#I was 20 and depressed and felt like all I had to offer were writing skills that even I didn’t think were good all the time

[majoringinsarcasm]

Venting on my blog about a tweet I deleted like six years ago that I wanted to vent about but not Talk About

Still in fact bitter about the reaction to a tweet I made years ago saying I wish fanfic writers could make money the same way fandom artists do

People were Not Kind about that and I ended up deleting the tweet. But I think what annoys me the most is that they assumed, probably bc of conversations before my time about fair use and copywriter, which one person rudely told me about so don’t worry I know, is that I wasn’t talking about big commercial sales. I didn’t mean putting it on Amazon or Etsy. I literally meant “if you give me ten dollars and DM me your prompt I’ll write your fic prompt for you”.

Like. Yes copywriter. Yes laws. Yes keeping fanfic safe and legal to write. But this was like 2018/2019 and I was so terribly insecure and was trying to think of an easy job I could have bc life and my aforementioned insecurities it this time “what if I’m too stupid to work a relationship job”. And I know artists fandom or big professionals don’t get work easily. I was under no impression ppl offering art commissions were making bank.

What I saw were people who had a skill and a community who Might pay for it for a personal drawing. I expressed my I guess frustration at the lack of that sort of thing for writers because fanfic can often feel. Lonely and like ppl consume it passively but somehow also Expect Others to provide it perfectly to their taste and if someone Does A Bad One they should be shamed or mocked or whatever

I didn’t want to ruin fandom. I was 20 and saw ppl who could draw offering to do so for money and went hey my only skill is writing maybe I could do that

The person who I say was rude also pointed out “artists who make chants and stuff have also gotten in trouble see see” and I’m like

But people still do it.

Please do not misunderstand me. I know there’s a grey area of making stickers and charms and prints of IPs you don’t own. I’m Not Stupid. It all depends on what you make and if the company sees it and then if they bother to make you take it down. It’s a lot of variables. But people still did it! They do it to this day! I’m currently trying to got up my art game so I can do it even if it’s just for me and not for sale

Zines! With fanfic inside of them! That get shared around the community have become so popular!

It was upsetting not because of the legal issues but the assumption that I was trying to Ruin things. That I was Stupid and was going to take everyone down with me. The fact that I was thinking small scale wondering if my followers liked my stuff enough that they would pay for a personal and specific fanfic that was tailored to them, and I was met with a lot of angry people who in saying what was Goofy information in the worst way possible.

“Hey that might sound nice but here’s the history of why we don’t do that” would’ve been just as informative rather than “you stupid idiot if you sell fanfic you’ll ruin it for all of us NEVER TALK ABOUT SELLING FANFIC. Artists also get in trouble the people who are doing shit at public conventions yeah they’ve gotten in trouble they still do it but it’s a risk. Fuck you”

And now I have several zines. With a least four fanfics inside of them created for the zine. That were sold For Money. Not all of which went to charity! For profit zines with copywriter characters being depicted in unofficial art AND fanfic

Again I want to get good at art to make cute shit. I want to make a personal zine bc it’s the closest I’ll get to a proper book bc I don’t yet feel I’m skilled enough to make original characters and worlds and stick to them.

Just makes me sad to think about past me who was feeling down and thought hey fandom likes similar things maybe this could work out. And to be so horribly misunderstood. Because I’m sorry if people can sell Link and Zelda and Ace Attorney and Sonic at PUBLIC CONS I could at least advertise probably underpriced fanfic commissions back in 2018 on my less then 300 follower account

[penvisions]

there's a place and time {joel miller x reader}

Pairing: Younger / No-outbreak! Joel Miller x Neighbor! Reader

Summary: Moving back to your parents house wasn't part of the plan, neither was being a thorn in your neighbor's side. but you roll with the punches, and hey, he's kinda cute when he gets huffy.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: age gap (joel is mid 30's / reader is mid 20's), angst, biting words, argumentative language, joel is a lil meanie but so is reader, grief, off-screen loss, depictions of depression, comfort, mushy stuff

A/N: this literally came out of nowhere, a random thought on the way to work and then a manic two hours of writing once i got home. this turned out a little different than first imagined, but i hope it reads well!

navigation || joel miller masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“Why don’t you date?”

“Excuse me?” The form crouched in between kitchen counters looked up at you with a raised brow, surely mishearing the question.

“Dating, I know you know what that is.” You repeat yourself as you push your arms back to brace on the counter and hop up on it. The granite of it is cold on your bare thighs, the shorts you were wearing thrown on haphazardly when a panic stricken pair of teenagers had begun to bang on your door in the early afternoon. The words of ‘fire’ and “help!” spurring you into action where you had been napping on your couch. Now though, the oven was off, the blackened frozen pizza still on the rack and covered in foam from the fire extinguisher neither of them had known how to use. Their father had sent them upstairs, thanking you for helping them out and getting it taken care of. “Or the concept at least, yeah?”

“Don’t mean it’s any of your business, little lady.” Joel’s voice leaves no room for further conversation as he realizes you’re more serious than need be. Little quips between you two common, the unspoken understanding of not discussing the reason for your presence in the neighborhood mutual.

“I dunno, I remember you being real keen on the idea of me babysitting.” You take a sip of your soda, swiped from the fridge after everything had calmed down. “Would do you a favor now, should you need the night off for some…fun.”

“Dating and fun are two different things.”

“Dating can be fun, if you do it with the right person.”

“Yeah, and what do you know about that? Saw you move in all by your lonesome. No big, burly man helping you with your boxes.”

The fizzy drink sours on your tongue and you toss him a scowl as he stands. He’s a few feet away but you can feel the warmth of him as he stands at his full height. He’s reaching to close the oven door, the creak of metal on metal loud in the beat of silence.

“You wouldn’t know fun if it bit you on your perky ass, Miller.”

“Language, you’re in my house.” His brow furrows and he pins you with a stern look. Something you’d seen him give to his brother, his girls, the neighbor across the way when she wouldn’t take the hint that he didn’t want her dog shit in his yard.

“Old men like yourself deserve to have some fun every once in a while. They deserve happiness too.”

“Even if I did, it’s no concern of yours. Your daddy didn’t help pay for two degrees for you to end up babysitting for grocery money.”

The rebuttal on the tip of your tongue suddenly dissolved as you felt a shiver run down your spine. He’s right, you know he’s right. But you just…you couldn’t even open the envelope with the certificates let alone add them to your resume and begin the arduous task of job hunting.

“Fuck you, I was only offering to help out a neighbor.” The words are rough, rounded out with the weight of too many emotions. You shove off from the counter, abandoning your half-finished drink. A delicacy you enjoyed only over at his house, too expensive for you to indulge in as bills you never anticipated paying became your responsibility.

“I didn’t mean-“ He had the self-awareness to realize he said the wrong thing. His hands coming up from his waist to reach out for you, but you don’t look over your shoulder as you make your way through the kitchen.

“Don’t come to me if you do need someone to look after the girls. I wouldn’t take your money anyway.”

“C’mon now,” His full lips shape around your name, but you’re already out the door. Resisting the urge to let it slam shut behind you, your anger still so sharp and hot. But the girls didn’t deserve to feel it, even the echo of it in the slamming of a door. Despite being a dick, Joel was a good father to them. He’d made his home a nurturing and loving environment. You didn’t want to taint it with your stained hands.

As he stands there in his empty kitchen, the smell of burnt dough, smoke, and ammonia dizzies him as he watches you cross over his yard to yours next door. The blank expression on your face and the faint smears of dried pant all over your legs makes him regret his fast words. He had been going for teasing, but of course they had come out harsh and wounding.

You were someone he didn’t know how to interact with. So sweet and polite with the girls, with the neighbors. But you were a firecracker with him. Teasing, whipping words that rung around his head, and he recalled far too often. The little smirk that pulled at your lips as you said them, waited for his response or sputtering lack of one. His own pulled from him, making him feel like a teenager again, like a young man you hadn’t been suddenly left alone to raise a child. Like his old self, someone who stood a chance with you as you gave him your attention time and time again.

He had only ever met you through the words of your parents, the people who had once occupied the house beside his own. He had moved in with two six-year-olds just as you had shoved off to college upstate. The running joke was that it was perfect timing for him to have missed out on the perfect babysitter.

-

Graduation is supposed to be a time of celebration and proud smiles, at least that’s what everyone else got. The day you had counted down on the calendar and crossed off the passing ones as it neared was now a blur of too bright colors and phone calls with people telling you things you didn’t want to think about, let alone hear as your new reality.

A car accident, on the drive upstate. Both parents, reckless driver.

A house that had been recently paid off, left to you. Your name already on the deed, something you didn’t want to think about too hard. Close, you had been close with each of them and them as a unit. A small family but understanding. It was yours, the backdrop to your life and suddenly the two people were only memories.

The move had been quick, the apartment you shared with fellow graduate students mostly books and a beautiful desk. The bedframe taken apart to go while the shelves had been left for the next occupants.

You hadn’t shared the news with any of your roommates or friends, not wanting to taint their own celebrations and happy memories of the day you all worked so hard for. Addresses were exchanged, well wishes were meant, but of course it all faded as time had gone on. Their news of job offers and exciting dates had been good to hear, but with no good things to respond with of your own, it was hard to feel the same way about them as you once had. They reached out, worry coloring their words, which made you feel even worse.

It haunts you for days, as you seal yourself into the home that is now yours alone. The paint slathered on canvas dries and the brushes coated in it turn into hardened caps over the bristles. You’re allowing things to sit for too long, the water evaporating in the cups you use to rinse between swatches of color. The open paint tubes oxidizing and becoming unsalvageable. But you have no control.

The bed becomes damp with nights of sweat, from your tossing and turning body as the heat rises and the air conditioning that needs to be repaired is just another phone call. You don’t even think you know where your phone is. It can’t bear bad news if you don’t answer it. It can’t carry the end of your world if you don’t let it.

There’s a sharp knock on the door at some point, in the midst of the haze of days after storming out of Joel’s kitchen. You hadn’t been able to dissect the sounds of life going on outside your closed windows.

But it had, to the point where now someone was calling on you to make you return to it.

Shrugging on a robe, you hold it tight to your aching body as you push up from the bed. Bare feet sticking to the hardwood floor as the heat fills the home.

“What?” You can’t help but bark as you swing the door open, only to find a concerned Joel on the porch, with your phone in his hand.

“I found this in the kitchen, must’ve fallen off the counter in the madness of getting the fire out and callin’ me.” He holds it out to you, but you don’t move to take it. “Figured you needed it, there’s a lot of missed calls and voicemails. I may have left a few too, to check on ya. Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“Been here, painting.”

“Okay, that’s…that’s good. Got everything you need? Food, water, someone comin’ to fix the A/C?” It’s an apology in the only way Joel Miller is capable of giving, the need to make sure someone is getting what they need, that they’re taken care of. He’s a good provider, to his girls, to his brother, to the neighborhood when he’s not beat down from long days in the sun with concrete and paint dried to his skin, with wood shavings and stain splotched on his jeans.

“No.”

“No?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m my own person.”

Your name leaves his mouth on a sigh.

“I know that, but your parents…I know that kinda thing is-“

“I’m fine. Thanks for returning this.” You snatch it from his hand and go to close to door, not willing to hear what he has to say on the loss of your parents. For his credit, he let’s you. Knowing that you’re going through the motions, through the event in your own way. It doesn’t stop him from speaking loud enough for you to hear him through the door.

“The girls will be by with dinner later! Try to be nice to them, they ain’t me!”

-

The meal delivered by two smiling teenagers does lift your spirits a bit, even if all you do is shower and do a few loads of laundry. It’s a long process, the climb out of the hole that you had found yourself in.

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months. You’re back to quipping across the yard with the man. His daughters delighting in the comraderies that underlies it all. It’s the height of summer now, the girls spending time with you to try their hand at painting. Sarah is better with bursts of color that compliment each other, vaguely floral. While Ellie is better with a muted palette imposed between detailed line art.

They always thank you for the time and attention, offering to help you clean up or tidy the house in exchange for watching over them when you notice Joel’s truck is still gone from their own driveway until late. They aren’t helpless, but you know what loneliness feels like and you don’t want them to become familiar with it.

You finally open the envelope containing your degrees, the last letters from your friends and pen down long responses. The stamps cute as you drop them off at the post office, the ornate certificates framed and hung above the desk in your father’s old office alongside his own.

Joel joins them most days, mid meal if he can make it in time. Food finding it’s way into your kitchen, something you’re sure is the combined effort of two pairs of small hands and one pair of big hands. The least you could do is turn it into something for everyone involved to enjoy.

But just as things seem to progress, they fall back apart. It wasn’t over a throwaway comment this time, though, but a piece of mail delivered from a local gallery asking after your willingness to partake in an exhibit. That they expressed their deepest condolences in this trying time.

The paint dries up again, another set of brushes left to ruin. The door goes unanswered, as does the phone you can hardly stand to look at. The lights don’t glow in the windows once the sun sets, no music is heard from behind thin screens, nor the sound of you humming along to it.

The house becomes a burden once again, shielding you from the world you as you feel the loss of your parents all over again.

-

You don’t hear the door open from where you’re sprawled on the floor of the bathroom, the shower is running but you didn’t make it under the spray. You’re fully clothed, having reached down underneath the vanity for a bottle of shampoo when your fingers had brushed over something else. A bottle of your mother’s favorite perfume. The one that lingered in every room she occupied, on every piece of clothing she adorned. It was her, the perfect encapsulation of who she was.

And it was staring at you inconspicuously from the shelf. The mere sight of it tearing the wound open once again and making it hard to breath.

That’s where Joel finds you. In tears over something as trivial as a tiny glass bottle. But he doesn’t bat an eye, he’s taking in the scene and shutting off the shower in a few easy steps.

“Hey now, come ‘ere, darlin’,” He’s crouching down beside you, hands reaching for your shaking body.

He’s so gentle, so soft as he pulls you up from the tiled floor and into his chest. Leaning back against rhe now closed vanity to support your weight. One hand on the back of your head, holding it to his chest, pleading with you to match his breathing so you don’t hurt yourself.

“Datin’ is hard, you’re right.” His words make you pause, confusion crowding out the wetness lingering in your eyes. The words from a conversation long ago pulling you out of your breakdown, the casual way he continues it.

“It is.” You insist, voice small and muffled as you refuse to pull your face from where it’s pressed against the warmth of his chest.

“Maybe…. maybe you’d be kind enough to try it with this grumpy old man. I’d sure like to give it a shot with someone like you.”

“I ain’t nothin’ special. Just the neighbor girl your dead friends talked about too much.”

“They loved you, darlin’. With everythin’ they had.” He holds tight to the hand you move underneath one of his. Seeking him out, to feel his skin on your own. “You are special, those paintings they showed me, you got a gift, honey.”

“Gifts don’t mean nothin’ when you got no one to share them with.”

“You share ‘em with the girls, they loved coming over here to spend time with you. Share ‘em with me, if you want. The girls and I are in your corner, we got you.”

“You don’t…you don’t want to date me. Every boy-“

“Boys don’t know how to date, that’s only something us old men know how to do. Will you let me show you, how it feels to be taken care of and looked after? To feel appreciated and like you aren’t a hindrance on nightly plans to play fuckin’ video games?”

“I like video games,” You sniffle, voice gaining strength as the conversation goes on. He’s soothing you, even as he just sits on the floor with you in his lap, his arms around you and your body pressed up against him. It’s the most comfortable you’ve felt in months. And it’s just Joel being Joel, it’s just you being you.

“Show me, if you want. Let me get to know you, let me show you what it’s like to be loved, not just sought after for a night of fun.”

“I don’t date old men.”

“No?”

“You’re not that much older than me, so I wouldn’t really call you old.”

“Cause then you’d have to admit you’re old too, huh?” He reads the meaning behind the change of thought, as if he was in your head right there alongside you.

“Yeah, we ain’t old. Life just beat us down, but damn if it didn’t touch your perky ass.” You reach a hand down from where it’s cradled between your chests, to pinch at where his backside it firmly planted on the floor. He jolts a bit, not expecting the action. But his rumbling laugh lightens the air around you both even more so.

“You goin’ soft on me, a compliment like that is makin’ my heart pick up. Can you feel it?”

“Yeah, cause you’re a big ole sap.” You can’t help the breathy chuckle that escapes past your lips, the twitch of a smile trying to break out. You can, indeed, feel the way his heart is thudding in his chest. The truth of your words and his making you feel some of the weight lift from your own.

“You ain’t gotta clue how sappy I could me, lemme show you, huh?”

“Only if you promise it’ll make me roll my eyes and groan.” You lean back enough to see his face, the roll of your eyes up to take in his hopeful expression allowing you to know how much he means it. Your own heartbeat picks up and you swear he can feel it too, if the crook of his lips underneath his mustache is any indication.

“Only if you promise to have a smile on your face while you do it.” He leans in, nose brushing against yours. The action so soft, so welcome after the isolation you had subjected yourself to.

“Deal.” You breathe out against his lips.

“It’s a deal then.” He presses them to yours, and damn it all, but it does bring a smile to your face.

taglist: @sawymredfox @tuquoquebrute @littlemisspascal @hiddenbabynyc @jessthebaker

@joelsgreys @tonysopranosrobe @morallyinept

[leaderwon]

come back i still need you

paring : nonidol!jungwon x reader

warnings : character death, ANGST left and right, mentions of being depressed

word count : 1.5k

luna's diary : kinda shed a tear writing this

IT HAD BEEN, 3 weeks and 6 days, since you left him.

He was stuck in the endless loop of the 4th stage of grief. Depression, and was left wondering if he'll ever move forward to the next stage and accept your death.

Oh how cruel the world was. Taking away his lover and the plans for the future you guys had carefully planned.

You guys were walking on the street on the day it happened. Giggles filling the both of your bodies as a silver band of ring with a small diamond shined on your ring finger. He had just proposed to you, with promises of giving you everything he had to offer, of staying by your side until his last breath, to grow up even more and have little yous running around. Maybe you could get a dog and a cat and live in a beautiful home.

And then it happened.

He still remembers the way you shoved him to the side as a car came speeding towards you. Your yells still ringing in his ears from the past 3 weeks.

He remembers slowly walking to you trying to take in what just happened. In the corner of his eye he could see the once silver, shiny ring now covered in blood. Your blood. It was everywhere. He felt sick to his stomach. He cradled your face as he broke into sobs. "No no this can't be happening baby wake up" He called out for you as his sobs turned into a breakdown. He saw the light in your eyes slowly disappear. He saw the love of his life leave him, even though you were right there.

2 days later, it was your funeral. As everyone showed him sympathy and gave him hugs. He was still in denial. The first stage of grief. He couldn't even count the amount of times he heard "let me know if you need anything, Jungwon". He needed you back in his arms, but none of the people could give him that. There's no way you could have just left, right? What about the promises? The home? The dog and the cat? mini yous?

Few days later, he slowly slipped into the second stage of grief. Anger. He was mad at no one but himself. He should have been the one to die, not an angel like you. The car should have hit him. Not you. Or maybe he was mad at you too? why would you sacrifice yourself and leave him alone?

Then came in the third stage of grief. Bargain. He prayed and prayed that this would be a long painful nightmare. No way the world could have been so cruel on him. He was just 20 wanting to see life with you by his side, there's no way his fate was written like this.

After realising that this wasn't a dream, and you really were gone, entered the 4th stage of grief. Depression. He was an empty void as he laid on his bed all day leaving all his friends worried. He only got up to eat, which was very rare by the way. Leaving the texts his friends sent him on delivered, he read the last conversation you had with him. Where he mentioned the date and that he had a surprise for you and your excited text messages as a small smile crept on his lips. How he wished he never took you out.

Come back. He still needs you.

It was a new day as the sun shone through Jungwon's curtains. Today, was your one month anniversary, of you getting engaged and also since you left. Today was the worst of all days. It had been a month? no way. "i wish i could turn back time and change everything" he mumbled.

"Time" he jolted up as he remembered something you said about turning back time. Hope rushed through his eyes as he swiftly got out of his bad and rushed to take a shower and get ready. He could not believe he did not think of this sooner. Getting dressed, he rushed out of his home. Coming back taking the ring you once wore in his hands and heading to his car.

"I'm going to get you back, my love"

20 minutes later he reached your apartment. He did not have the courage to step into your apartment after your death. Opening the door he smelled your familiar scent for the first time in a month. Not wanting to waste time, he got in and rummaged through your belongings. "Where is it, god damn".

Finally spotting the shiny wooden box. He picked it up seeing a necklace with a tiny clock in it. Wearing it, he saw as it started to glow.

"How may I help you today?" a voice spoke out as he looked at a beautiful woman in front of him.

