, lightly rubbing the base of his neck. “Help me,” you breathe.

“How the fuck would I help you?”

“Hugh,” you cock your head to the side, retracting both arms to brush your palms down the fabric of your (ruined) skirt, “you know damn well you’d like to control my whole wardrobe. You would do far better dressing me for all those functions than I do…and undressing me.”

He knows what you’re doing, but instead of smiling or laughing, he tightens his jaw and huffs. “Can I burn some of your—“ he does half air-quotes “—'wardrobe?'”

It’s so hideous. That one black dress you keep fucking wearing? No amount of dry cleaning will make that look new again. That’s getting flambéed.

You purse your lips. “Donate, but yes. I would consider that a huge help.”

“You’re serious.” Ran’s not sure whether he means it as a question or a statement.

“Yes. I am. Thank you for noticing.” You swivel to open the door. “Now, you can also help get my bag in while I use the restroom.”

The dance of readying for bed becomes you pointing out things you have now that you did not have before him. Taste being one of them, Ran thinks to himself. The important thing is he could say that to your face, but he’s strategically not pushing his luck tonight.

It’s true. Nearly every article of clothing and every toiletry now links back to his insistence that you have nice things that are for you, not just for life in general. You come before the rest of the world; you come before your work. That’s his gift. That’s what he’s good at, and you make it clear: you need him for that talent.

All of these nice things, all these reasons he seems good to you, and all this need for him have Ran feeling some sorta way when you crawl into his bed naked and reach to turn off the light.

He grabs your hand before you make it to the switch, forcing it back to the mattress, keeping you facedown. His heated breath and heavy body roll over you, teeth grazing your shoulder and moving slowly to your earlobe.

“You know what else I’m good for?”

His free hand slips between your thighs and finds what slick you couldn’t clean up. The knowledge that some of it is his cum still inside you makes Ran shudder. How would he ever have lived without this?

You sigh, your mouth falling open at the intrusion, and your eyelids flutter closed.

“Fuck,” you moan, high and quiet.

“That’s right, baby,” he hisses, mimicking your condescension from the car. Oh yeah, he’s gonna ruin more than that goddamn dress tonight.

He takes time to torture you with his fingers, his weight rendering you immobile. Ran sweeps falling hair out of your face with free reign to pepper open-mouthed kisses across the stretch of skin he’s claimed since that very first fuck.

You always knew what you wanted. He never thought you’d truly want him, certainly not for more than a day. After tonight, it’s inconceivable you want him still, yet here you are, burying your face in the sheets to muffle little cries as he humps your ass cheek to get harder and harder.

Good god, why do you want him? He fucked around, he yelled at you, he called you horrible names, he left you for weeks at a time in a foreign country alone, and yet you are here.

Then your words spring to mind. He argues with you. He has opinions. He makes you laugh. He treats you like the independent person you are. He treats you like your money doesn’t matter.

Because it didn’t to him.

Ransom realizes now that you treat him as if his money didn’t matter because it doesn’t to you. Nothing changed when you knew he wouldn’t have it anymore. Not a single thing. Somewhere over the last months, Harlan told you his plan, and the only perceptible difference to Ran was you falling in love with him.

Because you love him. He is so grateful he’s almost angry. You could do better. He can give you better.

By the time you come on Ran’s fingers, he’s completely feral thinking about all those little ways you showed your feelings, all the ways you showed him kind touch is not weakness. You also showed him that touch doesn’t have to be weak to be kind. He can be rough with his feelings for you, intense as they are. He can sink his cock into you, practically screaming that he loves you, too, but the words aren’t spoken.

He presses a thick forearm across your back to keep you pinned. He spreads his legs to widen yours. He thrusts in possessive and messy movements. No words escape. His range of motion is limited this way, but he gets all of your glorious noises. They’ve become his favorite sleep track. It’s hard for him to rest without hearing your happy, panicked pleasure beforehand.

You make desperate fists in the sheets and arch your ass up higher. He sees the unnatural strain in your body, all for him, all so he can have just that fucking tiny bit more of you.

He can’t stay in this position forever though. You’ll never come again like this, and he wants to see your face. The car was dark, but the lamp is still on. He can watch you fall apart with him deep inside.

“Turn,” he orders, enjoying how dazed and shaky you are as you struggle to control your muscles.

You’re a sight. Erratic breaths hardly settle your gasps. Pliable and ruined. Torn to whimpering pieces and stitched back together only to be split apart again.

He drinks in his handiwork, climbing slowly between your legs, delicately helping to cross your heels at his ass, and sinking back into your heat slowly, so slowly, like your teasing in the car.

“Hugh,” you mutter, and fuck, he has never heard you beg.

Ransom has always loved sex, but this is different. He meets your glazed eyes with floundering blue depths and wonders why he can’t just enjoy it as basic sex anymore.

He’s always loved money, too, and although he doesn’t want to take it from you, Ran feels the weight of your charity. Money was his sun, his whole world, but it was not enough. You provide more, warmth that lets him spread out in contentment, light that keeps him from withering.

Money doesn’t need his love; it’s indifferent.

You, on the other hand, you are fucking radiant, glowing and hot with his arm tucked beneath your shoulders to grab at your hairline. He makes you look at him. Your fingernails scratch at his back while your hips grind together.

“So beautiful,” he rumbles, nose almost touching yours. “Come on, sweetheart—“ Ran drops to lave kisses down your bared throat “—one more for me.”

This time, you have no words, only grunting uh and hng as he speeds up. Your noises get higher. Ran gets rougher, a brutal rhythm for a brutal realization.

He can’t hold back when he sees you like this; he’s gonna say it.

He gets close, so very close to breaking, but you fall first.

“Please—ah.”

You fucking writhe beneath him, your whole body spasming like your silky pussy ripples over the sensitive skin of his cock.

“That’s it,” he coos in your ear. “That’s right. Good girl.”

He has to chance meeting your eyes because he wants to see you unravel again. Ran always does whatever he wants.

He slows his hips to intermittent thrusts that sizzle your nerves over and over, pulling his arm out from under you to lift your chin. You’re open for him in every sense of the word, and he is fucked in every possible way.

He’s an amoeba of a man staring evolution in the face.

You’re his. It’s clear in the light that he owns you. He’s earned you, or at least, he’s trying to. That’s a big deal for Ransom Drysdale.

Quivering, your mouth hanging open, his thumb rolling over your swollen bottom lip, he gets one word.

“Daddy.”

Barely a whisper, partly a question, but mostly an invitation. He slides his thumb up into your mouth, only letting you suck on it for a moment before it drags out.

Ran never thought you’d ever say that. He never imagined you’d beg either. You’ve always known what you want and taken it. You have never needed anything from him.

“Please,” you say again, holding your mouth wider still.

Shit. He throbs at the prospect, and he’s too far gone to deny you this. He plants one small peck on your jaw before pulling out and clambering over your hips and chest.

“Ah fuck,” he moans when you suck on one of his balls, stroking him with a smooth and firm grip. “Love y—love your mouth…so much.”

Ran leans against his headboard, hand clamped over his trap in a desperate attempt not to blabber, but you continue. You’re in tune with when he’s ready, when you’ve taken the teasing far enough and he needs to come. His hips stutter to shove himself just a little farther down your throat. He collects his wits only enough not to choke you, muffling a cry.

You’re gentle with him as he loses his absolute shit trying to keep it together, thighs shaking, breath hindered, biting the fuck out of his hand.

“Sorry, I…” he tries.

“I…I—“ he tries again.

He just can’t fucking do it.

Ran digs his palms so hard into his eyes he sees stars. His chest is tight like it’ll explode any second. The relief of orgasm has evaporated instantly, and he just really fucking can’t.

“Hey, hey,” you soothe, shifting up onto your kneels behind him, “it’s okay.” Your warm arms encircle his chest, over one shoulder and under the other, and you pull his own pliable and ruined body toward you.

He collapses back on his heels, leaning against you.

“Hugh, it’s alright.” Your whisper makes his eyes sting. “I know.”

Ran raises his arms to hold your wrists. His head drops to kiss the back of your hand. He still stays silent.

“I know…”

Your bare legs stretch across his lap, and Ransom lets the hand warmed by his mug grasp your ankle gently. You’re off in your own mind, staring out the window of his living room, worrying your bottom lip. He watches while you don’t notice.

Ran never particularly liked the unknown, and after Harlan’s shit last night, he’s off surprises for a fucking lifetime. This, however, this with you, sitting in comfortable quiet, makes him feel perfectly at ease with an unsure future.

For someone so fascinating to him, you’re so normal.

Sure, you’re beauty trumps the view outside, you’re dedicated to your work, and you’re smart enough to run circles around anyone, but…

You’re just you, sitting with a hot drink on his couch in the morning, wearing one of his sweaters again. Could be a sixty-dollar sweater from a thrift shop—or six cents for all Ran knows about secondhand sales—or the six-hundred-dollar one that he stoopidly bought three weeks ago; it doesn’t matter to you. The only thing that matters to him now is who wears it. That garment means nothing without you in it.

You sip at your tea, and he follows, staring at you staring at the world.

You two spoke more about it last night in the dark about everything but that one little phrase that’s eating him alive, a tangled mess of yourselves and the sheets. Nothing has to change except where the money comes from. Ran gets what he’s wanted all along: control over your wardrobe and, essentially, your entire presentation to that world you’re staring out into. He is not, however, permitted to burn your favorite Little Black Dress, but for fuck’s sake he’ll get all of its seams checked and the damn thing refitted. He’s hoping if he makes enough fuss, you’ll choose to toss it just to shut him up.

Fucking rules. Ran hates rules. If you kept standards on par with your New Money maybe he’d follow your rules. He’ll get you in the good stuff: the good house with good furniture, the good clothing with good lingerie beneath, right down to the good wash and lotion.

You can keep your perfume. He likes your perfume.

Yes, he’ll get you into what he wants, when he wants, where he wants, and all that implies. Ransom always gets what he wants…because you let him.

It’s remarkable what you let him fucking do, too.

He slides his hand from your ankle to your knee, knocking you out of your reverie just in time for his phone to buzz.

He holds your legs to him while sneaking a glance at the screen. Linda. Fuck no, he’s not answering that. It’s not Sunday and he’s not ditching anything. Fucking wait. Fucking choke for all he cares.

Ran instead sets his nearly empty mug down beside your two phones on the coffee table and curls up in your corner of couch. You open your arms to tuck him into your chest, and sure, it’s cutesy and gross in a way that should make Ran want to gag, but who fucking cares when he’s this comfortable. He plants a kiss right on your nipple through the knit for fun, feeling you shiver, then listens to your heart.

