#I am rotting in bed and feel like crap

[misericordieux]

If I am actually alive at the end of this therapy

…

Because I’M LOSING MY GODDAMN MIND

[cherriesformatt]

time of the month || matt sturniolo

matt x fem!reader

summary: you get your period at work and feel like crap but you have the best caring bf ever

warnings: pure fluff, period, throwing up

word count: 1,2k

I was in the middle of a meeting when I felt it. I got my period. What a great start of a day. After the meeting was over I went to the bathroom and realized I only have one tampon, no pads and no painkillers. Which is the worst because I already was starting feeling like crap. That's how it always is with me. The minute I get my period I start having cramps and I feel like passing out. It was only one so I had four more hours of work. I got new purse and I forgot to transfer everything from the old one to this. My period was suppose to come in two days so I wasn't ready. The worst thing is that my department is mostly man and there is no tampons in our public bathroom. I need to change that. I went back to the office and started to work. I could survive on that tampon but I really needed the painkillers. I picked my phone from my desk when the time came I could only think about the pain not on my work. I decided to call my boyfriend. I did not want to because I knew he is out with some friends filming. But he was my only other choice.

"Hi, y/n everything okay?" He picked up after two signals.

I never called him at work so he probably got worried.

"Hi, yes, I mean no I feel like I am going to die from cramps but I do not have any painkillers... and I need pads and tampons and I wouldn't call you for that but I am really in pain. I am sorry I forgot to pack everything to my new work bag" I said.

"Oh...how about you call in sick? I'll come pick you up and we will go to my place? I pick up stuff from your apartment on my way. I am sorry baby..." He said.

First day and night of my period was the worst for me. He knew that. Gladly it was Friday so tomorrow I could rot in bed.

"Are you sure? You guys are still out filming?" I asked to make sure.

"Yup, just wrapped up with Jake and on our way back you are on the speaker actually" He said.

"Oh..I am sorry boys that you had to listen to period talk" I said knowing Nick and Chris are there.

"No problem kid, sorry you feel bad" Chris said and Nick yelled from the back that he loves me and will give my all the chocolate.

I smiled.

"Okay I'll wrap up at work and will wait for you. Thanks I love you" I said and I hanged up when he said his goodbye.

They came pick me up 30 minutes later and I was already waiting in front of the building. I climbed in the back since Chris was already sitting next to Matt.

"I would switch with you" Chris said and I only shook my head.

"Hi...Its okay let's just drive home, I need to lay down" I said resting my head on the seat and closed my eyes.

"Hi... here Matt took this from your place" Nick said.

I opened my eyes and saw Nick holding water and ibuprofen for me.

“Thank you…” I took it.

I wanted to talk to them but I just felt like I could pass out any minute. I fall asleep the minute I gave Nick back the water.

“Hey… sweetheart we’re home” I felt Matt’s hand on my shoulder and heard his voice.

I opened my eyes. We were in their garage.

“Oh… sorry I fall asleep” I said.

“Don’t be silly you’re not feeling well. Do you want me to carry you? I already took all the stuff to my room” he said.

“No it’s okay” he moved so I could exit the car.

The moment I stood on my feet I hugged him tight.

“Hello” I said and smiled when I smelled my favorite scent in the whole world. Just him.

He laughed and kissed my head wrapping his arms around me.

“Hi love… let’s go upstairs,hm?” He stroked my back and kissed my forehead few times again and than my lips.

I smiled and moved away a little and we went upstairs.

I had a small talk with his brothers and than I went to take a shower and changed in comfortable clothes. When I came back into Matt’s room he was sitting at his desk. There were snack and food on his bed and my bag was next to the bed as well with target bag full of period stuff I needed.

“Matt… thank you you’re the best” I said and he smiles and stood up.

“Let’s eat knowing you last thing you ate was breakfast” he said and I made a face at him because that was true.

I felt a little better because the meds kicked in.

We ate dinner talking about our day and then Matt cleaned up and put on some movie.

I didn’t even know when I was asleep again but when I woke up the clock was showing 4 am. I was in so much pain and I felt like throwing up. I helped myself up on my arms and stood up. I went to the bathroom and just fell on my knees in front of the toilet. I did not really pay attention if Matt was up or not. But after I let everything out I felt cold towel being put on my neck and my hair was put in the ponytail. I wiped my mouth with the paper and flushed the toilet. I sat on the floor and rested my back on the shower glass.

"Baby....here" Matt gave me water in the cup and he was holding more medicine in his hands.

I opened my mouth and he helped me with it. I swallowed and closed my eyes for a second.

"I am so sorry I woke you up and you had to see this." I said.

I don't know why it was so bad this month. I always had bad periods but lately it was just like I couldn't walk and live for two days.

"Y/n its okay it is not your fault and also I am sorry that you have to feel all this pain I know I would probably die already" He said and it made my laugh.

"Yes I know you would" I said.

"Change and let's go back to bed I'll go grab the heated pad for you" He helped me up. He already brought the stuff to the bathroom.

I brushed my teeth and cleaned myself up and came back to the room. I climbed back to bed and Matt brought me close to his body. His hand slipped under my shirt and waist of my loose shorts. Not in any sexual way. He started to gently massage my abdomen.

"The heating pad is on the night stand for the nigh but it has to warm up" He said and I nodded.

"Matt I love you, you are the best thing that happened to me" I said and I had tears in my eyes. Because of the little things he did for me and him trying to ease my pain. I just wanted to cry.

"Don't cry, please" He said and kissed my shoulder.

"Im sorry its because of the hormones I swear" I laughed.

"Goodnight baby try to get some rest. I love you" He said.

I turned my head and gave him a quick kiss and he smiled a little.

"Goodnight" I said.

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME BALDUR'S GATE 3 / PART SIX

leave us in peace and we shall leave you in kind.

cut the crap.

we just want to go home.

enough of this charade.

i'll not play pretend anymore.

you'll soon learn what it means to ally yourself with the likes of this garbage.

i'm free now, and i'm never going back.

fuck them.

felt good letting off a little steam.

if i burn any hotter, i might explode.

don't get too close until i've found a way to calm down.

it's a bit early to be getting into tragic backstories.

let's save the scar-show for later after we've worked up an appetite for tragedy.

in the grand scheme of things, i'm inconsequential [to her].

she favored me like a child favors a captive pet.

it had the makings of a good stage show, but i did not want to be one of the players.

torture, bloodsport? or perhaps just a good old-fashioned walloping?

you owe me nothing.

i could extort you, if that's what you want.

you're teasing me now.

ignorance is alive and well it seems.

don't make me get the wooden spoon.

you'd best have one hells of an apology for me.

if you think your precious little god holds any power here, you're in for a surprise.

do you treat all your guests so poorly?

i don't like busybodies.

you are as thick as they come.

are you telling me you made love to a goddess?

i shared a bed with a goddess and yet i wasn't satisfied.

shall i share the story behind it or would you rather head straight to its sordid finale?

how are you still alive?

we've come this far together and we'll continue on together.

even i am tired of the sound of my own voice.

i'll rip your spine out of your asshole.

i'll use your blood to spice my stew.

i'll keep you alive until i've sucked the marrow from your bones.

killing me is a waste of time.

you bastard, you ruined everything.

this is an interesting way of thanking me.

a slap is all you deserve.

a hag was never going to help you.

they don't help anyone but themselves.

that double-crossing, filthy, lying hag.

focus on the positive.

forgive the aroma.

perhaps that is why i have survived so long where more fearsome peers have not.

your loyalty is admirable but misplaced.

his kind have charm beyond our mortal means to resist.

who'd keep a secret like that from his friends?

you can't trust anyone these days.

even in the middle of nowhere, he can reach me.

why do you insist on exhuming the past?

people think the biggest threat to a vampire is a cleric with a stake.

they're scheming, paranoid, power-hungry beasts.

i am what i must be, says what i must be.

how does it feel to be a devil?

i can't tell if you're being silly or serious.

you have to admire the man's ambition.

i promise i will not betray your trust.

you kept me by your side despite the menace i am.

i learned quick how to stay alive.

to feel invincible again.

this isn't where i thought i'd end up.

maybe when this is all done, you can show me where you came from.

i'm not normally one to begrudge someone their secrets, but..

i'm already blessed to have you at my side.

don't you cut a fine figure.

i am not some lower city coinlad offering you a tumble.

there is nothing so depressing as learning one's true value.

i could use someone with your skills.

they're ravenous predators with fangs like daggers.

it's hardly an irrational fear to harbor.

you've been decent to me, so far.

everyone's got their own fears.

maybe that's what i like about you.

all of this was for nothing.

if you're here to help, get to the fight quickly.

gods, i thought you were one of those beasts.

i'm not chasing after it, if that's what you're thinking.

the little beast's charming once you get accustomed to the smell of rotting flesh.

[orchid-mantis-petals]

IN THE WRONG SKIN

/ Heyo!! Hi!! You might be asking yourself 'Another Fic..?? Lu you animal!!" I know, I know. But this is the first time In my life I have had long distance friends..I can't drive to their houses and hand them gifts. So I write for them. Let their favorites make their week just a hair bit better.

/ @taeminsung This one is for you. Please Enjoy. I hope this week is better than last. If not I am always here to chat.

/ Genre: Fluff, comfort, slight angst, your teeth might rot!!

/ Warnings: Talks of anxiety, mean co-workers, yelling

/ Summary:

“He’s a knucklehead. I will yell at him later. For now, who said you have to follow the steps?? Why can’t you make it up as you go??” You watched as he slipped away from you, a small cry died in your throat as he shushed you, his eyes held a promise he’d return to your side.

“Because that’s how it’s supposed to be,” he chuckled softly as he played with the laptop they alway used to play music when they practiced. 

“How do you think Stinky-Head comes up with this stuff?? I watched him just stand here and flail his arms around for an hour till he found a move he liked,”

His sigh pierced your ears for what felt like the fifth time that night. You were the one to schedule time with your beloved. You were the one who asked for a night to dance with him. It was you who planned this. So why did it feel as though it was all just bothersome. Not only to you but to Lee Know.

“No it’s left, left Y/N,” his voice wasn’t as gentle as it was an hour ago when you both started to work on Megaverse.

“Sorry,” the word was meek, quiet, it nearly died on your tongue before you could even utter it. He sighed once more and started the music again. It wasn’t his fault though, or at least that is what you kept telling yourself. Deep down you knew the only person to blame for this ‘lack of effort’ was yourself. Your whole week had been crap. But today especially was difficult, when you got up that morning you felt as though you had crawled inside the wrong skin. It was as though it was one size too small. All day you begged for your brain to stop the back and forth debate of if you deserved all you had worked for. You’d hoped dancing with Lee Know would clear your head of the degrading thoughts. To your dismay it didn’t. Rather it only fueled the negativity that riddled your motions slower, and wrong. It wasn’t as simple as you woke up on the wrong side of the bed. No, you woke up on the wrong side of your life. Another misstep, and another, then soon the music stopped. The room deafened with the clear silence.

“Seriously Y/N. You come to me whining about how you need to dance. How you need to do it with me. But all you’ve done is mess up. Chan had three new tracks ready for me. I could have spent my day doing something far better than watch you fumble about!!” he spoke to you through the studio mirror. Eyes not even taking care to glance at your reaction. With one last sigh he collected his bag and left you there alone. It was then you realized everything that day had gone wrong. All you could do was stand there back to the mirror. He didn’t mean it you tried to tell yourself. Dance is his passion, and though it was yours too today you acted a fool. Acted as though none of it all mattered. You hadn’t heard the door open again. With your eyes cast to the floor you didn’t even see that someone had come to join you until their sneakers were toe to toe with yours.

“Hey, where’s Lee Know??” It was Seungmin who had now come into the room with you. Your response to him was a simple shrug to your shoulders. “I thought you two had the day together. Didn’t the two of you have today off??”

“He left,” your voice was quiet as it spilled past your lips. Through it you kept your emotions in check, no cadence to your voice. It caught Seungmin off guard, you were always so sweet when you spoke to him. The way you usually engaged with him was always full of bright smiles and loud laughs. This small quietness wasn’t you. At least a version of you that he wasn’t familiar with.

“He left??”

“Yeah got mad at me and left,” you felt your nails dig into the meat of your palms. A calm reminder to not cry. Slowly you relaxed your fingers only to dig them back into your palms. The action caught on by the taller man in front of you. “Spill it Y/N,” finally you dared to look up at him. In his face you expected to see disappointment, anger, or even pity in his eyes. Instead when your eyes met his all you saw was concern, his hands placed on his hips as he leaned forward some to look at you. The center of his brows drawn upward as his deep brown eyes widened when you looked at him. “Mochi??” That's all it took, the moment he looked you in the eyes the tears you fought so hard to keep in check spilled over.

