#i am just overwhelmed with everything that i have

[thesevenwondersofawitch]

This this this

I grew up homeschooled in a family where my parents basically had us fend for ourselves, while also discouraging us from doing any sort of activity or maintain friendships, so the vast majority of my life was spent feeling cut off and inadequate compared to my peers

Shockingly, I ended up having severe depression, (as did my siblings) and developed extremely unhealthy coping mechanisms and habits as a young teenager, as well as other mental issues.

When I finally was able to start the process of getting help(which truly didn't start until the last few years, despite me being in therapy a decade) and started to do things outside of my usual habits, such as going to school and also getting a job(despite my parents trying to discourage me on my bad days), I was now an adult and felt like there was so much I missed out on, especially when looking at my friends experiences at the same ages.

It's so easy to dwell on those thoughts and revert back to old habits, and even harder to try and work through them(like pushing myself to get out of bed, or go to a function with friends). So many people I know who don't have depression just assume it's a little bit of laziness and sadness, and act like everything would be fixed if I just listened only to happy music and refused antidepressants because my generation is 'overmedicated'. And while we definitely are over medicated, without those medicines, so many people (myself included) wouldn't be here.

While my depression is better, and thankfully I've been pretty good with catching up on lost time academic wise, I still struggle with depression and the fallout from everything that has contributed to it. I hang out with friends but almost always end up feeling drained or depressed afterwards, even though I'm around people I care about and like, and I know they feel the same, there is always that voice in my head that one day they're going to change their minds and realize I'm not worth it or that maybe they don't actually like me.

Depression takes a huge toll on my body, I am always tired and overwhelmed, and when I am around friends and peers I feel like I'm an imposter just hoping no one catches on and questions the fact I try to mimic others behavior in hopes I blend in better (even if it's something I know to do, I suddenly feel awkward and panicked and act like I've never dealt with it before, thus watching others and trying to copy movements/actions, even if it's something I'm very knowledgeable about/good at)

I am drained because I feel I have to put on a front that everything is fine, and I feel bubbly and happy all the time, because otherwise people think I'm ungrateful/slighting them, or there out of pity(my sister is someone who thinks all of those reasons unless I'm all happy on the outside). Even though so many times, I was looking forward to doing something or spending time with someone, but for no reason I can think of, I get struck by depression when the time comes, but I still want to take part, because I worry I'll regret missing out, so I go and spend the time trying to act how people want me to, which is exhausting.

It's taken years to get used to these bad days, and I am working to let myself have a breather or just listening to what my body needs when it happens, (I've been better lately and I'm proud of that, but I still struggle occasionally). It's taken years to learn to stop comparing my life with what my younger cousin or old friend is doing/has done by my age, (or if they've done even more), slightly less to learn to ignore the timeframe society(and family) deems is 'normal', and since then, my quality of life has been better.

All this to say, depression has ruled my life and I deal with that everyday, and it is hard to ignore the sadness I feel for my young self and all she never got to do. But, I made it to 23 (something my 13yr old self never thought would happen), and even tho I didn't get to experience things on what is considered a 'normal' timeline for people my age, I have a whole lifetime of experiences to look forward to, and while my depression may be a part of those, it won't be for all of them.

You know what people don’t talk about often enough? Playing catch up in life after spending your teens or early 20s suicidally depressed. There’s so many more layers than just being able to say “I don’t want to die anymore.”

The difficulty in academia or a career after spending years thinking you wouldn’t be alive long enough for any of it to matter.

The exhaustion that comes from self awareness and self soothing, with the constant voice in your head saying “don’t go backwards.”

How lonely it is to watch the people your age starting families when you’re just barely learning what stable relationships are, and the sudden societal pressure of being “up against a clock” for these kinds of things.

The judgement from others if you change your image or interests this late in the game just because you finally figured out who you really are under the demons.

Be kind to those who are developing and blooming after years of not planning on being here long. We are living a life we absolutely didn’t think we’d have, and it’s hard enough without society reminding us there’s expectations of our age.

We didn’t get to be young; we were too busy fighting battles few know.

-

[planetpedri]

Moments 𖦹 Alexia Putellas !

summary. on your second christmas together, alexia can’t help but feel an overwhelming amount of love for you.

word count. 510+

disclaimers. fluff , wlw !!

bea speaks. merry xmas to those who celebrate!! if not, well just happy day! it’s actually xmas eve for me rn but i needed to post..

The snow was light in Barcelona, which you were grateful that there was even any—but the air had a wintery bite. Inside the warmth of your shared home, christmas lights sparkled throughout the room, casting soft glows of many colors over your faces and the walls. You sat beside Alexia, wrapping a few extra presents in a sea of colorful papers and ribbons.

Alexia had been quiet the whole night, her usual playful quips absent. You’d figured she was just tired and it’s not like you didn’t enjoy being in the silence with her, until it reached thirty minuted before midnight, and you could see her eyebrows pulling together the more she thought.

Finally putting the scissors aside, you nudge her knee. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

She glances up at you, her expression tender but distant. “I was just thinking about how lucky I am,” she answers softly.

Smiling at her, although her tone gave you slight pause, you tilt your head to the side questioningly. “Lucky how?”

“For you.” She murmured, her eyes flickering over your face.

“For this. For us.” She picked up a small ornament on the tub beside her, one that had your names written in sloppy glittered letters. It was pink, you’d picked it out last Christmas—a small memento to your first holiday spent together.

“I’d never thought i’d have peace like this in my life. I’d always been so focused on football—too focused. You know? Like I was afraid I’d get too in deep if I let someone in.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, but you nodded anyways. “And now?” You ask gently.

“Now I can’t imagine my life without you.” She admitted, her voice raw as she gave you a half-lipped smile. “I’m always afraid of losing this—you.”

Moving closer, your heart aching at her words, you take the ornament from her hands and set it aside. “Cariño, you’re not going to lose me,” You say as firmly as possible, cupping her face lightly. “I’m going to be around for every moment, every Christmas, and everything in between. I am not going anywhere.”

The blondes lips quirked into an actual smile then, her eyes glassy as she looked at you. “You have a way with words.”

“I do.” You grin, brushing a thumb over her cheek, “I’m here because I love you, every moment with you.. I cherish, even the quiet nights like tonight.”

Alexia leaned forward, resting her forehead against yours. “Seriously, how do you always know what to say?”

“Because I’m just as lucky as you are?” You quip, Pulling away to smirk at her.

With a small chuckle, Alexia wrapped her fingers around your wrists, tugging you closer to place her lips on yours.

The warmth of her lips spread across you, spreading through your chest like the lights from the tree. Pulling away ever so slightly, you whisper against her lips, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, mi amor.” She murmured right back, now only feeling warm and full of love for you.

likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future alexia posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @lechrts @joaoflms @sakashq @h4vertzz @spidybaby

[pennyellee]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢 - 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐁 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈 | 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐁 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐔 title: champagne confetti - side B pairings: heartthrob!jk, yandere!jk x fashion employee f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s word count: tba beta read by @chaoticpuff17 release date: january 2025

Prompt 1: “you give me brand new emotion, you got me drinking that potion” Prompt 2:  The lines did blur, in his mind for sure. Will you be tamed or will your passion for fashion falter for greater good - a life without Jeon Jungkook. When everything you’ve worked for hangs in the balance, his twisted love comes as both a gift and a curse.

summary: You, a determined fashion designer, find yourself entangled in a collaboration with the irresistibly charming and egotistic heartthrob, Jeon Jungkook. Will this partnership remain strictly professional, or will he make the lines blur?

warnings: minors dni 18+ | physical violence, hint of incapable police department, jk is the boy saviour here and everybody bends backwards for his famous ass, dubious consent, possessive/obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation, references to medication that affects mental and physical responses as "drugs" or "pills" or "medication", power imbalance, themes of isolation and confinement, gaslighting, mentions of mafia and criminal underworld, forced intimacy, oral sex (m!receiving), numbness, reader's difficulties getting wet, use of lube, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, riding/cow girl, orgasm difficulties, creampie, and so on (if i'll forgot smth, im so soorrryy!)

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, oppressiveness, which we do not condone.

this is a sequel, read part one of 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢 main masterlist

author's note: so, where to start right? this was a long ass ride, mainly because i was fighting with myself to not burn out on this fic coz i loved it so much, and i still love it, but i won't lie that i got lil overwhelmed with how much love this fic received. I am so so so grateful for each and one of you! ♥ and thank you for your patience too. Life's not easy, please understand that, i always try my best. Thank you all. OH! I hope you will, have, or had very lovely and holy, merry christmas fairies ♥

You looked down at your mug, swirling the mulled wine as you gathered your thoughts. “I... I think I’m ready to go back to work,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

The change in Jungkook’s demeanor was immediate. The warmth in his eyes flickered out, replaced by something harder, colder. He set his mug down on the counter with a soft clink, his posture stiffening.

“What makes you think that?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm, but you could hear the edge beneath it. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“I’ve been good, haven’t I?”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you, the tension between you palpable. He took a step closer, his presence imposing.