His phone vibrates again, dancing closer to the stoneware he just put down.

His mother’s persistence is as admirable as it is annoying. Predictably, Ran’s bored by her usual shit and ignores it again.

Instead of pushing up his sweater to wrap an arm around your waist though, he shoves his now chilly fingers between your hot thighs and sighs. His ear rings with the airy sound of your laugh through flesh.

Then your phone dings, and he just fucking knows it’s her. His groaned protest goes unheeded as you swap your mug for the device and bring it to you.

Ran snorts, and you smooth your free hand over his hair.

“Hello—“ there are harsh but restrained mumbles but he can’t make out the words “—Linda, why on Earth would I be with a man the night he yelled at me like that?”

Because you love him, Ran thinks, but he hears garbled disappointment from the other end.

“And after how your brother and his wife acted—” more rushed excuses “—I don’t have time to go around looking for your adult baby. I have work to do and a plane to catch.” There’s obvious desperation in Linda’s tone, but you don’t care. “Goodbye.”

You let your phone drop to the rug, carding fingers through his hair before finishing with little scratches. Your nonchalance is still pure honesty. You wouldn’t waste time on him, not if you didn’t want him, and you did not let him speak to you that way for more than three sentences because you knew exactly how to shut him up.

“Vicious little bitch,” you mutter.

And…in all your perfect, honest, niceness, you called his mother a bitch—not to her face but you’ll get there, Ran’s sure.

He fucking loves you. He is really so fucking in love with you that it’s fucking gross. He’s disgusted and doesn’t fucking care.

After a big sigh, your hand finds his between your legs and moves it to cup your sex. “Where were we?”

Ransom shifts up over you at the same time as you slide beneath him on the buttery leather cushions. His wildly true and blue eyes meet yours with stern sincerity.

He’s looking at everything he ever wanted, and it’s not money. There are all sorts of things he can use to survive, loads of things he can replace, an infinite amount to take, but only one you, only one complete package. Not a thing. Not replaceable. Finite. Earned. New. Fascinating. Teasing. Messy. Sexy. A total hardass badass with a great ass.

Ran lays his hand heavier on that thin layer of silk, possession laced in the caress, and the words just flow right out.

“Marry me.”

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

Oh my god, gang, I can't believe I fucking did it. Truly, this fic has been one of the craziest things I've ever attempted, and honestly, I'm so damn proud. I'm proud that I wrote it, I'm proud that it's over, and I'm proud of whatever reception it gets. I murdered my soul for this and am delighted. Thank you all so much for reading!

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#hugh ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale fanfiction #the root of all ransom #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale smut #ransom smut #ransom x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale angst #ransom drysdale fic #ransom drysdale fluff

[azulera]

Rashy noticing that's something has been wrong with you for the last few weeks and you just won't tell him and he's stressing trying to figure it out

azulera

Don’t Leave Me Alone

Pairing: Marcus Rashford x Black Reader

Words: 3.5k

Notes: ngl recent events have made me not even want to post but i already had this done and as i said, i do value that ppl like my writing enough to send requests. so here is this! hope u like it anon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They'd picked the summer time to move in, late May to be exact, and Marcus was sure it was the smartest decision he’d ever been a part of. The prem season was ended, Y/N was out for the semester, they both had at least five weeks free to travel and relax, and there’d be no cold for the mover’s fingers to go blue in. The transporting itself had gone smoothly, each of her things finding its place in the huge expanse of his house, and the past month and a half of eating, sleeping and waking next to each other had been as nearest to perfect as Marcus thought life might get. So he couldn’t explain what, in the last seven days, could have possibly gone wrong.

“Is everythin alright, love?” He asked over the dinner table, which was sanded wood and brought over from Y/N’s apartment, much smaller than the one he’d used before.

She looked up from her plate and blinked. “Do you mean about dinner? I think I finally got the potatoes right this time, yeah.”

“No, not the food.” The side of his mouth lifted. “You’ve just seemed a bit down, this week, I don’t know. Just wanted to ask, see if there was anythin buggin you?”

“Oh,” She passed a hand over her hair. “Just tired, I guess. It was a rough semester.”

“Yeah, it was – you smashed it, though. But,” He paused until she looked at him, and was immediately taken by her brown eyes, which, unreadable as they were, he’d always found incredibly beautiful. “If anything’s wrong, you can tell me. I’d want to help.”

“Mhm.” She replied, and flitted her eyes away, pushing up from the table. “Let’s clean up?”

He nodded, though he wasn’t convinced, and stood up to take their few dishes to the kitchen. They rinsed and loaded in a silence not as comfortable as it ought to have been, and soon finished, Y/N pausing in front of the rumbling machine. From behind, Marcus pulled her into an embrace, fitting his hands around her waist and mumbling into her neck.

“Wanna come cuddle wi’me for a bit? We can watch the next Narcos.”

He felt her take a deep breath, and then lightly pat the hand that held her.

“I’ve got a little headache, actually. Think m’gonna lay down for the night.”

Marcus frowned. “You want me to watch the next episode? Without you?”

“Yeah, go ahead – I’ll get caught up when you’re on your trip next week. I’d just really like to lay down.”

Fatigue colored her voice, and Marcus felt a little more sure that she really was just under the weather, and not anything worse.

“D’you want me to bring you tea? Water? Medicine?”

She shook her head “no”, and turned around, another sigh hitting the fabric of his t-shirt.

“S’alright, then. Hope you get feeling better, babe.” He leaned in, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then two to the dark spirals of her hair. “I’ll be up in a bit. I love you.”

A near silent “thank you” left her lips, and she squeezed his hand once. And then Marcus was left in the kitchen alone.

~~

After a mild pre-season session the next day, Marcus skipped showering to go straight to his car. When he’d seen her that morning, Y/N had still seemed poorly – she hadn’t left bed for tea and breakfast with him, and no silly texts or memes had come into his phone, the way they usually did during his long hours of training. Leaving now, he'd felt a strange, strong urge to get to her, like the sooner he did, the sooner things would go back to normal.

When he keyed into the house, however, her usual lounging spot – in the center of the living room sectional – was empty. As were the kitchen, bedroom, gym and laundry room that he walked to after. He found her instead on the back patio, cuddled into herself on the sunbed, with her curls spread wild and loose about her shoulders. A book was opened up and settled on her knees, and a pile of crumpled tissues sat just to her right.

“Hey, was lookin for you.”

The jitters that assailed him finally began to slow as he approached her, but didn’t fade completely.

“What’s all these for? You wasn’t crying, were you?”

“No, no, not really. It’s just this book. It’s pretty sad.” She tried to laugh at herself, but the sound came out wet and dull. “Or maybe I’m just dramatic.”

A range of emotions swept over him as he considered her pink, puffy eyes, the way she still wouldn’t hold his gaze for too long. His anxiety flared again, but he continued on with the plan he’d devised in the car, hopeful that it might still work.

“Well, I’m just about to run a bath, didn’t have time to shower after training. It could cheer you up, maybe. Did you wanna join me?”

It’s something special they do, just for them, a quiet and closeness involved that Marcus enjoyed far more than he’d ever said aloud. He hoped it would be enough to break through the wall he felt sprouting between them.

“But you’re all sweaty.” She said flatly.

He sucked his teeth, and sat alongside her on the thin mattress.

“That never stopped you before? When we were squeezed up in the one at your flat.”

“Right.” Her face fell, suddenly, as if she’d remembered something unpleasant. “But I’ve already showered, actually, a bit ago. Went out for a run.”

“That never stopped you before, either” Marcus wanted to say but didn’t, and focused instead on fixing his face to not reveal his disappointment.

“Okay.” He stalled a moment, weighing his next move. “Babe, are you sure everything is okay with you? M’a bit worried–”

“It’s fine, Marcus. It’s going to be fine, just …” She closed her eyes, and they glistened when they opened, focused seriously on his own. “I’m fine. Just stop pushing it, please.”

She gathered her book and trash and walked back into the house, which hurt him, but her last sentences hurt worse. If he wasn't meant to push, then what could he do? Sitting back and watching her pull further and further away from him was tortuous and seemed the opposite of what a good partner should do. Still, he nodded, even though she had already gone, and let his head fall into his hands.

A few hours later, in the bath, the jacuzzi jets going but alone, nothing was as it should have been. Already he missed the slide of her wet skin against his, how the brown of it went faintly pink the hotter she ran the water, which was scalding enough by Marcus’ standards. Now it felt lukewarm at best, the bubbles even less fluorescent, less bubbly than usual, without her there to scoop handfuls of them to paste on his face and chest, making herself giggle and cleaning their bodies in the process. He missed that, too, he realized, her body – it’s softness and strength, and how easily it yielded and came alive under his hands, but more concerning was her mind, which was somewhere outside its optimal state, and seemingly getting worse by the day.

He leaned his head back against the tub’s edge and sighed. It was a soft sound, quickly lost among the hum of the jets and the noise of his muscles singing and thanking him, but then he heard something else. Crying. Quiet, choked-off sobs from the other side of the en suite door, that he knew Y/N was trying to hide, but didn’t know why. The sound alone carved a hole deeper in his chest.

Before he realized it, he’d risen from the bath, shampoo still in his hair, and pushed open the door to their bedroom.

Squinting through the dark, Marcus could tell she was in the bed, asleep, or at least pretending to be. He debated whether or not to wake her – his every instinct begged him to, but the noise of tears had stopped, and he’d been specifically, harshly instructed not to “push”.

He waited several moments anyway, eyeing her sleeping form, burning up inside, but when she didn’t budge, he stepped back into the bathroom, mindful of the growing puddle he’d created on the carpet.

Under the shower head, he rinsed his hair and dried off, putting on his lotion and moisturizer in record time, all the while his mind racing, trying to settle the unease twisting up his chest and throat. When he got to the bedroom, he set his alarm and settled in under the covers behind her, as close as he dared.

Though her breaths came and went evenly, something in him, maybe something of his own creation, told him she was awake, that she could hear him. He felt free to unburden himself, and say what he wanted her to know.

“M’here for you, Y/N.” He used one arm to hold her against his chest, and the other to fix her hair scarf where it had ridden up in the back. “Hope you know that. Whatever it is, we can … fix it, talk about it, at least, together. Love you ... don’t wanna lose you.”

He knew the words were true, and could feel their sincerity aching somewhere deep in his bones. But he feared he was running out of ways to make sure Y/N believed it, too.