“I-I,” your hands dug deeper, if you released them you were sure they would be a little bloody. Half Crescent scars bedded in the skin. “Minnie, I,”

“Breathe Mochi,” his hands shot forward, when your fingers relaxed, his own slipped in to guard your palms from further abuse. “In..Hold..Out..Hold..In..” he worked with you for a moment until he felt your body lean forward to sag against him.

“Do you ever feel like you crawled into the wrong skin?? Or I don’t know you’re just a passenger in an autopilot of a carcass??” The questions were odd, and rather specific to how you currently felt.

“No, but there are days that I feel like no matter what I try it doesn’t all make sense. Or that the work I do for my team isn’t enough,” oh..while he didn’t feel it the same way you do, he felt the deep hurt that nestled into your heart and took residence without ever paying its rent.

“My week, it was awful. I wanted to dance with Lee Know today. I wanted it to clear my head a little. But I kept messing up. Then Minho yelled at me for it and stormed off,”

“He’s a knucklehead. I will yell at him later. For now, who said you have to follow the steps?? Why can’t you make it up as you go??” You watched as he slipped away from you, a small cry died in your throat as he shushed you, his eyes held a promise he’d return to your side.

“Because that’s how it’s supposed to be,” he chuckled softly as he played with the laptop they alway used to play music when they practiced.

“How do you think Stinky-Head comes up with this stuff?? I watched him just stand here and flail his arms around for an hour till he found a move he liked,”

“You’re lying,” you giggled softly as a hand came to cover your mouth to try and contain it.

“Am, not, have the whole thing on video,” he returned to your side as music filled the quiet room once more. “Come on Mochi, dance with me,” he moved to the beat of the music, sure he wasn’t the ‘best’ dancer in the group. But the way his lanky limbs moved always captivated your attention. It didn't take you long to recognise the song as ‘I don’t understand but I love you,’ by Seventeen, your other favorite idol group. After a few seconds you joined Seungmin in the dance. With your eyes closed you allowed your body to move as it desired. It had no rhyme or reason to it. You just existed in the space around. It didn’t make sense, but it felt right. With your eyes closed you hadn’t noticed the other occupant in the room stop to watch you. Not until the song stopped and your eyes met his in the mirror. “Better??”

“Much, thank you,” nothing felt perfect, you still felt off. But some of the pent up emotion from your crappy week had filtered away with the dance you just did.

“Good, so here’s the plan. I am going to take you home, put you on the couch and snuggle you. But I am also going to text Butt-Face and tell him he made you cry,”

“Minnie..Don’t,” you began to protest but it was far too late. He had already texted his Hyung while you were busy with your dance. Quietly he ushered you away to the dorms where he settled your head into his lap, your favorite couch blanket when you visited draped over your body. There was a show on over the tv. But it was useless background noise while you chatted with your best friend. It wasn’t even an hour later when the door burst open with a loud bang.

“Y/N!!” Lee Know called out as he haphazardly kicked his shoes off. You moved to sit up but Seungmin kept your head against his thighs, fingers laced in your hair as he stroked it back away from your neck. When the older rounded the corner he saw the two of you on the couch. But his only thought was to make sure you were okay. In quick short strides he settled himself at your eyelevel on the floor. “I am so sorry my darling,”

“It’s okay,”

“No its not,” Seungmin took this moment to slide out from under you and venture to his room.

“Y/N call if you need me,” with one last squeeze he disappeared down the hall.

“Let me speak,” you nodded as you sat up to listen to him intently. “I should have realized that you were struggling. Rather than scold you for something that was clearly making you stressed. I am sorry I didn’t listen to you then, I will now. Please tell me what’s wrong,” he settled his hands into yours, he knew your habits before even you did.

“I had a really bad week, my coworker, the one who causes problems, targeted me again. He caused a fight with the team, picked apart everything we did. Threw all of us under the bus, and even had a supervisor breathing down our necks. I felt as though I did a horrible job with everything this week. My only saving grace was that you and I had time together. But even that went wrong, I woke up and felt like I just didn’t belong. As though everything I did or said was just bothersome to you and the others. You rearranged your weekend to fit me in but even that went wrong. I messed up the dance, I got stuck in my head, and I just can’t help but feel I am not worthy of your time. Not wor-” you were cut off mid sentence by Lee Know. His soft lips crashed against yours with such force your teeth clacked together. When he pulled back you both laughed, your sound music to his ears. As it died down he looked at you, his eyebrows set down with seriousness.

“Never ever say you aren’t worthy. Because you are Y/N. You are worth more than anything in this world. Cheesy as it is to say I will spend every day at your side and prove to you that you are worth more than you can fathom. I will not let you settle yourself for less, because darling I love you too much for that to happen,” you nodded slowly as he pressed his forehead to yours. “As for that coworker, he just wants under your skin. It’s okay to feel that, but don’t believe it. You are amazing at your job, your skills are beyond what he can comprehend. If he targets you again, text me, I will send pictures of the boy's butts to cheer you up,” your laughter roared through the room, leave it to Lee Know to ‘fix’ a problem by using his members' butts as bait.

“Okay I will,”

“Good, because he doesn't know shit,” you laughed more as he settled into the spot Seungmin vacated. This time you kissed him slow, and gentle before you rested your head on his plush thighs. Lee Know moved to rest his hand on your shoulder rubbing slow and steady soon you drifted off to sleep. Come morning you found yourself tangled in the bed sheets, limbs wrapped tight around your boyfriend. He looked down at you from his glasses, a book in hand, he set it down to give you his full attention now.

“Lee Know,”

“Yes my Darling,”

“I love you,”

“I love you too Y/N,” it wasn’t perfect, you still felt off. But with him beside you it felt just a little more right. As though only a single hair was out of place. With him you could handle that, because you weren’t alone in it. You had your Lee Know beside you, and your Minnie not far behind.

[yutasbimil]

Oxymoron

vyn x fem!oc | tears of themis ff. (psychology major!lead) ✦ (8/8) [series fic] !!! also posted on my ao3 acc! { here } tags: hurt/comfort ♡︎ cw: heavy on (self) angst; suicidal ideation; graphic and morbid descriptions on said thoughts, negative self-talk, skewed self-perception, mentions of attempts, self-harm. triggering topic on neglect and invalidation of family/relatives. it all eventually wraps up nicely with comfort! ;w; If I were to encapsulate Yule x Vyn's relationship in a song, I think this fits them nicely :') ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။ | ‘you were good to me’ by jeremy zucker, chelsea cutler + supposedly this is a 'x reader' fic but got too heavy eventually, I apologize truly ;; word count: 3.6k

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

do not repost © yutasbimil (2024)

cont.

Her waking life seems to be a walking oxymoron. Yule keeps contradicting herself of her beliefs, relearning everything from the truth that was built by someone else for her.

Maybe as to why she is at constant war with herself.

Now she’s crippled in taking her own steps after being locked up for so long in other people’s chains.

But she keeps caving in.

At most it stayed stagnant as ‘suicidal ideation’ to her, ever so lingering like a cycle.

Not till recently, a door peeked off an attempt and showed up a possibility at the doorstep for Yule. 

And it scared the crap out of her.

Never she had seen a suicidal attempt an option.

As killing herself brought so much distress and inconvenience to her, the idea of her bones, guts, and body splattering all over after jumping skyscrapers, or by the cliff where she rots just doesn't bring justice to her body.

Even physically harming herself like cutting slits in her skin just brings inconvenience to her. The blood spilling, the healing process, the scarring…  it's too much of an inconvenience so she just relies on other means of self-harm.

To starvation, dehydration, oversleeping, punishing herself by lying on a pool of her own sweat and limiting herself to any means of ventilation, and just sleeping for hours on end just to avoid everything.

Major Depressive Disorder with tendencies to self-harm huh?

Not at all real!

I’m miserable! I was born on a Wednesday, I am woe!

Although I have aggression and display such hostility, it is only to myself. Yet it isn't enough of an acknowledgment that I want myself gone?

How much begging on my knees is needed to be done?

The noose just brings a cone of shame type of feeling onto her as she doesn't like her body to be seen in the aftermath.

Even after dying, you're still shamed.

And she doesn't want that.

On the contrary, she's embarrassed at most having to think this morbidly that it brings Yule to shame if she ever dies sad and as a psychology advocate in the field.

A mental health advocate dying of suicide? Oh Lord, the shame.

As if we're immune to the mental distress and agony, but alas, it's hard for people to understand that people are most likely prone to such anguish of humanity.

It's difficult for Yule to grasp that she's back in this state.

But the last time she had bed rotted? Much so that she stayed almost two weeks at worst in her bed with little to no eating, drinking, and bathing herself— It just made her parents fucking mad for acting such a way.

An insolent fool, why are you acting so pathetic?

No such words came out of their mouth but the looks on their faces didn't show any sign of concern. If anything, it's just having such a disgrace of a human coming out of their womb.

And when they demanded her to open up, which she did multiple times FYI— All they did was dismiss and invalidate her.

Yule is tired, beyond expended but she has no other choice but to just continue on to carry her flesh and bones walking this earth.

New profound demons emerged along the voices in her head to “Do it.” Do an attempt to just get it over with to prove your point, Yule.

Show them how serious you are…

The whispers have been stronger and viler ever since. But she doesn't want to cave in.

At the back of her mind, it's not at all worth it to prove a point. Pointless. How serious and severe her mental ache is… it brings more gape and hollow to her already void heart the idea of dying in actuality.

“I don't like the idea of dying, I just want to disappear out of thin air.”

And it just goes on as a cycle.

You achieved all that and yet you're depressed?

Exactly. No matter how many heights I reach… All I ever wanted was a hand to reach out to me when I was in desperate need of help.

But it's just going to be dismissed.

I want to jump off and disappear.

She had dissociated since yesterday, even the packing and unpacking of her things were more organized than her array of thoughts.

Yule could only breathe in as she heard a knock outside the bathroom door.

“You need help with anything, dear?” Vyn checks up on her, she’s taking longer than usual as he noticed.

Yule blinked, blankly looking at the unkept reflection mocking her as it showed a tear-stained face she didn’t even notice had emerged.

“N-no, just… will be done after this!” she cleared her dry throat, mouth grubby as her croak echoed in the bathroom walls. 

Vyn simply responded ‘alright’, and let her be with her business.

The bathroom door creaked open as Yule dragged the door a bit too timidly, trying to not make a sound but opposite it did. 

By the looks of it, Vyn had been waiting for her as he sat by the sofa with a tablet at hand, looking casual as he read through the screen. Vyn briefly scans her as well, retaining his glance at her for a moment to acknowledge her presence in the living room. But he kept quiet, respecting the space she needed.

Yet here she is, being unreasonable towards him…

Even as Yule gets the vacant seat across him, she quickly gets swallowed up with guilt. She scrunches up her long skirt, lowering her head. Yule can’t even look at Vyn. “Can I sit beside you?”

Vyn looks up to meet her shaky eyes, he nods and pats the space beside him.

Yule can’t help but tear down her walls.

Tackling Vyn’s figure a bit, Yule is enveloped in the silver-haired male’s arms as she bursts into tears. Vyn encapsulated the petite lady into their safety net, hovering his hand slightly over her head.

Yule hugs him tighter, barely coherent. “V-vyn… I-I…” she tried to muster words, but she could only manage to bury herself in his chest.

Vyn just stayed quiet, holding her and shushing her to calm down. Yule only clutched to his shirt as she sipped in another breath.

“Sorry about what I said earlier, and how I acted as a jerk. I warned you beforehand but that was still out of line. I’m sorry…” Another intake of breath. “I don't know what came over me, but I know it is still wrong and I want to make up for it.”

Even in the previous instances, the sudden outbursts are quite telling. It masks her shame of the obvious relapse. Even as how she interprets it... it's her catching up on a lot of suppressed emotions that she exploded to tears.

Even simmering down her tears once it starts is difficult. It just resulted in her crying for hours as she felt helpless.

She feels empty yet again.

Yet, it spiked fear in her system.

Her eyes maintained such shakiness due to panic, about how? How could I ever make up to Vyn after that instance?

“I just feel helpless and it was not the right method to ask for help when you're being warm towards me. Always, just being kind when I least deserve it.”

Vyn had to rebut her on that.