"Who must you be? you're not one of them" The voice continued referring to your blood line. "I'm Yang Jungwon, I lost my lover in a car accident, exactly a month ago from now"

"You wish to bring her back?" The voice questioned him. "Yes I need to please. She mentioned about this pendent to me a while back. You need to help me" He replied begging. "Jungwon, I'd suggest you move on. You'll lose yourself if anything goes downhill, and there are less number of chances of it going good and it going bad." The female figure said showing sympathy. "Please, miss. I don't have anything to lose anymore, she was my everything" He said breaking down into a sob.

Sighing, she touched the pendent on his colar. "What time do you want to go to?" she asked giving in. "Exactly a month ago" He said as the necklace started to glow again. "Goodluck, Jungwon" she said.

He was going to make sure you were alive. But at what cost?

In a blink of an eye, he was back. On the street, with you. "I honestly didn't expect you to do it today" Your voice said. Oh how he missed your voice, to see your face in front of him again and to hold his hand. He suddenly remembered why he was here as he became hyper-aware of his surroundings. He knew the car would be coming your way any second. Before he could think of changing your position, it was too late. The car was already coming towards you at an increasing pace. There was no way he could save the both of you.

So he did what he initially came back for.

He saved you.

Shoving your body to the side, he felt the car hit him as he lost consciousness. The last thing he saw was you standing and looking at him in utter shock. Atleast you were safe and alive.

"Jungwon? baby hey, wake up" you cradled his face and broke down into sobs, the same way he did, in another time line. You left a peck on his forehead as you left him there rushing to your apartment.

I'm not going to lose you Jungwon. Not like this.

You rummaged through your belongings, the same way he did. Wearing the pendent, you wished to go back 20 minutes from your present.

You were back with him, on the same street, holding his hand as you listened to him talk to you. You knew the time was near as you walked faster looking for a turn that could divert you form the path in which it was about to happen. Before you could find something, you heard the car's tire screech behind you. There was no way you could save the both of you.

So you did what you initially came for.

You saved him.

You shoved him to the side as the car came in contact with your body. The last thing you saw, was him. Atleast he was safe and alive.

He slowly walked to you trying to take in what just happened. In the corner of his eye he could see the once silver, shiny ring now covered in blood. Your blood. It was everywhere. He felt sick to his stomach. He cradled your face as he broke into sobs. "No no this can't be happening baby wake up" He called out for you as his sobs turned into a breakdown. He saw the light in your eyes slowly disappear. He saw the love of his life leave him, even though you were right there.

It was a new day as the sun shone through Jungwon's curtains. Today, was your one month anniversary, of you getting engaged and also since you left. Today was the worst of all days. It had been a month? no way. "i wish i could turn back time and change everything" he mumbled.

Fast forward to him wishing of going back to a month prior to save you. He managed to save you, but lost his life. Not being able to manage with the grief of him gone, you tried to save him. You managed to do so, but you lost yours in exchange. And this continued.

The woman was right afterall when she warned the two you.

Trying to save eachother, the both of you were stuck and lost yourselves in an endless time loop.

@leaderwon 2024. Do not copy, translate,alter or plagarize in any platform.

[joannechocolat]

On Power, and on Powering Through, and Why They’re Really Not the Same

I don’t pay much attention to personal attacks in reviews. It comes as the flipside of success; an attempt by the critic to puncture what they see as too much success. But I still remember one review, just after the film of Chocolat, when two of my novels happened to be in the Top 5 at the same time, in which a (male) newspaper critic referred to me dismissively as a premenopausal woman writer. I was a little taken aback. Clearly, it was meant to disparage, but I was only 35, ten years away from the perimenopause. What exactly did he mean? It wasn’t a comment about the book (which I doubt he had even read). The obvious misogyny aside, it seemed to express resentment, not of my books, but of me, myself, my right to take up space in his world. That word – premenopausal – was at the same time a comment on my age, my looks, my value, and a strong suggestion that someone like me shouldn’t be this successful, shouldn’t be writing bestsellers, shouldn’t be so – visible.

I don’t recall the name of the man, or the paper for which he was writing. He was far from being the only journalist who felt I didn’t deserve success. I shrugged off the unpleasant comment, but he’d meant it to hurt, and it did. I still wonder why he – and his editor - thought that was appropriate. I also wonder why, 20 years on, women are still dealing with this kind of thing. It’s still not enough for a woman to be successful in her chosen field. Whatever her achievements, you can be pretty sure that at some point, some man in his 50s or 60s – maybe an Oxbridge graduate, author of an unpublished novel or two - will offer his opinion on her desirability, either in the national Press, or most likely nowadays, by means of social media. The subtext is clear: women who don’t conform to societal values of what a woman should be are asking for this kind of treatment; especially those who dare to achieve more than their detractors.

10 years after that nasty review, I finally began the journey into perimenopause. No-one told me it was happening. No-one in the media was talking about it at the time. Even my doctor never thought to mention that my symptoms – the insomnia, headaches, mood swings, anxiety, depression, sleep paralysis, hair loss, brown patches on my skin – might have a single origin. I began to feel I was losing my mind: as if I were starting to disappear. I started to doubt my own senses. I blamed it all on the stress from my job. My mother had powered through menopause – or so she led me to believe – and made no secret of her contempt for modern women who complained, or treated the symptoms as anything more than a minor inconvenience.

And so I did the same. I powered through; and when at last I began to experience the classic symptoms of menopause - irregular bleeding, hot flushes, exhaustion, night sweats so bad that I would awake in sheets that were wringing wet – it did not occur to me to seek help. After over a year of this, I finally went to my doctor, who took a few tests, cheerfully announced I was menopausal, and when I inquired after HRT, advised me to power through – that phrase again - and let Mother Nature take her course. The internet was slightly more helpful. I took up running, lost weight, cut down on alcohol, downed supplements and sleeping pills and vitamin D, and felt a little better. Then, breast cancer came to call, and by the time my treatment was done, the symptoms had more or less disappeared, or at least had been superseded by the symptoms of chemo. I congratulated myself at having powered through cancer as well as surviving menopause.

But two years later, I feel old. I look that way, too. I’ve aged ten years. Some of that’s the cancer, of course. I was quite open about my treatment when I was powering through it – partly in order to pre-empt any questions about my hair loss or any of the all-too visible effects of three courses of chemo. Not that it stopped the comments, though. Even at my lowest ebb, a sector of social media made it clear that my only concern should be to look young and feminine to anonymous men on Twitter.

Right now, I don’t feel either. My hair has gone grey and very thin. My skin, too, seems thinner; both physically and mentally. At a recent publishing event, several acquaintances failed to recognize me; others just looked through me as if I had become invisible. Invisibility would be a relief; I find myself dressing for camouflage. I tend to wear baggy black outfits. I got my OBE last week. Photographs in the Press show me talking to Prince William. I’m wearing a boxy black trouser suit, flat shoes and a red fedora. I think I look nice. Not glamorous, but comfortable; quirky; unpretentious.

On a thread of largely supportive messages, one Twitter user pops up to say: Jesus, who’d accept an honour looking like that middle-aged disaster? @Joannechocolat thought she’d make an impact? She needs a stylist. If you look in the dictionary for the definition of “dowdy”, it features this photo.

It’s not the same man who belittled me over 20 years ago. But the sentiment hasn’t changed. Regardless of your achievements, as a woman, you’ll always be judged on your age and fuckability. I ought to be used to this by now. But somehow, that comment got to me. Going through menopause isn’t just a series of physical symptoms. It’s how other people make you feel; old, unattractive, and strangely ashamed.

I think of the Glass Delusion, a mental disorder common between the 14th and 17th centuries, characterized by the belief that the sufferer was made of glass. King Charles VI of France famously suffered from this delusion, and so did Princess Alexandra Amélie, daughter of Ludwig 1st of Bavaria. The condition affected mostly high-profile individuals; writers, royals, intellectuals. The physician to Philip II of Spain writes of an unnamed royal who believed he was a glass vase, which made him terribly fragile, and able to disappear at will. It seems to have been a reaction to feelings of social anxiety, fear of change and the unknown, a feeling both of vulnerability and invisibility.

I can relate. Since the menopause, I’ve felt increasingly broken. I don’t believe I’m a glass vase, and yet I know what it feels like to want to be wrapped in a protective duvet all day. I’ve started buying cushions. I feel both transparent, and under the lens, as if the light might consume me. On social media, I’ve learnt to block the people who make mean comments. To make myself invisible. To hide myself in plain sight. I power through, but sometimes I think: why do women power through? And who told them that powering through meant suffering in silence?

Fortunately, some things have changed since I went through the menopause. Over the past few years, we’ve seen more people talking about their experiences. Menopause is likely to affect half the population. We should be talking about it. If men experienced half these symptoms, you bet they’d be discussing it. Because power isn’t silence. You’d think that, as writer, I would have worked that out sooner. Words are power. Sharing is strength. Communication breaks down barriers. And sometimes, power means speaking up for those less able to speak for themselves.

I look at myself in the mirror. I see my mother’s mouth; my father’s eyes. I see the woman I used to be; the woman I will one day become. I see the woman my husband loves, a woman he still finds attractive. A woman with a grown-up child who makes her proud every single day. A menopausal woman. A cancer survivor. A woman who writes books that make other people sit up and think. A woman who doesn’t need the approval of some man she’s never met to be happy. She can be happy now. I can. And finally, I understand.  Powering through isn’t about learning to be invisible. It isn’t about acceptance, or shame, or letting Nature take its course, or lying about feeling broken. It’s looking beyond your reflection. It’s seeing yourself, not through the lens of other people’s expectations, but as yourself. The sum of everything you’ve been; of everyone who loves you. Of claiming your right to be more than glass, or your reflection in it. The right to be valued. The right to shine, regardless of age or reproductive status. Men seldom question their own right to these things. But women have to fight for them. That’s why it’s so exhausting.

This morning, instead of putting on my usual baggy black sweatshirt, I chose a bright yellow pullover. I looked at myself in the mirror. It’s not a great colour on me now, but it feels like dressing in sunshine. My husband came into the bathroom. You look –

My husband rarely gives compliments. I can’t remember the last time he commented on how I was dressed. I wondered what he was going to say. Dowdy, perhaps? Inappropriate? Like a menopausal woman in dire need of a stylist?

At last, he said: When you smile like that, you look like a friendly assassin.

A friendly assassin. I’ll take that.  

Shining like the sun. That’s me.

[sublimetragedychopshop]

I’m a sucker for pretty yan x monster darling. Like this person is thought to be the PERSONIFICATION of beauty. Nations come to catch a glimpse of them. They most likely have a cult dedicated to them too which would explain why anyone that makes them unhappy is “punished” (humiliated, tortured and cast out). They probably know the power they hold too! Or maybe they don’t!

Beauty! Yan that could fall in love with LITERALLY any one in the WHOLE world. Only for them to skip the whole way home and write in their diary, about their big fat crush on MONSTER! Darling. Hearts and hearts and hearts. Combinations of mixed names that has both of yours together. (They probably had to lurk around a lot to find out your name, people like to call you mean names which took them a while) a full entire chapter of BABY NAMES! Detailed descriptions of their lewdest fantasies, enough to make even a nymph blush. They already seemed to have gone through 20 diaries since they met you. Its okay! They have enough money to buy more, and usually people offer to by their stuff for them.

Monster! Reader who is described, by others as a “big, mean, ugly thing”. Really you were quite good looking for your species (if you said so yourself, and asked the Yan) you are too big to fit inside a normal house, almost 5” feet bigger than the tallest man in the world. Your body is built like a fucking mountain, strength to the GODS. Though people may not like you, your strength does get you a lot of jobs so that you can earn money.

I don’t have enough brain juice to describe how you met this protected beauty, but you got them hooked! Really, it is kind of funny. Most likely monster reader doesn’t even want to associate themselves with them. It only brings trouble. And death. They’ve seen it and don’t wanna be near them. And we’ll as much as pretty! Yan wants to be around you, they know that if they do people might harm you (they already get sad and depressed if you get hurt on the job) so they have to stalk you from a yard away. Kinda hard when the whole town had their eyes on you. I can imagine the only way they would stalk you is if you live in a house in your own little isolated part of the woods. They know the trail by heart and even come inside when your away. They caress your trinkets and self made goods, admire every single one of your decorations, lay on your oversized bed that is the biggest and comfiest thing they’ve felt and seen. Your scent clouding their senses that they can’t help but masturbate on your bed. It tips them over the edge. And they don’t even try to hide it. Thinking that you don’t even notice it (you do, your senses higher than a humans) and just go on with their little role play in their head. Thinking to themselves as if they were your lovely little spouse that waits home for you everyday. They clean and wash all your clothes (they want to cook but the sizes of the ingredients are way too big for their small arms).

Really they are the perfect spouse for you! Being raised to perfection they would be the perfect spouse for anyone! Too bad they’ll get rid of anyone who gets in the way of their happily ever after…

(I might edit or add more later honestly I’ve just been wanting to post this for a while)

[chaoticcupcakeee]

Chapter Four: The Dungeon Master and Depression

***BEFORE YOU READ ANY FURTHER THERE IS GOING TO BE SEX, HEAVY BDSM THEMES, AND OTHER GENERAL NSFW THINGS. IF YOU ARE A MINOR/A BLANK BLOG/ A BLOG WITH NO AGE PLEASE DO NOT INTEREACT! IF I SEE IT, I WILL BLOCK IMMEDIATELY! THANKS!<3***

Pairing: Professor! Steve Harrington x Best Friends Dad! Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, alcohol consumption, Steve needs a hug, sad Steve, Eddie being the literal sexiest man on the planet, daddy kink, spit kink, spanking, cum eating, squirting, bondage, masterbation, Dom! Eddie, dirty talk, pet names, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks), BDSM themes, Eddie and Steve are in their early to mid 40s and reader is in her mid 20s

Summary: Eddie shows you a side of him you haven't seen before and things with Steve take a turn for the worst

Authors Note: Hi yall, i just wanted to say thank you for all the love on this series so far, ive really enjoyed writing it! also im very nervy about posting this chapter bc the smut is intense! i prommy it wont always be this intense but anyways ENJOY :D 9k

**Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Five**

(banners and headers by @cafekitsune)

The next few days were spent mostly consoling Violet, she had made the decision to break up with Quinn. She didn’t trust them anymore and you didn’t blame her. You and Eddie took turns holding her when she cried or getting her to shower and eat food. It left little time for you and Eddie to spend time alone, never getting the chance to finish what you started after your date.

You could steal kisses here and there, but no heavy petting. It was driving you insane, it was like the universe was punishing you for dating your best friend’s dad.

After a few days she decided she needed to get out of Hawkins for a little while and went to spend a week at her mom’s. You made her promise to text her whenever she needed, and Eddie offered again to go over to talk to Quinn. She waved both of you off, reassuring you that she’d be fine. You drove her to the airport and off she went.

It made you feel guilty that you were so relieved that she had left, you felt like you were the worst best friend in the world. First dating her dad, and secondly happy she was leaving you after just having a brutal break-up.

What kind of friend are you?

You spent the next few days catching up on school, finally getting a chance to focus now that you didn’t have to worry about Violet as much. Not wanting to waste the very limited time the two of you had at Eddies, you spent the nights at his house covering the entire house in random textbooks and various versions of assignments. Sometimes the two of you would sit on the couch, he would watch tv while you studied, or you’d be in a chair out in the garage while Eddie played guitar and smoked. Or your favorite, cuddled up on his lap on his bed, Eddie silently reading a book and caressing the skin available to him.

It was perfect domestic bliss, he’d cook the two of you breakfast in the morning, and he’d come home to a homecooked meal in the evening. The only thing you were missing was his cock, mid terms were coming up and you were absolutely swamped. Spending all of your time that wasn’t spent at school, or working, was dedicated to more school. It was frying your brain.

Then one day you had finally had enough, another one of your professors had added another paper due on top of studying for all of your other exams. You had so many things you needed to get done before Thanksgiving you thought your head was going to explode.

You spent some time crying in your car that day, before walking up the driveway into Eddies house. Now a second home to you, you take off your shoes and head to Eddies bedroom and snuggling under the sheets, breathing in his scent. You hear Eddies familiar footsteps coming up the stairs into the bedroom the two of you basically shared.

“hey sweetpea-“ the rest of his greeting dying on his lips.

You feel him before you see him, he just slides into bed with you and holds you tightly against him. Then you lose it some more, crying into one of his pillows, just so stressed out. You needed all of it to go away, you didn’t want to think anymore.

He pushes the hair out of your face and wipes away your tears, “hey talk to me baby, what’s goin on? Hmm?” he questions, concern in his voice.

“It’s too much” you croak, turning over and nuzzling your face into his chest.

“Make it go away, please make it go away, my brain is so tired, I just need a break!” you sob harder into his embrace.

Eddie wrapped his arms around your body, protecting you from the outside world.

“I know baby, I know, I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry” he says calmly, leaving little kisses in your hair.

The two of you tangled up together in silence, just him touching your skin and you holding on to him for dear life. It stays like this for a few minutes. You can practically hear Eddies mind working a thousand miles a minute.

“... do you really want it to go away?” Eddie asks, almost a whisper.

You nodded feverishly into his chest, grabbing his shirt and pulling him impossibly closer to you.

“Please,” you whisper into his chest.

Eddie pulls the two of you apart so you can see his face, his eyes serious with anticipation. He caresses your cheek with his hand, running his thumb across your lips.

“I wanna show you something, you don’t have to say yes. But I think it might help.” He says, waiting for your answer.

You nod your head, ready to try anything to get your brain to calm down. He takes you by your hands, carefully getting you up and on your feet. Being so gentle with you, almost like he was afraid you’d break if he moved to quick or touched you too hard. Eddie led you down the stairs into the kitchen, right in front of the basement door.

He looked at you anxiously, you rarely if ever saw him anxious, it made your heart rate spike a little feeding off his nervous energy.

He opens the door and leads you down into the basement, immediately confused by Eddies immense anxiety. It’s just a basement, it had loads of Eddies DnD books nicely tucked away on bookshelves, a huge circular table in the middle with papers scattered all over it, and a bunch of props and miniatures that you assumed Eddie used for various DnD campaigns. Eddie meets you at the bottom of the stairs and puts his hand in yours, his eyes still timid.

“Sorry it’s a bit of a mess, I’ve been working on a new campaign.” He says while nervously scratching the back of his head. You squeeze his hand giving him some reassurance.

“Look, I know we haven’t been dating very long, but I really fucking like you. So just bear with me kay? I don’t wanna scare you off,” he states, fiddling with your fingers in his hands.

“You could never scare me off Eddie” you say plainly, having more admiration for him than almost anybody else.

With a sigh he guides you past all the DnD stuff into a hidden black door under the stairs, the door locked with a key padlock.

Eddie grabs a key off a chain that’s on his neck that he wears every day, you always thought it was just for decoration and not practical use. He turns the key into the lock and leads you into a dark room and turns on the light.

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the room, not really sure what you’re seeing. The walls are blood red, various toys, whips, paddles, and a saint Andrews cross leaning in the corner between two walls. At the center of the room was a bed with black satin sheets, with a black bed frame with various hooks and chains attached to it.

You look at Eddie in surprise, you didn’t expect him to have a whole fucking sex dungeon in his basement. You were impressed, you usually only read about stuff like this in your books. Never thinking that you’d actually get to experience it in real life.

“This is uh, welcome to my dungeon” he says, grandiosely waving his hands to show off the room, chuckling nervously to himself. You smile lightly at him, still your goofy Eddie.

“You can totally tell me to fuck off, and we don’t ever have to talk about this ever again, scouts honor. I just.. I thought maybe because of the books you like to read. Maybe we had uhm similar interests,” he says, closing the door behind the two of you.

You’re still in awe of what you see before you, finding something new to look at every second, you start to feel yourself getting excited. The anxiety melting away the longer you were in this room, like it was magic.

“Please say something, anything, you’re killin’ me here darlin,” he says, pulling your hand to his lips, leaving tiny kisses in their wake.

You walk farther into the room, dusting your fingers along the various toys and instruments on the wall. Eddie follows suit, rubbing his arms up and down your shoulders while you look. You turn around and wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a deep kiss. He looks at you hungrily, waiting for your next move, you’ve never wanted him more.

“Turn off my brain Eds, please,” you beg, putting on your prettiest doe eyes.

Eddie curses under his breath and shakes his head trying to concentrate. He hugs you tightly as a thank you that you didn’t run out of the room kicking and screaming. He sits the two of you on a bench at the foot of the bed, holding your hands in his.

“Alright sweetness, I gotta lay down a few rules before we play, okay?” He says, clearly in his element. You nod, understanding what he means. Being familiar with the world of BDSM, but never getting to act on it before.

“First things first, safe words, If I ask you for your color, you respond with Green, Yellow, or Red. Green meaning you’re okay mentally and physically and I can keep going. Yellow meaning that you’re reaching your limit and I need to check in with you. Red meaning stop, you say this word and whatever scene we are doing will stop immediately and we will go into aftercare. I want you to feel safe during every single part of this, so don’t be afraid to stop a scene, okay? This is supposed to be fun for the both of us. Ya with me so far?” He smiles lightly trying to keep the tension light but letting know that he means business.