~~

By the following day, Marcus decided “not pushing” was no longer a viable option. Y/N was gone from bed even before him, and he turned to his night-table to find a message saying she’d gone out for an early run again and to get coffee. It wasn’t a strange occurrence on its own, but the way the last few days had gone, weeks really, this latest change to their patterns was enough to set him on a nervous edge. All through the day, his head was gone, drifting and distracted while training, and his thoughts sprinting to the worst - Y/N wanted to move out, she wanted to break up with him – in any moment he had idle.

But when his third check-in text sent from the rain-wet bed of the physio suite went unanswered, as did the two facetime call requests, it became slightly harder for him to breathe. The PT scrunched his face, but Marcus didn’t explain, wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak if he tried, and he’d been forced through two rounds of deep breathing before he’d let him off the table.

As soon as the gaffer released them, Marcus raced home through the rain that had begun to pour, calling one more time to no avail, but trying to stay rational. He imagined her sat in her spot on the big sofa in the sitting room when he arrived, apologetic and with some perfectly logical story of what had kept her from her phone all day, and what had depressed her mood the past few weeks.

He opened the front door, however, to silence, and her car keys still gone. His stomach dropped, and an icy, despairing prickle crawled over his skin. Was he overreacting? Or should he have pushed more?

Somehow he knew the rest of the house and even the back porch would be empty, just as silent, and found himself climbing the stairs anyway. His legs stopped by the room he used as his office, and he threw himself into the desk chair. He felt more calm, serious in there, for some reason, and composed himself enough to check her location, which was inconclusive, and click her contact another time. It went to voicemail once again, and he cursed, pulling at his hair.

After one heavy, frantic beat, he picked up the phone again to dial the only other number that would be useful at a time like this. The call picked up on the second ring.

“Mum?”

~~

Marcus’ car had been in the driveway when you pulled up, but when you stepped into his house – your house, now – there wasn’t any trace of him. Late afternoon training usually left him in the kitchen or theater room, scarfing down whatever meals his nutritionist prepared before conking out in his-your bed for a few hours until dinner.

You checked your phone, which had been dead up until the last five minutes when you’d connected it to the car charger, and realized it was closer to dinner time than you’d thought.

Dropping off your raincoat and bag, you went in search of him. The blaring missed calls and texts deserved a response, as hard as it would be to face him in person. You didn’t want him to worry any more than he already did, even though you felt there was little, if anything, he could do.

“Marcus?” You called up the stairs, but there was only your footsteps, the patter of rain, in answer.

You began climbing anyway, sure the sounds of the house would lead you to him, and eventually heard his voice, muffled through the closed door of his office. You stopped, and leaned against the wall to listen.

“She won’t talk to me, mum, she won’t, I’ve tried everythin. She’s not physically hurt, no, but something is wrong. I know that much. It’s like she don’t even want to be around me.”

There was a pause, and an ache began in your chest. The distress in your partner’s voice was palpable.

“But I’ve gave her space. And I’ve even asked her up front what’s wrong, and still nothin. I'm leavin for my trip in a few days, and I won’t be able to fix anythin from there. Reckon she might even be gone by then.”

Each second you listened, you fell further and further into the mire of guilt, and it seemed impossible to get out. Some external force, whose name or origin you didn’t know, forced your hand onto the knob and pushed into the room.

You met his eyes, cautious, but found nothing but relief, unshed tears in them.

“Y/N. Baby.” His voice cracked around the words, and he flew to your side of the room, crushing you to his body, burying his face in your damp hair.

“Are you hurt? Are you okay? Where were you?”

You tried, but couldn't speak around the lump in your throat. All you wanted was for him to hold you again, and to apologize for everything.

“Y/N. You’ve gotta talk to me, please. M’goin mad here, I’ve been goin mad–”

“I’m okay, Marcus. I’m not hurt.” You squeezed at his hands, trying to loosen their tight grip around your back and also trying to ground him. “Went for my run and coffee like I said, and then around to visit my mates at my old flat. My phone died, and I didn’t realize. I should’ve known you would worry.”

He looked back at you with wide eyes still, nodding slow like it was taking serious effort to comprehend the words leaving your mouth.

“I’m okay, baby. I promise.”

When he finally spoke, his voice was gravelly, but much quieter, and none of the terror gone from it.

“Y/N, look, know you asked me not to push, but I can't just do nothin while–”

“Wait, Marcus – can we sit and do this? Please. And you’ve gotta get out of this jacket, babe, it’s soaked. You’ll catch a cold.”

The familiar sound of your fussing seemed to center him further, and he slid the jacket off, settling stiffly on the futon along the opposite wall. His legs were spread wide, and he raised his hands to his knees, fingers digging into them.

Hesitantly, you followed, standing between his legs, watching his eyes, which you’d missed, and his lips, which you’d possibly missed even more. You paused before lowering yourself onto his knee.

“Is this okay?”

“‘Course” He breathed out, pulling you the rest of the way down and rubbing his hands gently up and down your back. It was the first moment you’d felt at ease in the last two weeks, and you took the time to just hug him, wiping at a drop of water puddled along his hairline. Gradually, everything that had been pent-up seemed much easier to face.

“I’ve been real distant the past weeks, haven’t I.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s cause I’ve been confused.”

“Confused about what?”

The intensity of his eyes suddenly became too much, and you pressed your cheek against his shoulder. You made sure your voice still reached him clear.

“Confused about my feelings. About us, about us living together.”

His stomach had gone cold with dread again, but you took the silence as a license to continue. You knew he would stop you if and when he’d heard enough.

“It’s been great, it really has, Marcus. You’re my favorite person to be around – you know that.” His insides smiled at the mention, since the past week had convinced him of the opposite. Still, his expression remained the same.

“And you seemed so happy, having me here. But sometimes, lately, it got — I don’t know, overwhelming? Like, I had my friends in my last flat with me, and it feels like I spend so much time here alone. When you’re here, I don’t feel like that, but that don't feel fair to you either.”

He bit his lip. “I don’t understand.”

“I know, it’s confusing, but it’s like, I’m used to my roommates, us all together, a lot of noise – even when you’re alone you’re not really alone. So whenever you get here, I want to recreate that, spend every second with you, if I can. Didn’t want you to think I was clinging, though? ‘Cause I know how that feels, too.” You paused to take a breath, and Marcus rubbed your back, silent encouragement to continue.

“Thought you should be able to come home and spend your time on your own, too, if that’s what you wanted. So I was moping, but trying to give you that, for a while. Thought that if I could give you some space until your trip next week, I’d be okay. I could use that week to get myself together, stop being ungrateful. ‘Cause I am so lucky, aren’t I? To be able to live with this person I love so much. But I guess I only made it worse.”

“So it’s findin a balance, then, that was hard. Findin ... where you and I, personal time ends, and where “us” time begins.” Marcus summarized.

There was an unspoken “Why didn’t you just say so?” at the back of his statement that your partner was too kind and too patient to say. But you deserved it, so you said it yourself.

“Exactly. But I should have told you that it was eating me up. Not tried to isolate myself, or shut you out. And I’m sorry, about that. ”

Marcus let the apology ring out, and laced the fingers of one of your hands together, a quiet absolution. You felt lighter, now, after having spoken your piece, but knew that didn’t mean the conservation was over.

“Don’t think I need to say I forgive you, because,” He leaned his chin into his palm thoughtfully, before looking up at you. “Because I really get it, you know. I do. I understand that you need your own space, to feel like your own person still. And also that I’m gone, and it’s just you here, a lot, which is new for you. I get that it’s overwhelming, that findin the balance bit. But– I’ve never done this, moved in with someone before, either, have I? It’s excitin, but it’s a lot of other emotions, too. You can’t assume how m’feeling, or how I want to spend my time, just like I can’t read your mind about what's got you upset, innit?”

He paused.

“And it’s like, we’ve gotta figure it out together, don’t we?”

You nodded.

“So when -if, you’re feelin like that again, you’ll tell me? Even if you think it’ll hurt my feelings, or whatever. And if you need to go spend extra time with your mates to feel alright, we’ll sort it. And I’ll do the same. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

"You promise?"

You promised, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and chin against his head. With the most difficult part of the conversation over, your senses opened up enough beyond Marcus to notice that the sound of rain outside had ceased. The wet, grassy smell of his training kit finally entered your nose, and your good humor began to stretch its legs.

“So I don’t need to go pack my things?” You mumbled into his shoulder.

“No.” Marcus snorted. “Not unless you changed your mind the last 15 seconds.”

“Nah, I reckon I’ll stay. I'd miss the jacuzzi tub too much.” You sighed. “Saying no to that bath with you was the hardest thing I ever done.”

Marcus chuckled, enough air in his chest to do so now, and kissed you lightly on the lips.

“Fancy one now?” He repeated, and your “please” was fast and enthusiastic. He scooped you in his arms, and you held tight to him, murmuring quiet “I love you”s and knowing as you walked through the house –your house– that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

#marcus rashford x oc #marcus rashford x reader #marcus rashford x you #marcus rashford fanfiction #marcus rashford imagine #footballer x you #footballer x reader #football imagine #football fanfic

[marichive]

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 : 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

Writing / roleplay prompts collected from the POV chapters of Daenerys Targaryen in A Clash of Kings , the second book of the ASOIAF saga. Feel free to adjust pronouns / etc. as needed.

tw: dark & mature themes, death, violence, suggestive / sexual content

❝ Every man who sees them will want them. ❞

❝ No man may take them from me while I live. ❞

❝ They are not strong, so I must be their strength. ❞

❝ I must show no fear, no weakness, no doubt. ❞

❝ However frightened my heart, when they look upon my face, they must see only their queen. ❞

❝ I would name them for all the gods have taken. ❞

❝ Perhaps we are doomed if we press on, but I know for a certainty that we are doomed if we turn back. ❞

❝ I must be strong for him as well. ❞

❝ Do you know what this place might be? ❞

❝ When the gods are gone, the evil ghosts feast by night. Such places are best shunned. ❞

❝ Perhaps I should do the same to remind them that his strength lives within me now. ❞

❝ If I had wings, I would want to fly, too. ❞

❝ We should rest here until we are stronger. ❞

❝ There are ghosts everywhere. We carry them with us wherever we go. ❞

❝ It pains him to speak of her. ❞

❝ Was she beautiful? ❞

❝ I thought she was a goddess come to earth. ❞

❝ I did things it shames me to speak of. ❞

❝ He wants me. ❞

❝ He can never have me. ❞

❝ Seek no more. You have found them. ❞

❝ If you see anything here that you would desire, you have only to speak and it is yours. ❞