“No one deserves to be punished for trying, and I can see that with you, love.” Vyn caresses and brushes her hair, feeling the hotness of her tears and breath near him. He hopes to lighten up the heaviness she feels in her strained breathing. “You deserve kindness the most on how people can be quite ignorant of their actions, and not the reaction of people towards their behavior.”

So I am making sense and just reacting towards their actions?

But… it’s still not pretty and kind. Vyn seeing me like this…Her abandonment issues heightened her anxiety.

“I-I don't know I just, feel unworthy and I want you to leave me as it's easier than to deal with this whole mess.” Her breath hitched at the thought, and she quickly took it back. “But—! I don't want you to prove it either that I am that easy to leave and unlovable—”

“You really just listen to what you want, hmm?” Vyn clasps his hands on both her cheeks to make her look at him. He sees his reflection through her dewy eyes. “Didn't I say I won't leave despite your attempts to throw me off? I am not that easy to be unfazed.”

His doting eyes bring her more tears, especially his words. “You’re so worthy, more than worthy. You deserved to be loved.”

He kisses atop her head, to her forehead, looking at her deeply once again making her meet his golden eyes. “I'll never get sick of understanding you and standing by your side. Never that I'll get weary, I get tired as I'm human, yes, but then I'll rest… Nothing a little slumber, even in the comfort of another, beside each other. Hmmm? Isn’t this proof enough that I remain holding you like this that you are worthy, Yule?”

“Vyn…”

“I love you more than enough to stay.”

“I feel ugly and disgusting. I haven't properly cleaned myself— there are others better, prettier, and saner than me. Not broken...” she voiced out but her endeavors were blocked by the stroking thumb by the side of her lips. Vyn’s eyes remained unwavering, contrarily, it’s in the midst of softened to deepening eyes striking back at her.

“And do I care? I don't care about other people as they're not you, Yule." Vyn pressed. "And you are not broken, don't call yourself such statements.”

Alas, her attempts to run away didn’t work as usual. 

“Again, I’m sorry." she breathes in. "I’m ready now to talk…”

Finally sorted out her thoughts, Yule vented out as to why she doesn’t like visiting home, on what had happened. But that’s the usual conversation laid on the table in their household. Nothing new.

She only went back to get some of the important documents she had forgotten in their home. 

“That was what occupied your thoughts since yesterday, hmmm? Explaining your dissociation since this trip began, love.”

Yule nods, and Vyn begins to piece together how much it makes sense. Her antsy behavior when it comes to time, she got so used to strict and unreasonable curfews. It was as if her body was still in panic mode, and it showed through her jitters. It really stuck even though she’s now free and already is an adult.

Being caged for so long has long-lasting effects like this.

Yule got caught up in her flow of venting, she felt her breath hot and tired. She craved water. 

“Sorry, we’re supposed to have fun and forget our usual daily lives for a moment.” Yule laughs dryly, guilt catching up her skin, but Vyn’s hand caught her consciousness first, cutting off any means of shame to develop.

“You’re supposed to let off some steam, that’s the purpose of this trip after all…”

He reaches out to her cold hands, yet his are still colder than hers. Even so, the softened gaze in his eyes radiates warmth. Like sunlight gently peeking out the curtain windows ever so slightly at mid-late morning.

She heaves in a breath to ground herself.

“Is that why you asked me on my day off to go somewhere all of a sudden?”

“Not sudden but… I had been planning since to make sure everything would go smoothly. Such a surprise needs intricate planning.”

The hints of perfectionism are reflected in his reasoning then again. But he admits a slight slip-up to his plan, a hiccup if I may.

Vyn noticed Yule was extra cautious and might have triggered her anxiety due to him ignoring her or being suspicious these past few days, adding to her abandonment issues resurfacing.

He’s guilty of this.

“I apologize it's not the best execution as it made you overthink and almost caused rapture in your trust in me. Most especially that it was an inappropriate timing due to your recent unpleasantries. But I hope you understood my intentions…” 

“You didn’t know fully what happened to me…” she shakes her head, sighing out of relief. “This made up for it, don't worry. I know your intentions very well, love.”

“Yes, but I still should've done better, I apologize, m’lady.”

Seeing her finally softening up, to her stable breathing and relaxed eyes. He can finally somehow rest easy.

Vyn continues to stroke his fingers on her hand, bringing it up close to his lips to gently caress it. “You told me last time that you wanted to visit this place, so your wish is my command.”

“I only mentioned it briefly, but you took that much thought into it?” She smiles to herself. “Your attention to detail is truly exceptional, Will.”

Feeling more loosened up and at ease, she reached and tugged the hem of his polo shirt.

“Vyn… I still feel disoriented, I’m embarrassed to ask this but… can you help me with my hair?”

“Sure, no worries…” He heaves her in to fix her posture as he’s back-hugging her. His tone showed no hesitations, whatsoever.

“But I’m giving you a heads-up I haven't washed it in days.” Yule goes onto a blabber then again. She’s just afraid of being vulnerable and him seeing her state like this, her condition of being lazy and tactless over her hygiene.

That’s when she knew it was getting bad.

Her basic functioning is blighted.

Also, this answers her attempts to avoid kissing him or anything and just isolates herself as she feels paralyzed to do anything.

Again, Vyn is that observant of her habits, it no longer hinders his interest in her.

“Want me to prepare a bath for you as well? Or… we can take a bath together?” The perk of his silver brow hints a sliver of mischievousness.

Though, the suggestion seems so convincing if it means getting refreshed. It didn’t show or imply any lewdness from the silver-haired man at all.

She could only let loose and be vulnerable; bare-naked in his presence on how gentle Vyn handles her.

-

The simple gesture overwhelms her, even with him tucking her in bed.

Vyn smoothed and brushed her hair with his fingers. He laid a chaste kiss atop her head as he whispered a soft good night.

His voice ever soothing her senses. Quite opposite of her sleepless nights in her childhood bedroom. The neon star stickers on her bedroom ceiling bring more blinding rays than calm slumber. And the random noise in their house is like storm clouds hovering over her head.

But being in his presence and his sound of breathing, equates to a calm pattering on the roof of a tranquil rain, and their shared bed a laid out like a cloud to soundly sleep in.

Lifting her chin up as support, Vyn wipes off the tears that she didn't even notice already leaked out beyond her consciousness and control.

“I'm sorry for how cruel the world has been to you, love.” He softly speaks, and he laid kisses by her eyes. “You don't deserve any of this travesty on your character.”

“No, we don't, Vyn… we deserve more than just survival." There's lightness in her chest saying this, she pulls him closer to her chest, enough that they attune to both their heartbeats. "We should be able to live.”

We deserve better, and on how Yule is crying right now, it is encapsulated in her endearing gaze towards this man.

It’s to let out all the pain, and how she yearns for a soft, easy-going life. That’s what she wanted all along. The calmness. And she’s eternally grateful that Vyn is the one to open her eyes to the possibility that she deserves this.

She deserves the light to live, to rest easy, to be able to breathe. And the privilege of living to share a breath with another.

“And your turmoil towards what they're doing is as it should, it's of reason… and does not reflect nor imply blighted blemishes on you as a person.

You are human after all, and you should be allowed to be human with vast and depth of emotions.

As not everything is black and white, my love, and I know it has been difficult for you to navigate through the opacity and hues of the grayness of it all… But I will gladly be of service to be your strength in this journey with you.”

His words serve as a soft reminder, but also shatter her in the sense that she wakes up. It's time to face reality. That everything coming up to this point in one’s life matters to shape a person, but it shouldn’t dictate you on your desired, deserved future.

It is still a matter of one’s hand how we navigate through life. But it’s also a nice reminder that she has a helping hand to count on as she journeys further ahead.

Yule truly needed that wake-up call.

This is a reminder to keep trying. To live on.

“You're no longer alone, and I hope I don't bring you shame that I am not the first person in mind to hold on to when you need help.”

“But now, I have to keep ingraining it in my mind to think of you, always… will that be alright?” Yule cups her hand on his face, tracing the mole residing by the side of his eye.

He beams, putting his hand over hers. “You have my full permission, love. And vice-versa.”

Reciprocated, as their love for each other.

Feeling the restlessness vanish, his words are the only thing grounding her tonight.

He continued his list of reminders, as tonight seemed to be the night she needed it the most. And hopefully, the last time she would be wrapped in intense anxiety instead of a warm blanket.

“You're more than that Yule, and you know that as to why it brings you so much remorse on how opposite their actions towards you with your real, actual worth.

You no longer have to be so hostile towards yourself, I'll be here every step of the way to lead you back whenever you go astray from what's doing you good.”

Like a good nudge to her timid figure, it nudged Yule to his side of the bed more, more certain with her full concentration on his.

“Their vile treatment of you gives a disservice to your kindness, and you're usually a patient person but you are put to the test when it comes to them.”

Vyn wipes the last of her flowing tears, now turning to a halt as his words assure her.

She feels seen; she feels loved.

“I hope I bring you calm instead of triggering your fight or flight mode.”

Yule laughs, in disbelief at how this is turning her overwhelmed with emotions, but now she feels safe letting her walls break loose as Vyn accepts her vulnerability.

She pulls him close to her chest, to let him know how her heart is beating at a fast pace. At most that he is one of the reasons she wants this heart to keep beating.

And only if she can stop one’s heart from breaking, it would be his, it is Vyn’s heart that she wants to protect with her dear life as well.

“I'm usually under the water, muffled at most, drowning with rage and darkness of an abyss-like pit.

I have been long lost in this labyrinth in my waking life. But upon meeting you, it was as if fate— destiny, whatever force the universe had brought us… I have resurfaced into calm waters.” With every softness she could gather, it is placed with a kiss they share.

“You keep me afloat.”

He kissed her back, and as if eons passed on how profound the feelings scattered across the warmth of both their chests. Tugging and pulling in between the skies and seas, it is left suspended.

Tranquil.

“And you are my anchor, you ground me and keep me safe from straying away. And at last, upon dreading destiny, I have come to love and accept it as it led me to you. Perhaps this was fate.”

And they wouldn't like it any other way.

They keep each other well-balanced.

Besides not getting enough sleep due to insomnia and uneasiness, she’s only able to make up for the lack of it with Vyn beside her. His presence serves as serotonin.

She hasn't had a good night’s sleep for a long while.

Her calm disposition displays the apparent glow of her recovering and getting better in being more liven up. And truly Yule’s more invigorating aura was driven to this point as they have come to a full circle. She comes off more regulated, happier.

She has been trying for so long to get off the seemingly helpless cycle.

Now she has someone quite opposite to her nature to accompany her hand in hand.

Yule is ready to accept and throw anything else that’s disheartening, as love is what's valued above all.

The golden eyes of Vyn brought her back to the ground. Being lifted and carried with such care she no longer felt the cynic air of dismay.

Just gentleness and warmth.

He embodies the tea aroma he loves so much.

He is love.

One wouldn't let oneself be this bare without trust, it is never uncomplicated to lay a doormat to welcome intimacy that easily again. Especially after mishaps after mishaps; the mass of catastrophes had led one’s heart to be numb.

But perhaps, it is love that was felt as to why their walls were torn down beyond the windows of one’s soul. No doubt if they hadn't let themselves be vulnerable, if they didn't try once more— this wouldn’t be their decided fate.

To love an unlovable person, that concept stayed an impossible decree for Yule not till it was proven wrong by Vyn. And for him, to fall in love at first sight when it is one of the most straying thoughts in his system, but then, Yule managed to breach through his walls at first glimpse.

As much as they see each other’s foundation as fallen debris, a dilapidated land.  

It gives them hope that people can always start anew, now that they have each other… Together, they can make a home for one another.