“With ya Eds,” you say with a nod of your head.

You can practically hear his heart swelling with pride. He continues to go through some more safety rules, what to do if you’re bound or gagged and can’t say a safe word. He goes through some walk throughs of what some of the various toys do, to see what piques your interest. He asks you if you know any of your hard or soft limits, you give him some basic ones, open to a lot considering you didn’t have a ton of real life experience in this department. You were starting to get a little nervous, hoping that you would live up to Eddies expectations.

He senses the panic inside you and squeezes your hands. “Don’t worry okay? You agreeing to try this with me is already a dream come true, I just want to help you feel better, help you let go.” He says sweetly.

You take a deep breath and lean back into him on the bench. He rubs his hands soothingly up and down your arms and then around your waist, tugging up the bottom of your shirt and lifting it over your head, and does the same with your leggings. He has you stand in front of him, leaving you in only your bra and underwear, your skin erupting in goosebumps when it hits the cold air.

“Beautiful,” he says breathlessly, his eyes scanning over every inch of your body. You look at him, you can see his cock already stiffening in the confines of his pants.

“Bend over for me baby,” he commands. Situating you over his lap, ass in the air, making your thoughts immediately cloud with want. You had never been in such a compromising position before and you loved it, showing yourself off to him.

“I’ll start slow, remember, any time you need to stop just say red and I’ll stop okay?” he reminds you one last time before he starts.

He readies you by palming each of your cheeks with his hands, increasing the pressure with each touch. You can already feel the heat rising in your body, your legs squirming together trying to find any sort of friction. Eddie seeing your desperation grabs your legs forcing them apart with his leg.

“You’re so fuckin cute, you’ll learn,” he warns, earning you a light slap across your left check. You gasp not expecting it, making your eyes roll back in pleasure, grinding your hips against Eddie’s clothed legs.

Two more light slaps come down on each cheek, eliciting a whimper from your lips, your hips grinding up wanting more. You can feel his length twitch underneath you with every smack, and your wetness seeping into your panties, you’d never been this desperate in your life.

“What’s your color princess, you doin okay?” he questions, genuine concern in his voice that makes your heart swell.

“Green Eds, m’ good,” you say hazily, your mind starting to cloud over.

With that confirmation he slowly increases the intensity of each slap, switching between your two cheeks. It only made you whimper louder, wanting even more. The slaps were now punishing, surely your cheeks bright pink from the abuse. You were surprised, you never thought something like this would feel so good. But you couldn’t help it, your panties now completely soaked through.

“You like that, you like when I hurt you?” he says, leaning into the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine.  You nod wildly, not trusting your words.

You hear Eddie click his tongue, “Nuh uh pretty girl, down here you gotta use your words. Now I’m gonna ask again, you like it when I hurt you?” he demands, landing two more harsh slaps against your bottom.

“Yes, yes Eddie I like when you hurt me” you say desperately. Your body buzzing, every cell screaming with need. Your mind thinking of only him and the pain he gives you, mind completely blank.

“Good girl baby, doin such a good job” he praises, you smile at his praise, sinking further and further away from all the worries that had bothered you not a half hour ago.

He lands an especially mean slap on your right cheek pulling a loud moan out of your mouth, you can hear Eddies laugh vibrate through his chest.

“Fuck look at you baby, taking everything I give you. You’re my little pain slut aren’t you?” he mocks, tutting and rubbing at your now very red ass.

“Mhmm” you mutter brainlessly, trying to push your legs together, your clit on fire with need.

“Words pretty girl, I need words, that’s your last warning before you regret it,” he warns, gifting you another brutal slap.

“Y-yes, your pain slut, all yours,” you babble pathetically, desperate tears begging to spill from your eyes.

“Fuck me, yeah you are, C’mere let me look at you, get on your knees f’me” he says breathlessly, helping you off his lap and down between his legs. You lay your head against one of his knees, looking up at him between your eyelashes.

He brushes his hand across your cheek, rubbing your lips with his thumb. In your brainless state you allow his thumb into your mouth sucking on it while maintaining eye contact. You felt so free, knowing that he was going to take care of you, that you didn’t have to think anymore, giving up control gave your brain freedom that you wouldn’t have otherwise.

“Perfect” he utters, barely above a whisper, mesmerized by the way your mouth was sucking his thumb in, swirling the tip of his thumb with your tongue. Wanting more than just his thumb you tug on his pants and belt with your hand, but it wasn’t your turn to be in control. Eddie pulls the bottom of your chin up, straining your neck to meet his demand.

He pinches your cheeks together, forcing your mouth open wider. He takes his thumb out of your mouth replacing it with his pointer and middle fingers, seeing how deep you can put them down your throat. While maintaining eye contact, you suck his fingers all the way to the back of your throat until you choke lightly on them.

“You look so pretty with your mouth all full” he says as he leans down to leave a kiss on the side of your very full mouth.

All the praise becoming too much, squirming aimlessly in the air, whimpering around Eddies fingers. He seems to get a kick out of your desperation, cursing under his breath. All made more apparent by his very hard cock outlined in his pants.

“Alright sweet thing, climb up on the bed for me” he commands, tapping the silk sheets on the bed. You do as your told, meanwhile Eddie removes his shirt, belt, and pants. You look at him hungrily, with the playing field now level.

He sits down onto the bed next to you, pulling you into a deep kiss. Your bodies melt together, his hands everywhere, grabbing every inch of you. The two of you relax onto the bed, letting him kiss and nip and your skin, slowly taking off your bra and panties until you were completely bare in front of him.

He pulls your legs apart, not allowing you to hide any part of yourself from him. You were embarrassed by how wet you had gotten just from that act alone, he barely touched you.

Eddie curses under his breath, pulling apart your folds to see you dripping down your thighs.

“My needy needy girl”, he coos, dipping one of his fingers into your entrance, gathering some of your release on his fingers. He brings it up to your mouth, you suck in his fingers eagerly, wanting to please. Your release taste tangy and sweet, you moan around his fingers at the dirty act. Dipping his fingers back at your entrance, taking some of your release for himself, moaning around his fingers.

Focusing his attention back on you, he straddles you and puts your hands above your head and kisses you deeply. You feel him grind against your core making you buck up against him. Your groans filling the room, the tension becoming too much to bear.

“Need you eds, please,” you beg, the pressure between your legs driving you insane. That’s the only confirmation Eddie needed before taking his boxers off, sliding his throbbing cock in between your soaked folds. You wrap your legs around his back, pushing him harder against you.

He lines up his cock up to your entrance and slowly pushes in, his length pushing up against your cervix as he bottoms out. You whine, biting down on his shoulder, provoking a curse from his mouth.

“Color baby?” he asks breathlessly against your skin.

“Green Eds, really fucking green,” you grin against his shoulder, kissing the tattoo along his jaw.

Your words, diminishing the last of his resolve as he starts to thrust in and out of your heat slowly. Your eyes glass over, the pleasure being too much, you had never been so full. Not even your dildo doing half as much as Eddies cock.

“Shit, your pussy was fucking made for me, made to take my fucking cock,” he growls, biting down on a part of your neck, trying to contain his groans and whines.

You dig your claws into his back, wishing him deeper inside of you. Eddie using that as an okay to go faster, he grabs an edge of the bed frame for leverage. The wet sounds of his cock entering you drowning out your whimpers and moans.

“Uh, uh, uh, oh, fuuuckk E-eddie” you wail, your eyes rolling back and your mouth falling open.

“You like that baby, you like it when I fuck you like the little slut you are? All you needed was a few slaps on your ass for you do go dumb huh?” he mocks, pistoning harder into your core.

“Yes, yes I fucking love it, more please,” you beg, you wanted to see how much more you could handle, the pleasure building between your legs.

Eddie takes one of his hands off the bed frame, cupping the sides of your jaw with his hand.

“Open,” he demands. You obey, all rational thoughts gone long ago. Taking the opportunity, he spits sloppily into your mouth, you swallow and take what he gives your greedily.

“Atta girl, doing what your told” he sighs proudly, going back to concentrating rocking his hips against yours with vigor. You could feel yourself getting close, all of it becoming too much, the fucking, the slapping, the dirty talk, it was all perfect. You were plummeting quickly to your release, your walls spasming in anticipation.

“If you keep squeezing me like that m’ not gonna last much longer,” he confesses, leaving little kisses on your neck.

“Eds- I- fuck- I’m gonna cum- please cum in me please, need your cum,” you beg, feeling your release threatening to take over.

“Fuck,” he curses, you can feel his pace getting sloppier, fucking you through your release. Your legs shaking, mouth open in a silent scream, eyes glazed over, having the biggest orgasm you’ve ever had in your life.

Your walls clamp down on Eddie, not lasting much longer after you, spilling his seed into your waiting center. You feel his release spill out onto your thighs and sheets.

“Please tell me you’re on the pill” he mutters into your chest, sweat covering both of your bodies. You giggle and caress his hair, playing with his dark brown and greying curls.

“Yeah, ‘m on the pill,” you confirm, leaving a kiss at the top of his head. Eddie sighs thankfully on your chest, followed by a few minutes of silence from the two of you. Basking in each others after sex glow, gentle touches and light kisses.

You stay cuddled up for a while, neither of you wanted to go back to reality. The basement was like your safe place, where both of you could let go, like really let go. He saw things in you today that up until now, you had never let anyone see that side of you. He allowed you the same, taking down his walls showing you everything he had to offer.

He showed that he really cared about you, that he could take care of you even when your brain was against you. That was something you had never had before, someone who knew you and cared about you enough to help you fight the endless battles in your brain. You swore to yourself right there that you’d help him fight his battles too.

After a while he got up and got you a glass of water and a warm washcloth to help wipe you off. Your center still sensitive from your previous activities. Eddie was gentle, taking his time, making sure you were physically okay. He even put cream on your sore, soon to be bruised ass, after many many kisses that made you blush.

His teddy bear eyes looking into yours, while the two of you lay naked in bed, him painting circles on your face.

“How’s your head now baby? Better?” he asked hopeful. Tears form at the tips of your eyes, you nod your head vigorously. Your tears making Eddies eyes fill with concern.

“What baby? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he asks soothingly.

You shake your head, trying to find the words for what you were feeling. “No no I’m fine, I’m just.. happy. My brain is so quiet, I can’t remember the last time my brain was so quiet.” You sob into Eddies chest, pulling him closer into you. He wraps his arms around you and shushes your tears, wiping them from your face leaving little kisses in their wake.

“It’s okay baby, I’m here, I gotcha” he says, comforting you with more kisses, squeezing you tighter against him. The two of you spend the rest of the night down in the basement, eventually falling asleep in each other’s arms, completely content.

When you wake up the following morning, you are still wrapped up in each other’s arms, Eddie still lightly snoring. You take this time to really take him in, his beautiful chocolate brown eyes, the laugh lines around his lips, his lips so pink and plush, the light wrinkles around his eyes, the dark curly brown hair that falls in front of his face, you didn’t know how you got so lucky. Not only is Eddie quite literally the sweetest man you had ever met in your life, but he’s also the most handsome.

You snuggle back into him, basking in his embrace. A little while later he wakes from sleep, stretching out, allowing you to get up and go to the bathroom.

“Hey little missy where do you think you’re goin?” he asks, pouting in bed patting the space where you were previously occupying.

“Just gotta pee,” you whisper, hoping maybe he will fall back asleep, but Eddie is stubborn.

“Just hold it, come back and cuddle,” he whines. You chuckle and kiss the top of his head before putting on his Metallica t shirt and heading out the door and up the stairs to the kitchen. You walk into the downstairs bathroom and gasp at the state you were left in. You still had mascara smudges under your eyes from crying and cumming, your hair was sticking up every which way, you looked a mess. And yet the beautiful man downstairs still wanted you, lucky you.

After you clean up a little and comb through your hair, you head to the kitchen to grab the two of you something to eat. You hear the basement door open, and the man you were just thinking about emerges, wearing only his boxers.

“I get to fuck the girl of my dreams AND she made me breakfast, I can die a happy man,” he remarks, enveloping you into a passionate kiss. You giggle against him, still not used how much he likes you.

“And you’re wearing my shirt,” he comments, taking a handful of your ass in each hand making you hiss, your butt still sore from the beating it received the day before.

“Just wanna touch base, everything yesterday was okay right? It wasn’t exactly what I picture our first time to be like but, I don’t regret it. You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, definitely did not disappoint,” he expresses.

“It was better than I could’ve imagined Ed, really. You were beautiful.” You confess, going on your tippy toes to steal a kiss from him.

The two of you spend the rest of the morning cuddled up on the couch eating breakfast, before you had to part ways. You had classes most of the day and Eddie had to go into the office for work.

Leaving Eddie was the hardest part of any day, but especially today. You had Steves class today, you always dreaded going after everything went down between the two of you. You wished to stay here forever.

The two of you share way too many last kisses before the two of you leave his house in your respective cars. You needed to go to your apartment before class to change, and then Sociology 101.

You waited as long as you possibly could before going into the classroom, you’ve started a routine of avoiding Steve as much as humanly possible. But when you entered the class, instead of being met by Steves sad eyes, you were met by a balding older man with grey hair. You look around at the rest of the class as you make your way to your seat, they also seem equally as confused as you. The man in the front of the class introduces himself as Professor McCarthy, he explained that he was going to take over for Steve for the time being.

“Where is Professor Harrington?” The girl who sits behind you asks, a slight whine in her voice.

“He has taken a seemingly well-deserved sabbatical,” Professor McCarthy confesses with zero empathy in his voice.

You can barely pay attention during class, your thoughts swimming threatening to drown you.

Why did he leave?

Was it because of you?

Does Robin know?

Was he forced to take a leave?

Did people find out about the two of you?   

You hated to admit it, but a small part of your brain was trying to say something. Loud enough for you to hear it through the madness.

Is he okay?

You didn’t know why, but you still cared about Steve. Even though he hurt you, you wanted to know he was alright. After so many weeks of getting to know him, you knew how much being a teacher meant to him. You knew how passionate he is about the subject he teaches; it worried you that he could just leave. It had to mean something was really wrong.

The rest of the class goes by in a blur, the new professors voice conveniently very easy to drone out. You were the first one to leave the room once class was over. Speed walking down the hall, heading to the only place you knew you’d find answers.

You knock on the door to Robins office, hoping that she was in today.

“Come in!” she calls out.

She looks startled when she sees you standing in her doorway, expecting to see a student with questions about an assignment.

“Uh, hi.” You say awkwardly, still standing in the doorway.

“Hey Y/N, come in, why don’t you sit down,” she offers kindly, already knowing why you’re here.

“Where is he?” you ask bluntly.

Robin sighs before answering, her eyes moving, trying to think of the best way to explain it to you.

“He just needed a break, and the board allowed it,” she says plainly

“I wanna talk to him,” you confess, words leaving your mouth before you could think. Yes, you were upset with Steve, definitely hurt. But that doesn’t mean that you wanted him to leave his job, the both of you are adults. You feel guilty, like you’re the reason he left, and you needed closure.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea honey,” Robin says empathetically.

Your heart drops.

“Please? At least think about it, okay? I’m not mad anymore, I just, I wanna make sure he’s okay,” you admit, hoping to clear the air.

Robin nods and promises that she’ll think about it, but she didn’t seem very convincing. The following days after, dragged on, still piled high with homework. Made worse now because your new sociology professor is the worst, he talked too fast and without any tone in his voice, you caught a few students falling asleep in his class, it was that bad.

Eddie helped a lot, staying over at your house some nights to cuddle up with you after staring at your computer screen for hours on end. You felt guilty that you were so worried about Steve, when you had the perfect man in front of you. You convinced yourself it was just guilt, you just wanted to make sure he’s okay.

Then you got lucky, one morning when you walked into Robins classroom, where you usually sat was a note.

“Here’s his number, don’t make me regret it.” Was etched into the paper.

Your heart flutters in anticipation as hope fills your chest. You spend time after class thinking about the right thing to say, do you text him? Do you call him? You decide on a text, thinking a text is less daunting than calling him.

“Hey Steve, its Y/N. heard about ur sabbatical, hope ur okay” Not really sure what to say, your finger hovers over the send button for a few seconds before you send it. Immediately followed by you throwing your phone across the room.

What the fuck are you doing?

You spend the next couple of hours on your laptop doing your homework, sneaking peaks at your phone, triple checking that you hadn’t missed any messages from Steve. You reasoned with yourself that he might be on vacation or at least just busy. You try to get out of your head and focus on your homework.

The next few days you spent checking your phone every once in awhile looking for a text from Steve that hadn’t come. You were starting to get anxious, even a little worried. The semester was coming to a close, all your assignments turned in and only one mid term left to take. You had come to terms with the idea that Steve just wasn’t going to text you back, he didn’t owe you anything, I guess you’d just have to find closure on your own.

Until one afternoon, the day before thanksgiving, you get a text.

“I miss u”

You stare at your phone, double checking that the text was coming from the right number, Steve’s number. Concern floods your system, this is unlike him.

“Steve? R u okay?”

“I meszed it all up Y/N, im sry”

You’re heart now threatening to beat out of your chest, something was wrong, really wrong. You’re old enough to know when you’re getting a drunk text, what if he was out somewhere alone in this state? You needed to make sure he was okay, or at least somewhere safe.

“Steve tell me where u are, r u safe?”

“Come overrr” is all that is written, followed by a ping to an address. You grab your keys and your coat without a second thought. You get in your car and drive faster than what was probably safe, thoughts only on Steve.

When you finally get to the address, it takes you to a huge house on the outside of town. You let yourself through the gate and park in the huge driveway. You knock on the front door, it squeaks open lightly, you take deep breath and let yourself in. The house is massive, like really big, like old money big. The place is so big, you wander around for a little while searching the various extravagant rooms on the first floor until you find Steve in what you assume is the study.

He's slumped over onto his desk, his hand holding a fancy glass filled with amber liquid. You knock on the side of the door, jostling Steve from his drunk stupor.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” his words slightly slurred.

“Uh, you texted me, you gave me this address,” you feel your heart drop into your stomach, you knew this was a bad idea.

You see Steve’s bloodshot eyes search for the memory of sending you his address, raking his hands through his hair. Steve looked like he hadn’t taken care of himself for awhile, stains all over t-shirt and sweatpants. Your heart ached seeing him this way, guilt washed over you like a tsunami. This entire time you were thinking about yourself and your own closure, and not about the clearly broken man sitting before you.

“This was a mistake, I should go,” you admit before turning in the doorway to leave the way you came in.  

“No, p-please wait! I- fuck everything is so fucked up I don’t know what to do anymore. Just stay.” He looks up at you through his glassy red eyes, begging you to stay.

You decide to stay, you step closer to his desk to get a better look at the state he’s in. He probably hasn’t showered in days, and he reeked of alcohol.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” is all you can think to say, you can’t stand to see him this way any longer.

Steve allows you to get him up and out of the chair, the two of you half stumble while he shows you how to get to the master bathroom. You help him get out of his clothes until he’s left in just his boxers, you do your best not to stare. Even in the state he’s in, you still fought the urge to drool at the sight of him. You turn on the hot water, and look at him sitting on the toilet almost completely naked.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he mumbles groggily.

You suck in a deep breath and let it out harshly, you had always known that. If you knew anything about Steve Harrington, you know that he couldn’t hurt a fly. But you couldn’t believe anything he was saying right now. He was still drunk, and you didn’t know how he was going to feel once he sobered up.

“Why don’t you get in the shower, and we can talk once you’re out, okay?” you reassure him, leaving the room to give him space.

His bedroom was a mess, clothes and random liquor bottles everywhere, you tidy it up the best you can before making your way back downstairs to the kitchen. The kitchen is huge, meant for a chef or someone who really likes to cook. But instead, you see containers of take out and microwave dinners piled in the over flowing garbage and more dishes crowding in the sink. You take out the garbage and do the dishes.

By the time you’re finishing up the dishes you hear footsteps pattering into the kitchen.

“Hi” he says meekly.

“Hi” you reply, placing the last dish into the dishwasher.

He stands next to you, one hand on the counter and one hand on his hip, trying to think of what to say. He opens and closes his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“It’s fine really Steve, I’m happy to help,” you confess, turning your body to face him.

Steve looks down at his hands, when he looks back up at you, fresh tears have formed on his lash line.

“I’m the worst, aren’t I?” he questions, his voice breaking.

Your heart broke with him, “No Steve, you’re not the worst. At little messed up, definitely. But far from the worst.”

He looks at you gratefully before he continues speaking.

“I- I thought you hated me. I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t know how I screwed things up so badly. I’m sorry I brought you all the way out here. I just... fuck I just missed you Y/N,” he babbles, his tears now flowing down his face in little streams.

You walk a few steps closer to him, not trusting yourself to touch him.

Eddie, remember Eddie.