❝ Come with me and you shall drink of truth and wisdom. ❞

❝ The young queen is wise beyond her years. ❞

❝ The crow calls the raven black. ❞

❝ They shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world. ❞

❝ When they see, they shall lust. ❞

❝ Dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power. ❞

❝ She speaks truly, though I like her no more than the others. ❞

❝ My place is here at your side. ❞

❝ Only you can serve me in this. ❞

❝ I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by. ❞

❝ He will kill you, sure as sunrise. ❞

❝ He was a traitor to his true king. ❞

❝ Let the whole world know my purpose. ❞

❝ I am not the frightened girl you met once. ❞

❝ Dragons die, but so do dragonslayers. ❞

❝ I see a deep sadness written upon your face. ❞

❝ They listened, but they did not hear or care. ❞

❝ Tell me what they said to sadden the queen of my heart. ❞

❝ They said it with great courtesy, to be sure, but under all the lovely words, it was still no. ❞

❝ He distrusts everyone, and perhaps for good reason. ❞

❝ Will nothing turn you from this madness? ❞

❝ I have given you my home and heart, do they mean nothing to you? ❞

❝ He asked me to marry him again. ❞

❝ I am afraid, but I must be brave. ❞

❝ Heed the wisdom of those who love you best. ❞

❝ Warlocks are bitter creatures who eat dust and drink of shadows. ❞

❝ Let me walk with you in this dark place, to keep you safe from harm. ❞

❝ Take my arm and let me lead you. ❞

❝ If you value your soul, take care and do just as I tell you. ❞

❝ Our little lives are no more than the flicker of a moth's wing to them. ❞

❝ Listen well, and write each word upon your heart. ❞

❝ I am in the presence of sorcery. ❞

❝ Little princess, there you are. ❞

❝ Come to me, my lady. ❞

❝ You're home now. You're safe now. ❞

❝ Let him be the king of ashes. ❞

❝ The dragon has three heads. ❞

❝ Long have we awaited you. ❞

❝ The docks are no place for lady's finery. ❞

❝ They know who I am, and they do not love me. ❞

❝ You need not go alone. ❞

❝ You have seen dark visions. ❞

❝ I have dreamed brighter dreams. I see you happily abed, with our child at your breast. ❞

❝ I will not wed you. ❞

❝ But where am I to go? ❞

❝ You need only say that one sweet word. ❞

❝ Men have looked at women since time began. ❞

❝ Worms have crawled up your nose and eaten your wits. ❞

❝ Only fools would stare so openly if they meant me harm. ❞

❝ Pay him before he kills himself. ❞

❝ Did I break your hand? ❞

❝ Put down your steel! ❞

❝ Who is it that I owe my life to? ❞

❝ You owe me nothing. ❞

❝ I let each man cut me once before I kill him. ❞

❝ You will accord all respect to my people, or you will leave my service sooner than you'd wish, and with more scars than when you came. ❞

❝ He would have you. ❞

❝ I want every man who sees them to know the dragons have returned. ❞

#rp memes #rp prompts #roleplay prompts #roleplay memes #rp prompt #inbox memes #[memes ; mine] #[memes ; for muse] #[memes ; general] #[memes ; sentence]

[ridedatbull]

Research into those statues I’ve been finding is slow. Mostly because making sure Major(Tauros) is comfortable and taken care of while he heals is my biggest priority right now, but at the very least I have been able to locate that old picture book of the Old Gods of Johto. It’s just a thing for kids, but it’s real history and part of our heritage that usually gets brushed off because Ho-oh, Lugia and Celebi have been much more present much more recently

The gist of it is that, every species of Pokémon has their own deity that represents certain aspects of the world. Yes I do mean one for every Pokémon, so there are literally hundreds of them. Some with some pretty hyper specific domains, and several of which blend together sometimes. While all of these guys are powerful in their way, Ho-oh and Lugia still reign supreme over all of them as Lord and Lady (though the genderedness of those titles is a matter of hot debate these days) and Celebi is pretty much a free agent that does what they like

Of those hundreds of sub deities, twelve (or thirteen depending on who you ask) are the most important of all, and were given special honors by mankind. Shrines, holidays, their own hymns, the whole package. Over time, every single one of these gods just sort of faded away into obscurity. Some due to time, some due to shifting values, but most gods and their shrines were lost and destroyed due to constant war with our neighbors in Kanto. Nowadays, they’re only remembered as children’s fairy tales.

But the staues I’ve been seeing are more than that. And I’ve found more information on those three.

The Arcanine was the first I saw, and was actually being dug up by an archaeology team near the Ruins of Alph. This picture is from my book and I’ll put the passage about it here too:

“Of the old gods of Johto, Arcanine was loved and respected to level that almost rivaled Ho-oh and Lugia. The Arcanine god was very fond of humanity, adoring their works of art, their creative foods, their beautiful music and resilient hearts. Every chance they got, the Arcanine deity, and their child Growlithe would give aid to the growing people of Johto. The love of these gods was so great, that all mortal Growlithe and Arcanine share that same love for humans naturally, even to this day. It is still unknown why these powerful and majestic gods have not been seen in so long, but surely parting from the humans they so loved was deeply painful for Arcanine.”

It’s a bit of a sad story, but seeing the love I get every day from both of my own Growlithe does make me believe that something in the heavens loves us too. Why else would we get to be with these amazing creatures we call Pokémon?

The second statue was in the Ilex Forest all alone. Somehow though, it was perfectly clean, and I can only guess as to why. The god it belongs to is much more unassuming at first.

“Rattata may seem like an odd choice for a high pantheon of gods, but the ancient Johtoans held the humble creature on a surprisingly high pedestal. Small and humble they are, but they are mighty in their way. Just as Johto is in times of hardship and war. Unlike their neighbors, Johto has few natural deposits of iron, at least ones that are not habitats for territorial, burrowing Steel types. Therefore, many weapons of ancient Johto were forged with Rattata teeth to bolster the strength of what little iron they had. This served two purposes: genuinely strengthening forged blades as a primitive form of steel, and to channel the spirits of the persistent and underestimated power of the humble and the common. For this reason, the Rattata god is often portrayed wielding a sword many times its size.”

Maybe because they were more popular during times of war, Rattata’s shrines were targeted much more fiercely. It does explain why traditional smiths here sometimes keep Rattata teeth somewhere on display.

Now the third statue… if you know me even a little bit, you’ll understand why this one is important.

“When one imagines strength, it is difficult not to picture a Tauros. They are famed for it with good reason. Likewise, the Tauros god is one that is turned to when great strength is needed for some task or feat. Unrestrained, determined, and a champion among the Gods of Johto, Tauros represents the celebration of strength and survival. In the dead of winter, they send their blessings to those struggling to make it through the season, promising that if they are steadfast, they will live to see the next spring. Strangely, every depiction of this deity is different from both Kanto and Paldean varieties of Tauros, with longer horns and tails, brighter forehead studs and thicker manes. Some theorize that these depictions are all that drama in of a now extinct breed of Tauros.”

Well we were definitely struggling in the blinding snow trying to get home for the holidays, and Major responded to something about the statue of this god in a hidden cave that inspired him to lead us there to safety. That can’t just be a coincidence. I’m going to try to learn more when I can.

#pokemon #unreality #pokeblogging #oc lore #lore dump #okami

[aetheternity]

If you’re making a butchered character roundup, Venti needs to be at the top. The fandom takes this deeply traumatized kind playful and free-spirited god who loves his lost friend, his nation and his people, and has saved Mondstadt from Decarabian, Durin, Ursa the Drake, The Lawrence clan, and Stormterror- to “ehe useless drunkard who can’t take anything seriously” And they call Barbara dense 🙄

Everyone on my page knows Venti is my baby but I'll be honest if I really talked about how badly the fandom treats him I'd never shut up. You can always tell the difference between Venti stans and fanon Venti stans.

Also Also I'm gonna say it: Venti being an alcoholic really isn't funny. I don't really like how it's handled in game and I don't like how the fandom acts like it's so tee hee funny funny. Like no he's drinking his feelings whenever he has the mora to do so or whenever he can sneak a glass. Poor baby stays smiling and I just wonder how many nights he's spent sobbing his eyes out with a bottle in hand because constantly being the happy go lucky person can not possibly stay when he's truly alone with his thoughts.

And another thing about his lost friend the only time I ever see anyone bring him up is to debate that he was fifteen. God forbid we talk about how deeply pained and how influential this beautiful person must have been to Venti for him to recreate his body exactly and then live the rest of his life making sure people never forget this person who he loved with all of his heart. But yeah sure let's start another stupid age debate that holds zero water because Venti is his own person no matter if he recreated his friends body or not.

And I find it extremely uncomfortable how the fandom seems to think he just took over his friends dead corpse and has been animating the thing for who even knows how long. Like do they realize how fucked up that is??

Not to mention the blatant disregard for Venti's incredibly soft heart. He saved Traveler's life despite knowing nothing about them outside of they stole anemo power from the seven and then disrupted his talk with Dvalin. He freed Stanley from the turmoil of carrying his friends soul along with him everywhere. He gave Dvalin, Mondstadt and Vanessa freedom, He created an entire city for his people to populate in, He calls his people his children. He's honestly the sweetest guy and anyone would be so lucky to have a Venti in their life.

People never talk about all of the good the archons have done for their nations and themselves outside of Nahida and it makes my blood boil. It's always "they didn't tell Traveler about their sibling!" Like it does actually make perfect sense that Nahida is the only one with actual information you dumbasses!! Nahida has a link to what is basically Teyvat's database! What do the other archons have their own SIGHT. Venti was probably asleep when the sibling came through his nation, I have no idea what Zhongli might have been doing and Ei wasn't even paying attention to her goddammed nation! She had a puppet running the show.

Let me stop ranting because I'm already starting to shake again. I just wish this fandom didn't look at everything at face value. I want more people to see the Venti that me and other Venti stans have fallen in love with. He deserves so much. Like most people don't even fully understand why Venti doesn't run his nation even though he EXPLAINS IT TO THE TRAVELER IN GAME.

Ugggghhh ok I'm done.

#Might have to add a read more to this post later cause I went on and on #cal answers #anon ask

[heartless-aro]

For Those Struggling to Come to Terms with Being Aromantic

I talk a lot on here about aro joy, because i feel like a lot of conversations about aromanticism focus on the negative aspects of it, especially the fear of loneliness and isolation. However, i just want to say that aros who aren’t happy and confident in their aromanticism are still wonderful and valued members of our community. While i do my best to emphasize how aromanticism can be beautiful and freeing, it’s just as important for aros, especially young new-to-the-community aros, to talk about their fears of what their aromanticism means for them and for their future.