※ my masterlist | #enjeiwrites ※

[himalayaan-flowers]

i woke up with just the most awful anxiety and fear and i'm holding back tears to try not to cry in front of my mum and i know i probably feel worse because i'm not taking my medication but it's like at most that can only make me a bit more numb to reality

i just feel so, so, so alone in an such an unbearable way. i can't tell my family what i'm thinking in case i scare them too. and seeing a family member suffering is agonising. i just keep thinking, whatever i do i will be alone.

if i kill myself? i suppose i'll be dead so i won't care, but i'll be leaving my mum alone. and i can't bear the thought of her feeling alone. my dad would be there but he doesn't give her any support and we barely see my brother. my mum spends more time with me than with anyone else. it terrifies me knowing how crap i am that i'm nearly all she's got.

but if i don't kill myself and my mum passes away eventually i will be in emotional hell. i will truly be alone and it's absolutely terrifying. i'm so scared. no one else would put up with me or truly love me. the only reason my mum loves me is because i'm her child. there's nothing lovable about me.

i suppose i could kill myself after she passes away but then i'm cursed with the guilt of leaving my dad alone if he's still here or if he's not, my brother - he's married but he would lose all his family

i just feel like immense suffering is coming whatever i do and i'm so scared so i just push the thoughts away but i'm finding it harder to do that and i'm so frightened.

i feel like people might say the answer is to find a partner or something but even if i could do that with crippling BDD and OCD with the way i am i don't think anyone could love me because i have nothing to offer. and could i even love them back? i think i probably could but i don't think i could ever not be depressed and that's not fair on anyone.

maybe i just need to find another depressed person to be with but would that even help? would i have the strength to support them? wouldn't i just end up in more pain if i loved them, seeing them in pain?

there is no way i could ever be a parent. even if i wanted that, it'd be immoral because the child would certainly suffer bc of the way i am. i don't even trust myself to become one of those people who has lots of cats or dogs to be less lonely bc i'm scared i'd be too depressed to look after them.

i wish i could just move into an old people's home lol and just lie in bed and rot and i wouldn't starve bc i can't make myself make food and no one would love me but at least there would be people around and i could just watch tv or something to try to forget everything until i'm dead

[the-sappho-of-lesbos]

I feel safest in my room but it also feels so heavy in here just because of how messy it is. I genuinely can’t even walk on the floor. I’m always stepping on something on my way in and out.

It feels claustrophobic with how much crap I have in here. How much junk ive bought online to fill this void in my body. That I feel guilty for everytime I look at it because I feel like I’m spending money I don’t deserve and that’s not mine. But I can’t part with it either. I have so many clothes I buy from Depop but I don’t even leave the house enough to wear any of them. I want to feel beautiful. I see them online and think maybe this will make me beautiful. But I hate how I look in them. I pick apart my body and my face and my hair and my teeth and get so angry I can’t look the way I want. I don’t have room for all the crap I buy. I don’t wear half the crap I buy. But every day I feel like I’m falling down a hole trying to reach this beauty that will just never come.

Maybe I can be special and do something meaningful buying books to share online. But they are ones already share online. Others are already doing it better. It’s just a waste that I’m doing it. And even then I don’t take good scans or photos. Just blurry uneven messes in my dark room while I sit in the bed I haven’t left for days. Trying to trick myself into thinking I’m actually doing something. That I’m actually worth anything. That I’m not lazy and broken and practically a living corpse.

I feel so unbelievably dead. I wake up and breath and talk only because my body will physically not let me sleep 24/7. I’m lazy and sad and have no will to actually try and get better or live. I just rot away in this room feeling sorry for myself like the insufferable shit I am

[hankwritten]

The Scarlet Prince pt. 2

Demoman/Soldier Royalty AU, Magic, Amnesia

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

General Jane Doe of Cerulea can’t shake his past, and on a visit to the neighboring kingdom of Scarland, it comes back to haunt him in dangerous way. Who is this mysterious Scarlet Prince, and what is his interest in Jane?

“Where’s Blutarch?” Jane demanded, ignoring Marcel’s ‘you’re embarrassing me’ sigh behind him.

The stranger smiled congenially. “His Majesty’s indisposed. I’ve been helping with his latest batch of illness, and he asked me to step in for him this time around.”

Jane folded his arms. It was an arm-folding sort of morning. Awaking anywhere but his old and battered war tent could set it off—no bruises from the previous day’s battle, no fight to come that would put him in a better mood—and they were happening more frequently these days. Months now of a goose-feather bed in the castle, instead of the hard packed earth that could lull him to sleep as if it were his own mother. It was enough to drive a General crazy.

“Ludwig helps Blutarch with the not-dying machine,” Jane said.

“Ludwig’s been abroad for a while now, partner.”

A side eye cast to the physician’s chair showed it empty. It was a mix of black magic and ‘science’ that kept His Powerful and Glorious Majesty alive (neither of which Jane trusted), and although he didn’t like (or again, trust) the madman who kept it all spinning, he was at least a known constant. This stranger, this man who’d come to the meeting in place of the king as the rest of Blutarch’s ministers settled around the grand oak table, he itched something at the back of Jane’s mind. Like the others. A rot that had seeped into his fellow Ceruleans, the sloth to lie down while past slights were forgotten.

“D’ya mind if we start the meeting?”

Jane did mind. He minded very much until he could get a full military-grade integration for this stumpy little man, with his shiny hand made of gold that swirled with impossible gears that any sane person could tell you was bad news. But he could feel Marcel’s glare on the back of his neck, and decided it would be best to take a seat. There’d always be later.

That’s what he thought at least, until Dell—that was his name, after being reminded for the fourth time, damn hippies naming their children after water features—started spewing treason. Jane wouldn’t let that stand, not without a word in edgewise.

“We will not be attending this disgrace to the concept of ‘party’!” Jane slammed his open palm on the table. “We will not even entertain the notion! We will not entertain their entertainment!”

“It is not merely a party.” Even with his head rolled against the back of his chair, Marcel’s ever-present mask could not be seen beneath. “It is a celebration of our achievements.”

“Our achievement of rolling over on our backs for the first time in over a hundred years. Grab the confetti poppers and party hats boys, we have successfully groveled our way to licking Scarlet bootleather.” Jane stood, pointing at each of the men around the table, the traitors who had brokered this ‘peace’ while Jane had been out on the front lines, fighting for their freedom. More chairs were empty since he’d last fully sat on the council, more than just Ludwig. “I am aware exactly what kind of celebration this is, and that is why I am telling you it’s all crap .”

“What were we bloody supposed to do?” Mundy growled. “You were chewing up pikers faster than we could send ‘em. It wasn’t sustainable.”

“I’ll show you sustainable, you reverse-flushing kangaroo-humping son of a-”

“Enough.” Marcel’s hand reached up and dragged back Jane’s shoulder, which he allowed with a snarl. “The decision was made. We can not show weakness now, and failing to attend would reveal the divisions I’m sure we’d all rather keep to ourselves. Jane and I will go to the masquerade.”

Jane noted his careful phrasing, and hated to admit he was right. The only thing worse than being seen as conciliatory would be being seen as divided—that would certainly invite the sort of attack Jane knew he couldn’t fight.

“We need this to work out, General,” that overly-cheery voice of Dell’s prompted again. “Hell, we’ve been fighting on and off for the last century-”

“Rather it be on- ”

“-and we’re tired,” Dell finished. “Folks want to go home. Recover.”

“Those who beat their swords into plowshares end up doing the plowing for those who kept their swords,” Jane muttered darkly. “Sun Tzu said that. His last words. They were never able to take him from his battlefield.”

No one paid him any mind. The decision had been made, after all. Without him, like so many decisions these days.

Marcel trailed him as he left the meeting. Jane shot the assassin a glare. “Why didn’t you tell me we were being sent on a mission?”

“I tried. Repeatedly. You dodge meetings the way the wind dodges arrows.”

“I hate those things.”

“Meetings or arrows?”

“Meetings.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Who does that egghead think he is, anyway? Taking over Ludwig’s spot…he could be poisoning the king for all we know!”

“I severely doubt that.” Marcel breathed smoke out his nose. He often did that, even without pipe in hand, though only when it was just he and Jane. “Though, his ascendancy to Blutarch’s side was…quick. Keep an eye on him.”

“Hard to keep an eye when we’re halfway across the continent.”

Jane reached his destination, the thick oaken door where the castle’s highest tower connected to the rest of the palace. He began to beat his fist against it rhythmically.

“What are we doing here?” Marcel asked of this display.

“If we’re leaving the country I need to talk to Merasmus. There will be battle, mark my words, and we’ll want his strongest potions.”

“Merasmus is also abroad, remember? He has been for the past month.”

“What? Ridiculous! That sopping old woman never leaves his tower.” Jane renewed his attack on the door with vigor. “MERASMUS! OPEN UP! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE YOU USELESS PISS WIZARD!”

Marcel was able to refill his pipe three times before Jane finally grew bored of this activity. The door was locked—which wasn’t strange—but a faint odor of brimstone was coming the seams—which was. When he pressed his ear against it he could have sworn he heard faint giggling, but could ascertain no more.

“Things really are changing around here,” he said softly to the door.

“Indeed. Which is why I think it best if we were not within the castle’s walls in the coming weeks.”

Jane frowned.

“Do not pout at me.”

“I am not pouting! If I am not needed turning Scarlet maggots into itty bitty chunks, the least I can do is stay here. Close to Blutarch. Protecting him or whatever.”

“Come now amigo,” Marcel said. “Surely there are better things out there than running around this same castle day in and day out.”

Jane folded his arms. “The BEST things in life are the PEOPLE you love, the PLACES you have been, and the MEMORIES you have made.”

“…”

“Sun Tzu said that-”

“-He did not .”

“Fine,” Jane spat. “Lets go pack for this cheese-faced party. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get back.”

*

The masquerade was in full swing, and Tavish hated every minute of it.

From the crystal champagne flutes, to the toasts of their victory, pats on the back as everyone rubbernecked and sniffed their own farts. It made him sick, which he tried to wash down several goblets of mead, then tried even harder as his mother chewed out his ‘churlish behavior’.

When he’d finally ducked night’s never-ending string of suitable brides, he was very much ready to thumb the eye of the king, his mother, and the scarlet aristocracy as well.

Step one: ruffle some feathers.

He spied the Cerulean General through the thick fog of partygoers, red and blue alike, with other foreign dignitaries thrown in the mix, all openly curious if this rumored truce would pan out. The flowing gowns and capes of Ambery fashions clogged the pathways, surpassed in ostentatiousness only by the gemstones protruding from every Chartreuse belt. Even a few austere delegates from Graystan were in attendance; each one Tavish glimpsed looking uniquely uncomfortable, as though the mere concept of ‘party’ was foreign to them. But this General…he could have given the Grays a run for their money with how oddly he stuck out, his metal helm glistening hawkishly among the bows and frills. A black sheep if Tavish ever saw one. A preceded reputation, to the point that there was a good several feet of space around him, even in a Grand Ball packed like sardines. Tavish wouldn’t have known him except by that distinctive helm—it was said that he lead every battled from the front lines, a terror and a death sentence if you ever had the misfortune to meet him face-to-face. Tavish had obsessed over the man when he was younger, back when he still had fantasies about being allowed to fight in the war. Those had, at first, been cautiously dissuaded. Then they were dashed more firmly on a day that still left a flare of shame when he recalled it; being sixteen running to the very edges of the grounds, rubbing hot tears as he hid in the old wooden fort made of twigs. He managed to escape for a day in total before he was found, and the fort knocked down for good. He spent the whole time swearing he could still hear laughter in the breeze, the shadows of children he no longer knew darting between every trunk.

The sole heir to the House of DeGroot could not be wasted in battle, after all. Couldn’t be lost to a careless alchemy accident either, like the ones that had pruned so many other extraneous branches of the family tree. No, he was to be tucked safely away—even more so Da could no longer protest the treatment—and wait until it was his time to be used as a pawn to advance his family’s position.

That hadn’t kept him from stolen nights in his father’s old lab though, or days training with the ancient blade that under no circumstances could Mum find out he had.

He no longer felt the resentment toward the General that he had in his youth. It hadn’t been the same one who’d led the raid that’d killed Da, after all, who’d cost Tavish one father and one best friend on that blistering summer’s day. That was years before the current General’s time and, if the rumors were true, he’d supposedly killed his predecessor in a duel. Such things didn’t fly in Scarland, but Ceruleans were savages through and through. What better way than to ruffle his countrymen than by chatting one up?

“I’d stay away from servers if I were you,” Tavish greeted with one elbow on the nearest raised plant pot and grinning when the General jumped at his sudden appearance. “One of the wine bowls has a crack in it, and they’re desperate enough to do something barmy.”

“What? Who are you? Where did you come from? What do punch bowls have to do with anything?” The General barked off each question in rapid succession.

Tavish shrugged nonchalantly. “Just keep a hand on that helm of yours. It’d make a perfect replacement.”

Although the edge of silver concealed much of what the mask did not, Tavish could just see a set of eyes narrow within its shadow. “You’re mocking me.”

“Nothing of the sort!” Tavish grinned.

Instead of replying, those eyes glanced away, distinctly falling on the good six feet of distance the crowd had allotted him. It was as though he were poison, was an affront to their very sensibilities. He seemed perfectly willing to let Tavish return to that category.

“Er, well maybe a little,” Tavish coughed quickly, having already scuttled what he thought was going to be a smooth opening. “Sorry, thought that might get a laugh.”

“For you maybe. When your country’s favorite form of entertainment is pelting the stocks with tomatoes, what you consider a ‘joke’ is of no interest to me.”