“I don’t hate you Steve, I could never hate you. I was just hurt and confused. Honestly, I still am hurt and confused, I just. I couldn’t bear the thought of you not teaching or being upset because of me. That’s why I came,” you reassure him, hoping your eyes show him the rest. That you do care for him, and want him to be okay.

Steve nods, mulling over your words, wiping his eyes. Then you hear some buzzing on the marble kitchen counter. Steve’s phone goes off, he looks at his phone and answers it immediately. You can hear Robins worried voice on the other end of the phone anxiously babbling questions off at him. You felt good knowing that even if you weren’t in Steves life, he still had Robin.

“No, ugh Rob I’m fine, please you don’t need to come and check on me.”

“Yes, I’ve showered. NO! Don’t bring Nancy, I don’t want her to see me like this.” He rubs his forehead, probably nursing a headache.

Steve hangs up the phone and looks at you.

“Uhm, Rob is coming over, and.. you probably shouldn’t be here when she gets here” he says awkwardly, he looks like he has more to say but decided against it.

You nod your head in understanding. Steve walks you to the front door, thanks you a million more times before waving you off as you get in your car and drive away.

You pull of on the side of the road, a few blocks from Steves place. You put your arms around the steering wheel, thinking about what just happened.

He is just a friend, someone you care about who needed your help.

You shake your head out of your thoughts and head back to your apartment. As you pull into the parking lot your phone dings, you park your car and look at the notification lighting up your phone screen.

“Come over stinky butt 🍑”

You smile at your phone, of course it’s Eddie, the one who makes you feel safe. The one you don’t have to take care of or worry about, your rock. You put your car in reverse, and drive towards Eddies house. The closer you get to Eddies house, the more every loud thought of Steve was quieting to a whisper, you sigh in relief.

“Vi?!” you say cautiously, a routine you were now used to.

Eddie pokes his head out of the kitchen, “Just me babe” a smile plastered across his face. You smile back and head into the kitchen, only to immediately be scooped up into a hug and lifted off your feet. You breathe in Eddies scent, allowing it to ground you back into your reality.

“Mmm missed you,” Eddie murmurs in between kisses. You wrap your arms around his waist, deepening the kiss.

“Missed you too Eds,” Eddie groans against you, pushing you against the counter.

The two of you kiss some more, allowing yourselves to get lost in each other. When you finally pull back you look into Eddies eyes, they just seem tired. You cup your hand around his face, and his cups your hand with his; grateful for the affection.

“Can I show you something?” he asks, only admiration in his eyes. You kiss him as a yes, and let him guide you back down into the basement. You stomach doing flips remembering the last time the two of you spent time down here. But this time he leads you into the main room. The circular table previously covered in random campaign research, now completely clean except for two stacks of paper in front a chair at the head of the table.

He pulls back the chair, next to the head and ushers you into it. You sit down, looking at him inquisitively. He sits down at the head of the table, clearing his voice before he speaks.

“So, the other day, I really liked seeing that side of you. And I wanted to know if you felt the same way, and if maybe you wanted to do it again,” he confesses, searching for the answer in your eyes. His gaze lights a fire in your belly, and a growing ache between your legs, remember the previous activities down here.

You bite your lip and look at him, trying to find the right words, “I’d like that a lot, I like when you take control,” you confide in him, nudging your leg against his under the table. Eddie takes in a deep breath before speaking again, “I just wanted to go over some more safety stuff, if we are going to really do this, and not have it be a one time thing,” handing you one of the stacks of paper in front of him.

He goes onto explain to you that this is not a contract, but more of a mostly complete list of limits that he wanted the two of you to fill out before playing again. He clarifies that the reason for this is so that neither of you ever accidently make the other feel uncomfortable during a scene. Your eyes looking over the papers curiously, overwhelmed by all the different things listed. He had to explain a few of them to you, him being more experienced than you were. You could feel the tension in the room heating up, and your panties dampening.

Finally, you’re on the last page, your knee bouncing up and down in anticipation.

“Where is Violet?” you ask, a little bit too much excitement in your voice. You see his eyes darken and a smirk splay across his lips.

“She’s working night shift” he says grabbing your chair and bringing it closer to his side, grabbing your thigh harshly.

You let out a shaky breath, you needed this, him. You go to put your hand around his neck to pull him into a kiss, but he grabs your wrist.

“Finish what I’ve asked of you pretty girl” leaving a kiss at the shell of your, evoking goosebumps across your skin.

You swallow hard, all the moisture gone from your mouth. You look back down on the paper, finishing it as fast at you can before looking back up at him for more instructions.

“Good job baby, I’m proud of you. You follow instructions so well” he praises, leaving a light kiss on your cheek. He pulls his eyes away from you for a bit, looking through all of your limits or things you are willing to try. You take this time to do the same with him, shocked by a few things, but even more turned on. Once you’re done reading you look up to see him staring at you hungrily.

“Ready to play sweet thing?” he says, pupils blown in lust.

“Ready,” you say breathlessly, willing air into your lungs.

“One more thing before we start, I like Daddy and Master, just so you know,” he winks at you, and it takes everything in you to stop your knees from buckling.

He takes you by your hand and walks with you to the secret door under the stairs. Your body buzzing, wanting to touch the man in front of you anywhere and everywhere. He opens the door and lets the two of you in. Once the door is closed, he envelops you into a deep kiss, you whimper at his lips on yours.

“Mm fuck, I love your little noises” he hisses, lifting you up by your legs and guiding you to wrap them around his waist. He sits down on the bed, leaving you to straddle his waist. The sheets were changed since you were here last, now a silky maroon color. You take the opportunity to grind your hips down on his lap while he grabs at the skin available to him, the two of you moaning into each other’s mouths. His lips tasting like the last cigarette he smoked, chasing his tongue with yours. You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, the way his bulge was rubbing against your clit could make you cum right now with how worked up you are. You moan a little louder into Eddies mouth, making him pull back and look at your already fucked out expression.

“Look at you baby, already so desperate” he teases, lifting you off of him for a second to slide your leggings and panties off. He guides you back onto his lap, situating his fingers at your center, swiping them through your folds. Lifting his hands up to find them glistening with your juices.

“And already so fucking wet, such a needy little slut” he says, sticking his fingers into his mouth. You go back to grinding your hips against his bulge, not being able to help yourself, your clit aching with need.

Eddie stills your hips with his hand, grabbing at your ass and tits roughly before taking off your shirt, leaving you naked except your bra. Eddie takes this time to kiss all the skin newly available to him. You moan loudly into the open room, trying your best to obey and not rock your hips against his.

This task became harder and harder the longer his lips were on yours, kissing that spot on your neck that you like, nipping at your lips, kissing your newly exposed nipples. It was all too much, you grind your hips into his without thinking, and that’s when he swiftly turns the turns the two of you over. You can feel the silk sheets against your back, and his hands on your hips. You whine in protest, trying to rock your hips into his once more.

“Awe, my girl just can’t stay still huh? I can help with that,” He taunts, leaving you to lay on the bed, going into the little nightstand on the side of the bed.

He comes back into view holding leather cuffs in his hands, and a sinister look on your face. He takes his time kissing each of your wrists before helping you into the cuffs, doing the same thing with your ankles. You take a look at your wrists, now partially covered by the leather material, it was tight but not too tight. You feel Eddie move around you before grabbing one of your wrists in his hand lightly hearing a clicking sound as he lays it back down on the bed. You go to pick up your wrist again, realizing you can’t. You look at the head of the bed to see your cuff connected to a restraint in the frame. He continues to do the same thing with your other wrist and both of your ankles.

His stare could bore holes into skin the way that it heated you up from the inside. You struggle lightly against the restraints, trying to test how much movement you had in each limb, which wasn’t much. He sits next to you on the bed, palming your face in one of his hands.

“Color baby?” he questions.

“Green!” you say brightly, excited for the adventure ahead of you.

“Doin’ so good for me” he coos, and then his touch is gone and he’s somewhere in the room. You can hear random rustling but you can’t lift up your head enough to see what he’s grabbing.

He comes back next to you seemingly empty handed, and then he lifts up his hands to you to show you his haul. He has a single black die in his one hand, and a vibrating wand in the other.

“So, we’re gonna play a little game, I’m going to roll the dice. Whatever number the dice lands on, is how many times you have to edge until I let you cum.” He says, he usually chocolate brown eyes now almost black with lust.

You lick your lips and think about how to respond, “Y-yes Daddy” you utter, your face heating up at the new pet name. You hear Eddie curse under his breath. He rolls the die next to your head on the nightstand and chuckles. His face coming close to yours with a wicked grin on his face.

“Can you handle three, angel?” he snickers, leaving kisses along your jaw line, nipping lightly. You nod hurriedly, wanting to be good for the man above you. With that he kisses you deeply one more time before spreading your legs, your dripping core on display for him to see.

You watch him spit messily on the wand and then once more on your heat, spreading it generously on your clit. You hiss at the contact, bucking your hips up slightly wanting more. You hear the hum of the vibrator as Eddie turns it on low, your body full of anticipation, waiting for any sort of pleasure. That’s when you feel it, the low vibration against your clit. You squirm against it at first, wanting more already.

Eddie chuckles lowly above you, “I should call you my little bunny by how much you move, would you like that sweetness? To be my little bunny?” he taunts, turning up the vibration higher, pulling a moan from your lips.

“Yes daddy, wanna be your bunny, your good little bunny” you writhe against the restraints. He rewards you by turning up the vibrator another notch, the pressure quickly building in your stomach.

You writhe against the restraints as the pressure becomes too much, coming it waves, so close to sending you over the edge. And then it’s gone, the vibration still audible in the room but you can no longer feel it. You groan in frustration, you were so fucking close.

“Two more baby, then you can cum” he reassures you. He takes this time, to let the fire inside you simmer. He takes off his shirt and his pants, leaving him in only his boxers. You see him palming himself, you bite your lip, wanting nothing more than to worship his cock.

You feel the vibration once again but this time instead of starting out slow, the vibration knocks the wind out of you. Your clit screaming at you for release, the coil inside you already winding tighter and tigher, your curl your toes, willing yourself not to cum. Then the sensation is gone once again, your body now covered in sweat from being so close twice now, your chest heaving heavily up and down.

“You’re doin so good bunny, just one more for me, kay? Still green?” he asks.

You nod your head not trusting your words, whimpers coming out instead. Eddie takes off his boxers, showing off his now very erect and hard cock, making your mouth water. Stroking it a few times before lining it up with your mouth.

“Spit Bunny” he commands.

You whimper and do as you’re told, gathering all the salvia in your mouth and spitting it onto his tip. He sighs and works your spit around his cock, moaning loudly. He’s teasing you, you’re strapped to the bed and can’t even touch him. He is evil incarnate, and you can’t get enough.

You were so entranced by watching Eddie work his hand over his cock you had forgot what the two of you were doing, until you felt the vibration on the highest setting hit your clit.

You yelp in surprise, keeping your eyes on his cock. Thinking about how his cock feels inside of you, how it stretches you out, hits a spot inside of you that you could never reach. You wanted it, no, you needed it, you needed him or you were going to explode. Your orgasm hurtling towards you like a freight train.

“D-Daddy i- please, i- im gonna cum” you gush, holding your eyes tightly closed, willing yourself not to cum before you’re given the okay. But instead, the vibration is gone, and your orgasm ruined.

You wail in frustration, tears welling in your eyes threatening to spill out, legs shaking. You were so desperate you didn’t even know why you were crying. You feel Eddie unclip your restraints, giving you full range of motion again, you rubbed your wrists thankfully. Eddie pulling you into a hug, kissing the tears out of your eyes.

“You did so good for me baby, you’re such a good girl for Daddy,” he mumbles into your skin. You allow him to hold you for a minute before the need between your legs takes over.

You let out the breath you were holding shakily. Looking at him in anticipation. You lie back down on the bed and open your legs, two could play at this game. You swirl your finger around your aching clit, moaning dramatically. Grabbing your left tit, pinching lightly between your two fingers, giving him a show.

Two firm hands grab both of your wrists putting them above your head, “You coulda just asked sweetness, not that I mind the show, I just had something else in mind” he mocks.

He climbs on top of you, lining his cock up at your entrance, swiping it through your soaked folds.

“Beg for it, beg for my cock,” he demands.

“Please, please I need your cock, please please, I’ve been good, please let me have your cock,” you whine.

With that he pushes into your core, both of you moaning in unison. His pace already quick chasing his own high.

“Fuck your pussy is so fuckin tight” he says, eyes closed trying to hold off his own orgasm. He lifts your legs, bending you almost in half, hitting a spot inside that makes you scream.

“Fuck yes, yeah right there, holy fuck!” you wail.

Doing what he’s told he pistons into you harder, making the wet noises in the room get louder and louder. You can feel pressure building inside you, but it feels different, it feels bigger.

“Can I cum, please can I cum?” not being able to hold it off any longer, eyes pleading with Eddie.

“Yeah, baby go ahead, cum for me, cum for daddy,” he groans.

Then your vision whites out, every cell in your body imploding with pleasure, you feel your release spill out of you and onto the sheets, messily.

“Holy shit- fuck!” is the only warning you get before Eddie’s hips stutter, and he spills his seed inside of you.

“What the fuck” is all you can muster in your fucked out state.

“Yeah what the fuck indeed princess, I didn’t know you could squirt” he says breathlessly, scooping you into his arms, the two of you laying next to each other trying to catch your breaths.

“I didn’t either, I’ve never done it before” you confide, Eddies eyes shining bright with pride. You roll your eyes at him, the last thing he needed was a bigger ego.

“Don’t let it go to your head mister,” you say with a jab to his chest.

“No, I absolutely am, thanks though” he says, putting his hand over his chest like he’s accepting a badge of honor.

The two of you spend the rest of the night down there in each other’s arms, eventually, Eddie gives you his t-shirt and goes to grab the two of you a snack and a glass of water.

“Was this okay? I didn’t hurt you or make you upset, right?” he asks.

You shake your head, “No not at all, I loved every second, can’t wait to do it again,” you say with a wiggle of your eyebrows. It makes Eddie crack a smile and leave a small kiss on your head.

“I just like feeling wanted, you know how stuff like this clears your head? It clears mine too, all I need to do is be there for you, and focus on you. Then my brain is quiet, so thank you,” he confesses, stealing a kiss from your lips. You smile up at him, if you could give him the whole world you would in an instant.

“I think I want to tell Vi, I’m nervous but I’m starting to feel guilty hiding all of this from her. I like you a lot, and she deserves to know what makes me happy,” he says looking sleepily in your eyes.

“You make me happy too, we can tell Vi this weekend, okay? I don’t like hiding things from her either,” you reassure him.

He nods back at you sleepily, snuggling in closure to you like a dog. Eventually the two of you fall asleep, completely content.

Tag List! **if you want to be added to the tag list just lemme know, just need to be 18+**

@sweetblinginrose @tlclick73 @paleidiot @frogtape @too-efn-old-to-be-here @peaches-roses-sins @micheledawn1975 @untitled74745 @hellv1ra @alastorssimp @star-of-velaris @yeaiamme2 @itdobe-liza @mmaaddyy @cozyquinn

[aayakashii]

I always considered fiction my main way of escapism from my own troubles and the world's troubles. After yesterday, I feel like we all need a little bit of escapism and comfort, and I did the only thing I can offer, which is to write. I hope this can bring a little bit of comfort to anyone who's feeling depressed or scared. I hope my blog can be a little safe space if you need to escape. Please take care of yourselves and ily <3

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, actually a lot of comfort, Luca helps reader cope with their feelings

Frostheim always made you feel inadequate. Small. Wrong. Not enough. Your blood wasn't blue and your voice didn't have the sound of centuries of generational wealth, unlike all of its students. Thus, you had no place in speaking up, or expressing your discomfort. Much less saying no.

Which was why you found yourself stuffed inside itchy, uncomfortable clothes that had been bought with Kamurai money – another reason why you couldn't run away from that place – nursing a glass of champagne that you would, most probably, not drink.

Frostheim's balls were a whole different torture on its own.

It's not surprising that the rich would pride themselves in following obscure little etiquette rules that made them feel like they were better than everyone else. It was fine, really. They could choke on their diamonds and coins and silver cutlery for all you'd care.

It's the fact that you had to endure them that truly abhorred you. Endure the waltzes, and the fancy canapes, and the constant flood of drinks, and the stares and the whispers and the stares and the whispers.

The stares and the whispers.

You knew how much people loved to gossip in that godforsaken dorm, but you hoped your professional (and almost friendly) relationship with both the Captain and Vice-Captain would keep them at bay, at least in front of you.

But you forgot that rich people have no respect for those they deem less important than them.

So you were standing on your own, in the corner of the giant ballroom, as you counted how many people would pass by, stare you down and snicker.

Your record for the previous ball was a little over 20 people. This time, you were already on 23.

What a lovely setting.

All you wanted to do was run, go to the campus’ store and beg Benkei to give you a little discount on a bulk of instant noodles and cheap wine. You refused to eat their expensive food as much as you refused to get drunk in front of them.

That was your plan, until the loudspeakers, carefully placed in every corner of the giant room, began playing a gentle tune that reverberated deep inside your bones, and caused you pain you weren't quite expecting.

At least not at that moment.

Much to your dismay, your eyes began to sting as the first words of the oh-so familiar song reached your ears and your grip on the glass tightened instinctively.

It was such an old piece. A cheesy, melancholic little tune released back in your early teens. Back when your biggest worry were your grades and being noticed by your cute classmate.

You downed the champagne in one go, trying to force the lump on your throat to disappear. Breathing became a little bit harder as you felt your chest squeeze with painful nostalgia and you stumbled towards one of the many balconies of the vast building.

You knew they would most always be empty due to the harsh winter weather right outside its glass doors, but you didn't mind. You needed space. Air. And if you were going to ruin your makeup, you wanted to do it on your own.

The singer's voice was slightly muffled, but you could still hear her. The lyrics lamented a wasted love, but all you could think of were the memories associated with the song.

You remembered carrying your childhood dog in your arms as you danced to it in your old bedroom, thinking about fairytale romance and the bright future ahead of you.

You remembered crying to the sound of it after your first heartbreak and the taste of salt on your tongue while your parents drove you to the beach, the song playing softly in the car's speakers.

You remembered sleeping soundly in a friend's room during a sleepover, the song playing time and time again after you all forgot to turn off the computer and the old music player.

You remembered your past life, seeming so far away from you despite you still being so young.

White, glittery flakes barely fell despite the biting cold that enveloped Frostheim like a snow globe. You shivered constantly, but were focused on how strongly you were biting your bottom lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. Your hands gripped the balcony's railing tightly, as you tried to ground yourself.

You missed the sound of the door opening in your intense focus, only snapping out of your daze once you felt a warm coat being draped over your shoulders.

“You shouldn't be outside without a coat. You could catch a cold, or worse.”

Warm breath tickled your cheek and you turned around, only to face two bright violet orbs that widened as soon as you showed your tear-stricken face.

“What happened?” Luca placed his hands on your shoulder, squeezing them lightly, voice frantic. “Are you okay? Did someone say something to you? Did you get hurt?”

You sniffled, quickly shaking your head in order to stop the barrage of questions. You enveloped yourself with his coat a bit tighter, finally realizing how cold you felt. The scent of bergamot on his clothes managed to ground you better than your own nails ever could.

“No, I'm fine. Nothing happened.” You murmured, looking down, a bit ashamed that your breakdown just had a witness.

“Something must have happened. You're crying. If you're distressed, you can tell me.”

You stared at Luca's worried expression for a second before sighing. He walked to your side, leaning onto the balcony's railing like you were just a few moments before.

“It's… nothing important, really. It's just a song that was played there.” you murmured.

“A song?”

“Yeah, I… it's a song I used to listen to when I was younger. It made me remember, you know? Stuff. My life out of here.”

Luca's worried expression morphed into one of sympathy. His lips pursed as he nodded, understanding what you meant without needing other words.

“You must be missing a lot of people.” He said quietly as you settled yourself beside him, looking at the winter wonderland that were Frostheim's gardens.

“Haha, yeah…” You sighed, tired. “A lot of people I didn't get to say goodbye to, nor explain anything. People that probably miss me too. My pets as well. Friends. I had a lot out there. It wasn't much, but it was mine.”

Your voice became strained as your eyes watered once more. You cleared your throat, trying once again to push down that lump. You might have ruined your makeup, but you didn't want to cry even more in front of the boy – you didn't want to feel like you were victimizing yourself, even if deep down you knew you were anything but guilty of your situation.

Luca placed his hand on your head, his touch heavy and warm despite the ambient. His violet eyes looked at you with a swirl of empathy and pain.

“I understand you.” He said, swallowing hard. “It's jarring. The sudden changes, the fear of the unknown and what the future holds. I miss my family too.”

“Right… you came from another country.” You felt dumb for a moment. For venting your anguish onto someone that was living something so similar to you. And in Luca's case, he was all alone in a foreign place.