When you’re told that there’s only one way to achieve true happiness and then you realize that that particular path to happiness is cut off from you, it’s normal and healthy to grieve the life you expected to have. I think a lot of people who are new to the aro community feel alone in their grief when they see those of us who l*ve our aromanticism and find pride and joy in who we are. But if you’re one of those aros who is devastated by the idea that you won’t fall in love or who mourns the experiences you may never have — if you dream of wedding cakes that you may never know the taste of, or scenes of domesticity that you may never play a part in, or embraces that you may never know the warmth of — that’s ok. I can promise you that you aren’t alone. I’ve been there too, and I’m not the only one.

A lot of us who now talk about aro joy were once right where you are, experiencing aro grief. There was a time before I l*ved my aromanticism as I do now, where I was torn to pieces by the idea that the people I l*ve more than anyone will always have someone else, a romantic partner, who they love more than they l*ve me. I used to be terrified of growing up and waking up to an empty house every morning. It took me a long time to really understand and come to terms with what I want my life to look like, and to realize that a lot of the things I grieved weren’t even things I actually wanted but were just… things I was told I should want.

Because that’s what it boils down to really. I knew who I was long before I even knew there were words for people like me, and while I started out happy as myself, over the years I began to internalize a lot of amatonormative ideas of what happiness should like, and I secretly became really scared of what my future would hold. And at that point I began to grieve, not for things that I cherished but ended up losing, but for things that I have never cherished and that are as available to me as they are to anyone else who wants them, with the one key difference being that I don’t want them.

All this is to say that for those who are struggling to find aro joy in the midst of their aro grief, I want you to know that it’s okay. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling. You aren’t alone in your experiences, and you aren’t “betraying” our community somehow by talking about your experiences with aro grief.

The good news though is that, just as aro grief is learned through growing up in an amatanormative society, aro joy can be learned as well. So if you want to find joy in your aromanticism but you haven’t quite found it yet, don’t worry. You’ll get there. And our community won’t just be here for you when you do finally get there. We’ll be here for you now too. We will welcome you with open arms every step of the way.

#aro #aromantic #lgbtq #lgbtqia #aro grief #arospec #things i wrote in one sitting without editing or proofreading #long post

[shionshot]

Roddacember Day1:Character

I find the female characters created by Emily Rodda particularly fascinating

.All of them are lively, individual and independent.

The same goes for Jasmine, who grew up in the wild, Tirra, who beats up the city leader with a frying pan, Marilen, who runs from Tora to Del even though she is heavily pregnant, Lindal, the warrior, Penn, who keeps the history books, Zebak-born Zeel and the strong Bronden.

I would like to write about some of the women in Emily Rodda that I find a little unusual.

I like Richel the best of the six in Teen Power.

I read Teen Power when I was just 14 years old.

I was getting tired of the fantasy I had started reading because of Deltora Quest, so Teen Power was the catalyst for me to start reading teenage paperbacks too.Rodda saved my life as a reader twice lol

Although Richel is beautiful and pretty as Snow White, she may not be a serious, hard-working honours student.

Furthermore, the majority of her judgement of people is based on looks or fashion, and she doesn't value things that don't interest her.

On top of that, like many of the more privileged teenagers in the world, she thinks she is the centre of the world.

However, her obsession with looks and fashion is a talent, just like Nick and Elmo's intelligence, Sunny's athleticism, Tom's drawing and Liz's kindness.

She just thinks a little differently from others, but she always sees and hears what's important.

Surprisingly, there are not many stories for teenagers in which the protagonist is a girl who, like her, already knows she is beautiful.

Such a beautiful girl is usually a supporting character to make the main girl attractive or, if the main character is a boy, an attractive girl who makes the story fun or a romantic partner.

I think it is less common for a girl like Ritchel to be the protagonist than for a girl like Sunny, who has outstanding abilities and something to devote herself to.

Probably because girls like Richel are more interested in being active than reading as teenagers, though.

But Richel is just as brave as the other heroes and heroines in Rodda's book, and she has a conscience to save others.The other members of Teen Power know that, and she knows that the others do too.

I said at the beginning that the female characters created by Rodda were lively, individual and independent, but there are some girls for whom these do not necessarily apply.

The first is Faena from The Three Doors.When I first read The Silver Door, I was surprised that she didn't go on an adventure with Dirk, Rye and Sonia.

I had assumed that she would.

But I felt that not only strong women who can fight, but also princess who stay in a safe castle and wait for the heroes to come for them, should never be denied.

Because there are all kinds of people in the world.

When it came to Sparrow in His Name is Walter, she was never free to leave her home, let alone fight.But a great imagination was the greatest weapon she had.　

#roddacember #emily rodda #roddaverse #teen power inc. #the three doors #his name was walter #roddacember 2023 #shion’s roddacember 2023

[scottappreciation]

Scottuary2: Reader’s Edition & Final Round-Up

WHAT IS IT?

Now that the creation portion of the event is finished, you can get bingo for just enjoying the content! No community is complete without the support of its readers, and the value of even a single 😍🥰 comment can’t be underestimated. All 89 fics and 17 artworks submitted for the event are listed below the cut, sorted by prompt, to make it easier to find fics to match a bingo. Every prompt had at least two works submitted, and some as many as ten, so you’ll have plenty to choose from!

You can also explore the Ao3 collection here, and a list of the fanart submissions here.

HOW DO I PLAY?

To achieve bingo, simply:

Comment on and kudos five works (for fic on Ao3) or like and reblog with a comment in the tags about what you like (for art). There is no maximum or minimum length to your comment!

Mark each square off on your bingo card

Post the card + links to each piece you commented on to tumblr using the #scottuary2023 tag

Please use at least two separate creators for a complete bingo

You may mix and match fanart & fanfic in the same bingo (eg, an artwork for Little Red Scott and a fic for Significant Objects, etc), though you do not have to

And that’s it! There is no limit to how many bingos you submit, but please post each full five work bingo as one post, rather than one post per fic. This event will run through April 30th.

We can’t wait to see what you’re enjoying!

Row A

Mountain Ash

Help Me Breathe, by @redmoonfever​

The House We Build, by @letthestorieslive 

Mountain Ash, by @foofsterart

Little Red Scott

fairy tale ending, by @scribeoffate (NSFW)

Big Bad Wolf, by @redmoonfever 

The Color Red, by @kailaris-rites 

Caperucito rojo, by @silent-snake7 

Little Red Scott, by @slumop​

Little Red Scott, by @nacreousgore

Little Red Scott, by @foofsterart

Little Red Scott, by @redmoonfever

Scott + His Parents

memento, by @scribeoffate 

Protectors of Beacon Hills’ Protectors, by @redmoonfever 

so big / so small, by sulky_croissant 

Post-Show Canon

Veterinarian, Firefighter, Alpha, by @queenofmoons67 

Alone Together, by @redmoonfever 

Parallels

alpha pair, by @scribeoffate​ 

halfway to nowhere, by @spikeface​ 

Twilight, by @redmoonfever 

Beautiful Boy, by @redmoonfever 

Row B

Death

(Help) I'm Alive, by @letthestorieslive

what can the harvest hope for, by @moistvonlipwig 

the meaning of life, by @scribeoffate 

Love is Suicide, by @redmoonfever

Past Life, by @the-fandom-queen 

the anatomy of lightning, by @spikeface​

A Pin's Fee, by @princeescaluswords

Tomorrow we'll grieve, by @moths-in-hats​

when you’re a kid, by Sydrian​

Significant Objects

sacrifice, by @scribeoffate

Pink Pen, by @princeescaluswords​ 

Teddy Bear, by @redmoonfever

Mental and Medical, by @redmoonfever 

Significant Objects, by @slumop

Significant Objects, by @foofsterart

Holidays

Without Her, by @evilwriter37 

'till we have faces, by @lexluthorswigcap

Valentines Day, by @redmoonfever​

Bonds, by @wolfboy88

Golgotha, by @princeescaluswords​

alpha pair, by @scribeoffate​ 

seeing ghosts, by sulky_croissant

Holidays, by @slumop

Monster Inside

White Knight, by @princeescaluswords

collateral damage, by @scribeoffate 

Monster Inside, by @redmoonfever​

Hurt/Comfort

Hold Me Up, by @evilwriter37

Invulnerable, by @princeescaluswords

Surrender Your Heart, by @redmoonfever

No Show, by @redmoonfever

steal my heart, by @scribeoffate

Row C

Scott + Nemeton

second nature, by @scribeoffate (NSFW)

Wish I Was Dead, by @redmoonfever

The Summoning of Scott McCall, by @letthestorieslive 

Rare Pairs

tell me what to do, by @scribeoffate (NSFW)

Opposites Attract, by @redmoonfever

Three's A Charm, by @wolfboy88​ (NSFW)

¿Quieres bailar?, by @silent-snake7​ 

Electric Fields, by @wolfboy88 (NSFW)

Rare pairs (Scanny), by @slumop​

Rare pairs (Scanny), by @foofsterart

Free Space

Pretty in Pink, by @redmoonfever 

First Times, by @domesticated-feral

denial, by @scribeoffate​ (NSFW)​

Teen Wolf Postcards: Scott's Tour of the Americas, by @rhyslahey

waiting on goodbye, by sulky_croissant

start by wiping the blood of his chin (and pretending to understand) by @scintalla​

Alternate Universe

The Farm Boy Who Wrote Home, by @rhyslahey

Claws and Bats Swinging, by @redmoonfever

Revenge is Bloody, by @evilwriter37

First Times, by @domesticated-feral 

Reverse it, by @sammi-phoenix​

Alternate Universe, by @slumop​ 

Alternate Universe, by @foofsterart

Roxie

In Love and Death, by @redmoonfever

memento, by @scribeoffate

Fuerza de carácter, by @silent-snake7

Tomorrow we'll grieve, by @moths-in-hats​

Roxie, by @redmoonfever

Roxie, by @dahliia04

Row D

Scars

Anatomy of Healing Aching Scars, by @letthestorieslive

Scars like stars on my skin, by @sammi-phoenix 

What Makes A Human?, by @redmoonfever

Depression / Motel California

Depression/Motel California, by @slumop

An Alpha's Fall, by @evilwriter37

Until It Kills You, by @redmoonfever

constant variable, by @scribeoffate

Lobito, by @sammi-phoenix

a family to lean on, by @dahliia04

Flare, by @slice-of-magenta

Fullshift Scott

transformative spaces, by @scribeoffate (NSFW)

Friend and Foe, by @redmoonfever​

Fullshift Scott, by @slumop​

Lacrosse

body check, by @scribeoffate 

No Show, by @redmoonfever

Lacrosse Footnote, by @redmoonfever

Electric Fields, by @wolfboy88​​ (NSFW)

Scott + Canon Emissaries

sacrifice, by @scribeoffate

The Discussion of Inevitability, by @redmoonfever

Fuerza de carácter, by @silent-snake7 

Row E

Werewolf Abilities

Vicious Love, by @redmoonfever

body check, by @scribeoffate

a certain potential, by @spikeface

I’m On The Hunt (I’m After You), by @letthestorieslive

Scott + Anger

Scott + Anger, by @slumop

Sometimes it just hurts to exist, you know?, by @the-fandom-queen

You Let Me Fall, by @redmoonfever​

equity, by @scribeoffate

Prepare for war, by bel_e_muir 

perspective, by @momentofmemory 

Canon Divergence

Jungle Exploration, by @redmoonfever

collateral damage, by @scribeoffate 

Bonds, by @wolfboy88

Dreams

All My Dreams (Never Quite What It Seems), by @redmoonfever​ 

equity, by @scribeoffate 

Past Life, by @the-fandom-queen 

mirror image, by @daughterofluthien 

Memory

the meaning of life, by @scribeoffate

in case it hasn't gone, by @daughterofluthien

Memories, Where'd You Go?, by @redmoonfever 

#scott mccall #tyler posey #teen wolf #sciles #scallison #scira #sceo #scalia #scydia #scisaac #scackson #scerek #truedemon #teen wolf movie #scottuary2023 #scottuary

[wanderlust-in-my-soul]

A story about hope and trust - Part 1

I would like to talk about the, for me, most important scenes for the development between Porsche and Kinn in this episode. Since I tend to ramble, here will be part two when it is finished.