Tavish flinched. Bit more honesty than he was used to. That, and he wasn’t expecting the enemy General to be so…sharp. “No, really, I didn’t mean anything by it. Let me try again, aye? My name’s Tavish, and nothing’d make me happier than if you were having a better time than you look like you’re having.”

If there was any recognition to Tavish’s name, the General betrayed none of it. He eyed Tavish again, reevaluating, then cautiously said, “Doe.”

“Ray, a drop of golden sun?”

“What?”

“Er, sorry, ‘nother bad joke.”

It was hard to keep his composure, the General so different from what Tavish had imagined. He was younger for one, and—though it was difficult to tell for sure—he was actually rather handsome where the mask couldn’t obscure it.

“Why are you bothering me, Scarlet?”

“If I’m really bothering you, I can go.”

“Just answer the damn question.”

Tavish eyed over the helm again, the blue plume stuck in its top, the way it had been cleaned again and again, no doubt to free it from the blood sprayed in battle. “You killed the last Cerulean General, didn’t you? In a duel?”

Doe stilled. “So they tell me.”

“What does that mean? You don’t know?”

Doe’s eyes grew stormy again, though this time they looked past Tavish and into the bobbing heads beyond. “I am reasonably confident that is what happened.”

“Ah, then good,” Tavish nodded. “He killed my Da, you know.”

“Half the people in this room have killed someone’s relation on the other half. Me included, sonny. This is where the whole farce shows its cracks, where everyone has to stand and face war and what she brings, look into your enemies eyes and understand that you are past the point of forgiveness.”

“You don’t believe in the truce?”

Doe threw back his head and laughed, that sound Tavish had aimed so high for to begin with. When he again lowered his chin, he was grinning.

“Look at me, son.” He spread his arms. “I am every man this truce was meant to destroy.” Still he smiled, the words dripping with viciousness. “You kill a lot of Ceruleans, Tavish?”

This was not a man who would care about tact, about smooth introductions and polite assurances. “I wanted to, when I was younger.” Honesty is what would matter. “But I was never allowed.”

“Heh, better for us.”

“…I still trained though,” Tavish added, a secret so guarded and yet he found it slipping out to this stranger who gleamed like a drop of silver sun.

Doe’s interest was immediate, a prick of the breath, a dilation in the pupils that set Tavish’s own pulse quickening. “What kind of formations?”

“Claymore.”

“Mmm. Good for standing behind the pikemen. Useless if cavalry get through, but necessary for meeting the other side’s heavy infantry. Ends in a lot of single combat, sword to sword. The purest form of war.”

There was something beyond reverence in his voice. Craving maybe.

“You’ve dueled using two-handers then?” Tavish asked, his mouth dry, standing closer than he had been before.

“I have mastered every weapon under the sun, son. Could kick your ass with each and every one.”

Tavish leaned in, his own mask of black lacquer concealing his missing eye, shielding him from the rest of the room until only Doe was in his vision. He whispered, “I’ll take that challenge, laddie.”

If there had been hesitation, just a hint of it, Tavish would have retreated in on himself for fear of an inter-kingdom crisis. But to Doe’s credit, there wasn’t a whiff. “When and where, cupcake?” His smile was full of teeth.

“There’s no one in the garden this time o’ night. Too busy dancing.”

“Show’s they don’t know how to have real fun.”

They were down on the grounds before the hour was out. The hedge mazes clawed at the sky, but Tavish knew the paths well enough to find a spot of manicured gravel that would not begrudge them a moment of heavy foot traffic.

Tavish drew the Eyelander. It was meant to be a ceremonial sword that was slung across his fancy dress uniform, but what his mother didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.The tailor had been precise and painfully traditional: with the sword came a black cape to ‘conceal’, and a matching knee-length kilt. The rest was far too many gold-patterned sashes for Tavish’s taste, and a broach of red iron since Endless Voice forbid they ever forgo national pride for a moment.

Doe idly examined the claymore Tavish had presented him with. It was Tavish’s spare, tucked in the concealed chest under the hedges, as it wasn’t hard to hide weapons out here in the gardens. The claymore now glittered in the moonlight as Doe held it aloft, its edges kept well honed by Tavish’s hand.

Tavish, of course, used his personal weapon.

Lineage and legend had passed the Eyelander down from hand to hand until it had reached Tavish’s calloused ones. Supposedly it had powers untold, but the only magic Tavish had been able to wrestle from the blasted thing was a supernaturally sharp edge that never seemed to need sharpening. Now, as the most deadly man in the Cerulean army leveled his sword at Tavish’s chest, he almost wished he had something better in his back pocket. He nudged the thought away. He hadn’t goaded the man just for a practice bout; and indeed, there were no protectors on either of their blades. This was as real as they came.

Doe cocked his head. “Savor what you can. Sweetness in victory, Scarlet.”

“As to you, Cerulean.”

The General pounced.

Tavish brought up his blade, and the resounding clang dove straight through his arms and into his soul. His stance had expected it but his ears had not, and as one foot made a half circle in the gravel to bring ‘round his own sword, he could barely process how loud it was. Beating against stolen training dummies could never prepare him for the raw force of meeting steel swung in direct opposition, parallel angles of pure force.

It also couldn’t prepare him for a partner.

Doe had barely completed his first strike before he was sliding off Tavish’s parry, swinging again with sword’s full force. He’d run the formations again and again, watching the training yard and replicating them later here in privacy, but as he was forced into a full step sideways he realized he’d never be able to match experience. The resentment he’d thought he’d let go of reared again, hissing at the base of his skull in abject jealousy. He’d been kept from this. He’d been kept from facing men like this.

And what a man he was. There was a raw physicality to it, their dance that was so different from those happening in the palace above. The air was cool, but Doe took a step back, throwing off his jacket while barely touching the buttons. The doublet underneath was sky blue, almost silvery, clinging to his skin as sweat built on them both.

The numbness in his arms would have been welcome in his throat, where Tavish’s breath suddenly caught.

The reprieve was brief. Again Doe came at him, and already their positions had reversed entirely, ending on the exact opposite sides of their makeshift arena. It went on like that, egregiously long, Tavish’s stamina waning as sweat poured down the back of his neck and into the horrid mess of finery and sashes his mother had spent so long having him stuffed in. The pompous excuse for a kilt restricted his movements, his stances horrid, his defense barely held in check. They fought not like knights with armor to take a glancing blow, nor like trainees who knew a blow would be painful but not mortal; they were their own brand of whirlwind. Something else entirely. To win was not the goal, no high ground, no dirty tricks. Even as Tavish thought it, he felt the disarm coming in slow motion, and could do nothing to stop it.

They were within each other’s effective range, testing their strength with their noses inches apart, when Doe’s hilt came down on his wrists. The Eyelander went spinning, flecks of gray in its wake, and Doe took the opportunity of Tavish’s smarting arms to elbow him in the stomach. Tavish staggered to his knees.

Doe took a step back, and Tavish felt something cold and metal under his chin. It was no debate to let it be lifted and meet eyes with the victor.

“...Not...bad,” the General panted. "For a maggot who's never fought a day in his life, not damn bad."

Tavish could barely feel his fingers, still humming with the vibrations of steel. Panic swelled as he suddenly realized how thoroughly his life was in the other man’s hands; there was no one who had known where they had gone, no one to assume he’d done something so stupid as to fight the commander of the Curealan army in a duel to the death. It would be so easy to spill his blood across the garden’s earth.

He shivered when the blade moved upwards, but all it did was slip into his blind spot. With a flick, Doe flipped the mask off his face.

The sword lowered. “Almost wish you were on our side. Could have done something amazing with you.”

A line on his cheek stung, and Tavish raised his hand to feel blood welling warm between his fingers. That was all. Doe was exhausted too, and that dulled the shame a bit as his words sunk in. A high compliment. Maybe the highest Tavish had ever received.

The hand that helped him up drew him in close before he was fully on his feet, bringing them nose to nose again, chest to chest, the afterfight gasps for breath falling so close to one another. That smile was so close to him now, the manic one Doe had never lost through the entire battle, but there was a hunger in them too.

“I hate all this damn ceremony,” Doe admitted, gesturing to the discarded mask. “The frills, the pageantry. You should know your enemy’s face.”

“That so?” Tavish’s heart was thrummed from more than just the battle.

The dare those eyes gave him was all the answer he needed.

He reached up, and did the same for the General. His hand came away holding the small fabric thing, his body moving closer to bring their unmarred faces together-

Only to find himself rearing back instead.

“Jane?” he gasped.

Those eyes, those beautifully familiar eyes that had never stopped haunting him, widened in shock. “What? How did you-? I did not tell you my name.”

Endless Voice, how had he not recognized those eyes before? Yes they were different, aged and changed and more, but it was still Jane. After all these years…

“Jane,” the words came sputtering from his mouth without his consent. “Jane you’re alive, you- you don’t recognize me? I-it’s me, it’s Tav.”

Jane took a step back.

Tavish followed him forward. He’d thought about nothing but Jane for decades, rejecting when everyone told him that his only friend was dead, killed in the invasion. The idea that Jane had been lost or captured was such a slim hope, yet still he’d done so, never believing Jane had ended a corpse at the bottom of the river.

But still, even he could never have imagined that Jane wouldn’t care about coming home.

Tavish kept advancing. “How could you not-? We- when we were kids we used to play down on the red banks, during the summer when we weren’t allowed near the wilds, and we built towers in the trees-”

Jane’s eyes snapped open wide. “No, no you do not get to be inside my dreams!”

“Dreams? I didn’t-”

“I, ahrg-” Jane clutched his head. “Stay away from me, Scarlet! I am warning you, I-”

He hissed another gasp of pain. Then, his backpedals turned into a full-blown sprint, and he tore away into the night.

“Jane! Jane wait-!” Tavish moved to run after him, but his foot caught on something, tripping over the Eyelander and sprawling face first into the gravel.

When he lifted his eye, Jane, the one person he’d been looking for so long, was once again gone.

[111raismess]

23/11 （´＿｀）

shitty ass day

notes: imma add a mentally/emotionally uhh title? idk youll know what im talking about once you see it wtv. everything i do is a cry for help

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────••─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────••─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

selfcare:

i did my morning skincare, i think, i dont really remember lol.

ate like crap today, ate too little at lunch, merendé like shit aswell, atleast i had a full dinner, kinda, im still a little hungry but i dont feel like cooking any longer. i didnt really have much apetite today, could be the fact that i woke up feeling like shit or my body simply didnt want to eat so much today, who knowss.

didnt shower, lotioned or drank water, maybe tomorrow.

also i havent exercised in two days, might do it tonight if i dont fall asleep soon. makes me feel bad if i dont, i noticed.

⋆ ∙ ∘ ✧ ∘ ⋅ ⋆ ∙ ∘ ✧ ∘ ⋅ ⋆ ∙ ∘ ✧ ∘ ⋅ ⋆

daylife (imma keep it like that) :

fell asleep at like 4 am and woke up at 11-12. not soo bad like yesterday but still, i need to fix my sleep schedule..

i deepcleaned my room, the floor in my room hasnt seen a mop in like a year, kinda yucky but idc. my back hurts now ˙◠˙

played the guitar today for a few minutes!! i havent picked it up in months, im trying to learn bulls in the bronx with my guy stuart.

after that i took a nap, then i wonder why im not sleepy at this hour.

didnt leave the house today but since i kept myself busy i didnt feel like i was missing out on life or whatever.

despite having the worst motivation today, i didnt rot in bed and i also cooked dinner for me today, guess i feel happy about that. i really didnt feel like doing anything today, im proud (˶◜ᵕ◝˶)

⋆ ∙ ∘ ✧ ∘ ⋅ ⋆ ∙ ∘ ✧ ∘ ⋅ ⋆ ∙ ∘ ✧ ∘ ⋅ ⋆

emotionally/mentally:

woke up feeling like shit for no reason, if i didnt have the will to not go back into the depression hole i would have stayed all day in bed and asleep. still, i distracted myself most of the day but right now that im not doing anything, i feel like shit again, i want to cry but i cant, time to watch a silent voice again hehe. i feel like im distancing myself from my friends lately even tho i know thats not true, everything is literally the same and fine. i also feel anxious abt next year, i dont know if ill be with my friends at school, i really dont want to go back to being alone, i really really dont, i dont know what to do abt that, guess ill just have to wait and see, maybe i get some new friends or something, i dont know, dont want to think abt it that much, feels horrible. its really funny because yesterday i felt fine, felt happy, normal idk, i dont get why i feel like this today.. whatever, itll pass and whatever happens next year ill be alright, it wont be the end of the world, i still have things to look up for ig.