“You have,” he admitted, his voice low and measured. “But that doesn’t mean you’re ready to go back out there.”

You felt a pang of frustration, but you tried to keep your voice steady. “I need to feel normal again, Jungkook. I need to get out of here, to do something meaningful.”

His jaw tightened, and he reached out, gently but firmly taking the mug from your hands and setting it aside. His fingers lingered on your wrist for a moment, his touch both comforting and possessive. “This is meaningful,” he said, his voice softening just a fraction as he looked into your eyes. “Us, here, together. This is your life now, Y/N.”

“But..but you promised.” Jungkook's expression flickered, a brief moment of conflict passing through his eyes before his gaze hardened again. He took a deep breath, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly as he processed your words.

“I promised to keep you safe,” he said, his voice firm but with an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite identify—fear, perhaps, or desperation. "And letting you go back to work... it's not safe for you now, Y/N.”

You pulled your wrist free, taking a step back to create some distance. “I can’t stay cooped up in here forever, Jungkook,” you said, your voice trembling but determined. “I need to feel like myself again. I need to be around people, to do something other than just exist in this penthouse.”

He took a step closer, his hands reaching out to cup your face, his touch gentle but his eyes intense. “You are my life now,” he said softly, his voice breaking slightly. “And I can’t lose you. Not to anything or anyone.” You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch despite the turmoil inside you. Jungkook’s thumb brushed over your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

“Freedom comes with risks, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of love and possessiveness. “And I’m not sure I can handle those risks.”

“I promise I am not plotting, Gguk—” you began, but Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, his grip on your face tightening ever so slightly.

“Are you not?” he cut in, his voice low and dangerous. The hint of desperation from before was now replaced with a cold, steely resolve.

“Just give me a chance to prove—” His eyes bore into yours, searching for any sign of deceit.

“I don’t know if I can trust that, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice filled with an unsettling mix of love and possessiveness. He was silent for a long moment, his jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tight with tension. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his grip on your face softening.

“We have a family dinner coming up. It’s important, and everyone will be there. If you can behave, show that you can handle yourself around my family, then maybe... just maybe, we can talk about you going back to work.”

The implication of his words settled over you like a weight. This wasn’t just about proving yourself to him; it was about proving yourself to his entire family. The thought was daunting, but you knew this might be your only chance. To get away from his grasp.

“I'll do my best,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of determination and anxiety. “I promise.”

A small, almost tender smile tugged at the corners of Jungkook’s lips. “Good,” he said softly.

You swallowed hard, the pressure of the upcoming dinner weighing heavily on you. “Who will be there?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “Everyone,” he said simply. “My parents, all of my Hyungs... among whom someone can offer you a position if you make a good impression.”

This was your chance, and you had to take it.

“I’ll be on my best behaviour,” you promised, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.

You stood there in Jungkook’s arms, the Christmas lights twinkling softly around you, you resolved to do whatever it took to reclaim a part of your life.

“Now, show me how good you can warm my cock this Christmas.”

.

.

.

.

.

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @pamzn - @jaedayy (was unable to tag) - @mylyus-blog (was unable to tag) - @vanillacupcakefrosting - @jjeonjjk7 - @darkuni63 - @jeonaraathedreamer - @urlovelily - @kissyfacekoo - @looneybleus - @btspurplesky - @seokseokjinkim - @doulcha - @sexytholland - @minyngrl-blog - @mizuumii (was unable to tag) @ali99eel - @loomipee @jkslvsnella - @tearykth - @iveivory - @lachimolalajeon - @mother2monsters - @junecat - @mayvalentine33 - @ttanniett - @elle0604 - @mageprincess7 - @laylasbunbunny - @ashthetic7 - @00frenchfries00 - @weareatthebadlands (was unable to tag) - @annafarrr -

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

see ya soon, love, p.

[muletia]

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐟𝐮𝐥 ₊˚⊹♡

obsessed!smokescreen x human!reader

summary: you and smokescreen are trying to watch a movie, but his irresistible and constant need for closeness stubbornly gets in the way. will you make it to the end? (spoiler: you won’t.)

cw: fluff, suggestive, obsessive thoughts, unhealthy clinginess, possessiveness, very mild not nsfw dub-con, biting/marking, very light manipulation from smokey

word count: 1570

Your eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Consciousness drifts into another dimension, and your head slowly tilts forward further as you lose contact with reality and embrace sleep with open arms. But alas, sleep is not meant for you—not yet. Your boyfriend is keeping watch, ensuring you continue your fight to stay awake. And when he's near you, he seems unusually attuned to moments like these.

"Hey, hey, don't drift off on me now," he pleads, voice desperate, because this isn’t your first slip-up. "We just started the movie!"

"Ah, sorry," you mumble, rubbing your face to try and wake yourself up, which works. For now.

Your attention returns to the flickering TV screen in the garage, and for a moment, you really do feel alert. You're not proud of how easily you drift off, especially with company, but the day's events are catching up to you, pulling your eyelids downward. You’d promised him you’d finally finish this movie together— you’ve both tried to get through it multiple times, only to be interrupted every single time by something—or rather, someone.

That someone is none other than your personal heater sitting next to you, the primary disruptor of your small private movie nights.

And, as you catch him from the corner of your eye, it's clear he’s got a new idea for spicing up your passive movie-watching routine. His broad smile is utterly contagious, and you fight hard not to let your lips curl. It’s endearing, but you’re not falling for it—not yet. You know exactly where this evening will go if you give him your attention. After all, you’ve lived this scenario many times before.

"Optics on the screen," you chide softly. "We just started the movie, hypocrite."

"Oh, I am watching," he replies, with mock indignation.

"Not me!" you sigh. "We’re not restarting this movie for the tenth time. Look at the screen." You motion toward the brightest source of light in the room.

He knows he should listen. He’s the one who suggested the movie night in the first place. He also chose the film—one of your favorites—because he wanted to experience it with you, to watch your reactions, hear your thoughts, and discuss it afterward. All of it was just a way to interact with you, to be showered in your attention. To absorb it like the finest energon, savoring its addictive sweetness.

It’s not his fault that everything you do is infinitely more interesting than any fiction on the small screen. Sure, he likes human culture and finds it genuinely fascinating—but only because you’re at its center. You’re the one who reveals its secrets, who offers him glimpses of the daily life he so desperately wants to be a part of. Watching movies together lets him simulate that life. He knows he should use every chance to learn more about your world. The problem is, he can’t focus.

It’s not as if there are moments when he thinks of you more or less. No—he’s always thinking about you. Seven days a week, every hour of Earth’s solar cycle. During missions, patrols, recharge—even when he’s with you. It’s suffocating, overwhelming his processor, a constant need to express his untamed emotions, but with no outlet to relieve the ever-growing weight.

Having you by his side is wonderful—feeling your scent, your warmth; brushing shoulders and sharing a blanket. But, ever ambitious, he needs more. Thoughts of you provide only fleeting satisfaction, failing to meet even a fraction of his desire. They leave him helpless once again.

Smokescreen doesn’t want to be just an observer anymore, a witness to the action around him. Those days died with Cybertron.

He wants to feel, touch, and explore, even though he already knows every inch of your body—every mole, scar, and birthmark. Alien, but captivatingly beautiful. Unparalleled softness. Addictive. Meant to be worshipped and adored. It’s no surprise his servos fit your curves perfectly, as if you were made for each other—not just in spark, but in body too. No stimulant could compare to the euphoria of adoring you. No human cinematic masterpiece, no mission, no praise from Optimus Prime himself.

"You’re incorrigible," you sigh. "You just missed the most important part."

Suddenly, he realizes he’s spent the last several kliks staring only at you, fantasizing about physically expressing all the emotions roiling within him. His servos are trembling now, and he has to touch you—to prove how much you mean to him, how vital you are in his life.

Electricity courses through his frame—a signal of surpassing limits. He’s nearing a breaking point, teetering on the edge of abandoning the careful balance of your relationship. Can’t let that happen. He accepts destroying himself, allowing his yearning for you to dictate his sanity, but no scars could ever mar your soul. No matter how many he bears himself.

His trembling servos find the fabric of your shirt and gently tug at it. Enough to send a signal, not to frighten. If you pull away—he’ll shatter.

"Hey," he begins. You glance at him briefly, but your eyes quickly return to the screen. He tugs harder, practically pawing at your stomach now, desperate for attention. "Please, I don’t want to watch the movie anymore. We can finish it another time, can’t we?"

He knows he’s repeating himself, using the same lines he always does. It’s cheap and undignified, unworthy of someone whom even Optimus Prime considered passing the Matrix to. But his need has consumed him, taken over his frame and spark, which craves you so intensely that static buzzes in his audials. Every molecule of his being chants your name, begging for you.

He moves closer, exerting pressure. It’s a dangerous game, one that could easily irritate you. But he’s so desperate he has to play his cards on this gambit.

"I promise we’ll finish it next time, okay? [Name], please, I need you."

"We could also finish it tonight, hmm?" you offer.

"But I already missed the most important part."