Kinn is urged by his father to return to his old self. He can't yet stand up to Korn. Porsche is important to him, but all his life family has been the number one and especially his father. We will see what is revealed about the last relationship. However, Kinn's reaction to his father's mention of his last partner already shows that his father was not fond of the relationship. Kinn's sharp reaction, "Tawan," suggests that this was not the first time he had to remind his father that his ex-boyfriend had a name, that Kinn loved him, that he had significance for him. Even though Korn doesn't seem to have a problem with his son's homosexuality, he still doesn't want to see him in a relationship. Kinn should focus on the business, the family. There should be no distractions, especially from another man who might have enough influence to get Kinn to break away from his father. 

Korn tells how he liked to cut apples for his wife, how he did something good for her, how as his knife became rusty and couldn't cut anymore, he also became soft. Love is a weakness for Korn. He noticed the changes in his son and he sees the danger in it, because for Korn other values count and he can't see that love could make you stronger in the end. Considering that at the beginning of the series Kinn declared that he was more like his mother before he shot the man in the head, it suggests that this woman had a strong personality, fearless and perhaps somewhat unpedictable. And yet she represents a weakness in Korn's eyes. But Kinn is not Korn.  

A man, and even such a free spirit as Porsche, who loves life and could possibly put ideas into Kinn's head, would represent a danger. Korn is certainly aware that Kinn did not have a real childhood, no youth, and hardly any youthful sins, because he was not allowed to indulge in them. He even bought his son the first place in the singing contest. Sure, Kinn had to fight for his life and also for reputation and respect, but mostly for the family. He never fought for himself, his talents or his feelings and he never stood up to his father. 

With his friends, Kinn can talk openly. He can tell them he doesn't want to go back to his old self. To the person who settles for casual fuck-acquaintances without really experiencing closeness. The person who seems cold and heartless. Wearing a mask permanently is exhausting. That's what Kinn learned during his time with Porsche - how beautiful and liberating it is to take off that mask and just be himself. His friends encourage him in this, because they know him, know what he's really like and are worried about him.

So he begins to rebel, sneaking out at night to see Porsche, who misses him just as much and needs his encouragement. When Kinn asks him why he's calling, he might as well have answered, "I wanted to hear your voice." And then, all of a sudden, he's standing in front of Porsche, outside the hospital and the guard of Korn's men. At the hospital, Kinn has already made Porsche promise to come back to him. But he can't just leave Porsche alone before the first big mission without him. He has to reinforce once again that Porsche has to come back. To do this, he has even considered giving him his lucky weapon. So a part of him will be with him on the mission. But then panic sets in for a moment. The words of his friends still in his head that he should not close his heart any longer. He has already made it clear how he feels about Porsche, he has told him in various ways that he is the most important thing for him ("This is the first time in my life that I wish they successfully complete the task."). And yet there is the fear of opening his heart, of not knowing what Porsche's feelings are for him. So for a brief moment, he reverts to his flirty and physical ways, alluding to the gun in his pants, before looking Porsche in the eye. 

I think that's the moment when he's really fully aware that he's already opened his heart to this person, that he's already head over heels in love and there's no turning back for him. He can't lose Porsche and he doesn't want Porsche to go into battle without knowing this. So he pulls him close, puts his forehead against his and gives him a kiss on the latter. Such a tender and intimate gesture that you don't give to just anyone. Kinn is known not to kiss his lovers on the mouth, not to exchange affectionate gestures in general. It's not about love with them. Porsche is different. The kiss again says so much more than a kiss on the lips or sex. It says, I appreciate you, I care for you, I protect you, I give you a part of me without asking anything in return. And both can ground themselves once again. Kinn knows Porsche. He's learning. He knows that Porsche needs that feeling of safety and trust. He needed Kinn that night, and Kinn knew it. He knew Porsche couldn't sleep because he was worried about the assignment. He knew that Porsche didn't necessarily need the sex at that moment, but the closeness and the security that the one he would return to when he is done with the job will be not the person he saw on his last visit at the hospital, the cold mafia boss infront of Vegas, but his familiar, his friend, his partner. And that's what Kinn recognized and gave him. 

I'm very curious to see how Korn will react to Kinn's eyes continuing to shine like those of a fool in love. But I also think this could represent the beginning of Kinn's rebellion against his father and his legacy. We are still at the very beginning and it will certainly be a bumpy road, but the first stone has been laid.

#kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #kinnporsche meta #just my thoughts #I can't sleep so I write

[krysta-cross]

Happiest Birthday to you my very sweet twinnie @darialovesstuff 💜🌙

I just want to take the opportunity to thank you for loving my OC, Krysta 🌟 and always remembering her and her aesthetics.

Greatly appreciated 💙

Tumblr has been great for me because of kind people like you 💕

This isn’t much and I am not quiet sure if I got this correctly but I managed to make headcannons for MysticWind. The request has taken so looooong but it’s on me because of my lack of confidence in writing but thanks to some boost I somehow am trying to do my best ^^

Some SFW and NSFW here ⤵️

MysticWind headcannons

SFW:

Fujin and Dia loves going to picnics, whether it’s them alone or with the kids. They like to go during afternoons when the sun nears to set, watching its beauty fade slowly until it’s dark and the moon takes over.

Mystic wind couple works together for things they want to accomplish like spells for the witch wife or paperworks for the wind god, they work well on helping each other finish their task then spend the remaining free time to cuddle.

Dia always keeps the kids in check especially if Fujin is busy with his god duties. She manages the household well and makes sure that everyone follows the schedule or anything they have to do.

MysticWind enjoys their time together even brief, like sharing a cup of coffee together while discussing how their days went is already a bliss and they value even the short time they can share off duty.

Night time is the most romantic thing for them. Laying down on the grass while staring at the night sky riddled with stars, with the bright full or crescent moon illuminating the darkness as they talk about how they adore each other. The wind blows a cool breeze that brings a dewy flowery aroma which makes it more romantic, staring at each other they seal the deal with a hot, passionate kiss.

NSFW:

During their sexy time, Dia likes to tease Fujin first before they do the deed. She will use minor spells for seduction and that excites the wind god the most. Little efforts rewards more. Nothing’s more exciting than seeing your hot witch wife strip tease her sexy goth witch outfit, dropping each piece on the floor making some clinking sounds from the metal adornments are music to Fujin’s ears.

The couple always wants a piece of each other everytime. The spark doesn’t die down even though they have been together for long. Fujin always wants his hands all over her, Dia also wants the same and the lovemaking deed is surely “bewitching”.

Fujin is very big on aftercare, he makes sure Dia is well taken care of after the intense lovemaking. She needs to hydrate? She is hungry? She needs a change of clothes? Name it, Fujin gets it in a whim.

Dia is a switch. She both enjoys riding the wind god or him railing her and making sure he is satisfied with it. Everytime they fuck it’s like an endurance contest, no one wants to show they are exhausted so they last for many rounds until they are both panting then laughs because of how childish they acted.

The couple are loud in bed, moans, groans and screams echoes the room, they find it sexy and a big turn on. Thank goodness for the spell that makes the room sound proof, the kids aren’t disturbed and the couple can be as loud as howling wolves during a full moon, able to fully express their love and intense passion they share every night.

~Hope you like it and enjoy your special day because you deserve it 💕

#Happy Birthday Daria 🎂 #mysticwind #fujinxdia #mortal kombat headcanons #headcannons

[stargazer-sims]

Journal Entry #52

previously - Journal Entry #51 (part two)

Yuri

Have you ever wished you didn't exist?

I'm not talking about wanting to take your own life or hoping that you'll just fall asleep one night and never wake up. I mean wishing that you actually didn't exist, that you'd never been conceived and born in the first place.

I wish for that.

I'm not sure if I'll post this recording to our journal. I may even delete it from my phone later. The only reason I'm doing this at all is because I'm feeling so frustrated and upset and... I don't know. Worthless. Horrible. Perhaps angry at myself because I can never live up to anyone's expectations for me, not even my own.

Despite the number of times I'm told that I'm enough just as I am, I can't make myself believe it. I notice how people pretend to like me when they don't, and how they're polite and deferential to me because they think I'm too fragile to handle their honest feelings about me. I'm aware of their disapproval and disdain.

In all fairness, though, I can't blame anyone for disliking me. I see the work I create for everyone around me and how much of a burden I am to them. I despise myself for that.

The sad irony is, as much as I don't want to be a burden, not being one seems impossible. I'll never not be chronically ill. There'll be periods when I'm reasonably well, but there'll also be times when I'm too sick to do anything for myself and someone will have to take care of me. That's a reality I can never escape from.

I can guess what some of you would probably say now if you heard this. But, you love all the attention you get, don't you?

I think it’s a natural human response to like receiving attention, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. The truth is, being bathed or fed or massaged feels good, and knowing I have people in my life who’ll do that and so many other personal care tasks for me gives me a certain sense of security. And yes, in the moment, I do enjoy it. The problem is, when the task is done and I’m alone with my thoughts, I start to feel guilty for allowing myself to forget, even for a second, that these things aren’t meant for my gratification. I remember I'm a selfish, awful person for enjoying something that comes at the cost of someone else's time and effort, particularly because I know full well that I can never pay them back.