⋆ ∙ ∘ ✧ ∘ ⋅ ⋆ ∙ ∘ ✧ ∘ ⋅ ⋆ ∙ ∘ ✧ ∘ ⋅ ⋆

wtv this is:

i dont really feel like writing or making this thing look pretty today. im currently rewatching mha, i really want to see season 5 bc its where i left it a few years back, im at the end of season 4 but i really REALLY dislike the episodes with gentle and.. endeavor.. (≖_≖), and kinda the whole season altogether, cant believe its taking me weeks to finish it.. i just want to see katsuki in his winter costume fufufu (๑•́ -•̀)

song of the day or wtv idk:

this is seriously a cry for help atp

[raventarnished]

I'm just a stray now I just kinda have to accept that people are gonna leave and I'm always gonna feel this again. This abandonment it just hurt extra hard this time. Cause this time I was really in love. My mom and siblings there was never love there so when they all made me feel like shit or abandoned me it was hurtful but they already treated me like crap for awhile. But being left cause your the problem cause the things you went through and finally find love as an adult you stare into a girl's eyes for the first time and feel like yourself like a girl like a lesbian like a woman. Like a dog like a family member we were close like sisters.

Falling in love and being someone's every like that was amazing.

I saved her life so many times and she did mine.

It felt like if the world was to end while we were together that be cause at least I'd spend my last moments with her.

There's so many memory's that just me and her share that are the reason I'm still alive before that I had nothing.

I don't want it to be just memory's I wish she never left.

But I am always seen as violent angry or unstable toxic.

Everyone gives up on the losing dog eventually.

I wish I grew up in a normal household so I could of loved you probably instead of this awfulness that surrounds me.

It feels as is the rot of my younger years has spread to everything I have ever loved and ruined it.

It would of only been the good I could of really built us a future.

Now all I can do is get high.

Rant over I'm gonna go to bed so I can get high tommorow

[tarangelagif]

#BedRotting

The most influential thing today is bed rotting. It's a phenomenon that's silently affecting our young consumers, talent, industry and creativity. 

What is it?

it's when you retreat in bed all day, binge watching online content. You experience this awful feeling inside you. Relieved to have time to yourself but feeling crap from spending all day in bed. 

It’s an escapist behaviour accelerated by our smartphones, the shift in social media from connection to endless content (whether it’s good or bad) at our fingertips.

We escape because we are burnt out. COVID may have been the final straw in the rat race. But ultimately the pressure has been building for years.

lets think about here-  ridiculous university repayments,  unaffordable housing market,  the decline of third spaces,  job instability and stagnant wages and to TOP it all off  - we are on our way to recession

I mean we’re basically wondering “What's the point?”  

And so we rot in bed.

Why should you care about it? Why am I on this stage talking to you about Bed Rotting? 

Bedrotting isn't just a personal struggle; it's a symptom of burnout, and it's eroding the lifeblood of our industry – our talent. They are the driving force behind work that cuts through the noise and connects with the same young consumers experiencing bedrotting too. 

Burnout is the enemy of creativity. Our ability to produce compelling work hinges on the well-being of the creative minds shaping our industry. And I know creativity is important to you or else you wouldn’t be here at Most Contagious right now.  

To fix this we need to address the root causes. As an industry, we must implement two fundamental changes:

Mental Health Leave Allowances: separate from sick leave 

And Fair Compensation Practices: match salary to inflation. We should be thriving, not surviving.

And I know some people in this room, like myself, are powerless to make those changes. So I will share this with you instead. Especially as someone who admittedly also bed rots.  

As a leader. Try harder.

I’m talking about: Celebrating the small wins. Give credit, where credit is due. Prioritise cultivating culture.  Get comfortable with talking about mental health. Be an active ally.  Push the DE&I efforts forward. 

And remember that although you won’t know everything but you’ve gotta try.

Our young talent and consumers are the future of our businesses. Our young talent understands young consumers more than any tool can. When given the support they need, They will be able to create marketing campaigns that drive a genuine connection.

And Connection is key to bringing our audiences out of bed rot and into establishing meaningful relationships and patterns of behaviour. So when our talent creates impactful storytelling, or community building initiatives that bring people together. That is what will cut through to someone's bed rotting. It could change their life. For the better.

Take this away from today: combating bed rotting is battling burnout, not just for our industry and its talent but for the well-being of the communities we serve. It's a fight for the very people we aim to impact. Because what we create is not just advertising, it’s culture and we need to stop.the.rot.

[thoughts-feelings-musings]

21.6.23

I wrote on here like 40 minutes ago. It’s 11 mins past midnight now.

I think, right now in this moment, I want to die. My chest feels a bit strange.

I think it’s because everything is so big. Mum and my relationship or lack thereof. Nan and grandad. I can’t even think about any of it.

I can’t even think about me. And my place in the world any more.

Maybe I’m making up everything I feel and all that’s happened. I just want to be someone else, somewhere else. Some other life.

I’m not going to do anything. We have too much going on. And I don’t want to fuck up my future if I survive it.

I used to feel like this constantly. But now it usually passes. Im being dramatic.

I wish I could call someone I could be honest with. I might just cry nonstop tonight. I want that real cathartic sob but I’m just doing small crying and that’s all that seems possible.

It’s summer so I don’t want to hurt myself and leave a mark. Im scared of pain too.

Life is hard.

I think A+I have gone off me. I think everyone has. I’m tolerated by them because we are colleagues.

I want something terrible to happen to me so I have a reason to feel so crap. An excuse for my being.

I don’t want to see anyone or do anything. I want to rot. I want to walk into the sea. I want to be hospitalised and have no one know.

I’d like someone to hit me round the head with a baseball bat and be done with it.

Life is hard because I am bad. I am ugly. I am boring. I am average. I am not special. My heart stopped racing when I typed that. The fluttery feeling in my chest went. Maybe that’s because I know it’s true. And that honesty with myself is freeing. Or maybe it’s because it isn’t true. I don’t know and I don’t care and it doesn’t matter.

I hate my name. I love it. I want to change it. It’s so recognisable. That’s why I love and hate it. People use it to perceive me. It means something to them and they have pictures and sounds and feelings in them when they hear it. I hate it. I hate that.

Shall I just stop existing? Shall I just allow the universe to take me? Take me rather than dad.

Can I be bothered to exist? Endless washing up and meal cooking and clothes washing and bed making and floor mopping and bin changing and fridge organising and shoe tying.

Nothing exceptional is going to happen to me. There I said it. I’m going to work a job until I die. I’ll be mediocre at it. Better than some, worse than others.

I won’t realise talent. I won’t actualise anything. I won’t be rich or famous or adored or revered. I am not destined for greatness.

Nothing exceptional happens to most people. Most people live boring, monochrome lives with a smattering of paint here and there. They marry someone who is good enough. Their house is good enough. Their bodies are good enough. Their clothes are good enough. Their lifestyle is good enough. Their sex is good enough. Their friendship is good enough. Their job is good enough. Good enough. Not in a good way. In a huh ok way. That’s life. That’s all I’m destined for. The exact same thing everyone else has. Nothing exceptional is ever going to happen to me.

Because I am not exceptional.

Fine. Fuck you. Fuck this. I am angry because it’s true. I am disappointed because it’s true.

Nothing great is coming my way. I will live a complacent, uneventful life. Like everyone else. Fuck life. I don’t want that. I want more.

[tylia-plus-leon]

The Beginning

As the harsh rays of the morning sun invaded the room through the crooked window blinds, Tylia shifted. Her limbs felt heavy as if they were waterlogged and the bed creaked with every turn. Tylia tried her hardest to stay asleep but couldn’t fight her body and begrudgingly opened her eyes. Groggy, she rose to a sitting position, her back slouched and her legs straight out in front of her. 

“God… what time is it?” She groaned, reaching for the phone beside her pillow. Tylia tapped the screen twice to turn it on but got no response from the device. She tried again. Still nothing. Confused, she tried to turn it on using the power button. One short press, no response. A longer press and still no response. “What…?” She was certainly starting to wake up now. Tylia rubbed any residual sleep gunk out of her eyes and looked around her room. Previously off-white walls were stained and cracked; vines, flowers and ferns she had never seen before spread throughout her room through any possible opening. Her windows were dusty and her blinds cracked and bent in all kinds of angles. 

“What is this? W-where am I? What is going on?” Tylia whispered. She could hear her panicked gasps as fear and anxiety bubbled up in her chest. She hadn’t felt like this since she was in school before she dropped out to become a webtoon artist. She could feel her thoughts closing in on herself when suddenly she heard a loud “meow” from downstairs. “Oh crap, Leon!!” Tylia gasped as she launched herself out of bed, almost face-planting, and rushed down to find her cat. As she ran down the stair her foot falls through a rotted stairstep and she tumbled all the way down to the bottom of the staircase, screaming. 

“Ow!” Tylia shouted. Her hands were scratched and bleeding and her leg was bent at a weird angle. Her eyes widened like saucers as she looked at a bone poking through her skin. “oh…Oh. Oh my god, my leg is- I’m going to die. This is the end. It’s not even hurting, maybe I’m already dead.” Tylia sobbed, fat tears rolling down her face. 

“God, you haven’t even been awake for 10 minutes and you’ve already hurt yourself? Sometimes I forget how clumsy you are.” 

Tylia turns her head to face the person who said that but instead comes face to face with her cat, Leon. A beautiful Maine-coon cat with silky golden fur and a long, lean body. His tail flicked back and forth as he observed Tylia in her dishevelled, tear-stained state. “What?” Leon asked, tilting his head. 

“You…can talk?” 

“You have a broken leg and you’re more concerned about a talking cat?” 

“You can talk.” 

“...Please just look at your leg.” 

Tylia didn’t know cats could roll their eyes so well. She glanced at her leg, prepared to see the bone but instead everything seemed to be back in place. Her leg had somehow twisted itself back into position and her scratches had closed by themselves. She looked at Leon, her mouth open and eyes wide. 

Leon sighed, “Make yourself comfortable and let me explain. There’s a lot you need to catch up on.”

[imjustlostwilly]

why am i not like everyone else

Yeah, vent post BS after not being active on this account/never being active on this age old account?

Anywhoz

I'm 19, almost 20. My life honestly isn't that bad. I've had so many great opportunities. But I keep getting this crippling feeling...

I'm honestly not very special. I draw, I'm not that good at it. I write, I'm about average. I'm studying criminal justice in college, still in my first year. I have a 4.0 so far, although that's not saying much since I was a digital design student in my first semester.

I stay at home all day. I don't do... ANYTHING. EVER. My teeth are rotting out because I've never taken very good care of them. I don't like milk, so I guess they're just weaker than most people's? That's the best reason I've ever gotten from a dentist, they never really care, they just want to lecture me about not taking better care of them and how I should care and blah blah blah, like I don't know. I know perfectly well I should take care of my damn teeth, I'm just physically incapable and always have been.

So my teeth are shit, compared to everyone else's perfect smiles. Even my friends with mental health issues take care of their teeth better.

But my crap teeth aren't my vent.

I want to be like every other college student. I don't technically have a car (it's been a work in progress for months and it doesn't seem like my dad will take me to work on it anytime soon). I technically don't have a full driver's license either, just a learners permit. But I want to go on road trips and do fun spur of the moment things. I want to go party, and be able to drink and make new friends.

I want to have fun and 'have the time of my life'.

I want to be able to go outside and not be anxious. I want to... just... Do! I want to do things!

I want to fix my stupid teeth and be able to make out with strangers and make mistakes without having to worry about who will make sure my dad's safe and that I'll still have a home to come back to.

I feel like I'm missing out on important things, big things. I have nothing but time and I fill it with... watching TikTok and playing tv in the background. I don't even really play games honestly. I don't really read (despite having a room filled with books that I want to read). I don't do anything. I feel like I need to be doing things all the time but instead I just do nothing and stare at my ceiling. I should be working ahead on my classwork or getting ready for interviews and pitches but instead I just don't and I do absolutely nothing all the time. I don't even clean my room really. I don't cook that much either, I generally let my dad do that if we don't get something at a restaurant. I don't shower enough either.

I just... Suck. All the time and I'm wasting my life. I need to stop but I just can't drag myself out of bed and stand for long enough.

[the-modern-typewriter]

First off I ADORE your blog. It’s amazing and filled with good ideas. Secondly could you do a snippet of two super villains, one who’s just figuring out the other is living in bad conditions and is refusing help? Thanks and keep writing you brilliant writer

The door to their flat was open. The villain edged forward, jaw clenched, and almost hoped that whatever scumbag had tried to rob them this time was still there. Then they'd have an excuse to do some damage. Practically an invitation.