"You’re smart—you’ll catch up on the plot." He sees your playful smile, teasing him with your intentions. But this time, he’s too overwhelmed to join in the game.

One servo continues tugging at the edge of your shirt while the other slides beneath it, cautious and precise—while he still has the control to be so.

You finally give in, unable to focus on the film any longer.

"Alright, I’ll hold you to that," you warn, finally turning your head toward him.

What greets you are wide, pleading optics, shimmering with need. Begging for you. Beautiful, but deceptive. Luring you into a trap. Or maybe you’ve already been ensnared? Enchanted into letting him do more—letting his servo wander further up, finding its way to your chest.

"Incorrigible," you murmur, tilting your head slightly to one side, exposing your neck—his canvas for the evening. "But at least I’m not sleepy anymore."

"Good," he purrs near your neck. Warm, processed air brushes against your sensitive skin. "I’m going to show you how much you mean to me. I’m afraid it’ll take a very long time."

Servos press tightly to your body, while dentas leave their mark, creating art from love bites—one of his favorite human inventions. Such a pity he couldn’t bear them himself—would flaunt them proudly if he could.

"I wish they lasted forever," he whispers, kissing the bruised skin, already intoxicated by your closeness, even though it’s only a fraction of what he craves.

"And I don’t," you admit. His response is a hurt whine, but Smokescreen quickly resumes his work, moving slightly higher. His marks always came out messy, more like bites than love bites, but he was so proud of them that you couldn’t bring yourself to criticize him. At least, not directly.

"One of my friends noticed them once. She thought I’d been mauled by a wild animal."

You feel him smile against your skin because it’s an accurate description of his love. Wild, untamed.

"Sorry," but it's also unimaginably tender. "But you like them, right? I’m good at this, aren’t I?"

"You’re unmatched, love."

Not sensing the sarcasm, he holds you tighter, as if he wants to merge you both into one being. Feels his trembling spark yearning for a bond, a union with yours. And while you can’t grant him that, the mere act of sharing the most intimate, vulnerable parts of himself is satisfactory. Not enough, because nothing ever will be. Just like the love bites, the most blissful interfacing, or kisses and cuddles. They work for a brief moment, a fraction of existence. They fill the void, which begins emptying the moment you part.

"I need more," he groans. "Please. I need you."

"I wish you were this eager about watching movies."

You reach for the remote because yet another movie attempt has ended in failure. Your boyfriend doesn’t appreciate your effort to put some distance between you, even for a few millimeters. His servos hold you firmly in place, and his dentas possessively catch your neck. Luckily, you don’t have to reach far.

"We’ll manage next time," he promises, though the absent tone of his voice makes it clear he’s lying. You know he won’t last. He’ll falter at the start, trying to make up for lost time by showering you with affection, though it’ll only be a fraction of what he wants to give.

"Hard to believe that."

"Mhm, love you too," he mutters, utterly enraptured by your closeness.

[choshasan]

to add *my own personal experience with OCD and intrusive thoughts* to this, because, personally, I see a lot of people with OCD speak of their fear of accidentally s/a ing a kid, and while I know there are other people out there with the same fears as me, I don't often hear about some of mine so, I'll gladly share some in hopes it makes people feel seen and left alone;

-(Fear of) secretly being attracted to my relatives

-(Fear of) groping someone, specifically in public

-(Fear of) doing innapropriate things in a non-private environment (i.e., getting myself off in a store)

-(Fear of) committing necrophilia

-(Fear of) killing my cats(or pets), cooking them and then eating them

-(Fear of) tearing/hacking one of my own limbs off (specifically just to see what it feels like)

-(Fear of) Committing criminal arson

-(Fear of) running someone over (I literally do not drive.)

-(Fear of) Biting into a knife with the blade pointed down (I wish I was making this shit up)

Literally I have zero chances of any of these happening. I still live in fucking fear that they will happen at some point every fucking day of my life.

Otherx extrenely unpleasant intrusive thoughts I get include;

-random thoughts of my closest friends in intimate situations (in the bedroom)

-random thoughts of the people I love dying. Of literally anything.

-random sance of anxious paranoia that people are stalking my family / our house

And just.. so much more stuff that isn't coming to mind rn and that I don't want to come to mind rn, or ever..

OCD is really just.. not being neat and "NEEDING" things to be "perfect"

Like.. it's not even neat for me..

Yes, I *need* certain things to be a certain way, which I feel would drive even the common folk insane..

Like, in recent years, I've developped this thing where, I have like.. A LOT of posters and, I *need* them all to be offset and not perfectly straight, like, if they're too well lined up, it drives me insane..

I also *need* my essentials bin (the place where I keep stuff like my meds, lotions, hair brush, hand sanitizer, deodorant, perfume, eyedrops, etc...) to be a mess.. like.. everything is thrown about in there if it's neat and clean and all lined up, I can't find shit and just am overwhelmed with the urge to grab that box and give it a big shake to make everything fall over..

I just have all these weird fucking *needs*

I really wish I was just stuck with this romanticized version of OCD bro.. just needing everything to be neat and clean and "perfect"

Instead I'm stuck with horrifying intrusive thoughts and weirdass fixations..

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Sacrifices (BTR Series Book 2 of 3) a Jhea Fanfic.

Chapter 32: The Bitch Lied..

5:22 PM

Rhea pulled into the garage, the hum of the Tahoe's engine fading as she turned it off. She sat for a moment, staring at the folder on the passenger seat, still unable to wrap her mind around what had happened earlier. With a deep breath, she grabbed the folder and her backpack and headed inside through the garage door.

The house was quiet, the kind of calm that always greeted her when Jey was home and the boys were with their mom. She set everything down on the counter and called out, “Jey?”

“Coming!” his voice called back from upstairs.

Rhea hopped onto one of the bar stools, her fingers drumming on the counter as she waited. Moments later, Jey came down, dressed in a black tank and gray sweatpants, his hair still damp from a shower. He smiled, his presence immediately comforting. “Hey, babe. How was work?”

Rhea hesitated, her lips curving into a faint smile. “It was… great.”

Jey’s eyes flicked to the folder on the counter. “What’s that?”

Rhea stayed quiet, her expression unreadable. Without waiting for an answer, Jey grabbed the folder and flipped it open. His brows furrowed as he read the first line aloud. “‘You know, Kiddo, I’d like to believe that you’re aware enough even now to know that there’s nothing sadistic in my actions… I love you.’ King Cobra?”

Rhea nodded but didn’t say anything, watching as his eyes moved down the page.

Jey’s voice dropped an octave as he continued reading. “‘The items gifted include my estate property in Orlando, FL, and the sum of my bank accounts combined, which amount to $950,000,000 USD. I hope that they will serve their purpose with the utmost utility and continue to act as tokens of favor in your journey. I entrust their stewardship to you. Please understand that these assets are exempt from any claims, liens, and encumbrances and are being gifted to you without any obligations attached to them, except any relevant taxes associated with the transfer, if necessary.’”

Jey’s mouth hung open as he set the folder down, his eyes wide as they locked on hers. “Nine hundred and fifty million dollars?”

Rhea sighed, her shoulders slumping. “It’s from Morris. He left it to me. Brandy came by today to tell me. I guess he never trusted anyone else with his money.”

Jey blinked, still trying to process the words. “He trusted you? That much?”

Rhea nodded slowly. “Yeah. I don’t even know why he thought I’d want this. I mean, what am I supposed to do with it? I didn’t even ask for this.”

Jey ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “First off…” He walked around the counter, standing in front of her and placing his hands on her thighs. “This doesn’t change us. Okay? Even though you’re now almost as rich as Kim Kardashian.”

Rhea let out a surprised laugh, shaking her head. “Jey, come on.”

“I’m serious,” Jey said, his lips twitching into a grin. “I don’t care if you’ve got a billion dollars or zero dollars. You’re still my Rhea. This doesn’t change a damn thing about us.”

Rhea reached out, grabbing his hands. “Thank you.” Her voice softened. “It’s just… overwhelming. I don’t even know where to start with this.”

“You don’t have to figure it out right now,” Jey said, squeezing her hands. “We’ll take it one step at a time. And you’re not in this alone. We’ll handle it together, yeah?”

Rhea nodded, her chest feeling a little lighter. “Yeah. Together.” Rhea pulled Jey into a tight embrace, her voice soft as she murmured, “I’m so glad to have you.”

Jey returned the hug, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I am too.”

After a moment, they broke apart, and Rhea walked over to the guinea pig’s cage, smiling as she reached in to stroke Bartholomew’s soft fur.

Jey leaned against the counter, watching her. He hesitated for a moment, clearly debating whether to speak. Finally, he said, “Rhea, actually… babe, I have to ask you a question.”

Rhea glanced over her shoulder, her hand still gently petting the guinea pig. “Go ahead, babe. What’s on your mind?”

Jey hesitated again, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s… a little off.”

Noticing the shift in his tone, Rhea turned fully to face him, her brows furrowed. “What is it, love?” she asked, concern creeping into her voice as she studied his expression.