The thing that bothers me most of all is that the people who do the majority of the caretaking are my mother and Victor. The people I love more than anything, who I want to see happy and who I want to protect are the very ones who suffer the most because of me.

My beautiful, brave, loyal Victor would do anything for me, and I'd move the mountain itself to repay him if I could, but my intention is not enough. I love him with my entire mind, body and soul, but my love is not enough. I don't deserve him, and I don't know why he stays with me, because nothing about me will ever be worthy of someone as good and gentle and selfless as him. Nothing can ever erase the imbalance in what we give each other, and that truth chips away at my heart more and more as time goes on.

Victor says he loves me, and he’s demonstrated it in so many ways that I’d have to be completely detached and indifferent not to believe him. He also says he doesn't mind all the work he has to do, but I'm not so certain about that one. How could it possibly be true that it doesn’t bother him? It's unfair, and I know it's hard on him, being tied down by me all the time. He gave up so much for me, and here I am with nothing of value to give in return.

Sometimes I think it would've been better if we'd never met at all. He could've had a good life without me, chased all his dreams and done everything he'd planned to do.

It's too late now. He's attached to me, and I've ruined his life, and there's no way for me to set him free to reclaim what's left of it without hurting him in the process. I offered that to him once before and it upset him so much that I swore I'd never mention it again, even if I think it'd be in his own best interest to get away from me.

Not that I ever want to be apart from him, you understand, but if I need to choose between his happiness and my own, I'll always want to choose his. It's why I'm willing to move halfway around the world, why I didn't say no when he told me he wanted to keep competing, and why I agreed to the idea of Fox coming here to help us. It's why I acquiesce to most things I'm not entirely comfortable with. Letting him have what he wants without objection is the only currency I can exchange for everything I've taken from him.

If he ever wanted to leave of his own accord, I'd let him have his way there, too. I wouldn't try to force him to stay. If it'd make him happy, I'd let him go even though it would shatter me into a million pieces, even though I'm sure I'd be in pain forever from the grief of such a loss.

Perhaps that would be my penitence. Maybe it's what I truly deserve.

I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't even be recording this. It's nothing but a confused, emotional rant, and if I do end up posting it, I fully expect that anyone who sees it will think even less of me than they already do. It's just that saying it aloud helps, even if I'm only talking to myself. At the very least, I won't lie to myself. Nearly everyone else would tell me whatever they thought I wanted to hear, which is why I've stopped talking to people about my troubles. What would be the point?

Victor says I need to see a professional, and maybe he's right. Maybe I could tell this stuff to a psychologist who isn't part of my life and who could be objective. I doubt there's anything they could realistically do to make me less of an inconvenience. They can't cure my illness or make me physically stronger, and they can't make anyone like or respect me, but I guess they'd be someone who'd listen.

Last night, after Fox left, Victor found me crying in the upstairs bathroom. I might as well admit that I threw up and that I was trying to hide that fact as well as my little breakdown from him. Have you ever tried to throw up quietly? If you discover the secret to doing that, please tell me what it is.

Because I know someone will inevitably ask, the reason I was trying to hide it is because Victor doesn't like seeing me cry. He says it makes him feel helpless. Besides, he's so tenderhearted that if I'm crying, he often ends up crying too, and I don't like seeing him cry either. I'm usually good at suppressing my emotional responses, so I really don't cry all that often, but for the past few weeks it seems I haven't been able to hold anything in. It's another sign of weakness, I suppose; yet another way I've failed him.

He knocked on the bathroom door and called for me several times. When I didn't answer, he simply opened the door and let himself in, exactly as I'd known he would.

I didn't look up at him, and just mumbled, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"Everything," I said, because it was the truth. Everything felt wrong, and I was sorry for all of it.

"Uh... you think you could be a little more specific?" Victor crossed the room in a few long strides and sat near me on the floor. "Did you get sick?"

"I think you know I did."

"Okay. But, is there something else?"

"I don't want Fox to come any more," I told him.

"Why? Did something happen?"

I shook my head. I really didn't feel like discussing it, and I didn't think I was in a fit condition to have a decent conversation about anything, much less about that. Besides, how was I supposed to explain to him how inadequate Fox makes me feel? How was I supposed to say that I don’t like how patronizing Fox is, and how I feel humiliated and powerless when he talks to me as if I’m a stubborn child or as if I’m intellectually delayed?

The part I hate the most about having Fox here is how he keeps trying to convince me that I'm not actually as ill as I say I am, like I'm exaggerating my condition for attention and that I'm capable of far more than I'll admit. He seems to be under the impression that all it takes is a little willpower to overcome pain, nausea, muscle weakness, extreme fatigue and all my other symptoms, not to mention anxiety. What he doesn't realize is that I have plenty of willpower, and if it were really that easy, I wouldn’t need somebody like him. I'd have been cured long ago.

He tries to make me do things that are much too difficult, if not impossible, and I can almost never do them without consequences to my mental and physical well-being. Although I push through each task as best I can to avoid a conflict that I know I wouldn't have the stamina to deal with, I almost always feel far worse afterwards. He says he's helping me, and he calls it progress. I call it cruel and unusual torment.

He's supposed to be taking care of me. He's getting paid to take care of me. I think that obligates him to stick to caretaking, and should not extend to pretending to be my friend or to practicing his dubious amateur occupational therapy on me.

But, I couldn't confess any of that, could I?

"No," I said at last. "Everything's fine. I just... I think I can look after myself now."

I couldn't, of course, and I have no idea why I said that. I just didn't know how much longer I could endure the situation as it stood, and I suppose it was a way to get Victor to make Fox leave without me resorting to complaining about him.

Victor pulled at his lower lip with his teeth and gave me a worried look. My husband may be many things, but stupid and imperceptive aren't among them. He saw through me straight away. "Yuri, you can barely make it from your bedroom to here without help. I don't know if you're strong enough to look after yourself yet."

But, for some unknown reason, I persisted. "I'm not going to get any stronger by letting other people wait on me, am I?"

"You know it doesn't work like that," he said. "It's not like physio, where you build up strength in your muscles by exercising them. You're not going to get better by wearing yourself out."

"I'm never really going to get better anyway," I said. "I might as well do what I can, when I can, right?"

"Yes, when you can," he said. "Maybe in a few more weeks, when you—"

"No!" I cut him off mid-sentence. All of a sudden, I felt anger rising up inside me like a wave. It was irrational and relentless, and I felt unable to control it. "I don't want him here. Tell him not to come back."

"No," Victor said. "I'm not going to do that."

I stared at him, admittedly a little shocked. Victor hardly ever says no to me. "But—"

"No," he repeated. "You might not want his help any more, but I think you still need it. And I still need a little help too, until I get this other cast off."

"Helping you is meant to be my job," I said. "It's what i should be doing."

"You have a valid reason not to be doing it."

"But, I should be doing it," I insisted.

"Maybe," he said. "But I know you can't right now, and that's okay."

"I hate this!" I brought the edge of my fist down on the cold bathroom tiles as hard as I could. A jolt of pain shot up my entire arm, and as much as I tried not to wince, I'm sure I must have. "I'm tired of our lives being this way, of me not being able to do anything for you and just being a useless waste of everyone else's energy. I'm so tired of all of it, Victor. I just want it to stop."

Victor was gazing at me with an expression that might have been equal parts sympathy and perplexity. Whatever it was, it seemed obvious he didn't know how to respond. All he said was, "I know."

"No, you don't know!" I retorted. "You have no idea what it's like to be trapped in a body like mine!"

"I guess I don't, but—"

"You don't know what it's like to be exhausted and in pain all the time, or to worry that the slightest change could make it worse. You don't know how it feels to panic every time you realize you have to eat because everything you put into your mouth has the potential to hurt you. And you have absolutely no idea how worthless it makes me feel to not be able to do the simplest things for myself, much less be able to help you."

By the time I'd gotten all that out, I was shaking and crying, and there was nothing I wanted more than to be able to get up off the floor and flee as far away from everyone and everything as I possibly could. I didn't want Victor to look at me in the state I was in. I wanted to disappear, and contrary to what I previously said, in that moment I really did wish that I could go to sleep and not wake up ever again.

Victor reached toward me, like he wanted to pull me into a hug. Any other time, I'd be desperate for him to hold and comfort me, but the thought of him touching me just then was unbearable.

It was all I could do to speak through my tears. "Please, don't."

"But—" He lowered his hands and watched me for what felt like ages before he let out a long breath and tried again. "I think you need to tell me what's really going on."

"Nothing," I said. "Nothing but the same thing that's always going on around here."

"Which is...?"

"You know," I said.

"How about you humour me?”

I scrubbed fiercely at my eyes with the heels of my palms. "I'm tired. I'm tired of... everything. I don't want to keep fighting my own body any more. I don't want to keep pretending that I'm okay and that our situation is okay and that everything's fine when it's not."

"You don't have to pretend anything," he said. "We both know everything's not okay. And like, this is gonna sound like a cliché or whatever, but it's okay that we're not okay right now. Things will improve soon. They always do."

"No, they don't," I said. "Maybe it seems like that for a while, but we're always going to be caught in this cycle. Unless you decide to do something about it, you’re always going to be stuck with me."

"What do you mean, stuck with you? You make it sound like a chore or something."

"Isn't it?"

"If you're asking if it's a lot of work to take care of you, then the answer is yeah, it is a lot of work. But, it's not a chore. If it was, do you think I'd still be here? ‘Cause that’s what you meant, isn’t it? I’m only really stuck until I’ve had enough and I make up my mind to leave?”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“I’m not going to leave you, Yuri,” he said. “If I didn’t think I could cope with all your health stuff, I wouldn’t have stayed in the first place. I’d have been gone already.”

"Would you?” I said. “If you didn't feel like you had to, would you still stay?”

"You're assuming I feel like I have to.”

“Aren’t you tired too? Don’t you need a break from me and my problems?”

“A break from you? No.” He smiled slightly, but I got the impression it was born of awkwardness rather than a more positive emotion. He gestured vaguely. “It’d be nice to get a break from… this, ‘cause I am pretty wiped out, but that’s not your fault. It’s just real life, you know? I need a break from real life.”

“Me too.”

“Anyway,” he went on. “I told you before, we can get help. I mean, we've got help right now and I'm practically doing nothing, so..."

"But, you would if you could."

"Naturally, I would. You know that. But, I know my limits.”

“Are we close? To your limit?”

“Can you stop for a second, please?” he said. “I don't even understand why you're bringing this up, and I need to know why we’re talking about it. I thought we already settled this. Didn't we promise that we’d stick together through everything?”