You suddenly felt small.

“Yes. And it's hard sometimes. Most times, actually.” He chewed on his bottom lip before giving you a small smile. “But I try to keep my mind set on something so I won't get lost in my emotions. Nor in my grief.”

“Your brother…”

He nodded.

“I set my mind into finding a way to get him back. And I won't back down from this until I've done all I can, until I have him back with our family. But also…” His eyes flickered towards yours, scanning your face.

“What?”

“I do have another goal to keep me afloat. Something else I fight for, so I won't give up despite how hard it all is.”

You tilt your head in curiosity. Luca places his gloved hand onto yours, the warmth seeping into your skin as he squeezes you tightly and his eyes burn with determination.

“I also want to find a way to cure you of your curse. To send you back to those people you love and miss. I want to help you get your future back.”

You couldn't help the way your eyes welled up once again, this time out of gratitude for the boy that stood right beside you.

You knew how Luca had to consciously choose to fight against the odds time and time again, despite how others didn't understand his drive and even deemed him weird or inconvenient. You knew how he worked so hard to one day achieve his goals and to have him so openly offer his hand to help you achieve yours warmed your heart.

“Luca…” You muttered, feeling the tears freely run down your cheeks.

“You won't be lost if we're like this.��� He raised the hand that was intertwined with yours. You nodded, drying your eyes with the flimsy sleeve of your clothes.

“I'll help you find your brother too.” You announced, as determined as him, through a stuffy nose and dry mouth.

“Thank you.” He beamed at you, his smile blindingly bright. “And when you feel like this again, when you're lost in your own grief… I hope you know you can count on me. As much as I will count on you when I need your help. Okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded. “Let's just ask Tohma to delete that song from his playlist, please.” You added and Luca laughed in agreement.

He pulled you towards the glass doors, leading you back into the warmth of the ballroom.

Before he opened the doors, he looked at you one more time.

“Let's help each other stay afloat?” He asked, smiling gently.

You smiled back.

“Let's. Thank you, Luca.”

“It's what I'm here for.”

He opened the doors and ushered you inside, shielding you from the cold outside.

[lees-chaotic-brain]

rating things my classmates said/did after my dad died! (feat. class 1-a)

cw: mentions of death obviously, you're a member of class 1-a, crack, hurt/comfort, reader is religiously ambiguous, implied depression ig, some angst but mostly crack

note: guys i swear it's okay to laugh at this! i did!! some may say it's too soon but humor is how i cope and i missed writing so when this little idea invaded my brain while i was rewatching bhna (it's my comfort show) i couldn't resist

blog navigation | bhna masterlist

ochako: “if you believe in heaven i would offer to use my quirk on you so you could float up to heaven and visit your dad but i doubt they'd let you in anyways”

9/10

low key made me giggle

iida overheard and was horrified.

izuku: “i'm so sorry for your loss. if you ever need to talk i’m here. i know it’s not the same at all but my dad wasn’t around while i was growing up so i can kinda understand. not that i’m saying you have to talk to me because of that or that i understand or that we should make a dead/missing dad club oh my god i need to stop talking i’m so sorry i’ll leave you alone now bye please tell me if you need anything!” *scurries away*

11/10

sweet cinnamon roll 🥹

we should fs make a dead/missing dads club

todoroki: “i’m so sorry for your loss. if i could make my father trade places with yours i would do it in a heartbeat. unrelated, i heard you and midoriya are starting a dead/missing dads club. may i join? mine is dead to me.”

8/10

right idea i guess 😭😭

it was going so well during the first sentence too…

ps ofc you can join our club

bakugou: stormed into my room and violently ripped me from my depression burrito and dragged me downstairs to force feed me a warm home cooked meal bc he knew i hadn’t left my bed or eaten in the last 24 hours

6/10

i always knew you cared abt me us blasty 🥹🥰

the food was delicious but plz be more gentle abt it next time king 🙏

mineta: “yo your mom is a total milf.”

numbers don’t go low enough to express my feelings towards this one

like at my father’s funeral?? the AUDACITY

jirou: spent hours searching for a very specific song my dad sang to me when i was little and actually found it bc she found m crying bc i couldn’t find it and i wanted to hear it again

♾️/10

i actually love you so much

you have no idea how much this meant to me ❤️

aoyama: stuffed cheese into my mouth while i was crying in my depression burrito

-3/10

wtf man that was actually more traumatizing

it wasn’t even parmesan or brie

tokoyami: went on a long spiel about how we are all destined for the Great Darkness then abruptly ended by saying he was sorry for my father’s early departure and disappearing back into his room

7/10

i think you were trying to make me feel better so i appreciate the effort. i am a little confused tho

kiri: ask me if i wanted a hug. when i started crying he started tearing up too then gave me one of the best bear hugs i’ve ever gotten

20/10

super manly dude. i really needed it at the moment and appreciated it ❤️

gonna end this here. i had a few more but i felt like these were the best ones. not tagging anyone since this is like a personal self comfort one lol

THAT DOESN’T MEAN I DON’T WANT YOU GUYS TO LAUGH OR TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK. TRUST IT WILL MAKE ME FEEL BETTER

[autumnshighlady]

I've Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 20)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: reader meet's Eris's mother, and Azriel offers a helping hand. An unexpected visitor comes to autumn, I cannot do summaries to save my life

warnings: graphic violence/torture, Cassian slander, tw B*ron sucking but also kinda slaying, implied SA, themes of depression, angst because apparently i can't write happy things

word count: 7.4k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: two chapters in one day to spoil y'all as thanks for waiting so long for part 19 lmao. sorry if this chapter seems slow, but the next two chapters are doozies so gear up!

part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 / part 18 / part 19

read on ao3

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You barely heard the hushed voices of the servants as they fiddled with the wedding dress. Pins poked at your skin as adjustments to the garment were made, but you didn’t care. You simply stood there silently, staring at the husk of a female who looked like you in the mirror. Nobody had asked you anything – not for your opinion on the dress, how it felt, nothing. Not that you expected them to. They were all aiming to please Beron Vanserra, not you.

For the past week, you hadn’t heard from or seen Nesta. Or Eris. Ever since Malgorm paid you an unexpected visit that night, Eris had warned you that it would be too dangerous to meet up for the next while. That Malgorm was likely to be excited about his new bride, and the risk of him showing up unexpectedly was too great. You hadn’t even dared to use the bond to communicate with Nesta, for fear the magic would somehow be detected by Beron’s many complex wards.

Once again, you were completely alone.

It was hard not to fall back into that panic you felt when you had woken up in Rhysand’s dungeons. That same feeling of helplessness washed over you again and again, and you had no idea what to do. Nesta, Eris, and Azriel had all promised you that this marriage wouldn’t happen, but refused to let you in on any of their planning.

“It’s too risky,” Azriel had pointed out to you when you protested. “You cannot know anything about what we are planning. If Beron or Malgorm finds out, we cannot risk you being implicated.”

Naturally, you had bitched and complained about how they didn’t have a right to risk themselves for your safety, but it landed on deaf ears. One hard look from your mate was enough to make you shut up about the matter.

They had promised to do something, yet the wedding grew closer every day. Beron had originally planned for Eris and Nesta to be married first, but whispers from the servants informed you that Malgorm had insisted that his wedding be moved up as fast as possible so he could breed you sooner. The thought made you want to vomit. Shockingly, Beron had agreed, his apparent reasoning being it gave them more time to plan the grand wedding of his eldest son. 

Tears pricked at your eyes as you stared at yourself in the mirror. The dress was pretty – a thick satin gown made with the purest of white fabric, with long sleeves and a high neck. Gold thread was embroidered around the neckline, going down the bust and arms like tendrils of flame. It was a suitable wedding dress – definitely not as elaborate as Nesta’s would be, but befitting of a marriage within a royal family.

You had been completely overwhelmed the past week with the amount of servants flocking you to prepare for the wedding. They fiddled with your hair and makeup, poking and prodding you like you were a doll for dress up.

You shuddered to think of how much more chaotic it would be for Nesta and her wedding with Eris, the eldest. After all, Malgorm was only Beron’s second youngest. 

When you weren’t being prepared for the wedding, you spent your time alone in your room, laying on the bed and watching the raindrops trickle down the window. You dared not wander the halls to entertain yourself, the fear of running into Malgorm too great. Realistically, he knew where your room was so if he truly wanted to find you, nothing could stop him. But you did not want to take the unnecessary risk.

Every time you slept for the past week, your dreams were plagued by nightmares of Malgorm. You’d wake up in tears most of the time, yearning for Nesta’s comforting presence or Eris’s smooth words to soothe you. You could still feel his hand around your throat, the remnants of the bruises still visible.

Conveniently enough, the neckline of the dress was just high enough to cover those marks on your neck.

A quiet knock at the door snapped you out of your trance. The servants scurried into whatever formation was required of them seconds before the wooden door opened. You tore your gaze away from the mirror to see a petite female with long auburn hair entering your room. Her skin was pale as snow, covered in heavy green robes. A sheer gold veil covered her head, as if meant to hide her from the world. Her russet eyes landed on you and she let out a small smile.

“My lady.” One of the servants said in greeting, bowing her head. The female’s face was unreadable, a mask of boredom so similar to the one you saw Eris wear.

“Leave us, please.” Her voice was weak, as if she was not accustomed to using it. “I would like to spend some time with my daughter.”

Your heart ached at the Lady of Autumn’s words, even though you knew they weren’t entirely genuine. You missed your own mother so terribly, that hearing someone else refer to you as their daughter was bittersweet. 

The servants obediently trailed out of the room, closing the door behind them. You bowed your head respectfully, and when you met her eyes again you nearly crumpled. Gone was the Lady’s mask of boredom. It was replaced by one of sadness and pity, as if she were looking at a younger version of herself in the mirror. Lucien had told you about the horror his mother had endured under her husband’s cruelty, his stories making you shudder. How ironic it was now, that you were to be subjected to the same fate it seemed.

“Greetings, (Y/N),” She said. “I am the High Lord’s wife, Lirilla Vanserra. It is a pleasure to meet my son’s bride.”

A single tear fell down your cheek. The heavy fabric of the dress was stifling, and your lungs felt like they weren’t getting enough air. But you were too tired to properly cry. You had weeped for the first few nights, and it seemed your body was drained. All you could do was stand there numbly, letting that singular tear make its way down your blotchy skin.

“It is an honour to meet you, my Lady.” Your words did not feel like your own as you spoke them. “And a blessing to be engaged to your son.”

The look that Eris’s mother gave you was one that could only be described as utterly heartbreaking as she said, “Oh my sweet, I think we both know that is not true.”

You were taken aback by her bold words. Every time you had seen the Lady of Autumn this past week it had been like catching a glimpse of a ghost. She had never spoken, keeping her head down and scurrying around like a frightened mouse. While she still seemed frail, her bluntness surprised you. Perhaps Beron wasn’t the one who taught Eris to put on a mask.

“It’s alright, we may speak freely here.” Lirilla said, as if she could read your expression. “The guards at the door are loyal to me, and the ears of this castle do not reach this corridor. May we sit down?”

You nodded, following your future mother-in-law to the edge of the bed. She sat down elegantly, smoothing her skirts with the poise of a female ready for her appearance at court. You, on the other hand, were less graceful, pins stabbing you as you tried to collect the white skirt.

“That is a lovely dress,” Lirilla said. “Is it to your liking?”

“Yes.” You said. “I’m just not used to this much skirt and heaviness. I pray I do not trip on my way down the aisle.”

The Lady’s expression darkened, melancholic sadness shadowing her face. “I am sorry,” Her voice was quiet and hushed. “That you are to be wed to the cruellest of my sons. I do not know how you ended up in this situation, but it is clear that this marriage is against your will.”

You frowned. “The High Lord did not tell you my circumstances?”

Lirilla smiled sadly. “My husband does not tell me most things. And I suspect yours won’t either. Malgorm was, is, the most difficult of my children. I did my best to raise him to be a good male, but like almost all my other sons, he fell into the clutches of my husband too easily.”

“All except Lucien?” You asked tentatively, unsure if you were overstepping. A grave expression crossed her face for a moment, the pain of her youngest son’s banishment from her court evident.

“He told me about you, you know.” Lirilla’s russet eyes were glazed with the memories of the past. “That's why I came to see you. I had to make sure it was the same female that Lucien had befriended all those years ago. How is your family doing, my dear? Is your mom still baking for the local schools?”

Your heart sank, both at the memory of your family and the fact that Lirilla was so cut off from the events of the outside world. “They’re all dead,” You said solemnly. “Hybern attacked my village, and I was the only survivor.”

Her eyes widened with shock. You bit your tongue, resisting the urge to tell her everything as you remembered Azriel’s words. Begrudgingly, you knew he was right – as much as you wanted to break down and tell the Lady of Autumn everything, it was too risky. The less people who knew the better, and while the female had survived Beron’s cruelty for this long, you couldn’t bring yourself to be selfish enough to burden her with the knowledge of everything else that got you into this situation.

“I am terribly sorry,” Lirilla put a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I wish I could say that things will get easier, but they won’t. Not with Malgorm. I do not wish to scare you, but I will not sit by and let you go into this marriage blind. Malgorm does not treat females kindly, including me. He will humiliate you, and cause you pain in more ways than one. I will do what I can to shield you from it, but I cannot stop this and for that I am sorry.”

You shook your head, fiddling with a pin in the white skirts. “No, I cannot ask that of you, my Lady. This suffering I am about to endure is mine to bear, and mine only. Please, do not put yourself in harm's way to try and protect me.”

Another devastatingly sad smile pulled at Lirilla’s lips. She gently reached up and stroked your cheek. “Oh, my love. I am in harm’s way every day in this castle. That will not change. You are to be my daughter, my first daughter. I may not be able to stand up for you, or even spend much time with you outside of stolen moments like this, but that doesn’t mean I won’t protect you however I can.”

Your voice cracked as you spoke. “I don’t want to marry him.”

“I know. But outside of this room, you must face it with a stiff lip. Any sign of reluctance will be punishable. Give Malgorm what he wants. He always gets what he wants in the end, and trying to resist does more harm than good. It is unpleasant, but that is the safest way to handle him.”

You shuddered at her words. You knew that she meant more than just fetching the male his afternoon tea, and your stomach churned. The breath you took trembled from effort to not cry. How had everything come to this?

“Oh honey…” Lirilla gently pulled you into her, wrapping her tiny arms around your trembling body as you let out a muffled sob. “Growing up, I always wanted a daughter. Yet now I have grown to fear the day I get blessed with a daughter-in-law, because I cannot bear to see this vicious cycle repeat over and over again for centuries.”

You cried into your mother-in-law’s arms, letting her warm embrace chase away the chill in your bones. You knew that once you were married, Malgorm would likely not leave you alone unsupervised, especially with his mother. This might just be your only chance to receive some sort of wisdom and comfort from the Lady of Autumn, so you held onto her tightly and let her stroke your hair.

“It’s ok, my child.” She soothed. “Be strong. If you are hurt, have one of the servants seek out the healer Doreah. She will be able to take the pain away and heal internal damage while ensuring the external wounds can still be seen by Malgorm. Should you need access to a safe place, take the first stairwell on the left all the way down into the basement. There is a library there with food, fresh clothes, and anything you need. The guards around it are loyal to me and will cover for you if your whereabouts are questioned. Nobody except for me and my most trusted staff knows about that place. I have had it glamoured by an old friend so that if anyone sees you going down the stairwell, it looks like you’re headed to the female-only bathing area. Not even my husband or Melgorm would follow you there.”

You felt Lirilla gently ease you out of her grip, sitting you upright. She pulled out a handkerchief and gently dried your face, muttering a spell and erasing all evidence of your crying. “I can hear Malgorm coming to visit you,” She whispered urgently. “Remember everything I’ve told you.”

The Lady of Autumn pulled away from you just in time as the door swung open, the uninvited visitor not even bothering to knock. Lirilla’s kind, pitying look had swiftly been replaced by her submissive, passive mask. She stood up hastily at her son’s arrival, bowing her head. “Malgorm,” She muttered, keeping her eyes on the floor. “It is bad luck to see your bride in her wedding dress before the–”

“Quiet.” Malgorm snapped at his mother, and she flinched as if she had been struck. You wondered how much of it was an act, and how much of it was genuine fear of her son. Malgorm’s amber gaze fixed on you greedily. “I don’t give a shit about such stupid tradition. I should be able to see my wife whenever I please. Now get out, father wants to see you.”

Lirilla nodded, gathering her skirts and hurrying past him like a ghost. Her feet made no sound on the floor as she left the room without a hint of a glance back. You were nervous, left alone with the cruel Vanserra brother. But you stood up and bowed your head, trying to mimic Lirilla’s submissive demeanour.

Malgorm made a disapproving sound as he eyed up your dress with disgust. “My father wants you to look pure and traditional,” He scoffed. “To have as much of your body covered up as possible. If it were up to me, you’d be walking down that aisle with your tits and cunt on display for everyone to see.”

Your face burned at his words, and you swallowed the bile in your throat and spoke as sweetly as possible, “I shall do whatever pleases you, my lord.”

Malgorm snickered, his dirty hand coming up to roughly yank a lock of hair out of your face. “That you shall. Luckily for you, this wedding is about pleasing my father. So you will be nice and covered up until the event is over.” He chuckled darkly, his hot breath fanning across your face as he leaned in too closely. “But the second it is over, you belong to me. And I will rip this pretty dress to shreds and stuff that tight cunt of yours every hour until you are bred. Understood?”

You nodded, even as the room swayed around you. “It will be a great honour to bear your child, my lord.” The words felt wrong on your lips, like oil had been poured in your mouth and choked you as it slid down your throat. You were saying what you had to say to keep him happy, you reminded yourself. Nesta and Eris would stop the wedding before it got to that point. Eris had reassured you that even Malgorm would respect the High Lord’s wishes to wait until you were wed to him to bed you, but you couldn’t help but wonder if Malgorm was unhinged enough to do it anyways.

“I expect you to give me sons.” He said coldly. “If you dare curse me with a daughter, I will tear her from the cord and feed her to my brother’s hounds before you can even see her face.”

You swallowed thickly, fear making the hair on your arms raise at the image. You wondered if Eris had built a reputation that was so cruel his brother was sure he would have no qualms about letting his hounds murder a newborn child. The thought made you shudder. You knew Eris had to play a role to survive his father’s court, but you did not know how far he would go. And while you trusted him, that did not erase the inkling of fear.

“I shall pray day and night that the Mother blesses me with sons.” You managed to get the words out without stuttering, which you were happy with. Luckily, Malgorm seemed satisfied enough with you answer.

“Excellent.” He said smoothly, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a sharp knife. Your blood ran cold. “Now, let’s play.”

 *********************

You couldn’t be bothered to try and wipe the blood off your stomach. You had no energy, no strength to even curl your naked, bloody body up into a ball against the cold chill of the room. Your wedding dress was neatly hung up in the corner, Malgorm having been smart enough to get it out of the way before he went to work.

Your body stung with every cut from his blade. Most were shallow cuts that would heal in a day or so, but by the Mother there were so many of them. Your skin felt shredded, like a ruined canvas suffering the wrath of an angry artist. Malgorm had delighted in slicing his blade across your skin, avoiding your hands and face – the only parts of your body that would be visible in the wedding. You could still feel his wet mouth and tongue sliding over the wounds like a venomous snake, the sensation making you want to rip your ruined skin from your body.

Luckily, the male had obeyed his fathers command and not tried to fuck you. He kept his hands away from your centre, seemingly content to ruin other acceptable parts of your body instead. No doubt he wanted everything down there perfect and intact for the wedding night.

A soft shadow grazed your fingertip. It curled up your arm like a ribbon, coming to your face. It seemed to whisper words you couldn’t understand, especially in your lifeless state. “Az…” You murmured, his familiar scent on the small shadow that seemed to inspect your body.

A few moments later, you felt a presence standing over you. “By the Mother…” Came Azriel’s shocked voice. “What did he do to you...”

The shadowsinger emerged from the darkness, leaning down to inspect the dozens of wounds littered across your skin. His hazel eyes were filled with horror as a scarred hand grazed a cut on your collarbone. You watched helplessly as his eyes trailed down to the significant pool of blood beside you that trickled from a deep wound in your stomach.

Right where the letter ‘M’ was carved below your belly button, a few inches above your core.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care about your nakedness in front of the shadowsinger. Malgorm had already begun to strip you of your dignity anyways. But Azriel quickly grabbed the blanket from the end of your bed, gently wrapping it around your body and hoisting you upright. You winced in pain. “We have to stop meeting like this, shadowsinger.” You croaked. “With me being tortured and all.”

Azriel snorted. “Stop getting yourself into these situations then.”

“Couldn’t help it.” Your reply was weak, but earned a slight twitch of the spymaster’s lips, a hint of a smile. “How’d you find me?”