Jey took a deep breath, his eyes meeting hers. “Did you ever… do anything with Morris?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, heavy with unspoken meaning.

Rhea blinked, momentarily stunned. “What?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jey shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I mean… you said he trusted you with everything, his money, his estate. That’s a lot for someone to just… hand over. It’s making me wonder if there was ever… anything more between you two.”

Rhea’s jaw tightened as she took a step closer to him. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

Jey raised his hands, sensing the edge in her tone. “Babe, I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just asking. It’s been bothering me since I read that letter.”

Rhea crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. She took a deep breath, deciding that honesty was the best course. “You said you wanted us to be more truthful… okay, Jey. We did make out a few times, but it never went past that. It was a long time ago, and it meant nothing. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up because it was so insignificant.”

Jey’s expression remained unreadable as he absorbed her words.

After a moment, he simply nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. Without saying anything further, he turned and walked upstairs to their bedroom, leaving Rhea standing by Bartholomew’s cage, her heart pounding in her chest.

She watched him go, a sinking feeling settling in her stomach.

Bartholomew squeaked softly, as if sensing the tension in the room.

Rhea sighed, leaning against the counter as she tried to process the sudden shift in their evening.

She knew they would need to talk more, but for now, she gave Jey the space he seemed to need, hoping that their honesty would ultimately strengthen their bond.

—

Rhea stirred the vegetables together and quickly flipped the grilled chicken, her movements precise yet distracted. Jey still hadn’t come downstairs, but she prepared a portion for him nonetheless. After serving her plate, she poured herself a glass of pink lemonade and sat down, trying to focus on her meal.

A sudden kick in her stomach drew her attention, and she gently placed a hand over the spot, smiling softly. “I know, sweetie… Daddy’s just upset right now. Sometimes, even when Mommy did something before she was with him, it feels like it’s her fault.”

She sighed, her thoughts drifting to the conversation they’d had earlier. The weight of unspoken words and unresolved tension hung heavily in the air, mingling with the aroma of the meal she’d prepared.

Taking a deep breath, Rhea resolved to give Jey the space he seemed to need, hoping that time would help heal the rift between them. She knew that open communication was essential, but for now, she would wait for him to come to her when he was ready.

As she ate in silence, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of loneliness, the empty chair across from her a reminder of the distance that had grown between them. Yet, with each gentle movement from the life growing inside her, she found a renewed sense of hope and determination to navigate this challenging time together.

Jey walked down the steps, his movements deliberate as he approached the kitchen. He grabbed the plate Rhea had prepared for him and poured himself a glass of water. His steps were slow as he made his way to the table, where Rhea was already seated. He sat down across from her, his eyes focused on his meal, not saying a word.

Attempting to lighten the mood, Rhea offered a small smile and said, “I met with Kendrick Lamar today to discuss the music for your return.”

Jey’s eyes flickered up briefly, and he responded with a curt, “That’s good.” His tone was flat, and it was clear he wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

Rhea’s smile faltered, and she looked down at her plate, the weight of the silence between them pressing heavily on her chest. She took a deep breath, deciding to give him the space he seemed to need, hoping that time would help mend the rift between them.

As they ate in silence, the only sounds in the room were the clinking of utensils against plates and the occasional squeak from Bartholomew’s cage. The atmosphere was tense, each of them lost in their own thoughts, the earlier conversation still hanging heavily in the air.

After finishing his meal, Jey stood up, taking his plate to the sink without a word. He glanced at Rhea briefly, his expression unreadable, before turning and heading back upstairs, leaving Rhea alone with her thoughts and the lingering tension between them.

Rhea sighed softly, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach, seeking comfort in the life growing within her.

—

9:48 PM

Rhea brushed her damp hair slowly, her reflection in the mirror revealing the storm of emotions she had been trying to suppress all evening. Her eyes lingered on her baby bump, and she took a deep breath. Jey was her partner, her love, the father of her child—and the distance between them tonight felt unbearable. If they didn’t talk now, when would they?

Determined to bridge the gap, she slipped into a black babydoll that hugged her body in all the right places, accentuating her shoulders and allowing her growing belly to be beautifully visible. She knew Jey couldn’t resist her in this; she was banking on that soft spot in his heart to bring him closer. She walked to the bed with a quiet confidence, though her heart was racing.

Jey looked up as she entered the room, his eyes instantly drawn to her. His gaze softened as he took her in, but there was still a hint of the tension from earlier lingering on his face.

“You’re making it hard,” Jey muttered, a faint smirk pulling at the corners of his lips despite himself.

“Good,” Rhea replied softly, climbing into bed beside him. She pressed her hands against his chest, urging him to wrap his arms around her. “Hold me, baby.”

Jey didn’t hesitate, pulling her close and resting his chin on the top of her head. The warmth of his embrace made Rhea feel safe, but she knew they couldn’t let this moment pass without addressing what had been left unsaid.

“I just want us to be okay,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat. “I want to be honest with you, Jey, but I can’t do that if I’m afraid of how you’ll react.”

Jey’s arms tightened slightly around her, his chest rising and falling in a deep sigh. “I love you, Demi,” he said, his voice low and serious. “I always have. But hearing about Morris—it messed with me. It’s not even about him. It’s just… I hate the idea of you being with anyone else, even before me.”

Rhea pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, her own filled with understanding. “I get it. I really do. But Jey, my past isn’t something I can erase, and it’s not something I’m proud of. It’s just… there. A part of me. But that doesn’t change how much I love you and only you.”

Jey nodded, though his jaw was still tight. “I know that. I do. But it’s hard, you know? I’m not trying to hold it against you—it’s just the thought of it… it’s eating at me.”

Rhea reached up and cupped his face, her thumbs gently brushing his cheekbones. “Then let’s deal with it together. Talk to me when you’re upset. Let it out. Don’t hold it in and let it fester, Jey. That’s not what we do, is it?”

He shook his head, his expression softening further. “No. That’s not what we do.”

“Exactly,” she said, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “Our pasts are just that—the past. Let’s focus on what’s ahead of us: our future, our baby. That’s what matters.”

Jey exhaled deeply, finally letting some of the tension in his shoulders go. “You’re right. I don’t want to let this ruin what we’ve got. I don’t want old ghosts messing with us. It’s just… I needed time to sort it out in my head.”

“And I get that,” Rhea said. “But you have to promise me something.”

“Anything,” Jey replied, his hands resting on her hips.

“Promise me you’ll tell me how you’re feeling—good or bad. Don’t shut me out. That’s all I ask.”

“I promise,” Jey said firmly, his eyes locking with hers. “I’ll do better. For us.”

Rhea smiled, the tension in the room dissipating as they leaned into each other. “I love you,” she murmured.

“I love you too,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her lips.

In that moment, as they lay intertwined, the weight of the earlier tension seemed to lift. They both knew their journey wasn’t perfect, but their commitment to each other was unwavering. Together, they would face whatever came next.

Jey kissed Rhea softly, his lips moving slowly as if he wanted to savor in her lips. He pulled back slowly, gazing into her eyes with an intensity that made her heart skip a few beats. There was a quiet tenderness between them, one that spoke volumes without the need for words.

“So, have you thought about any names for Baby Boy Fatu?” Jey asked, his voice soft, filled with love and curiosity.

Rhea, still basking in the warmth of his embrace, ran her hand over her baby bump with a thoughtful smile. “I like Jeyson,” she said, her eyes meeting his, her voice carrying a sense of certainty.

Jey’s face lit up with a wide smile, his eyes twinkling with affection as he took in the name. “How do you spell that one?” he asked, his tone playful but full of admiration.

“J-E-Y-S-O-N,” Rhea replied, her voice gentle as she repeated the name, feeling it roll off her tongue. She loved how it felt, how it connected them. “It just feels right.”

Jey nodded, his smile growing as he processed the name. “I like it,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Jeyson Fatu. That’s our son. Sounds like a champion already.”

Rhea smiled, feeling the warmth of his words settle deep in her heart. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite put into words, the way he made everything feel possible, the way he made her feel like the luckiest woman alive. “I’m glad you like it,” she whispered, her voice carrying a mix of love and relief.

Jey leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers, their noses brushing lightly. “I’m always gonna love whatever you choose, Demi. This little one—he’s already everything to me. He’s gonna be perfect, just like you.”

Rhea felt the familiar flutter in her chest at his words. Every time Jey spoke, every time he looked at her, it was as if her world brightened. He had this way of making her feel seen, cherished, and understood in a way that no one else ever could. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him, holding him close as if she never wanted to let go. “I feel the same way about you,” she whispered against his chest. “You and Jeyson are my world. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

Jey tightened his arms around her, the deep sense of connection between them palpable. He kissed the top of her head gently, his voice soft and filled with emotion. “You know, I’ve been through a lot in my life, but nothing has ever felt as right as this. You and me, Demi… and now Jeyson. This is what I’ve always wanted, what I never knew I needed.”

Rhea pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes shining with the same love that he always gave her. “I never knew, either, until I met you. But you—you make everything feel so complete. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jey.”