"It's... I'm thinking about it for a lot of reasons."

"Such as?"

"Seiji," I said.

“What about him?”

“He came to visit me in the hospital."

"I know."

"He's not my friend,” I stated. The words hurt, or maybe it was the realization behind them that was so painful.

"What are you talking about?” Victor asked. “Seiji is your friend. He loves you."

The things that'd come out of Seiji's mouth the afternoon of his visit had made me question whether he'd ever been my friend. It made me wonder if he, like nearly everyone else, merely tolerated me and was only polite because it'd be socially unacceptable not to be, and now he'd finally grown tired of the pretense. "He thinks I'm a monster," I told my husband. "He was so angry."

“A monster? He didn’t really say that.”

“He did.”

"He brought you mochi," Victor said, his confusion evident in his tone. Clearly, Seiji hadn't mentioned anything to him about what had taken place.

For a few heartbeats, I paused, trying to decide if I should continue or not. Finally, I replied, "Yes, he brought me mochi, but I have no idea why. I don't even know why he came, because all he did was tell me what a terrible person I am. He thinks your accident was my fault."

"It wasn't," Victor said. "He's wrong about that."

"Perhaps, but I don't think he's wrong about everything else."

"Everything else. What's included in 'everything else'?"

"He said I don't deserve you. He said... he said you could've done better than me and that I'm holding you back. He said I'm hurting you just by being with you, and that if you're unhappy, it's my fault." I stopped at that point because I could feel tears starting to sting my eyes again and my chest was starting to feel tight.

What Seiji had said wasn’t anything new to me. I’d thought of most of it on my own, long before that. But, hearing the words coming from someone else caused them to strike home all that much harder.

“He’s wrong,” Victor said. “He knows I’m not unhappy. I told him that myself. And you’re not holding me back from anything.”

“I feel like I am.”

“You’re not. I’m doing everything I want to do,” he said. “Yeah, I gave up some stuff, but it’s not like you forced me to. Coming here when i did was my choice. I could’ve waited, but I didn’t want to.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Do you want the honest answer?”

“Yes.”

“It’s like I told you before,” he said. “Sometimes I wish I’d done things differently or made different choices, and sometimes I feel sad or angry about it, but I don’t think I’d call it regret. I love you, and I was determined that I was gonna be with you sooner or later, and if that involved a few sacrifices, I’d say they were worth it.”

“But, what about me? I haven’t sacrificed anything for you.”

“You don’t think so?”

I shook my head. “I suppose I had nothing to give up, in any case.”

“Sacrificing doesn’t necessarily mean you literally give something up. Sometimes it’s like, metaphorical or whatever. Like, I think it took a massive amount of courage for you to let me move in with you. You could’ve said no, but instead of letting your fear tell you what to do, you took a risk."

“That doesn’t seem like much of a risk."

"In hindsight maybe, but think about how you felt at the time."

"I wanted you to come," I said. “And I didn't give up anything compared to what I got out of it.”

“I got a lot out of it too,” he said. “It’s not as unequal as you think.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“I got you. You’re amazing, whether you believe it or not.”

“That’s not an answer." There was an edge to my voice that I didn't like, but once the words were out, there was nothing I could do. "That's the sort of thing you say when you can't think of anything."

“Okay, fine," Victor responded. "You need me to be specific?"

"Can you be?"

"Yeah, I can," he said. "You’re my voice of reason. You help me make good decisions, and you always know how to calm me down when I’m too hyper and the noise in my brain is really bad. You teach me stuff all the time, and you do your best to take care of me.” One side of his mouth twitched in what might’ve been an ironic smile he was trying to keep at bay. “Maybe even when you shouldn’t.”

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you saying that?"

"Because everything you just described... it's nothing. An acquaintance could do all that."

"You think I'd trust just any random acquaintance with my secrets? You think I'd let them into my personal space? Or let them do the stuff you did for me after my accident?"

"You let your mother and stepfather do it."

"Yuri, they're my parents. Well, Julian's not exactly my parent, but you know what I mean. I trust them just as much as I trust you, and if you don't think that much trust counts for anything, then... I don't know what else to tell you."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that!" he exclaimed.

The sharpness of his tone startled me, and totally against my will, I lost the battle to hold my tears back any longer. "I've tried so hard," I said. "But, I just... I can't be what you need. I'll always be the one taking more than I can give, and nothing I ever do will be enough. Seiji is right. You deserve so much more than I can ever offer you."

He was silent for a long time after that, but finally he said. "Do you even know what I need?"

I didn't respond. How could I? The challenge in his tone was so obvious, there was no mistaking its implication. If I answered anything other than no, it'd be the wrong answer. He was compelling me to admit my failure as a partner, but what was the point? We both understood that much already.

I closed my eyes and lowered my head. The pain I felt in my heart was a thousand times greater than anything I'd ever experienced in my body, and one thought drowned out all the others, playing in my brain on repeat.

I want all of this to end.

#ts4 #sims 4 #eagames #snowy escape #victorsworldadventures #victor nelson #yuri okamoto #tw suicide mention #tw chronic illness #tw illness #tw mental illness #tw pain #stargazersims

[h0w4m1h3r3]

can you do 4. Is that a drawing of me?

With nightmare, underswap paps and mafiatale sans please?

(I draw them all the time theyre my favorites!)

Have a great day!

Thank you for the request!

my laptop’s acting up so basically hours of re-writing and then it gets deleted and so on so that’s why it took so long, sorry anon 

reader is completely GN

Nightmare:

(small medium swear warning??)

Nightmare was searching around for a book he leant to his human.

They should've known not to leave their sketchbook open.

Nightmare values privacy, however, when you find a drawing of yourself in an open sketchbook, you have the right to at least turn the page.

And so he did.

The drawings creepy or obsessive in anyway, he was actually quite flattered.

What!? Of course he wasn't flattered. He couldn't be flattered by the most detailed of paintings, let alone a few beautiful messy sketches.

He might've flipped through more than a few pages. Eyes tracing small hearts drawn around his head, how the curve of his eyesockets conveyed the subtlest of emotions, the delicate re-enactment of his day-to-day life entrancing him.

So entrancing Infact, that he almost missed the figure in the doorway. Almost.

Nightmare stood up straight and turned, hands clasped behind his back. "Human. Where is the book I leant you?" He asked in that ever-present emotionless monotone of his. Nightmare could feel the embarrassment dripping off of them as if they were covered in goop like himself.

They stammered a bit, trying to regain their composure. It was quite cute pitiful the way they tried to put themselves back together, his serious and stern gaze no doubt making it harder.

"I-It's on the coffee table. I left it there for you." They responded, their small stammering making his goop want to thin out and disappear.

"Good. How did you enjoy it?"

"It was great! The exact kind of story I was looking for, you must have read alot of stories to be able to think of one so spot on!" They praised, making him flush under his goop.

"Of course, nothing less for you."

Oh fuck oh shit

He didn't mean to say that. He meant to say that they shouldn't expect anything less from him.

Nightmare kept his cool, calm and collected manner as he walked briskly by them.

"Lovely drawings, by the way."

His stupid mouth wasn't behaving today. The combined positivity from him and them was enough for his goop to feel lighter. This was a feeling he could get used to.

Stretch (US papy)

"Honey, where are you?" A voice called out. "Honey?"

Stretch strode through the livingroom for the fifth time. He had been invited over to his friend's house, but had arrived a bit early.

He let himself in through the side door that was always unlocked, and after waiting for a minute he began to wonder if they fell in the toilet.

He wasn’t all that worried though, they were most likely playing a prank on him.

Sitting down on the couch, Stretch noticed a sleek black book on the coffee table. He remembered his friend telling him about getting a photo book filled with their childhood pictures. Stretch opened the book on a random page to see himself.

Not a photo, but a drawing. This is their sketchbook, not a photo book.

It was of him taking a nap on the couch, nothing to detailed, but a bit of orange graced his cheekbones.

He closed book, it was none of his business.

Right as he put the sketchbook down, none other than the artist themselves burst through the door.

“oh! Stretch! You’re already here! I was buying snacks and then i saw the time and-”

“It’s no big deal.” he interrupted. “wha’d’ya get?”

“You‘ll see if you help me unpack?” They stated as more of a question.

“...Well played.” He begrudgingly got up.

I actually forgot to mention I don’t write for the mafia boys, sorry! I love getting requests so feel free to ask something else, even something that isn’t in the prompts. 

Crit welcome!!

#nightmare x reader #nightmare sans #prompt #request #underswap #us papyrus #us papyrus x reader

[ashtraysystem]

y'alllll I just remembered some family tea!!!

so its well known by me and my siblings that our one aunt, lets call her aunt dip since that was and is her nickname (short for dipshit lol), is not a good person. she's the kind of person who only ever comes to you if she wants something out of you. Since we moved out of state she's only ever contacted us on holidays, expecting gifts in return for her literally /shitty/ gifts. One year she got us one of those "haha silly its a shitty present" toilet paper gag gifts that you give for like, white elephant stuff. not to mention the random treats she'll send over despite knowing we throw them away every single time bc dad, hell even sib4, can make much higher quality stuff!

All this foreward to say, gramma seems to finally be understanding that aunt dip has been using her. aunt dip uses her as free babysitting for their dogs whenever they go out, even though her eldest tends to choose to stay home and could easily watch over the dogs himself.

Aunt dip got my gramma a thing of macarons. nice right? my grandma loves france and finds it beautiful, loves paris. thing is, my grandma doesnt like macarons. she likes sweets but she's not a decadent sweets person, she's a very down to earth, homemade treats person. and like. everyone knows this.

so my gramma sent in the partial family group chat (my mom, aunt gay, aunt gay's second child, and aunt j. they all do wordle together) the picture of the macarons saying "she thinks i like these"

smh aunt dip, you'd think with how much you use my gramma you would at least know she values experiences with you over gifts, let alone gifts she has no interest in.

it may seem like i'm being harsh on aunt dip, but its for good reason. she's never truly been nice to me, my family, or even her own husband and kids. she's always comparing us kids like "oh whos the better more successful child?" (at this point its me and i know how to play her games and one up her every time, tho its still not fair to her son). she's straight up lied to my mom about something as important as a pregnancy before, where my mom wanted to make sure the same thing didnt happen with my sibling that happened with me and my cousin, in that we were born so close together that everyone compared our progress to each other. my aunt ended up having her child ~4 MONTHS before my mom had my sibling. meaning my aunt KNEW she was pregnant, couldve warned my mom who asked her point blank, and she didnt until after my mom announced her pregnancy.

#sorry thats so long im just so done with her #vent #rant #cole🥾 #family vent #family rant