Shadows skirted over your skin, their gentle coolness soothing the sting of the wounds and making you sigh in relief. “I was meeting with Nesta and Eris,” He answered. “She could feel something was wrong… through the bond. Eris sent me to see what happened.”

You frowned. The shadowsinger never stumbled over his words in the entire time you had known him. He already knew Nesta was your mate, so his stutter made you ask, “Why’d you say it like that?”

“What do you mean?” Azriel’s expression gave nothing away, but you could tell something was bothering him.

“What, you don’t like that two females are mates? Is that it?”

The Illyrian departed to your washroom, fetching a damp cloth as he responded. “No, no, Mother above, no. I take no issue with that and you know it.”

“Then what is it?”

Azriel sighed, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead as he returned and knelt down beside you. He carefully pulled back the blanket, revealing the bloody ‘M’ on your stomach. He pressed the wet cloth to the wound, gently cleaning it. “Something happened,” His tone was cautious, as if he wasn’t sure how much to say. “Between Nesta and Eris. It’s changed things slightly. They’re still trying to figure out how to end the engagement between you and Melgorm but… it’s difficult.”

“How so?” You frowned, trying to sit up straighter only to get gently pushed back down by Azriel. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. “Gods, I really do not wish to be involved in this little love triangle.”

“Well too bad,” You snapped, ignoring the sting of your wounds and fixing him a glare. “Because you already are. So tell me.”

“I can’t decide if you’d be the worst interrogator in Prythian or the best.” Azriel grumbled, moving the cloth to begin wiping down the wounds on your left arm.

“Stop dodging the question.”

“It’s really something they should be the ones to tell you–”

“For fuck’s sake, if I have to march out of this room bloody and naked to find Nesta and Eris so help me I will actually do it.”

Azriel glared at you, snarling. “You’re fucking insufferable, you know that?”

You shrugged, tilting your head and waiting for him to tell you exactly what happened. The shadowsinger let out a sigh, and began cleaning your other arm as he spoke. “Remember how you said that Estelle mentioned Nesta had more than one mate, but Cassian was not one of them?”

You nodded.

“I guess that really is true, because a mating bond snapped for her the other day apparently. Between Nesta and Eris.”

Your jaw went slack. You couldn’t describe the emotions that rushed through you at Azriel’s words. It wasn’t the surge of mately jealousy you expected, nor was it anger per se. Sure, Nesta and Eris were a strong political match, but mates? The thought had never even crossed your mind. But it made sense, in some wicked way. Nesta and Eris had similar magic, and could both hold their own in a court of vipers. Perhaps they truly would make strong offspring, which you supposed was the main reason mates were created. Or so you had been told.

Azriel’s brow was furrowed at your silence. “You don’t seem surprised.”

You shrugged, trying to calm your racing mind. “Not entirely. Better it be Eris than someone potentially worse. It will work well in their favour, I suppose.”

The spymaster’s normally unreadable face was riddled with confusion. If you were not in pain, you’d have laughed at his expression. He shook his head, continuing to dab at the wounds on your chest as he spoke. “I do not understand,” Azriel continued. “When the bond snapped between Rhys and Feyre, Cassian and I could barely look at Feyre without him snarling at us. I may not have a mate, but I know mates are supposed to be utterly possessive of one another. Why are you not enraged that your mate has another bond?”

You sighed. Azriel would never truly understand – it was obvious that a mating bond was something he desired greatly. For Nesta to have not only one, but two mating bonds surely brought him discomfort. And truthfully, while you were certainly experiencing a whirlwind of emotions at the new information, none of them were associated with anger or jealousy. 

Love comes in many forms and unexpected ways, your mother had once told you. Those words had stuck by you all these years, and growing up in Spring had exposed you to all different kinds of relationships. Males had courted males, females had courted females, and you had often heard stories of an individual having multiple courtings, all of which was done with nothing but love, devoid of possessiveness or jealousy. 

“Nesta is someone who has not experienced nearly as much love as she should,” You began, meeting Azriel’s hazel gaze. “She is my mate, and nothing will ever change that. There is nothing she can do that will make me love her any less. But I don’t believe the amount of love an individual can receive should be restricted to one person. If Eris is her mate and can grow to love her, what kind of mate would I be to want it denied from her? Nesta deserves all the love that the world can offer her, and if that comes from both me and Eris then I do not see how that could be a bad thing.”

The Illyrian was quiet for a moment, his shadows swirling around his neck as if they, too, were deep in thought. “You make it sound so simple.” He said after a minute. 

“Because it is. Nesta and Eris had a connection before the bond snapped into place. They are good for each other, and you know it. You just need to get past your one sided hatred for the male and see it.”

Anger sparked in Azriel’s face. “And what about Cassian?”

“What about him?”

“He loves Nesta. You claim that the Mother… Estelle… told you that Cassian was not one of Nesta’s mates. But there is something between them, both he and Nesta know it. He loves her.”

You curled your fingers into fists, nails biting the sweaty flesh of your palm. “Cassian is no concern of mine.” You snarled at the shadowsinger. “He is for Nesta to deal with. And he is not in love with her, he loves the idea of being with her. You aren’t a fool, Azriel. Every interaction they have turns into a battle, with Cassian making it his mission to push her buttons and disrespect her boundaries. Can you truly look me in the eye and tell me that they are a better match than Nesta and I? Or Nesta and Eris?”

He opened his mouth as if to instinctively defend his brother, but nothing came out. “Thought so.” You continued. “If Feyre and Rhys were not mates, you all would not be pushing for Nesta to be with Cassian as hard as you have. You act like she has to become worthy of his love, as if he is some perfect male. He’s 500 years old, quit making excuses for him and his shitty behaviour.”

Azriel put the blood soaked cloth down, gently pulling the blanket back over your shivering form to cover your body once again. You pitied the male slightly, guilt creeping in for the position he had gotten himself into. You knew Azriel had been loyal to Rhysand for five centuries, and it was clear that this was the first time he felt truly torn. 

“If Cassian and Nesta are not mates, then why did Rhys make such a statement?” Azriel asked, turning his body so he sat beside you. A giant wing gently grazed your blanket covered shoulder, as if to provide some sort of comfort. “Does he truly believe they are mates, or was it a lie? I cannot think of why he would lie about something that big.”

“I can.” You snorted, earning an eye roll from Azriel.

“I will not deny my brother’s horrid actions,” He protested, voice edged with anger. “But he loves Cassian, and lying to him about the mating bond–”

“Would be a way to try and lure Nesta back to the Night Court.” You interrupted the shadowsinger. “A means to control her, and convince her to stay.”

Azriel shook his head, scarred hands fiddling with the hilt of his dagger. “You don’t understand. You know Nesta, but I know Cassian. He’s been acting like a male whose mate has been taken from him. His behaviour is erratic and unreasonable, more so than he has ever been. I cannot think of an explanation for that aside from a mating bond, (Y/N). Besides, he can feel her somehow. There’s something tying them together.”

“I believe the Mother more than your High Lord. If she says that Cassian is not Nesta’s mate, then I believe her.” Truthfully, Azriel’s confession about Cassian’s mood lately unsettled you, having lined up with Emerie and Gwyn’s note about the general being unhinged. You had to admit, they sounded like the actions of a distressed mated male. Azriel was right, something was tying them together. You just didn’t know what.

“Regardless, that bears little relevance to the situation currently.” The spymaster said, echoing your thoughts as he steered away from the uncomfortable topic. “You are set to be married to Malgorm by the end of next week. Nesta and Eris are to be wed soon after. Eris is coming up with a plan to stop your wedding, and I suspect killing his father as well. There is no chance that he will be able to defy Beron and end your engagement and get away with it. Beron has to be eliminated, it is the only way to ensure your safety.”

You felt ill. Killing Beron was something you hadn’t thought of as much in light of the problems of the foreseeable future. It only doubled the risk of everything, trying to execute two life-altering plans within such a short window. You didn’t even know if he and Nesta were ready to take on a High Lord. Sure, they were incredibly powerful fae, but Beron had centuries of experience on them. He was cruel, but not stupid.

Eris was risking his entire plan to become High Lord to ensure you weren’t made to marry his cruel younger brother.

Shadows wisped around your face, as if they could hear your thoughts. Beside you, Azriel remained stoic, but spoke softly. “Eris cares about you, too.”

“Sometimes I think I understand him, and other times I feel like I could not be more wrong.” You sighed, tightening your grip on the stained blanket. “He’s a male whose actions are driven by his own secret agenda. I understand how helping Nesta fits into it, but me? Helping me is a courtesy, a generous one even for him. I… I don’t understand why he’s risking so much for me, unless it’s all because Nesta is his mate too.”

“There might be more to Eris Vanserra than I could have ever imagined. Whether that is for better or for worse, I do not know. I will not lie, it makes me uneasy that your fate will be in his hands. But for some reason you have trusted him this far. Time will tell if that trust has been misplaced.”

Deep down, you knew it wasn’t. Perhaps it was because you shared a mate with him, a commonality that would keep you united no matter what. Or perhaps it was that foolish part of your brain that fancied the eldest Vanserra brother from a distance, who had teasingly called you his little fox on the rare occasion he ran into you with Lucien. 

You shivered as another chilly gust of wind seeped into the room through the cracked window. It soothed your still stinging wounds beneath the blanket, but you wrapped the fabric even tighter around you. “Whatever Eris is planning, I hope it works.” You mumbled.

“Me too.” Azriel said dryly. “For all our sake.”

 *********************

You tried to keep your breathing steady as you stood on the second step of the dias below Beron’s throne. Grand torches lined the red and gold carpet leading up to the throne, illuminating the tapestries lining each wooden wall. 

It had been mid morning when the servants flooded your room, scrambling to get you ready for an appearance in court. When you frantically asked what the fuss was about, you were surprised when you received an answer.

“His Grace has received an unexpected visitor,” The oldest of the servants said in a hushed tone. “You and your betrothed are expected with the rest of the family to greet them.”

It had taken less than five minutes for your hair to be done and your dress to be fitted properly before a set of guards had escorted you to the throne room. Upon entering, you had snuck a glance at the other figures on the dias. Lirilla stood left beside the seated High Lord, her head bowed and hands clasped in front of her. Eris and Nesta were on Beron’s right, one step below. Both adorned royal outfits in similar shades of red, each wearing an almost identical mask of boredom. Nesta’s arm was linked through Eris’s as a formality, but you noticed how tense she was. Her breathing was shallow, as if being in such close proximity to Eris was too much. Luckily, it appeared to be something only you noticed. To everyone else, they appeared the stone-cold politically arranged couple they were meant to be.

You had tried to reach out to Nesta through the bond, but were met with a wall of stone. You tried not to let it sting as she shut you out, choosing to focus on keeping your expression neutral as you held onto Malgorm’s arm the same way Nesta was with Eris’s. It felt wrong, and every part of you wanted to recoil at his touch. Your skin still felt flayed from the events of last night, but as predicted the dress that Malgorm undoubtedly chose for you this morning covered up all evidence of his actions.

So you fought through the pain, ignoring the sneering looks of Beron’s other sons whose names you did not know. You were almost grateful when harsh words from the High Lord threatening punishment to his offspring put them in line.

The tension in the room was thick. You hadn’t dared try and look back towards Nesta and Eris, not with Beron breathing down your necks. It was only a few minutes after the Vanserra family had gotten in formation when the heavy doors to the throne room opened, and the High Lord of the Night Court strode in.

Your mouth went dry. Your mind flashed with images of that forsaken dungeon, the dark tendrils of the High Lord’s power carving through your skin like butter. Was he here to snatch you away? Piercing violet eyes landed on you as Rhysand approached the foot of the dias, swarming with a mixture of fury and confusion. Nevertheless, he bowed his head to Beron. “High Lord,” Rhys said smoothly. “You are looking well.”

You weren’t fooled by the feigned respect. Luckily, Beron wasn’t either, and you heard the male scoff. “Do not bother yourself with false pleasantries, we both know you don’t actually mean them.” Beron said coldly, his aged voice echoing through the throne room like the power of an ancient god. “Give me one reason why I should not execute you for entering my territory without permission.”

Rhys straightened his shoulders, cocking his head and stuffing his hands in his pockets as he met Beron’s words with a cool tone. “Last I checked, meetings of diplomacy were still favourable between two High Lords, were they not?”

“And yet you have no excuse for the uninvited part.”

“I fear my concerns were too urgent and important to notify you in advance.” Rhys’s voice was saccharine, a veil to disguise his true intentions. On a younger, more inexperienced High Lord, it may have worked. But once again, you found yourself strangely grateful for Beron Vanserra. The older male saw right through his words, and would not be afraid to challenge him.

“And what is so important you had to barge in on my court uninvited?” Beron growled, the flames from the torches along the carpet flaring slightly.

Rhysand’s face was smug, and he looked at you directly as he spoke. “You have in your midst a valuable asset of mine. I want her back.”

A cold pit formed in your stomach as you met his stare evenly, despite your bones trembling beneath his gaze. You were right – Rhys had come to spin some lie about you that was designed to make Beron hand you over to the Night Court. You were a fly trapped in a web, and your hand clenching nervously around Malgorm’s arm was not entirely for show.

“Do explain.” Was all the High Lord of Autumn said in a bored tone.

“The female standing at the bottom of the dias belongs to me. Your eldest son infiltrated my court and kidnapped her on the full moon. He is holding her here against her will in a pathetic attempt to hold leverage over me. I ask that you punish Eris Vanserra for his insubordination and return Lady (Y/N) to me, so I can bring her home where she belongs.”

Your blood ran cold. Rhys wasn’t just trying to get you back, but Nesta as well. He wanted to take down Eris in the process, which would force Beron to not only send you back to the Night Court, but Nesta too since the engagement would be broken off and she would have nothing tying her to Autumn. Panic began to stir inside you. This couldn’t be happening. You braced yourself for Beron’s wrath, demanding Eris be brought to the dungeons for immediate questioning.

But instead, the cruel male just laughed. A bitter, hoarse sound like a broken instrument. “That was a pathetic excuse of a story, even for you, Rhysand.” Beron said, making the Night Court Lord blink in surprise. “Not even well crafted. How dare you come into my court and attempt to manipulate me?”

You heard Beron rise in his throne, and the torches began to flare angrily as the High Lord’s temper rose. “I am no fool. I know that you are only here because you’re desperate from losing your spy that had valuable intel on you. A spy who fled your clutches seeking sanctuary with me because of what you did to her.”

“I did nothing.” Rhys said, which angered Beron even more.

“You lie again! I am well aware that the girl was trained as a spy against her will to repay her debt to you. You were an immature fool to trust a prisoner to spy for you, which is one of the many reasons your court is run so poorly. I saw the wounds you inflicted on her, boy, when she found out you planned to take the title of High King.”

Rhys’s expression revealed shock for a split second, the loss of composure making you laugh internally. You hadn’t expected Beron to defend you so vehemently, especially against another male. But you still clung to every breath nervously as he continued to speak.

“Have you not considered that this information she so eagerly gave you might be a ploy to get you to wage war on my court?” Rhysand said carefully.

“So you admit then that your story was false?” Beron had impressively backed Rhys into a corner, catching him in his lie. “That she was indeed your spy turned rogue?”

Rhys had the nerve to shrug. “All that matters is that she is a member of my court, and I demand you release her to me.” He kept his tone neutral, but you could feel the desperation coming off of him in waves.

“My daughter is no longer a member of your court.”

Rhysand’s face blanched visibly at Beron’s words. He went utterly still, even the pulsing aura of power that always seemed to be around him quieting. His violet eyes found you again, but you kept your chin high. He glanced down at your arm entwined with Malgorm’s, who was no doubt smirking proudly at Rhys. It was strange, hearing Beron refer to you as his daughter. 

“What?” The High Lord of the Night Court said quietly.

“As a reward for her bravery in fleeing your grasp, and for the useful information she so willingly provided us with, I have given her the honour of marrying my son Malgorm. She is my daughter now, and you will not take her from me.”

You felt an invisible hot flame on your arm, undoubtedly the power of the High Lord. It beckoned you, pulling you towards the throne where he had seated himself once again. Malgorm had seemingly felt it too, for he guided you up the steps to where Beron sat. You looked into the eyes of the High Lord for the first time. His hair was slicked back identical to Malgorm’s, but faded to an ashy grey in contrast to his son’s fiery red. His sharp face took you in, amber eyes glowing like a snake in the dark. He extended a hand towards you, fingers clad in rings more expensive than everything your village in Spring had owned put together. You smiled as you took it, ensuring you looked grateful. To further paint the image of Beron’s new daughter, you lowered your head and gently kissed his aged hand as a sign of respect for your father-in-law. 

Beron looked at you proudly, pulling you closer so you were standing right next to him. His hand was clammy and his grip was ironclad, but you showed no signs of resistance. Malgorm took up his post slightly behind you, an arm on the small of your back in a display of ownership.

Rhysand’s mask had slipped entirely as you stared defiantly down at him, disgust and shock written all over his features. He had not even given Nesta and Eris a second glance, his fury towards you overriding his diplomatic practices. But you did not feel frightened, not with Nesta, Eris, and especially Beron in the same room.

Nothing would happen to you. Beron would protect you for his own selfish reasons, but it was reassuring nonetheless.

“My eldest son did not kidnap the girl.” Beron said coldly, his grip on your hand never faltering. “The day you claim it happened, Eris was assigned to meetings with my courtiers from sunup to sundown, all of whom can act as witness.”

You pushed down your confusion – Eris was most definitely not in meetings that day, and how he had managed to pull this alibi off was something you would have to ask him about later.

Beron continued, authority strong in his voice. “She came to me willingly, and I have welcomed her with open arms. I know who she is – a girl from the Spring Court whom you rescued then used as a pawn in one of your little games, only for her to outsmart you in the end. Never again will my daughter fall into suffering under your hands, Rhysand. If you try to do anything to harm her or remove her from my territory, I will burn your entire court to the ground. Just as I will do if you ever think of claiming the title of High King of Prythian.”

Beron spat the title out, his power filling the room. “You are an immature boy playing games you don’t understand,” He continued dangerously. “And any attempt at seizing lordship over this land will be met with the slaughter of everything you hold dear. I will erase your name from the history books, and there will be nobody left to remember Amarantha’s Whore. And if you think any of the other High Lords would bow down to you, your arrogance is even more stupid than I thought. Now get out of my court, half-breed. And do not return.”

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[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

Suicide Prevention Month

TW: Mentions of Suicide, Depression, Death, Familial Issues

In honor of Suicide Prevention Month, I want to share something that’s been weighing on me for a long time. From ages 11 to 19, I tried—five different times—to end my life. I was convinced that the darkness was all there was, that there was nothing beyond the pain I felt. But now, almost 20 years old, I’ve realized how wrong I was. If any of those attempts had succeeded, I wouldn’t be here to experience all the beauty and opportunity this life has to offer.

It’s hard to put into words just how much I’ve learned about myself over the years. I’ve been through more pain than I ever thought I could endure. There were moments when it felt like even the darkness was too bright for me, and all I wanted was for everything to stop. Some days, that feeling still lingers. Some days, I wake up and wish I had succeeded. I find myself staring at a blank page with a pen clutched in my hand, or a blank screen with my hands over the keyboard, wondering if anyone would stand at my grave if I disappeared. 

But here’s what I’ve come to understand: If I have a reason to write a note, I have a reason to keep living. The very act of wanting to leave something behind, a final word or explanation, means there’s something still holding me here. Something still worth fighting for, even if I can’t always see it in the moment.

Life isn’t easy. I know firsthand what it’s like to feel like the world has turned its back on you. 

My life is far from perfect. I’m still dealing with things that weigh me down, wounds that have never fully healed.  For as long as I can remember, I’ve been trying to reconcile what it means to be "unwanted." And for a long time, I thought that meant I didn’t deserve to be here.There are times when I still feel like I’m on the outside looking in, struggling with rejection from the people who are supposed to love me unconditionally. When I was 18, I almost died in a car accident, and my mother didn’t shed a single tear. I can vividly remember lying in that hospital bed, watching her scroll through her phone as if my being there was nothing more than an inconvenience.

I still feel the weight of that day. But the most painful moment was later, during a heated argument when I broke down and whispered, "I wish I had died." My mother, who had started a new family with my stepfather and seemed to drift away more and more each second had shot back immediatelt "Well, too bad you didn’t."

It was in that moment, more than any other, that I truly felt abandoned—like I was nothing but an obligation to her. It was the moment I realized the cage I felt trapped in was my own hope that my mother might one day see me, acknowledge me, love me the way I had longed for her to. That kind of pain—the pain of abandonment, of never being enough for the people who are supposed to love you the most—it doesn’t go away overnight. Maybe it never fully goes away at all.

But here’s what I’ve learned: the pain isn’t forever. No matter how much it hurts right now, it won’t always hurt this bad. Over time, it becomes easier to carry. There are days now where I can breathe again, where I’m reminded that life still has so much left for me to experience.And that i deserve to be here. That God put me on this planet for a reason. That whatever you believe in - God, Allah, the Universe, Science- there is a reason why you are here. And if I deserve to be here- so do you.