—

Flashback – December 25th, 2019

The soft hum of the Christmas lights cast a warm glow in the cramped two-bedroom apartment Rhea shared with Demetri. She watched him tear open the neatly wrapped box she had handed him, her heart eager for his reaction. Inside was a sleek pair of Vans, a style she knew he had been eyeing for months.

“Thank you, babe!” Demetri grinned, leaning over to kiss her. His lips were warm, but something about the gesture felt mechanical, lacking the spark she once cherished.

Before she could revel in the moment, Demetri’s phone vibrated loudly against the coffee table. He glanced at the screen, his face tightening. “Give me a sec,” he muttered, standing and disappearing into the hallway to answer the call.

Rhea sat back, her smile fading, and turned to Dustin, who was still perched on the couch, sifting through his own modest pile of gifts. “Did you like your Christmas gifts?” she asked, hoping to distract herself from the uneasy feeling growing in her chest.

“Yeah,” Dustin replied, but his voice was hollow, his gaze fixed on the floor.

Rhea frowned, leaning forward. “What’s wrong?” she pressed gently.

Dustin shrugged, his expression hardening. “It’s just… another holiday where I have to go back to my mom’s after this,” he said, his tone laced with quiet bitterness.

“I’m sorry,” Rhea said softly, her heart aching for him. But before she could say more, Dustin cut her off, his voice rising with frustration.

“Don’t even try,” he snapped, his eyes meeting hers for the first time. “He could take you in, but he can’t take me in. What does that say about me?”

Rhea’s throat tightened. She opened her mouth to respond, but the weight of his words left her speechless. Dustin shook his head and stood abruptly, retreating to the other bedroom without another glance. The door closed with a muted thud, leaving Rhea alone with her swirling thoughts.

A few minutes later, Demetri returned, his phone still in his hand. “I have to go see Morris,” he said, his tone clipped.

Rhea frowned, her unease deepening. “About what?”

“It actually doesn’t concern you, believe it or not,” Demetri replied sharply as he grabbed his coat and keys. Without waiting for a response, he walked out, leaving Rhea sitting in stunned silence.

That night, the apartment felt colder than usual. The joy of Christmas was long gone, replaced by a gnawing emptiness that settled in Rhea’s chest. She spent hours staring at the Christmas tree, its twinkling lights mocking the loneliness she felt.

12:31 AM

The soft glow of a bedside lamp illuminated the room where Demetri and Valerie lay tangled in a sea of tangled sheets. Valerie leaned on one elbow, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on Demetri’s chest. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes as she spoke.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Valerie murmured, her voice a seductive purr.

Demetri smirked, his hand trailing over her bare shoulder. “I did too,” he replied smoothly before shifting the topic. “What happened with Charles? Why’d you come back so early?”

Valerie let out a throaty laugh, tossing her long hair over one shoulder. “Morris wanted him to teach me all that crap he taught you and Mamba. Hated every second of it,” she admitted with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

Demetri chuckled, his grin widening. “Maybe it’s because you don’t like people telling you what to do,” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

Valerie sighed dramatically, her tone turning venomous. “I just wish someone would put Charles out of his misery already. I mean, come on—55 years old and still teaching Morris’ ‘love interests.’” She arched a brow and gave Demetri a pointed look. “Which begs the question… you’re not a love interest, are you?”

Demetri burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking as he threw his head back. “At one point, he considered me a son,” he admitted, the laughter still lingering in his voice.

Valerie tilted her head, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “What changed?” she asked, her tone quieter now, more serious.

Demetri’s smile faded slightly, his gaze growing distant. “I brought Mamba in,” he said simply. “After that, Morris focused all his effort on her. She became his new project, and I was… pushed aside.”

Valerie studied him for a moment, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Well, that’s Morris for you. Always moving on to the next shiny thing.”

Demetri shrugged, his expression unreadable. “It is what it is,” he said, his tone resigned.

Valerie leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear. “You’ve always been more than just a ‘shiny thing,’ Demetri,” she whispered, her voice a soft caress.

Demetri turned his head to meet her gaze, a flicker of something—regret, maybe—passing through his eyes. But before he could respond, Valerie pressed her lips to his, silencing whatever words had been forming.

For a brief moment, the world outside the dirty motel room faded away, leaving only the two of them and the tangled mess of their shared history.

—

7:36 AM

The next morning, the sound of the front door opening jolted her awake. Demetri walked in, his expression unreadable, and headed straight past her toward Dustin’s room. But as he passed, Rhea caught the faint but unmistakable scent of vanilla perfume lingering in the air. Her stomach turned. She didn’t wear vanilla perfume.

Demetri knocked on the bedroom door. “Dustin, come on. Get your gifts. I gotta take you to Mom’s,” he called out.

Rhea stood from the couch, her fists clenching at her sides. “Where did you go?” she demanded, her voice low but trembling with anger.

Demetri didn’t even glance at her. “I told you—I went to Morris’,” he said casually, as if the lie wasn’t written all over his face.

“Really?” Rhea spat, her voice rising. “Then why the fuck do you smell like Valerie?”

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap, and before Rhea could process what was happening, Demetri’s hand lashed out, the sharp sting of his slap making her stumble back.

“You don’t get to talk to me about what I do behind your back,” he hissed, his voice cold and venomous.

Rhea’s hand flew to her cheek, tears stinging her eyes as the betrayal sank in. Motherfucker…

Dustin emerged from his room, his arms full of gifts, his eyes darting nervously between them. He didn’t say a word as he followed Demetri out of the apartment, leaving Rhea standing alone in the silence once more.

—

11:21 AM

Valerie sat stiffly, her eyes locked on Morris as he loomed over her with a look of cold disdain. His voice was sharp, cutting through the silence with venom.

“You say you want to be more than just my pleasure toy?” Morris began, his tone low and mocking. “You say you want to be part of my shipments? Work with Mamba? You say you want all these nice things, all these great opportunities… but what do you do?”

Valerie clenched her jaw, her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t respond, didn’t flinch.

Morris leaned closer, his voice rising. “You give up after three months. Three months! Mamba? She had less time, less chances, and mastered everything I taught her. But you?” He gestured at her dismissively. “You’re nothing but excuses.”

Valerie’s eyes flashed with defiance. “Well, I’m not your precious Mamba, now am I?” she spat, her voice laced with venom.

Morris straightened up, his face darkening as he stepped toward her menacingly. The room seemed to grow colder as his shadow fell over her.

“Consider yourself done,” he said with finality.

Valerie’s defiance faltered for the briefest moment. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Morris chuckled, the sound cold and merciless. “I mean, I don’t have a use for you anymore. You’re out. The only I will need you is when I need a quick fix. That’s all you’re good for now.”

Valerie shot to her feet, her voice trembling with anger. “You’ll regret this.”

Morris tilted his head, a cruel smirk spreading across his face. “Oh? Are you threatening me?”

Valerie’s hands clenched into fists. “I’m going to tell Demetri,” she hissed, her eyes narrowing. “I’m going to tell him you’ve been screwing Rhea.”

Morris laughed, the sound echoing in the room like a dark symphony. “And I know you’ve been screwing Demetri,” he shot back without missing a beat, his smirk growing wider.

Valerie froze, her breath catching in her throat.

Morris leaned in, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Why do you think I don’t care when you leave? Why do you think I don’t chase after you? You’re nothing to me, Valerie. Nothing.”

Her confidence crumbled under the weight of his words, and she felt the sting of humiliation settle in her chest. She tried to keep her face composed, but the lump in her throat betrayed her.

Morris straightened, brushing invisible dust from his suit as if the conversation bored him. “Now get out of my sight,” he said dismissively, turning his back to her.

Valerie stood frozen, her mind racing with emotions—anger, humiliation, and a simmering desire for revenge. But for now, she did as she was told. She turned and walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

As she made her way down the dimly lit hallway, Valerie muttered under her breath, “You’ll regret this, Morris. You’ll regret all of it.”

—

April 5th, 2022

The room was dimly lit, with the cold fluorescent light flickering slightly above the steel table. Valerie sat stiffly in the chair, her hands resting on the edge of the table, fingers tapping anxiously. Across from her, an FBI agent slid a stack of papers across the table, his expression calm but scrutinizing.

“These are the list of names involved in this operation?” the agent asked, his voice steady but probing.

Valerie glanced at the papers before nodding, her face neutral, betraying none of the turmoil beneath the surface. “Yes,” she replied.

The agent leaned back in his chair, studying her. “We’ve heard of another person involved, nicknamed the Black Mamba. Any idea who that could be?”

Valerie froze for the briefest moment, her heart skipping a beat, but she quickly masked her reaction. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No idea.”

The agent’s gaze lingered on her, as though he could see right through her. He tapped his pen against the table before nodding, as if accepting her answer—for now.

“And in exchange for your cooperation,” he continued, flipping through the papers, “you want full relocation services to Phoenix?”

Valerie nodded again, her voice steady despite the knot forming in her stomach. “Yes. I want a fresh start.”