Someone was there.

Just not who they expected.

"I know we are in a profession stereotypically known for our arrogance, but this..." Nocturne clicked their tongue. "This is something else entirely. They have the audacity to make you pay for this?"

Nocturne was one of the top supervillains in the city, shrouded in mystery as much as the shadows ever present at their fingertips. The air around them felt charged, like it held the strange noise-quiet of a room falling silent at the end of a song, where the very lack of sound became its own tune. They were sitting on the edge of the villain's bed - so, the edge of a mattress on the floor. Somehow, it looked less pathetic when Nocturne did it.

The villain froze in the doorway.

Nocturne's dark gaze pierced through them. "I've packed a bag for you. Do you need anything else?"

"W-what?"

There was a duffel bag resting next to Nocturne's side. With a flick of Nocturne's hand, darkness plucked it up and carried it into the villain's arms.

"Is there anything else in this rotting pit of a health code violation that you want before I demolish it?" Nocturne asked. "I assume you are not particularly attached to the mould."

The villain's mouth felt dry, their brain reeling. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah, Night Watch said you'd say that." Nocturne pushed to their feet. "But unlike her, I am more than content to knock you out and physically drag you somewhere with working central heating. We can have a chat about exactly why you are refusing help later."

The villain's face burned with a mixture of shame and fury. Their fists clenched at their sides. The itch to attack rose again, unbidden, but Nocturne wasn't a fight they could win so easily.

"Stay out of my business."

"No."

The villain spluttered. "You can't just say no."

Nocturne raised a brow. The room around them had already been dim due to the electricity going off again, but now it felt like night had crept in, coalescing around the supervillain standing opposite them. It deepened as Nocturne moved closer to them, stopping when they were face to face.

"No," Nocturne said, and there was something to their voice that the villain had never heard before. Nocturne was deadly at the best of times, but cold, distant. That no was not cold. The look in Nocturne's eyes was not cold. It was livid. Livid and...protective?

The villain shivered.

"You don't want to owe me, I get that." Nocturne continued. "I also get that you do not necessarily want your living conditions to be under my power. However, if you stay here, you will die. It is freezing, there's no hot water, and we're not even in the middle of winter yet. I'm pretty sure if you didn't have ice powers, you'd already be dead or dying. Do you understand that?"

"I'm not - it's not -"

"My literal dungeon has better living conditions than this. Night Watch, bless her, has a thing about choices. I don't give a crap about your choices when they mean you get hurt. Do you understand that?"

"I can't just leave," the villain hissed, feeling near tears. "You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me or start walking."

The villain glared at them, and Nocturne stared back, utterly unyielding and without mercy. Certainly no hero, like Night Watch, to care about agency or consent. The silence ticked between them. The villain turned away, hands shaking as they dragged their fingers through their hair with agitation. The grim apartment looked even worse when they could see it through Nocturne's eyes.

"The place belongs to Seven. I -" They didn't want to say it. "I belong to Seven."

If Nocturne was one of the top supervillains in the city, then Seven was the top supervillain in the world. Nocturne stilled in their periphery vision. The room stuttered pitch black for a second.

"They planted me here to infiltrate you," the villain mumbled. "You and the others."

"And you betrayed Seven so now they want to murder you via asbestos in the walls...?" Somehow, Nocturne's voice was still calm, as melodic to the ear as ever even.

"What? No. No." The villain squeezed their eyes shut, feeling sick, and cornered. The villain did not get a lot of the details, but Seven had known that Nocturne would pay attention to a bad home. That they would offer their own sanctuaries up in a heartbeat. "This is a trap, okay? I don't know how, or why, but it's a trap. I'm a trap."

Nocturne stayed silent for a moment. "Okay, so you didn't need to pack anything else?"

"Did you just hear me at all!?"

"Yeah, you're right." Nocturne's shadows dropped the bag. "There's probably a tracker in the toothbrush or something. I'll get you another one."

The villain rounded on them, barely able to breathe. "I can't go with you. I'm not getting you killed because you're trying to - trying to be kind." They hadn't expected that, coming to this city, they hadn't expected Nocturne, but now that they'd met them. Terrifying, glorious, magnificent Nocturne. "Just - respect my choice on this, alright? This is my business." They drew themselves to full height, summoning ice to cling to the already damp room, making both of their breath fog. They channelled the attitude that had made heroes across the world cower. "Back off."

The darkness vanished from the room.

"Alright," Nocturne said. "Alright."

The villain sagged in relief, and disappointment, and too many things. Their bones ached with the thought of curling up alone for another night, and the night after that, and the one after that until Seven realised they had failed their mission and dealt a swift punishment.

"Thanks," the villain began. "I-"

The darkness snapped tight, and lashed out, with a scream of sound and music roaring in the villain's ears.

The villain woke up in Nocturne's home six hours later; warm for the first time that they could remember in a while, a perfectly steaming bowl of broth already waiting to fill the gnawing void in their belly. 

The news said that their old flat block had been completely destroyed, with a swirling screech of shadow left behind, echoing the same words over and over and over.

This is war. This is war. This is war.

[senseless-writing]

A Chance

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x child!reader (oc)

Request: Ooooo what about geralt tackling taking care of a poor Orion with a cold?🥺

Summary: Orion has a cold. Or, at least, that’s how it started. But when things take an unexpected turn down a dangerous road, Geralt questions if he really has what it takes to care for a human child

Warnings: A crap ton of angst. But don’t worry, I’m a sucker for happy ending and tooth rotting fluff :)

A/N: I tagged everyone from “Something New.” But if you want to be removed or added, please let me know!

Masterlist

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

The first time Orion ever looked death in the eyes, she was only eight years old. 

And for the first time since Geralt took her in on that cold winter's day, nearly two years past, he wondered if his life was on track to reverting back to how it used to be. How it was before, when the only person he had to care for was himself. When things were easier, simpler, and a hell of a lot quieter. 

Back to a life without Orion. 

It scared the shit out of him. 

Geralt tried to find an inn as soon as he heard her cough. They’d been on Roach when it happened, and it was quickly followed by a round of pitiful sniffs as she rubbed her button nose on the cloak he bought her six months ago. And then, of course, she’d flopped herself back against his chest and whined. 

“I’m dyingggg,” she drawled, coughing once more. 

The right corner of Geralt’s lips lifted in a smile. “Is that so?”

“Yes, I am. Can’t you see? I’m clearly in pain here.” 

“Hm. What I see is a little girl with a cold and an imagination too big for her head.” 

Almost immediately, Geralt laughed at his own joke, because he could see the tips of Orion’s ears flushing red in anger. Or, perhaps, annoyance. 

“Oh, ha ha,” she sniffed, and the witcher could practically hear the scowl on her face. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you? You wouldn’t if you knew what it actually felt like to be sick.” 

Geralt let go of Roach’s reins, then, to wrap his arms around her and squeeze until she whined and pushed at his arms. “You poor little human child. Doomed to a life of misery with no one who understands you.” 

Orion huffed, and made a whole show of slumping over in defeat. “Fine, clearly you don’t care. I guess I’ll just suffer in silence.” 

“Oh, I seriously doubt that.” 

And he was right, at least for a while. She whined and coughed and sneezed loud enough for the whole forest to hear. But eventually, her coughs became more rough, and her sullen complaints fell silent. That’s when Geralt knew it was time to be concerned. 

He could feel her whole body shudder against his chest when she coughed. And her skin, despite the chill, was warm to the touch. Perhaps she really was as sick as she said she was. His first thought, then, was to change their route in favor of the closest inn. Sure, there wasn’t any snow on the ground, but winter weather could be brutal, and it was easy for a witcher to forget that a few nights in the cold was enough for a human to feel the effect. 

But hours later, still on horseback, it was clear that they wouldn’t be making it to any inn on that night. They’d been too deep into the woods by the time Geralt decided to change their course, and with the sun setting steadily, the last thing he wanted was to be stuck wandering in the dark with a miserable child. He had to set up camp, and he had to do it there. 

She’ll live, he thought idly. There was a bit of guilt, sure, but not much. She’ll make it one more night, roughing it out here with me. We’ll get to the inn by tomorrow for sure.

So he found a spot he liked and dismounted from Roach, helping a grumpy Orion down with him. She sulked away to sit under a nearby tree as soon as her feet hit the floor. 

“Another night on the forest floor,” she groaned. “I thought you said we’d get to sleep in a bed tonight.” 

Geralt, still un-tacking Roach and pulling their stuff from his bag, let out a sigh. “I can make you a bed of grass to sleep on if you’d like.” 

“I didn’t know witchers had a sense of humor.” 

“I didn’t know stuffy noses made little girls turn bratty.” 

“I’m not a brat, Geralt,” she whined, and he turned to give her a sharp look. Orion returned it with a pitiful one of her own. “I really don’t feel well.” 

The witcher’s eyes softened as he walked over, tossing a blanket and water pouch into her lap. “I know you don’t. Put that on, and drink some water. Are you hungry?” 

“No,” Orion grumbled in between small sips. 

“Alright. I’m going to work on building this fire, and you’re going to close your eyes and try to get some rest. How does that sound?”

The raven haired girl didn’t respond, instead tucking herself deep into the sheepskin Geralt gave her. But the witcher took that as an agreement, and gently patted her head, before turning to continue his nightly routine. 

Lay out the blankets, brush down the horse, set up the fire. It was at least an hour before he could finally sit down and check on Orion again. She looked alright, albeit still a little warm, but nonetheless sound asleep. He wasn’t sure if whatever she had would clear out by tomorrow, but doubted it would last more than a day or two. 

Either way, he’d done everything right. She was hydrated and resting, and as warm as he could possibly make her. With her head resting on his lap as he leaned against a tree, and his eyes closed for the night, Geralt was sure that today was a success for him as a make-shift guardian. 

Things weren’t meant to go the way they did.

But when he awoke in the middle of the night, he immediately knew that something was wrong. At first, he couldn’t figure out what it was. In fact, he wasn't even sure what woke him. So he did what Vesemir taught him to do: sit still, listen, and observe. 

The fire had died down hours ago, as he could just barely smell the smoke in the air. Roach was standing off a few feet away, but he knew she was sleeping from the rhythm of her heart. And there wasn’t a monster nearby, that much Geralt was certain of. His senses were too trained to miss such a thing. 

It was like a flash going off in his brain. Some sort of sixth sense that manifested before he even knew it was there. A sense that only a guardian, a father, could experience. 

Because Orion—small, headstrong, and cute as a button Orion—was trembling in his arms. And apparently, his subconscious knew it long before he did.

“Orion?” he sat up at once, cupping her cheeks in his hands. Her face was hot, red hot, and flushed of all color entirely. Sweat pressed her raven curls to her forehead, her chest shuddered with every breath she took, and Geralt’s cat eyes allowed him to see the light tint of blue on her lips, even if the stars were the only thing lighting the night sky. 

He pulled her completely into his lap with frantic hands, holding her close to his chest. “Hey,” he shook her, tapping her cheeks to get her to look at him. “Can you hear me, sweetheart?” 

Her eyes opened slowly, uncertainly. She looked at him without seeing, and her shaky hands raised to cling to the wrists that held her face. They felt like icicles against Geralt’s skin. 

“I know, I know,” he shushed her when she moaned in pain. She tried to tuck her face to his neck, but he wouldn’t let her. Not until he knew what she needed. “What hurts? Tell me what hurts so I can fix it.” 

“Everything,” she cried, but it came out more as a hoarse whisper than anything else. “Everything hurts.” 

Geralt fished out the water pouch from between the blankets underneath them, quickly unscrewing the cap and holding it to her shaking lips. Orion tilted her head away in distaste. 

“Cmon, Orion, you have to let me help.” 

She coughed again, a dry, hollow sound. It rattled her lungs so deeply that she lurched forward in Geralt’s arms to try and ease the pain in her chest. The witcher helped her sit up, patting her back in the hopes of making it stop, but nothing seemed to work. She just kept coughing, coughing until she was blue in the face and the only thing he could do was pull her close and pray to whatever gods that were out there to let her breathe.

“Slowly,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re alright, just breathe slowly.”

But she wasn’t alright, and she couldn’t breathe, and Geralt didn’t know what to do. Orion was sick, sicker than he’d initially thought. And the guilt of doing nothing about it, of spending another night in the cold while he sat on his ass and did nothing, was enough to drive him mad. 