No matter how hard life gets, and trust me, it gets unbearably hard sometimes, there is still so much left to experience. There’s still love to be found, friendships to build, moments of pure joy and connection that you can’t even begin to imagine when you’re stuck in that dark place. If those five attempts had worked, I never would’ve had the chance to meet new people, to maybe one day fall in love, to start a family of my own. I wouldn’t be here, sitting at my desk, writing this, hoping that my words reach even just one person who needs to hear it.

Sometimes, when things feel like they’re too much, I find solace in the small, ordinary moments. The smell of coffee in the morning. The feeling of dread when I see a spider and know I have to deal with it. The excitement of seeing a friend I hadn’t seen in a while, or the simple contentment of putting my thoughts on paper. Life isn’t just made up of the big, earth-shattering moments; it’s these small, everyday experiences that give it meaning.

I’ll be honest—there are days when I still struggle. Days where I feel like I’m slipping back into that tunnel where the light at the end seems unreachable. I know that feeling well. I’m going through it right now, in fact. It hits me hard, especially knowing that even during my lowest points, there were no tears shed for me. That’s a kind of pain that lingers.

But even in the midst of that pain, I’ve learned something important: suicide is a permanent solution to a set of temporary problems. I’m not saying that life will magically get better overnight, or that you won’t face hardships moving forward. You will. Life doesn’t pull any punches. But what I am saying is that there are bright, beautiful days ahead of you, ones that you can’t even fathom yet. There are people you’ll meet along the way who will walk with you, hold your hand, and help you face whatever’s ahead. You don’t have to be scared to face those days alone.

There are people in my life who I rely on heavily—people who don’t even know how much they mean to me because I don’t want to burden them with my struggles. Sometimes it’s the smallest things they do that make the biggest difference. And that’s something I’ve learned recently: even when you feel like a burden, even when you feel like no one cares, there are people who love and need you, even if they don’t always show it in the way you hope they would.

You are loved. You are needed. And I know that might be hard to believe right now, but trust me, it’s true. If I could go back and talk to that 11-year-old me, the one who thought that the only way out was to end it all, I’d tell her to hang on. That the future, while uncertain and sometimes terrifying, is full of possibility. That there are so many more smiles to smile, more laughs to laugh, more songs to hear, more stories to live.

I’ve lived 19 years as an adult. Almost 20. And it’s only now that I’m starting to experience that pure, childlike wonder I thought was lost to me forever. It’s only now that I’m beginning to see what’s truly possible in life. And if any of those five attempts had succeeded, I would’ve missed out on all of it. On the hope of finding love, of giving my future children the kind of love I yearned for growing up. On the anticipation of doing great things. On the nervous indecisiveness of realizing that my future is wide open, waiting for me to step into it.

So if you feel like you can’t take another day, I want you to know that it *will* get better. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually, you’ll reach the end of that tunnel. And when you do, there will be people waiting for you, ready to help pull you through. Stay for them. Stay for the small moments you haven’t experienced yet, the ones that seem insignificant but make life worth living. Stay because your story isn’t over yet, and you are the one who gets to write the next chapter.

It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. It’s okay to feel lost. But know this—you are strong enough to get through it. I’ve been there. But I’m still here, and I’m asking you to stay, too. Stay to see the good that’s still waiting for you. Stay to laugh, to cry, to feel all the things that make life real. Stay, because you are loved, even when you can’t see it. You matter more than you know.

You are the author of your story. It’s not finished yet, and the best chapters are still ahead. Stay for them. Stay for you. 

You matter. Your life matters. And the world is a better place with you in it.

[mycenalucentipes]

Rekindle My Flames || Diluc x gn!reader

HI SO I also write Genshin :'D, figured I might post it here too. This is crossposted from ao3. Except thered, I'm for some reason mycenaLucentipes. So I'll probably change my name here to reflect that beceauseee mushrooms, anywayS =============================================

Summary: You’re depressed, but up until this one night, you had been amazing at masking and hiding it away. Diluc stumbles in on your dying flame and wants to help relight it.

All the passion for life is gone, minus your love for Diluc? The depression just…its a cloud of sadness that’s hard to escape

Just a short venting one-shot :’)

TW: Angst, depression, low will to live / implied suicidal thoughts, crying, cursing, generally sad depressing theme, but there is comfort ending : )

Word count: 1,966

a/n: I think I made it entirely gn this time. I hope so. I'm sorry if I messed up somewhere or if Diluc is ooc. But i feel like if he really loved someone romantically, I think he would be sweet and bashful and caring towards them.

Diluc was mad. 

Diluc was mad at himself.

How had he not noticed earlier? He could he not notice the love of his life suffering silently with so much pain?

His love shouldn’t need to bear that much pain in their heart. They didn’t deserve that, no. 

They deserved the shining stars, the flowing rivers, the ripest of all fruits, the whole universe. They deserved it all.

You were his star that guided him through the lonely world he created for himself. You were his everything. He swore his love for yet set his flames to blaze even brighter and more powerful than before. 

You are his everything. 

So how could he not notice?

Just a couple days ago, you casually strolled in Angel’s Share at 20:00 with the traveler and Paimon, humming your favorite song. No more than 15 minutes later came Kaeya and Venti stumbling towards the bar where you and travel sat. The atmosphere was a lively one that night. 

Upon your arrival, Diluc’s gaze followed you with gentle, tender eyes for his love. He began mixing your favorite drink before you even had to open your mouth. Once he finished yours and carefully slid it in front of you, he began mixing a cocktail up for the traveler. Although a bit wary of serving them alcohol, you assured him more than a dozen times that they were well over the age to start drinking. 

Your eyes lit up as you felt the cool drink glide down your throat. “Diluc, sweetflower! This is amazing! Whatever you’ve mixed into here, is really hitting the spot,” you cheered, holding your glass up with a large grin adorning your face. It was fruity, with a hint of mint among the blend. Diluc knew just how you liked it. He offered a soft small back as he tried not to blush at the compliment and the nickname. Oftentimes, you would give him random, sweet nicknames. 

As the night went on, he carefully observed you, happily singing and cheering along to whatever the drunken bard was playing. You, Kaeya, and Traveler had wrapped an arm around each other, swaying back and forth with a drink in hand. 

Looks can be deceiving. Didn’t anyone ever tell him that?

Every once in a while, he noticed your features go blank. Void of all emotion. Stuck in between a drunk Kaeya and tipsy traveler, your movements were lifeless, but your body still swayed with the other companions’ arms wrapped around your shoulders, and yours on theirs. 

“Dearest, are you alright? You look like a puppet hanging from our arms,” Kaeya would slur out when he noticed the weight on his shoulder increase. You would always snap back into reality with a smile and nod your head. It was enough to fool him. Surely if he wasn’t drunk, he might have noticed how your smile never met your eyes. 

Every once in a while, he noticed your entire demeanor go quiet. Spaced out and dissociated from reality. He wondered if you were okay, but didn’t know how to ask or he would be swept away by another customer.

From other previous times, he would notice a far off look in your features, empty eyes void of life. You always brushed it off as just being “tired”. He didn’t want to pry. 

Diluc was always a stoic man and didn’t appreciate others prying into his mind, so he was hesitant to prod you for more.  He was still learning to accept the help and comfort you so warmingly gave. For not being a pyro wielder, he swore that your soul was warmer than his would ever be. 

Until that one night. That one night where he found you. He’s thankful it wasn’t life threatening. But archons, his mind raced with all of the worst scenarios that could come. 

Diluc stirred in his sleep, wearily reaching out for your warmth that was no longer beside him. It was about 3 in the morning by now. Not finding you next him, Diluc was more alert now. He quickly sat up, breathing turning short as he frantically looked around the bedroom. There was no trace of you.

It was 00:00 when Diluc finally came to bed. Then it was 01:00 when you carefully slipped out from his embrace and softly headed for the door, heading for the city. 

Where had you gone? Diluc was sure that you were in bed when he climbed in next to you, pulling your body close to his. He remembered as he mumbled weary apologies and sweet nothings as he drifted off to sleep, feeling safe with you by his side. 

Diluc quickly changed out of his sleepwear and rushed out the door and down the stairs of the mansion. He called your name out, worry laced into his voice. When you were nowhere to be found within the confines of the mansion, Diluc grabbed his coat, deciding to head into the walls of Mondstadt. He knew you had an art studio there with a small shop on the main level. 

As he neared your shop, he could see a faint light flickering from the second floor. There you were. Why were you here at this hour? Diluc timidly wrapped his fingers around the door knob, testing if it would turn. Finding it to be unlocked, he gently opened the door and stepped in. Once he closed the door, he froze.

It was eerily quiet.

He could only hear the blood rushing through his ears and his heart pounding erratically in his chest. Not wasting another second, Diluc ran up the stairs, skipping one in a panic to reach you. As he neared your studio door, he froze once again in hesitation to open the door. What would he find on the other side? Why did he hesitate to open the door? 

In his moment of hesitancy, he heard small whimpers and light sniffles. He released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. You were still alive. Diluc swung the door open, gaze darting directly to you. 

His heart shattered when his eyes landed on you. You looked so small and broken, huddled into yourself, tears streaming down your face. Diluc slowly made his way over to you, nearly tripping over debris. Wait, debris? 

He carefully scanned over the room as he continued his walk towards you. Those few steps it took to get to you felt like he was in a nightmare and couldn’t reach what he was looking for in time. He felt as if he was trudging through slimes. 

Paint cans were discarded around the floor with color pooling out from them, vibrant hues of paint coated the floor, shards of canvas framing were split and splintered into piles. Some of your unfinished works were cruelly sliced through the center while others were haphazardly slashed. 

Once he finally made it over to you, Diluc sank down to the floor beside you, enveloping you into his strong arms. In his embrace, it felt as though the fiery essence of his pyro vision wrapped you in a cocoon of warmth and protection. 

“My love,” Diluc’s deep voice pierced the heavy silence, a gentle murmur barely above a whisper, “if you would like, you are free to share your troubles with me, I’m here for you.” His tender words only seemed to unravel you further. You choked back a sob, trying to form words. It’s been a long time since you’ve been met with such sincerity and caring from someone. Asyou struggled, Diluc soothingly rubbed circles into your back. 

“You don’t have to tell me right away, love, I’m not going anywhere,” He whispered sweetly with his low voice. This only made you cry harder, except there were no more tears, just broken sobs and heaving breaths. Diluc’s other hand gently moved to gently stroke the back of your head, gently urging it closer into his chest. 

“D-Diluc,” your voice was soft, yet rough from the hours of screams and sobs, “c-can we just go…go h-home?” Your words were whispered in a plea, exhaustion prominent in your gaze as you looked in Diluc’s crystal, red eyes. 

His heart ached as he met your gaze. He noticed how tired, red, and glassy your eyes looked. 

Really, how could he not notice how tired your eyes were? 

“Of course, my love,” he murmured softly, brushing a gentle kiss against your forehead before gently helping you to your feet. “Are you alright to walk? Or…,” Diluc’s cheeks reddened with bashfulness as he tried to voice the option of carrying you. Of course, if you needed, he would have you off your feet in a heartbeat. As you pondered an answer, he shrugged his coat off, tenderly draping it around your shoulders. 

“I-I’m alright to walk,” you stuttered out. Despite this, you clung to his side as he guided you out into the cool air of the night with care. The whole walk home, he held you close with an arm tightly wrapped around your shoulders. 

As you reached the familiar sight of the Dawn Winery, you felt a small spark of endearment within your broken soul. Diluc led you into your shared bedroom, helping you remove his coat and draping it over the chair. He then picked you up, gently setting you on the bed, pulling the covers over you. You tugged the covers closer to your chest as your gaze followed his form, changing into his sleepwear and finally crawling in bed next to you. 

He shuffled closer to you, pulling you into his embrace once again with one hand stroking the back of your head. 

“Diluc?” You softly whispered, head still buried in his chest.

“Mm?” He tiredly hummed out.

“C-can I– Can we talk…uhm, I-I want to–,” you fumbled for words, not knowing how to articulate your thoughts into actual words.

“Of course, love, of course we can,” Diluc gave a small nod as he replied, squeezing you in reassurance. You loved how well he understood you, even when you were at a loss for words. A few stray tears slipped out with a couple of sniffles to follow. He only tightened his embrace again, still soothingly stroking the back of your head. 

“For now, let’s try to get some sleep. You must be exhausted,” Diluc suggested gently, voice tender with care. He felt you snuggle closer into his warm embrace. He hoped this could ease the pains of your inner storm, if only slightly. 

Nodding in agreement, you allowed yourself to surrender to the embrace of sleep. You listened to his steady heartbeat, a rhythmic lullaby, that slowly lulled you into a deep slumber. 

Once Diluc heard you slowed but steady breathing, he felt his whole body relax. He could feel his throat tighten as his own tears threatened to escape from the corners of his eyes. Oh how he wanted to take away all of your pain so you wouldn’t have to suffer any longer. He knew you would most likely struggle to accept any help or comfort on your own. But he wanted more than anything to reassure you over and over that you could come to him any time. You were his top priority and he would never let you forget that.

He was determined to learn to read you better as well as help you feel confident in confiding in him. Working on feelings and emotions with someone else was foreign land to him as well, but if it was for you, he would go to the moon and back in his efforts to help you.

Diluc was so head over heels for you. You were the brightest star in his galaxy and the kindest, fiercest flame that he had ever encountered. 

[rottenpumpkin13]

It’s normal for me to sleep for 12-20 hours straight even if I got 9 hours of sleep the night before because A. I’m sick all the time B. I have chronic migraines and C. I’m depressed. These little comas I fall into work out well for me because I usually feel better when I wake up. I headcanon Genesis has the same problem. Do you think he wakes up at 7 PM thinking its 7 AM? Do you think he experiences a minor inconvenience and heads straight for bed? Do you think people open closets and cupboards very carefully because Genesis might be curled up in there taking another one of his 10 hour naps?

I think Genesis made a fuss of his sleep schedule when he was in SOLDIER, prioritizing rest and "beauty sleep" as well as his much needed reset time so he could be wide awake and alert the next day—because goddess forbid he slag behind Sephiroth.

Genesis was also sick a lot growing up, and needed more rest than the average child because his body just didn't cooperate. So he got used to maintaining an immaculate schedule. There were slip ups here and there: out all night partying, pulling an all nighter to finish writing, and those missions that lasted for days and required his full waking attention.

And he always hated how his body reacted afterward, how he couldn't give fighting his 100% because of how exhausted his mind and body were. He felt useless when he got no sleep, so he made sure it didn't happen often.

All of that shifted abruptly when the degradation began. Suddenly his sleep schedule was an endless cycle of either sleeping for several hours, or a brand of insomnia so distinct one might've thought it were limited edition.

The eye bags forming under his eyes, marring his once perfect skin, were suddenly insignificant next to the blackening scar that stretched over his shoulder, crawling onto his neck.

This type of sleep didn't help. They were unlike the restful nights of sleep he got when he was healthy. This sleep knocked him off his feet. He'd go to bed at 8 PM, suffer through a round of nightmares, and wake up at 12 PM the next day with the sun stinging his eyes and shoulder screaming with pain. He would doze off at his desk at 1 PM and awake at 1 AM with Angeal or Sephiroth shaking him.

Suddenly the days began to spiral out of his grasp. Mondays felt like Wednesdays. Fridays felt like Tuesdays. He can't believe it's already Saturday. Wasn't it just Thursday just yesterday? Ah, right. He had spent the larger part of the past two days sleeping.

It would've been just fine if he could blame it all on the degradation, theorizing that the chronic fatigue simply made him sleepier. But deep down he knew that would be a lie—and goddess knows he's had enough of those.

Simply put: Genesis just wanted to sleep. He didn't want to be awake to experience his own body turning against him, or continue to hear the voice in his head screaming for answers, for justice, for a cure. He didn't want what his waking life had to offer, so he succumbed to exhaustion. But it was uncomfortable and unfulfilling.

He then sleeps less when he deserts. This time he wishes he could sleep, or have a guaranteed bed to rest in every night. But there's no time to rest when you're trying not to die.

[sophieinwonderland]

Hi. I really want to write something to give a perspective on something (as someone who mostly agrees with your point of view)

Imagine people who say that someone can't have depression because they haven't experienced a trauma or grief after someone's death.

Depression is chemical imbalance yes?

People can get depressed without having a trauma

So that's all I wanted to say. Please people who seek revenge in the anon asks compare this message with something. Have a nice day.

I think this is a good comparison. But the premise is slightly off.

The truth is, the chemical balance theory that's been popularly spread around is flawed at best.

The flawed serotonin hypothesis Serotonin came into the spotlight in part because of the serendipitous discovery of drugs that affected serotonin receptors, called selective serotonin re­uptake inhibitors, or SSRIs. After getting its start in the late 1960s, the “serotonin hypothesis” flourished in the late ’90s, as advertisers ran commercials that told viewers that SSRIs fixed the serotonin deficit that can accompany depression. These messages changed the way people talked and thought about depression. Having a simple biological explanation helped some people and their doctors, in part by easing the shame some people felt for not being able to snap out of it on their own. It gave doctors ways to talk with people about the mood disorder. But it was a simplified picture. A recent review of evidence, published in July in Molecular Psychiatry, finds no consistent data supporting the idea that low serotonin causes depression. Some headlines declared that the study was a grand takedown of the serotonin hypothesis. To depression researchers, the findings weren’t a surprise. Many had already realized this simple description wasn’t helpful. There’s plenty of data suggesting that serotonin, and other chemical messengers such as dopamine and norepinephrine, are somehow involved in depression, including a study by neuropharmacologist Gitte Moos Knudsen of the University of Copenhagen. She and colleagues recently found that 17 people who were in the midst of a depressive episode released, on average, less serotonin in certain brain areas than 20 people who weren’t depressed. The study is small, but it’s one of the first to look at serotonin release in living human brains of people with depression. But Knudsen cautions that those results, published in October in Biological Psychiatry, don’t mean that depression is fully caused by low serotonin levels. “It’s easy to defer to simple explanations,” she says.

I really want to focus in on that last line, because mental illness is complicated.

And I find with the CDD debate, a lot of people are offering really simple narrow theories. You have on one hand a trauma model where CDDs are caused by trauma and exclusively by trauma with no other possible explanations. And on the other, you have a fantasy model that just says everything made up, and even the traumatic memories are fake.

And both feel like they're falling into the same exact trap as the people who 30 years ago were telling everyone that low Serotonin caused depression.

When presented with a complex problem, both groups are seeking a singular simple explanation.

And both have been arguing over these simplistic explanations for 100 years.

All while hard data into other CDDs like OSDD1b and partial DID is still basically non-existent.

We need to learn from the mistakes of chemical imbalance theorists and so many other failed theories formulated over the years, and stop trying to defer to the simplest explanations just because they're easier.

[streetkid-named-desire]

2024 in fic

inspired by @luvwich's own post i'm doing my own 2024 in fic. These are just the stand outs, I published a lot and a lot of half-finished stuff lol.

i wrote so much this year and i'm so proud of myself. like if i dont look it as wips stopped and started or rewrites, i wrote SO much. i mean the two rewrite of streetkid i started alone total over 80k words. thats insane!!!

January

A Streetkid Named Desire (First Revision) - 103,383

The beast. The one and only. The first revision of A Streetkid Named Desire at a whopping fucking 103,383 words!!!!!

DON'T READ IT THO WAIT FOR THE DEFINITIVE EDITION!!!!!!! Please my writing was not my best and I have learned and grown so much and I am rewriting it. Plsplsplsplsplkasjdhbf

Eitan Ezra ben Guerra - 1,734 words

1,734 words of VG backstory. The first standalone backstory fic! This one was great and I got to do a lot of Jewish research lol. The spooky fucking thing though, the fuckin thing...it haunts me. The Haftorah, the portion VG would have read for his bar mitzvah, is from Exodus 27:20-30:10 where God instructs Moses to appoint Aaron and his sons as...priests. And where does the fuckin' name Cohen come from? From Kohanim, the Jewish priests.

I LOST my fucking mind when I found that dude. I like had to get up from my desk and walk around my apartment.

He took the stairs two at a time up to their level, and a loud buzzer sounded in his head as he walked through yellow digital NCPD crime scene tape. A cop grabbed him by his lapel and dragged him to the wall, "Can't you fucking read, scop?" V spat, "I keep kosher, talking to pigs is treyf."

March

Shut Up, Skippy! - 2,528 words

Technically my second ever smut as I published Secretary as a standalone fic.

I got the idea from a photo I took of them fuckin' and the apartment preset had Skippy sitting on a chair. One thing led to another and I was researching infection rates of bullet wounds and the metal used to make katanas for random facts for Skippy to spout off.