The agent slid a pen across the table toward her. “Okay,” he said, his tone formal. “Sign here.”

Valerie hesitated for a fraction of a second before picking up the pen. Her hand hovered over the paper, her mind racing. This was it. The decision that would change everything. Her past, her alliances, her future—it all rested on this signature.

As the pen hit the paper, she signed her name with a flourish, sealing her deal with the government.

The agent took the papers and stood up, collecting them into a neat stack. “You’ve made the right choice,” he said, giving her a curt nod before walking to the door.

Valerie sat back in her chair, exhaling deeply as the weight of her decision settled on her shoulders. She whispered to herself, “Fresh start… fresh lies.”

—

May 31st, 2022 Flashback

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the cemetery as Dustin stood frozen, his eyes glued to the hole in the earth. The coffin containing his older brother, Demetri, was now out of sight, but the weight of its presence crushed him. His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists, trying to hold back the tears that burned in his eyes.

His mother had gently touched his shoulder before leaving earlier, offering a hollow “Take your time,” but Dustin barely registered it. His father, as distant as ever, had left without a word. They didn’t grieve for Demetri—not like Dustin did.

The world saw Demetri as nothing more than a drug dealer, a man who lived and died in violence. But to Dustin, he was more than that. He was his brother—the man who protected him when no one else would, who made sure he had food to eat when their parents didn’t care.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the freshly packed dirt. The air grew cooler, and the sounds of the city faded as night crept in. The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps behind him.

Dustin turned to see a woman approaching, her figure barely illuminated by the dim streetlights surrounding the cemetery. She was tall, with dark, striking features that seemed both familiar and out of place.

“I knew your brother,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

Dustin squinted at her. “How?” he asked, his voice hoarse from hours of silence.

Valerie hesitated for a moment, folding her arms across her chest. “We worked together,” she said finally, her words heavy with unspoken meaning.

Dustin’s brow furrowed. “You mean… in his business?”

Valerie nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. “Yes.”

Dustin’s breath hitched, and he turned back toward the grave. “Do you know how he died?” he asked, his voice trembling. “My parents… they haven’t told me anything. They just said it’s done. That’s all.”

There was a long pause before Valerie answered, her voice quieter now. “She killed him,” she said, her words laced with bitterness.

Dustin spun around to face her, his eyes wide. “Who?”

Valerie took a deep breath, her gaze locking with his. “Rhea,” she lied. “It was self-defense… or at least, that’s what she says.”

Dustin staggered back a step, as though the words had struck him physically. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No, that’s not true.”

Valerie stepped closer, her voice growing firmer. “It is. I was there. She did it. Your brother may not have been perfect, but he didn’t deserve that.” She lied again.

Tears spilled down Dustin’s cheeks as he stared at her, his heart shattering into pieces. He couldn’t reconcile the brother he loved with the story Valerie was telling. Nor could he actually believe that Rhea would kill Demetri.

“Why are you telling me this?” Dustin asked, his voice breaking.

“Because you deserve to know the truth,” Valerie said. “And because no one else will tell you.”

Dustin turned back toward the grave, his shoulders slumping under the weight of her words. The night stretched on, heavy and suffocating, as he stood there, grappling with a truth he didn’t want to believe.

[loving-family-poll]

Omg we can send you weirdcest confessions? I have a little classic codependent dynamic with my younger brother which might tickle some people.

Soooo, I moved half way across the country many years ago because prior to that I had been sharing a 1 room apartment (a bed too but very kosher I promise, rent is just expensive) with my brother for years as I pushed him to finish highschool and start college classes and just looked out for him so that he didn't get lost in the shuffle when my parents divorced because he was the youngest.

The thing is that by the time he was an adult, I never wanted to give him up. Like, if we could go to old age as a duo, I would have been happy. I had a lot of angst that I wouldn't let him mature so I did something weird and dramatic - I moved the fuck across the country, pretty much dropped out of his life just when he had reached adulthood and left him.

It was kind of a stone cold thing to do, but I moved in with someone I was dating online and went through a whole relationship till that ended. On the other hand, it was none too soon because at that point he kept trying to share his porn collection with me and mentally I was like, dude, i know this trope, I invented it.

tbh he really missed me so much and vice versa. I think both of us experienced a level of loneliness we never would have felt if I hadn't just arbitrarily decided it was bad if I let us stay co-dependent. I don't really know if it was justified. The few times we visited each other over the years, we basically just cuddled and missed each other and moped about being sad.

But it worked? He stuck like glue to a large group of friends and even started dating one of them, the girl who would eventually become his fiance.

This woman. I hated her for years. I thought she was terrible for him. She was too attractive and too cool tempered and too intelligent, and I just thought she was going to break his heart eventually. But, somehow they worked out, and when I moved back to my hometown she lured me in like a scared alley cat by making me feel welcome in the gentlest of ways, never overwhelming, an introvert's overture to another introvert.

My brother and I used to mildly flirt with each other pretty often as a joke, and he still does, although I try not to encourage it. It's a little too on the nose, right? If you scratch me, I bleed incest fandom. But these days its usually his fiance making jokes that I should be the filling in a them sandwhich (sit between them) because they want to "share me" My brother's fiance is ace or I would be a lot more freaked out about that tbh. I think they just both like to make me blush, which I can't blame them for.

NGL, I think she is pleased to have achieved two brothers for the price of one.

I thank god she is ace, because she is a menace - in one afternoon she will ask me to lather her back with sunscreen, invite me to check out at her bottom (for ticks) and cheerfully command me to smack her boob (there was a fly,) all while my brother is there watching and laughing as I flounder in queer panic.

In a more concrete fashion, they want me to move in with them when they buy their house and cosign on it and everything. So I guess I am getting what I wanted, but it's a trio instead of a duo.

Bruh I think they want to fuck you

[hotcupoteckla]

Do people not understand catharsis?

Do people not understand thought process displacement?

Are people not aware that readers used to actively seek out books that made you feel and think deeply about things as a form of brain exercise?

Like why, why do you think it is when you watch movies or books set way back in time that the characters who read are bullied by the hypermachismo holders and are called "sissies"?

Because books enabled readers to cry, and crying allows a person's emotional resiliency to build, and hyper machismo holders hate it when other people have emotional resilience, because they don't have it.

Sometimes a deeply saddening thing occurs so quickly you cannot process it, because if your brain processed it right in that moment, you would stop functioning as a living being.

So you feel numb, and go through the motions, until you're safer and you start to feel happier again.

Then you read a book about a character losing someone dear to them, or how they survived child abuse, and your brain unlocks at least part of your experience in your crying and expression of catharsis on behalf of the character.

You cry and things feel better, and you're not as likely to shutdown over a memory overwhelming you when you least expect it.

AND if you are so lucky as to have not encountered anything so heart-rendingly awful yet, YOUR BRAIN IS STILL HELPED.

It now has an example to compare to when you do encounter deeply traumatizing events, and can cite the book as an example of "they moved past this style of event, I believed it possible for them, I can do it too."

Like maybe the character had magic to help them, but usually - it's not the magic that gets you out of a bad situation.

It's working with a friend, or listening to good advice from someone knowledgeable.

It's helping someone in need as you see it happen, without any thought of it being returned.

It's stopping your distress and thinking of a solution with the resources you have at hand.

It's convincing your jailer that this is unjust for everyone.

The triumph in spite of bad things happening to us is the Part that builds resiliency, and that cannot happen without a whumph getting in the way.

Like sure, the authors can make it so your favorite character that is the stand in for who you desire to be doesn't die, but would it be as compelling to read without that risk of loss?

If it was just rainbows and sunshine all of the time for everyone, wouldn't you just be reading another "billionaires get everything they want" story?

Not every book is going to be for you.

Did I throw The Last Battle across the room after C.S. Lewis decided to kill off Susan's Entire Family (we're talking 20+ funerals from a train crash before their family reunion) and then Victim Blamed Her for Not Believing in Aslan anymore? You betcha.

Did I think that sucked? Yes..100%

Did it serve his story? ...as loathe as I am to admit it, yes, he wanted to drive home the Christian Allegory and make Susan out to be a pragmatic adult, but one who lost faith in the stories of their childhood. We're supposed to feel less sympathy for her as she turned into a snooty Karen like mother to her kids. Her kids were on the train, as was her husband.

So do I hate C.S. Lewis? No, but I know now that he's willing to sacrifice anything in his story to make a point about faith and Christianity.

And all the Blorbo-Defenders from upthread really need to read more books if they think the WORST thing you can do to a character or your readership is kill a character off.

Sometimes, the worst thing you can do to a character is leave them as the Lone Survivor.

And it's better to experience it in a book, to become a more resilient person. To have catharsis built into your escape.

im starting to think you guys dont like it when stories make you feel things

[mommyownsmee]

hi mommy..! if you are comfortable i was wondering how you would go about taking somebody’s virginity? i’m 22, have 0 experience with everything, and am very shy and nervous thinking about actually doing something with someone 🥺

A single candle flickered on the nightstand, casting warm, golden light that painted soft shadows on the walls. Its flame swayed gently, like it could hear the rhythm of our breaths, and the faint scent of vanilla and sandalwood enveloped the room—a comforting, intoxicating warmth. The bed was perfectly made, draped in silken sheets of deep burgundy that shimmered in the light, their luxurious texture promising to cradle every movement, every moment.