He wouldn’t allow himself to do it a moment longer. 

“Alright,” he let out a frantic sigh. With a grunt of exhaustion, he stood with Orion still in his arms. He held her close to his chest, with one arm wrapped around her back while the other cradled her head to his shoulder. “We’re gonna go, alright? We’re gonna go, and I’m gonna find you someone who will make it better.” 

The little girl groaned in pain as he bent down to throw their stuff into bags. Roach, having been rudely awakened, huffed and stomped her hooves as Geralt struggled to tack her up with one hand. His hands were shaking—with adrenaline, rage, or fear, he wasn’t sure—but not as bad as Orion’s were. He could feel them wrapped around his neck, frail and shaky and struggling to hold on. 

How could she have become this ill in only a matter of hours? How could he have not noticed? 

He’s never disassembled a camp so quickly in his life. Within minutes, the only evidence of them being there was the remains of their burnt out fire. Quickly, Geralt found a way to mount Roach with Orion still in his arms. It was awkward, and uncomfortable, but necessary. She couldn’t even hold herself up anymore, and the witcher resorted to cradling her in his arms as he urged the mare forwards. 

Even wrapped in all the blankets they had, Geralt could still feel Orion trembling as they rode. He simultaneously tucked her in tighter and kicked Roach to move faster. He didn’t like how far they were from the nearest town (which is why he hadn’t made the journey there in the first place.) 

But there wasn’t much of an option now. 

-----------

They rode until dawn, and they rode in relative silence. Geralt wanted to say something, wanted to apologize or sooth her or…something. But he couldn’t. Partially because he didn’t know what to say, and partially because he was too busy listening to her breaths. 

They were unsteady and muffled. Erratic, even. 

And even if he could find the words to say, it’s not like she would hear them. By this point in their ride, Orion was delirious with fever. Sweating through her blankets, trembling in the cold, and mumbling words Geralt couldn’t understand, even with his sensitive hearing.  

By the time he finally reached the small town he knew would be waiting for them, Geralt wasn’t sure if Orion was with him anymore. And the people of the town, they watched him. They watched as a white haired witcher carrying a bundle of death rode through their streets, frantically searching for someone to fix the mistake he’d made. 

The residents of this town took pity on the poor witcher. An old man, probably half Geralt’s age, approached Roach with a soft face and raised hands. 

“Excuse me, sir, but can I assume you’re looking for a doctor?” 

Geralt’s whole body deflated at the man's kind-hearted concern. “Yes. Yes, you can.” 

“Well our doctor, Lana, she never sleeps. I can take you to her home, if you’d like.” 

The witcher nodded once, a desperate “please,” falling from his lips before the man was mounting his horse and leading them forward. The two rode as swiftly as the streets would allow, dodging the few shop owners who rose with the sun to start their days. 

In less than a minute, they arrived at a house that Geralt assumed to be Lana’s. It was an old stone cottage, covered in vines and seemingly tilted on its side. In fact, the whole house seemed as if it was seconds away from collapsing, but that didn’t stop him from kicking the door in with all the strength he had. 

“Help, please! I need some help here!” 

A small woman rushed in at once. Geralt didn’t notice any of her features, didn’t even notice she was there at first. Not until her pale hands were pulling at the girl in his arms. 

At once, the witcher was pulling away, clinging to Orion in a desperate manner. That’s what he’s been doing for the past three hours, and he wasn’t prepared to stop now. 

“You have to let me take her,” the woman, Lana, said in a soft voice. Her hazel eyes met his own, tinted gold, and she gave him an encouraging look. “If you want me to make her better, you have to let me work.” 

Geralt relented his grip on the girl after a moment's hesitation. He watched Lana take her and lay her on a nearby table. “Please be gentle,” he muttered, almost as an afterthought. 

“I promise I will be.” 

And she was. Geralt made sure of it. He sat by Orion’s side with eyes like a hawk, carefully monitoring Lana as she assessed her. He couldn’t find the words to ask what she was doing when she jogged across the room to her cabinets, pulling out herbs and oils and other things he didn’t recognize. Vesemir would be embarrassed by his lack of understanding about herbal medicines, and maybe he knew more than he was letting on. But in that moment, Geralt had never felt more clueless. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” Lana asked him, her eyes focused on the bowl of ingredients in front of her. 

“She had a cold. It was—I thought it was a cold. But when I woke up about three hours ago, she was like this.” 

The doctor raised her eyes to meet his own for a moment. “Three hours ago?” 

Geralt’s whole face sharpened until his gaze was dark enough to frighten the bravest of souls. He knew what she was implying. “I had to get us here,” he said through clenched teeth. 

“You’re a witcher, yes? Can I assume you two have spent the last few nights on a forest floor?”

A fire crawled through Geralt’s veins. “If you have something you’d like to say to me—”

“I don’t,” Lana paused again to look at him with an understanding expression. “I don’t presume to know better than the guardians of my patients. I just need to know all the facts so I can treat her properly.” 

“The facts are that she had a cold. It was a cold that turned into a cough, that turned into…this. She became delirious about an hour ago and hasn’t been lucid since.” 

“Alright, then, our focus is on breaking the fever. This should help,” she motioned towards the concoction she’d made. Geralt flinched as he watched her tilt Orion’s head back, pinching her nose and forcing the mixture down her throat. 

“That’s it?” he asked, gripping Orion’s hand like it was his only lifeline. Perhaps it was. “That’s all you’re going to do?” 

Lana didn’t look the slightest bit offended at his tone. “That’s all I can do. The herbs I gave her should attack the fever while simultaneously clearing the congestion in her lungs. I’d like to get some cool rags on her pressure points to aid them in that process. But other than that, all we can do is wait.” 

Geralt could hardly focus on her words. The whole waiting thing, it wasn't really his style. Especially not when it came to Orion. He was meant to be her caretaker. He was meant to keep her safe, keep her happy. But he’d failed today. He could only hope, with the grace of destiny, that he’d be given another chance to make this right. 

That he’d be given another chance to care for her, and to not fail at it. 

They spent another 30 minutes in that tense limbo of confusion and discomfort. Geralt watched as the doctor laid wet rags across the eight-year-old’s forehead, wrists, and back of her neck. The panic he felt as he sat there was unmatched. No monster of any fang or claw, no drunken mercenary with something to prove. Nothing compared to sitting still and waiting for his little one to hurry up and get better or die.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t take the stiff silence in the air, or the burning hole of Lana’s gaze on his back. Geralt suggested that she get some rest, offering to stay awake and change Orion’s rags periodically, and to watch her breaths for any signs of change. It was a desperate move to finally be alone again, and it worked. Within ten minutes, the doctor had retired for the night, and the witcher was once again alone. 

Alone with Orion, and alone with his mistakes. 

-----------

Geralt spent 12 hours contemplating what his new life without Orion would look like. 

12 hours picturing his life without her smile. Without ever seeing the way it took over her whole face, or the way her eyes crinkled into nothing at all because her smile was just that big. Or without teasing her for the missing teeth that were still struggling to grow in. 

And he thought about how rarely he would laugh once she was gone. Before Orion, he could go weeks without authentically letting out a laugh. But now, he couldn’t count how many times he did it in a day. She was constantly helping him find the joy in things, even if he pretended the opposite was true. 

He was going to miss everything about her. The big things, the small things, and everything in between. That’s what he thought about for 12 hours in the tilted doctor's hut as he dressed and redressed her damp rags. 

But when Orion shifted underneath his gentle hands, successfully snapping him from his spiral of self pity, Geralt nearly felt his heart crack under the pressure he’s been forcing himself to carry. 

“Orion?” he called to her softly. Her face had gained back most of its color, without even a hint of blue in sight. He hadn’t noticed that before, having been too immersed in his grief. “Can you hear me? Go on, open your eyes sweetheart, I’m right here.” 

She flinched away from his voice at first. From that, and the soft candle light coming from her bedside. Her senses seemed to be on overdrive, and every little thing sent a wave of pain washing over her. But she could feel the gentle hands caressing wisps of hair from her forehead, could recognize who’s hands they were in an instant, and she knew she wasn’t alone.

Geralt was there for her like he always was. Like he promised he always would be. 

“Geralt,” she sighed, her obsidian eyes meeting his. 

Once again, words were beyond him. Really, what was there to say? What could he possibly come up with that would make up for the past 24 hours?

But Orion, ever the wordsmith, wasn’t content with sitting in silence. “Gods, my chest hurts,” she groaned, giving him the best smirk she could manage. Her eyes quickly flashed across the room in confusion. “Wait, where are we? I thought we slept outside last night.” 

Geralt stuttered, cleared his throat, and tried again. “We, uh—we did. You don’t remember anything after falling asleep?” 

 Her eyes fluttered in thought, before looking back at him. “Not really, no.” 

“You got worse. Much worse. I thought…it was touch and go for a while.” 

Orion seemed to contemplate what he said for a moment, with furrowed brows and thoughtful eyes. A moment passed, and then another, before she looked at him with a glint in her eyes that nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. 

“I guess I got to spend the night in a bed after all.” 

Geralt nearly blew a fuse. “You’re not funny, Orion. Not even in the slightest.” 

“I wasn’t trying to be,” she defended herself, but an amused chuckle slipped from her lips anyway. It got stuck somewhere in her throat, though, as it was still sore from the hours she’d spent struggling to breathe. She coughed to try and clear it out, and a surprisingly panicked expression fell across her face. 

Orion opened her mouth to say something; to call out for Geralt, maybe. Or perhaps to apologize for being stupid and making jokes after being told she’d almost died. But nothing came out, because she was too busy trying to catch her breath. Still, her witcher knew what she needed. 

“It’s alright,” he cooed, moving to support the back of her head. “Take it easy, it’ll come back. Just relax.” 

She tucked herself tighter in his arms, leaning at an awkward angle to press her ear to his chest. Geralt tried to speed up his breaths to match that of a normal human’s, though it didn’t really work. His heart still beat slower, and although Orion couldn’t exactly match her rhythm to his own, it still helped calm her down. 

They stayed that way for minutes on end. Orion taking in Geralt’s warmth, and Geralt running his hands through her unruly curls while trying to remind himself that she was alright. 

“I’m sorry for almost dying,” she said at last. It was merely a whisper, but Geralt heard it anyway. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and sighed. 

“I’m sorry for almost letting you.” 

“But you didn’t. If you had, we wouldn’t be here right now.” 

“I almost didn’t get you here in time.” 

“But it’s all okay now, right?” she looked up at him with wide eyes. “We’re here, I’m gonna get better, and everything’s gonna go back to normal. Right?” 

It was then, in that moment, that Geralt was reminded of the most important lesson of all. The greatest thing Orion had ever taught him during their time together, something you must know if you ever stood a chance of being a parent worth having. 

And that was to always, always, put your child’s needs before your own. To be selfless, even when it feels impossible to do so. It was something he’d struggled with at first, having lived a whole life caring for no one’s needs but his own. But now, with her under his care, Geralt had learned what needed to be done to make sure Orion was happy. 

So that’s why when she looked at him like that, as if he single handedly hung the stars in the night sky, he knew what he needed to do. He needed to put his feelings aside, to swallow his grief and self pity and deal with it on his own time, because reassuring her had to be his first priority. 

That’s what she needed from him. 

“That’s right. Everything’s gonna be okay now.” 

He could feel her deflate in his arms at those words. And with that came his own relief. Because for once in what felt like a very long 24 hours, the two of them were finally both at ease. 

“Geralt?” she asked again, and he hummed at her in response. “Can we spend another night here, or at an inn? With a bed?”

The witcher chuckled and let her slip from his arms, lying her back down and resting a hand on her forehead. She was still warm, but not alarmingly so. “All the nights in our future are going to be spent at an inn. With fire, clean water, and everything else we need.” 

She looked slightly alarmed. “Well, I don’t want to stop sleeping outside altogether. That’s how life is on the path.” 

“On the path, hm?” his left eyebrow raised. “How about this. Once you’re better, things can go back to how they were. Except, I work on finding you a warm place to sleep more often than I do now. How does that sound, oh mighty witcher?” 

Orion’s whole face broke into a smile, like the one he’d been missing so dearly while she slept. A wide, toothy grin with squinted eyes and crooked lips. 

“That sounds good,” she sighed, before relaxing her face entirely. Her eyes slipped closed, and Geralt leaned forward to press a soothing kiss to her temple. 

“Sleep, Orion,” he whispered in her ear. “And when you wake, everything will be better.” 

And it was. When Orion woke, everything was better, and Geralt was grateful for the chance he’d been given. 

A chance to learn, and a chance to do better.

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