It's really funny and I'm proud of this one, it's so silly and so fun.

They drove each other closer and closer, a growing cacophony of sighs and slapping skin as Bea impaled herself on V's cock over and over and ov— "Sex can decrease a man's risk of a fatal hea—OH NO!" Bea stopped what she was doing and made good on her threat. V propped himself up on his elbows, eyes wide, watching helplessly as she skillfully disassembled the AI-infested HJKE Yukimura, Skippy's voice becoming crackling static until all the pieces were neatly displayed on the netrunning chair. V looked at Bea, looked at the metal guts, looked at Bea again. She wrapped her arms around V and rested her head in the crook of his neck. He shifted his weight to get his feet under her and wrapped his arms around her waist as he pushed them both off the cliff of what Bea called, "murder fucking". They lay there together for a few moments catching their breath. Bea sat up and reassembled Skippy as V's cock softened inside her and their fluids cooled against his testicles. "Oh wowza!" Skippy said. "V was right, your hands are so soft!" Bea held Skippy in her hands and looked at V in horror. "That felt so good. I don't think I'd ever been taken apart like that before. Hey, is that what you humans feel when you—"

April

Teenage Depression - 1,872 words

Another V backstory, this time the story of/meaning behind the ritual scars on his face and back. And! The first time I used a song title for a fic.

When David finished the second row V's head lolled back and he stared up at the stars. In the haze and delirium from pain he saw his life laid out before him. His mistakes, his triumphs, his conquests. He never wanted to die. He wanted to live forever, to experience everything life had to offer even if all it offered was pain.

Honorable mention to

Who else would ever stay? - 743 words

From one of the Writer's of Night City song week challenges and the plot to the FOURTH fucking novel where they find a cure and get Johnny a body.

V, Johnny, <and Bea>, against the world.

June

A Streetkid Named Desire - Definitive Edition

The final and total draft of the main fic. Currently at 44,073 words. It's REALLY REALLY GOOD AND YOU SHOULD READ IT PLEASE GOD READ IT I AM POURING MY BLOOD SWEAT AND PSYCHOLOGICAL TRAUMA INTO THIS THING sorry who said that

He wanted to create an astronomical anomaly with her the likes of which any universe had never seen. Something that would finally satisfy and quiet the black hole. He wanted to consume her as she consumed him.

July

Breach - 5,277 words

SMUT!!!! The collab I did with @luvwich I had an idea but I didn't have what it took to make it better and she gratefully accepted the challenge. I do have a second netrunner chair smut fic partly drafted for our second collab.

Bea's dissatisfaction was ripening. A glinting strand of saliva bridged her bottom lip to the head of his cock for a moment as she slid him out of her mouth. She scurried to the weapons room and grabbed V's KA-BAR off the wall, weighing the heft of the blade in her hand as she gripped the handle. Back in the living room, she stood behind V and… Just couldn't fucking help herself. With the softest scrape of blade against dark stubble, she placed the sharpened edge beneath his Adam's apple with a featherlight touch and bent to whisper in his ear.  "Do you feel that, V?" V swallowed. Beneath the blade's tip, a thin, red laceration formed on his throat, barely perceptible.  <Inside his interface, panicked alerts warned V that the emergency protocol would begin waking him soon. He quickly punched in the override and maintained his focus.> "Every single time you're like this," Bea sighed, "I think about how easy it would be to slit your throat." She kissed his ear lightly. "Carve you up into little pieces," she kept the knife against his throat as she kissed his temple and over his forehead. She looked down at his cock, still glistening with her saliva, and smiled at the way it twitched. "I would like to see you try," V whispered.  That was what he always said, but for Bea, it never grew old. With each bounce of his Adam's apple, a new, slender cut appeared on his throat. She felt an ache between her legs as she watched him bleed for her.

Then a couple one offs, WIPs, and since July I've just been working on the definitive edition of the main fic.

Total word count: 225,916

Well, 80k of those were written November-December as I worked on the main fic but that still leaves a fuckton written and that's not including WIPs.

[tragicatny]

[PRP] Welcome Home, Kate

Core Character: Katelynn Elvira Quintana

Type: Angst

Word Count: 2.6k

⚠️ TW: Suicide, Depression, Self-Harm Ideation, Flashbacks & slightly Graphic description of death

Please take this oneshot with a grain of salt as I want to use the first few OS's as an experiment to find out what exactly I want to write in this series, and particularly how I wanna do it. Moreover am I using this account as anti-perfectionism therapy, and thus, I'm intentionally not taking too much time to edit my texts properly.

Thank you for reading! <3

-𖦹 𖦹 𖦹—𖦹 𖦹 𖦹—𖦹 𖦹 𖦹—𖦹 𖦹 𖦹—𖦹 𖦹 𖦹—𖦹 𖦹 𖦹-

June 21, 2011 / 5:23 pm

"Does the the wind bother you?" Jim asked, as he turned the dusty radio down a little after he had rolled down the windows and reached between the cans of Coke for the half-full pack of hooker sticks.

He leaned forward to check the weather through the windshield. The sky was blue, it was sunny and a little hot, not too hot, of course, it was...just right. Like it had been all day. Satisfied, he put a Marlboro Red between his lips. John Fogerty's voice was now nothing but a background noise in the black 1998 Honda Civic.

The car had left the grounds of Serenity Hill Hospital a good 20 minutes ago and was now speeding along the highway between Timberlake and Prairie Ridge at a brisk 115 km/h - a pace to Jim's liking. Especially in this beautiful weather.

"Nah, not really," Kate replied and put her arm on the passenger door through the open window. She calmly rested her head on her arm to let the afternoon sun warm her face. For her, it was rather the opposite that was true; feeling the breeze around her face was a welcome change from last week's outward journey, when thick raindrops pelted the roof of the car like little stones.

Kate let her eyes wander over the fields they passed. She noticed two colorful rabbits dashing energetically through the fresh grass. It was truly a beautiful sight. Kate felt her heart fill with a feeling of love, like it already has a few minutes ago when she had seen a herd of cows making themselves comfortable in the sun.

It was a ridiculous thought, but when she had seen it, she wished she was one of them.

"Kate?" Jim's voice snapped Kate out of her thoughts and looked at her briefly.

"Hm?" she responded, giving him a curious look.

"Listen, if you want to talk about what happened, I want you to know that I'm always here for you if you need me."

Kate felt her stomach dropping.

"Yes," she replied curtly. Jim already knew this answer, he usually got it when he offered his emotional support and despite the fact that she was aware of his good intentions, she couldn't accept it.

"Or with Ray, maybe? I think he's at home. He said he's staying"

"Yes"

"Or Connie? How about Connie and Mochou coming over for breakfast tomorrow and-"

"I just don't want to talk about it right now!"

The car suddenly fell silent. Even Fogerty's voice seemed to have softened a little, and yet it had been loud enough for Kate to feel the burning urge to grab the radio and throw it out the window.

Jim just nodded and took one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray between the seats. His eyes were fixed on the road and despite his attempt to hide it, Kate recognized a certain sadness in his gaze.

The car exited the highway and shortly thereafter sped past a town sign ("Welcome to Prairie Ridge, Illinois. Where community and tradition thrive!") as Jim drove over a pothole that made the guilt in Kate's stomach rumble. It urged her to straighten out the uncomfortable silence she had thrown them into.

She wouldn't do that though. She'd rather bite her lips now.

The car slowed down considerably. The wind, which used to be just a breeze that Kate had welcomed a few minutes ago, suddenly seemed colder, somehow unpleasant. She looked gloomily through the window and watched as one house after another disappeared from her view as on the sidewalk, she occasionally recognized a few classmates, including Astrid LaPlante and Grace McKannon, two girls Kate had a few classes with. However, she didn't feel like calling out to them like she usually would have, but instead rolled up her window and looked ahead again.

The sky had closed in, and as the car began to stop, small, scattered drops of rain fell on the windshield. Kate looked to her right at the house as a slight feeling of dread replaced the guilt in her stomach.

"Go on in. I'll bring your things," Jim said to her after taking the key out of the ignition. Kate hesitantly opened the door and put one foot out after the other. Sitting down, she dared to take one more look at the house she had spent the past few years in before finally standing up and slamming the door behind her.

She was about to take the first step forward when she seemed to notice something in the corner of her eye. She looked a few meters in front of Jim's car and recognized a run-over rabbit. It probably hadn't been there long, but looking at the crushed organs and bloodied fur, she came to the conclusion that it hadn't taken long for it to be put out of its misery.

She would ask Jim to bury the poor animal later - provided they spoke sense to each other again.

Kate turned and looked back at the house. The path to it seemed to lengthen with every second, almost like the portal to the other house in Neil Gaiman's "Coraline". She looked up into her bedroom window. Maybe she would jump out of there later. She wouldn't die from it, most definitely not, but it would be undoubtedly very painful, and wasn't that the poi-

"Kate! You're back!" shouted Ray, who must have seen her through a window. Kate turned her gaze to her brother, who came towards her with open arms before wrapping her in a tight embrace.

"Yes, I am back," Kate replied absently, placing her hand limply on the crook of his arm. Ray's touch felt uncomfortable, and as she looked up into the gray sky and watched a few crows fly past the house, she wished she could do the same.

The pressure Ray was putting on Kate's body eased and he stepped aside to let her pass. The smile on his face seemed so familiar that she felt like she hated it.

"Come on in! I've cleared some things out of your room. You know, dirty clothes and dishes, I hope you don't mind," he had said and, thank god, his smile had faded a little.

He meant well, Kate knew that. It was his attempt to sweeten her return - or to give her no reason to try and leave again. Or to apologize if he blamed himself. Probably all three elements played a concise role, Kate would think about it later.

She shook her head and forced herself to smile before taking the bag from her uncle and walking down what felt like a mile-long path to the house. She and Mochou had painted it with chalk three weeks ago, but the rain had wiped away the colorful pictures some time ago.

When she finally reached the inside of the house, Kate turned up the stairs with her eyes downcast, ignoring the interior of the house.

It felt odd to enter her room. Strange, and when she sat down on her bed and looked around as if it was her first time there, it looked huge.

Everything felt wrong, somehow like a dream from which she would soon wake up and find herself back in the clinic.

This wasn't her room, and it wasn't her house. It wasn't even the real small town she lived in. Her place in the world seemed to be the inner walls of Serenity Hill Hospital.

Most of the time, when Kate comes back from there, to that house (not her house - that would imply it was her home too), she thought she had been brainwashed or developed Stockholm Syndrome, which made her want to go there again and again.

Kate has realized since reading Prairie Ridge's sign that she might have made a mistake. She was probably wrong when she thought she was ready to go, clearly, as she had felt more right in a mental hospital than here, where she was back at square one. Without progress, without protection. At her own mercy, in a house she didn't even belong in.

Kate dropped onto her bed. Her head hurt, not too badly, but she still thought that it could possibly burst like a balloon at any moment. Or a bomb.

She reached for a pillow and clutched it tightly. It smelled strange, like the whole house. She gripped it a little tighter as tears streamed down her cheeks. It took a few minutes, however, she managed to drift off and fell into a sleep.

22:45PM

The room was unusually quiet. All she could hear was a low, distant hum of what appeared to be a malfunctioning device. The walls were painted a faded, peeling yellow, a far cry from the familiar beige she remembered. The corners of the room were obscured by shadows that seemed to move and pulsate, almost as if they had a life of their own.

Kate stood in the middle of the room while an unpleasant chill made her heart beat irregularly, to a point where every heartbeat echoed in her ears. The once familiar surroundings were distorted - the furniture seemed large and menacing, the color pale, almost sickly. She noticed the family photos on the wall, but the faces were blurred, their smiles distorted by an expression of fear and despair.

In the corner of the room stood an old, well-worn armchair, its upholstery stained and worn. As she approached it, the fabric seemed to twist and shift, revealing dark and disturbing patterns. The armchair was like a dark, gaping wound in the room, irresistibly drawing her attention.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by a loud, deafening bang. Kate flinched, her breath catching. She looked around in panic and her eyes fell on a small, dirty mirror on the wall. The reflection showed not only the room, but also a scene from the past - her father's empty eyes staring at her between scattered brain matter from a blood-smeared mess, the gun still cold and metallic beside him, almost grinning at her.

Kate's chest rises and falls in panic as she tries to scream but can't get a sound out. Her legs felt heavy, as if she was sinking into the floor. The room seemed to close in around her, the shadows darkening and swirling as her gaze was filled with the grotesque image of her father's last moments, as if she herself was being drawn into the nightmare.

Kate felt her throat constrict. She wanted to run away, but her feet remained rooted to the floor. The room began to spin slightly, like...in a dream where everything was wrong but she couldn't escape. Her chest rose and fell faster, but it seemed as if she couldn't catch her breath.

Slowly, a smell came into her nose, something metallic and pungent, like blood. Indeed, it was the smell of blood that filled the air. Her hands shook as she instinctively tried to hold her nose, but the smell seemed to be everywhere. The walls, once pale, shimmered dark red. Something was dripping from the ceiling, spreading across the floor, creeping slowly but surely towards her.

Suddenly Kate heard a soft whisper. It was coming from the corner of her room, where the armchair was. She knew it would be best for her not to look, but her eyes couldn't help but follow the sound. The voices grew louder, like a chorus of a hundred voices speaking at once.

And then she saw it.

It was her father, sitting in the armchair, just as she had last seen him. His face was pale, his eyes looked at her blankly. The blood seeping from his gigantic wound flowed inexorably over his body, dripping in an endless loop across the floor. Kate's heartbeat raced and her legs finally began to give way. She felt herself sink to her knees as the despair and guilt began to overwhelm her.

"Why didn't you help me?" her father's voice whispered, though his lips didn't move. The room began to constrict further, the air becoming heavy and suffocating. Kate's head was spinning and the panic that gripped her was so intense that she almost lost consciousness.

Instead of fainting, however, Kate was overcome with the desire to do it right this time. She had to do something, anything. Quickly and without any sense, she reached desperately for the blood on her hands, trying to wipe it away as if she could undo it, but the blood wouldn't go away, it kept getting more and more as it....

Kate opened her eyes as her breathing stopped, as if she had been holding her breath for a long time. She looked around and recognized nothing but darkness and silence where, in contrast, it was still far too loud in her head.

She lay frozen in her bed, the blanket tangled around her legs, sweated profusely. For a brief moment, she didn't know where or when she was. Her fingers clutched at the sheets in a desperate attempt to find her footing in the real world, but her heart was still pounding in a wild panic.

Kate could feel her throat constrict as she realized that the metallic smell in her nose had followed her into reality - at least what she thought was reality at the moment.

The room around her was quiet, but the images burned into her mind, the blood, the body and the terror that never seemed to end.

Her breathing was still too fast, as if it was deliberately trying to hurt her, and any attempt to calm herself failed due to the tightness in her chest.

Kate sat up abruptly, her hands shaking as she frantically reached for her cell phone, which lay to her right. She needed the light as proof that she was actually awake and not still dreaming. With shaky fingers, she unlocked the screen and the bright light blinded her for a brief moment.

She squinted as she saw that she had received a new message.

Connie, 10:38PM:

,,Hey, are u up? Sean, Kai and I are going to the Black Lagoon, wanna join?"

Confused, Kate stared at the words as if they made no sense. The normality of this message stood in stark contrast to the literal hell she had been through a few minutes ago. The smell of her father's blood was still in her nose, as was the image of his body lying motionless, it was all still so fresh.... how could life just go on as if nothing had happened?

Kate stared at the message for a moment before putting her cell phone aside. Her hair ran through her hair as she continued to try and breathe in and out to loosen the tightness in her chest.

She had to get out of here, she knew that. Away from the images, the noises in her head.

Slowly, she stood up. Her legs felt almost as heavy as in her dream as she walked over to her desk to grab her gray flowing jacket.

It somehow felt good to put it on. It was as if she was wrapping herself in a protective armor - a thin barrier between her and reality. She pulled up the zipper and felt the cool material on her skin, which helped her to come to her senses a little. With one last glance around the room, which still felt a little strange, she pressed down the doorbell, opened the door and closed it behind her.

,,John Fogerty's voice was now nothing but a background noise in the black 1998 Honda Civic.“ -> referencing ,,Bad Moon Rising" by Creedence Clearwater Revival

@strawbzbunnie

[remembering-angels]

My 70s past life a little bit more in depth (trigger warning)

my story is a bit hard to explain, i guess ill have to ask someone to believe in reincarnation in order to read this story, but i guess it wont be too confusing, i don't believe ive changed that much. so i guess ill have to go back, before i was a child in the garden or even before i could speak, back before i could walk, back before my mother even thought of my existence, back before i was born, back to that dark forest in 1974, laying on that cold hard ground ,my arms, my body becoming numb, someone takes my last breath away and the full moon illuminates his desire , a dark desire to possess, as if i was a flower he had picked out in a garden ,but i was a human and so was he, his cold arms trace down my body, my last breath gets trapped in his mouth, the whispers around me grow closer,tiny whispers calling me to leave this body, it is time to leave, it is time to leave a body that's no longer mine, to find a new vessel for all my hopes and dreams and pain, no that body laying there on the damp forest floor ,under the man i once met on an evening stroll down my campus , that body he tears apart with his bare hands is now his vessel for his dark desires and my hopes and dreams need to find a new home now.

'you are so stupid , stupid , stupid, why would you get in to his car? why would you follow him?' i berated myself for a long time after remembering that life. i dont remember how i moved on, there was no door and the only light in the forest was the sunrise above the trees , did i really spend the whole night with him? my killer did not leave me with a neat little guidebook on what do after you get murdered but he did leave me with a name , Ted. now looking back at it saying 'i got in to a VW bug with a man named ted' sounds like the stupidest thing to say, maybe it is. but back then i didn't know of the other girls he took to that ride before me, i didn't know about the other girls who could write an identical story to me.

i was only a 20 something girl that felt incredibly lost in life. even back then i was dreaming of more than life could offer me, i just felt tired of people always asking me 'what you want to do with your life' i don't know, i don't know, my boyfriend at the time seemed to have everything figured out, marriage, work , smoking weed , but how can i marry someone when i don't even know what i want, my parents and i had i suppose just the regular relationship a middle class family in america would have, fights here and there but overall i remember a lot of love,i regret not telling them more often that i loved them, i regret the fights. and i was in love with my bf because he was funny and he had the warmest hugs, he always wanted to know everything inside my brain ,i should have told him that i wanted something else, i never had the heart to breakup with him , he was my friend since highschool. my father always wanted the best to me , for me to marry someone successful so he could provide for me or i could go to a job that would actually bring me money haha in this life i always missed having a father and in that life i always worried about my father,he was always cheerful and in times stern, i wish i had gotten along better with my mother too,she always saw the world differently.

my house had wooden walls that i always found comforting and warm ,they were so inviting, the bricks in my state university were red and depressing to me back then, they were too boring, too dull, the library in the uni was not my favorite place but it was silent enough to let me think and i often would use the phone there.

one night in early 1974 i felt too suffocated being in my dorm room, the open window didn't help at all, my mood started to fall in to a bit of a depressive spiral, i looked out of the window in to the dark street below and decided taking a walk is just what my tired brain needs, the walk from my dorm didn't seem long and i took my time. its strange looking back at something and realizing that that strange feeling of looking behind your shoulder as you walk is just your intuition screaming, i carefully looked behind me as i walked but there was no one there, what was i so afraid of that night, what footsteps did i feel behind me. by the time i reached my destination it was already so late at night, i sat down on the bench sulking in my own thoughts ,i was so preoccupied with them that i didnt notice a man sitting next to me, he was tall, clean shaven, light brown hair, watch on his right wrist. he introduced himself politely, said his name was ted, i wasnt really in the mood to make new friends that night si i politely answered him back and said i have to go back in to my dorm now, since it started to be really late at night.but ted didnt take this as a sign to say goodbye, he followed me down to the dark street, my new ''friend'' kept chatting with me as we turned down the ally way, up to the parking lot , his car , an old vw was standing in the darkness of the parking lot, i should go now i told him as i turned around to head back to the campus, he kept insisting on me staying but i kept saying goodbye, at some point i guess his patience ran out, i turn away from him , i suddenly feel a hand grabbing my wrist, before i could even understand whats going on, my head slams against his car with a force that leaves my vision blurry and my body disoriented, i try to grab in to something, anything , his hands pin me down to the car, the pain in my head just gets sharper and sharper. i wake up again, i am in the seat besides him, my body feels numb, i look at him, his face is blank and he stares in to the road, no emotion, nothing , he doesnt hear or care about me begging him to let me go, i start crying for him to let me go thats where he grabs my hair, pulls me to himself and tells me ''shut up or ill make it worse for you'' thats the moment i realized that i shouldnt mess with him, that he is dangerous, i was too scared to even dare to make a sound or breath too loudly. he keeps driving and then he stops in the forest,near some kind of shed, he forces me inside . and thats probably where i should end that story.

thanks for reading!