I stood near the bed, watching you. My black lace robe, sheer and flowing, draped over my frame, the fabric clinging to my skin in all the right places. The soft light caught in its intricate patterns, highlighting a subtle but deliberate elegance. My hair tumbled over my shoulders, framing my face as I looked down at you, taking in every inch of the sight before me.

You knelt on the plush rug, your knees sinking into its soft fibers, and your body was framed by the delicate white chemise you wore. Its thin straps slipped from your shoulders, the fabric flowing loosely over your curves, stopping just above your thighs. The contrast between us was stark: light and dark, innocence and control. It was perfect. You were perfect.

I let the silence linger for a moment, savoring the way your lips parted slightly, as if searching for words you couldn’t find. Your breathing was shallow, your chest rising and falling as the weight of the moment pressed down on you.

“Look at me,” I said, my voice low and firm, each word deliberate and charged. My tone wasn’t harsh; it was a command wrapped in velvet, meant to ground you.

Your eyes fluttered upward, hesitating for a moment before locking with mine. They were wide, shimmering with nervousness, but beneath that lay trust—unwavering, unshakable trust. It was that trust that made my chest ache, my heart squeeze with something more profound than desire.

“Are you nervous?” I asked, my lips curving into a small, knowing smile. I took a step closer, kneeling down to meet you on your level. My fingers tilted your chin upward, guiding your gaze to stay with mine. My thumb brushed softly over your lower lip, tracing its curve, letting the moment stretch between us.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling, barely audible. The vulnerability in your tone sent a wave of warmth through me, grounding me in the importance of what we were about to share.

I leaned in, my lips pressing against your forehead in a soft kiss that lingered. “Good,” I murmured against your skin, my voice gentle but firm. “That means this matters. And it should.”

I stood again, walking over to the bed where a length of silk ribbon lay waiting. The deep purple shimmered in the candlelight as I ran it between my fingers, savoring the softness. I turned back to you, my steps measured, deliberate, as I knelt in front of you once more.

“Give me your hands,” I said softly, the command clear but wrapped in tenderness. Without hesitation, you lifted them, wrists together, palms up, offering them to me like a gift. My breath caught for a moment, the trust in that simple gesture overwhelming.

“You’re trembling,” I said quietly, taking your hands in mine. My thumbs brushed over your wrists, tracing small circles against your skin. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” you said quickly, your voice steadier now. “I want this. I want… you.”

I nodded, my lips curving into a smile. “Good girl,” I said, my voice laced with approval. “You’re doing so well for me.”

As I wrapped the ribbon around your wrists, the silk gliding effortlessly over your skin, I watched your face, searching for any sign of hesitation. But there was none—only anticipation, only you leaning into the moment. I tied the knot gently, the binding more symbolic than restrictive, a testament to your surrender.

“Do you trust me?” I asked, holding your bound wrists in my hands, lifting them slightly as I met your gaze.

“With everything I have,” you said, your voice steady now, filled with conviction.

“Good,” I whispered, brushing my lips across your knuckles. “I’m going to take care of you. But you’re going to let me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathed, the word slipping from your lips like a prayer.

I stood, pulling you gently to your feet, guiding you toward the bed. “Come here,” I said softly. “Let me see all of you.”

As you lay back on the silken sheets, they cradled you like water, the fabric molding to your shape. I stood for a moment, taking in the sight of you, the way your body moved with each shallow breath, the way your cheeks flushed under my gaze.

“You’re breathtaking,” I said, my voice reverent, almost disbelieving. “You have no idea, do you?”

Your eyes searched mine, and you shook your head slightly. “Not like this,” you whispered.

I smiled as I knelt on the bed beside you, my hands tracing the edge of your chemise. “Then let me show you,” I murmured, leaning in to press my lips to your shoulder, trailing kisses along the curve of your neck. My hands slid beneath the delicate fabric, pulling it down slowly, inch by inch.

Each touch was slow, deliberate, designed to pull you deeper into this moment with me. “I want you to tell me if you’re unsure,” I said softly, my lips brushing against your collarbone. “If anything feels wrong. Do you promise me that?”

“Yes,” you said, your voice soft but clear.

I nodded, my hand cupping your cheek as I kissed you, my lips pressing against yours with a tenderness that quickly deepened. Your breath hitched, your body arching slightly as my hands explored you, memorizing every inch, every curve.

“You’re doing so well for me,” I murmured against your lips, my voice thick with affection. “Let go, love. Let me take care of you.”

I moved slowly, savoring every reaction—the way your body trembled, the way you gasped when my lips found a sensitive spot, the way your eyes fluttered closed as you let yourself fall deeper into the sensations.

The soft glow of the candlelight seemed to grow warmer as I leaned into you, my breath brushing against your skin. I trailed my lips down the curve of your neck, lingering just below your ear. “You’re so sensitive,” I murmured, my voice a mix of admiration and intention. “Every sound you make is for me, isn’t it?”

You nodded, your breath coming quicker now, but I needed more than that. I pulled back slightly, my fingers tracing a slow line down your arm. “Say it,” I prompted, my tone firm but encouraging.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure. “Everything is for you.”

“Good girl,” I said softly, letting the weight of my approval settle over you. My fingers danced over your skin, exploring the curves and contours of your body with a deliberateness that left nothing untouched. Your skin was warm beneath my hands, and each shiver, each tiny gasp, was a melody that guided my movements.

My hand slipped lower, tracing the edge where the silk of your chemise met your bare thigh. Slowly, deliberately, I eased the fabric further down, letting it pool at your hips. The sight of you beneath me, vulnerable and trusting, made my breath hitch for a moment. I let my fingertips trail along the newly exposed skin, feather-light, teasing, watching the way your body responded to every touch.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” I whispered, my lips grazing the hollow of your throat. “Do you feel it, how perfect you are?”

Your answer came in a breathless murmur, barely audible. “I… I feel it when you say it.”

I smiled against your skin, my teeth grazing lightly along your collarbone. “Then I’ll keep saying it until you believe it. You’re mine, and you’re perfect.”

I pressed a kiss just above your heart, lingering there, feeling the steady thrum of your heartbeat beneath my lips. The rhythm was quickening, each beat a testament to the moment unfolding between us. My hands slid back up, framing your face as I looked down at you.

“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice soft but firm. “I need to know. Tell me.”

Your eyes met mine, and I saw nothing but trust there. “Yes,” you said, your voice steady now, a quiet strength behind it. “I’m okay. I want this.”

I nodded, letting my thumb trace your cheek, a small gesture of reassurance before I leaned in again. My lips met yours, and this time the kiss was deeper, more consuming. It wasn’t hurried—it was deliberate, an exchange of everything unspoken between us.

As my hands resumed their exploration, I took my time, ensuring that every movement was met with care and intention. My lips followed, pressing soft kisses to the delicate skin of your shoulders, your collarbone, the space just beneath your jaw. I wanted you to feel cherished, adored, as though every inch of you deserved worship—and it did.

“You’re doing so well for me,” I murmured against your skin, my voice low and filled with pride. “Every little sound, every shiver—it’s all so perfect.”

Your body arched into me as my touch grew bolder, your breaths coming quicker. I paused for a moment, pulling back just enough to look at you again. “Are you still with me?” I asked, my gaze searching yours.

“Yes,” you said, your voice trembling slightly but steady. “I’m with you.”

“You’re mine now,” I whispered, my voice steady but filled with emotion. “Every part of you. And I’ll cherish it. Always.”

[positive-mystic]

Holiday Check-In: You’re Doing Better Than You Think

The holidays can feel like a lot. A lot of people, a lot of expectations, a lot of emotions—just a lot. If you’re feeling stretched thin, overwhelmed, or just plain tired, this post is your reminder to pause and take a deep breath. 🌬️

Here’s the truth: You don’t need to have the “perfect” holiday. It’s okay if:

You’re not feeling the festive spirit.

Your plans look different from others’.

You’re navigating family drama, grief, or loneliness.

You’re not checking every item off your holiday to-do list.

You’re just trying to get through the day.

A Little Mental Health Check-In:

Take a moment to ask yourself:

Have I eaten something nourishing today?

Am I hydrated?

Do I need a nap, a hug, or even a good cry?

What’s one small thing I can do to feel a little lighter right now?

Small steps count. Whether it’s making a cup of tea, journaling, stepping outside, or reaching out to a friend, taking care of you is the priority.

Holiday Affirmations (Repeat as Needed):

I am allowed to take up space.

It’s okay to feel how I feel.

Rest is productive.

I don’t need to please everyone to be worthy.

I deserve kindness—from others and myself.

If You’re Struggling:

This time of year can be tough, and that’s okay to admit. If you’re feeling alone, overwhelmed, or just not okay, please know there’s support out there. Text a friend, journal your feelings, or connect with resources like mental health hotlines or online communities. You don’t have to carry everything on your own.

A Gentle Reminder:

You’re allowed to celebrate, grieve, laugh, cry, or do all of the above. The holidays don’t need to look a certain way to be valid. Your feelings are valid. You are valid.

Take it one moment at a time, and be kind to yourself. The greatest gift you can give this season is self-compassion.

Sending you so much love.

[whiteobsidian]

im sick and tired of procrastination, and like everytime i assume or try to induce pure conciousness it never works i just wanna be powerful and get whatever i want :(

You should express your feelings when they become overwhelming, doubts/feelings do not manifest anon, so they don’t have any effect on your desire. However, I won’t have you pitying yourself because of what you see in your reality.

Stop wanting something, you are powerful, you are a master manifestor. Stop victimizing yourself and seeing the world against you. Your thoughts manifest and based on what you persist in, the 3D will follow and show you what you’re thinking. If you keep telling yourself you can never induce pure consciousness then you won’t.

Imagine what would happen if you started affirming in your favor? I always induce pure consciousness, I am conscious, manifesting is easy, I am magical and powerful etc.. Stop making manifestation hard on yourself, if you want it, then be consistent and stubborn. You are not trying, stop seeing this as a game. This is your life, your thoughts.

This is your reality, you control everything. If you see something you don’t like, affirm against it and move on. Be stubborn as hell.

much love anon, 

cyra xx

[shifter-therapist]

King kisses Eric’s hand, listening to all his perspectives of an ideal relationship. “Eric honey , I’m a therapist, I’m a very patient person, it’s why I’m in the field that I’m in. Lady fate definitely chose the right person for you” he chuckles once the other was done talking. “I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you don’t overwork yourself or shy yourself away from life. It’s not healthy to coup yourself up like that but best believe I will show up at the studio no matter what time it is and drag your ass to bed, that’s for sure.” He chuckles again before continuing the conversation. “I would definitely find ways to push you out of your comfort zone, especially in social situations where you have to network and interact with people, I understand it’s a bit overwhelming to do so however from now on you don’t have to worry much about being nervous around large parties of people. If there’s ever a circumstance where I am unable to attend these events with you, I’ll still make sure you’re well taken care of not only as my patient but as my boyfriend as well. You get a lot more benefits than my other clients do.” He winked before topping off his conversation. “We don’t have to do what I want all at once, I want you to be equal so that we are both happy together. I’m not gonna be upset if you simply aren’t comfortable with something. I want you to come to me as you are, be open and honest and never do things that don’t make you feel comfortable just to make me happy. I am a living, patient and understanding individual and nothing would ever make me mad or upset or disappointed in you for anything. We have an eternity to do all the things on my list but first Eric, I want you to continue getting the help you need mentally and elevating yourself as a powerful being so that you’re not feeling down all the time okay? I’m here for you baby, you’re stuck with me now.” He finishes, leaning towards The elder warlock for a genuine kiss on his lips before pulling back and smiling.

Therapy 101!!!

King was nervous to meet his new client, especially after reading the strangers case and records given to him by another therapist. He mainly catered to humans, so this was his first experience with a supernatural being in his career. “Hello, my name is Dr. Chang. Please sit and make yourself comfortable.” He says politely with a warm smile. “Would you like some tea or coffee before we begin?”

[miercolaes]

sartre said hell is other people, but i must admit my life would give him a run for his money. wednesday will return to hunt and haunt all of you this wednesday. that being said, i am starting fresh! i have 79 drafts and 10+ notifications i haven't yet checked. so, instead of jumping blogs, we're starting fresh right here, by deleting everything. i've also updated the gsite for wednesday, mostly the aesthetics but also i'm trying to write her backstory from my point of view, which includes many iterations of wednesday. i will also post a bunch of memes and probably a starter call as well!

[mossy-aro]

ultimately i think my insistence on aro positivity honestly is as much a political stance as a personal one.

when i say aro positivity is crucial and that i dislike doomer-ist posts that express sentiments like 'I hate being aro so much I wish I was dead instead’ it's not because I don’t think there can and should be a space for negativity and acknowledging self-hate, or the many ways being aromantic can really suck sometimes. i find that to be very important!

that being said. there is smth here about how self-hate posts are sometimes just arophobia that we inflict on ourselves. and when we put that out into the ether it (intentionally or not) can become arophobia that we inflict on other members of the community. i think there absolutely needs to be a place for negativity and the expression of anger and frustration and self loathing even - these are all good things to talk about because these are things that we experience. that being said, it can also be genuinely upsetting and triggering to people to have what is essentially arophobia shown to them and then have that be validated by other aspec people. your personal thoughts can affect your wider community on a level you may not anticipate. and i understand it i truly do! it took me so long to be able to recover from accepting being aroace - it threw my entire world off kilter and made me question everything about my place in the world.

but my insistence on aro joy and positivity is because ultimately i do believe that building is at the core essence of it all. that ultimately discussions and the purpose of community should be about construction, not destruction. and this is both a personal and a political stance. talking about how much you hate yourself and cultivating online discussions/spaces where negativity about aspec identity is the main and only theme is destructive - if that’s where we let the conversation end. these thoughts can and should be used as a vehicle to look for a path forward!

joy and positivity create a space where the focus can become on forging a path forward, on construction, on community building instead of tearing ourselves and others down with negative thoughts. it’s not productive or healthy when it stops at a place of negativity - it becomes actively destructive to the essence of community.

and i do think that this is especially poignant considering the fact that being any kind of queer, but especially aromantic (and/or asexual) means forging a path for yourself and making your own happiness where there is no obvious way forward. our communities exist mostly online (right now, anyway), there is little recognition of our existence in the real world, the effects of amatonormativity are both pervasive and actively dehumanising, and there are legal, economic and social structures in place actively making our lives more difficult. yes that all sucks! it’s good to acknowledge that. we need to in order to change it. but more importantly, that’s not the end. we are still here and our happiness, our future is for us to determine. even if we can’t change the laws or society, loving yourself and understanding aromanticism as a political identity (as well as personal), as a radical worldview, and as a protest against amatonormativity is essential for both community and personal well being. the personal is political.

tldr. i guess my point is that as a community, we should focus on building, improving, and nurturing ourselves and each other (construction) as opposed to destruction. we should recognise aromanticism and asexuality as political identities as well as personal ones and rely on community and self-love in the absence of anything else as a form of protest and political power. destruction (the recognition of everything that is wrong) is essential as a starting point - but where do we go from there? we rebuild.

[gingermintpepper]

One of my biggest pet peeves is the assumption that something has to be sad for it to be tragic.

I've always been a big believer of the 'Apollo has an awful love life'/'Apollo is plain unlucky with love' line of thinking but it does bother me that the general reasoning for that statement is given to the concept of 'Apollo is somehow undesireable and thus rejected' (Cassandra/Daphne/Marpessa) or 'his lovers die young and thus their love is unfulfilled' (Cyparissus/Hyacinthus/Coronis). I personally think that's a very unfortunate way of looking at things - not only because it neglects the many perfectly cordial entanglements and affairs Apollo has had, both mortal and divine - but because it presents a very shallow interpretation of the concepts of love and loss and how loss affects people.

Apollo can still grieve lovers that have a long, healthy life. The inherent tragedy of an immortal who knows his lovers and children will die and cannot stop it does not stop being tragic simply because those lovers and children live long, fulfilled lives. The inherent tragedy of loss does not stop being tragic simply because someone knows better than to mourn something that was always going to end.

What is tragic is not that Apollo loves and loses but that loss itself follows him. Apollo does not love with the distance of an immortal, he does not have affairs and then leaves never to listen to their prayers again. He does not have offspring and then abandon them to their trials only to appear when it is time to lead them to their destinies. He raises his young, he protects the mothers of his children, he blesses the households that have his favour and multiplies their flocks that they may never go hungry. He educates his sons, he adorns his daughters and even in wrath he is quick to come to his senses and regret the punishments he doles out.

Apollo loves. And like mortals, there will always be some part of him that wishes to protect the objects of his affections. Apollo, however, is also an emissary of Fate. He knows that the fate of all mortal things is death. He knows that to love a mortal is to accept that eventually he will have to bury them. There is no illusion of forever, there is no fantasy where he fights against the nature of living things and shields his beloveds from death. Apollo loves and because of that love, he also accepts.

And that, while beautiful, is also tragic.

[eyestrain-addict]

I might be misremembering but it's crazy that real lestat (that we know of) never refers to claudia as "ours", only ever refers to her as Louis' daughter. But dreamstat (AKA louis' imagined version of lestat) refers to her as 'our daughter'. This version of Lestat is both a taunting presence and also a comforting one and in this moment it's clear he's supposed to be comforting- meaning I think that Louis longed to hear Lestat take paternal ownership of Claudia the same way Lestat longed to hear Louis say I love you. Like a "this is it. We're a family. You're my husband and the father of our daughter"

A lot of notable things happened in this episode obviously but this is the one thing I can comprehend at this very moment