#if you don’t have a disorder you’ll figure it out

[fierceawakening]

So there is an “x amount of calories is too little no matter who you are” post on my dash and all I can say is… if you do decide to lose weight, find out for yourself?

If you have an ED then obviously you can’t do this, but if you don’t… experiment. Are there reduced portions that maybe don’t feel amazing but don’t bother you a lot? Try that. See if it’s tolerable for you. Are there reduced portions that leave you feeling awful and food obsessed? Too far.

What I found and what I suspect a lot of people can find if they don’t have an ED is that I was eating as much as larger humans did because I assumed it was normal, but when I stopped going “what’s on my plate is a serving, because the waiter knows best” discovered I generally want less.

This fluctuates for me during my period, at which point I crave more food, and want the red meat I’ve been trying to eat less of. So I eat it. Then in a week when I feel less cravings, I go back down again.

Is it perfect? No.

Am I healthier than I was when MUST EAT 2000 NO MATTER WHAT?

Personally? I think yes.

[madamechrissy]

Silent Serenades

♔ An arranged Marriage with Duke Gojo ♔

♔ Pairings: Satoru Gojo x you

♔ Warnings: Mentions of infidelity, mentions of disordered eating of the reader and past emotional abuse, Satoru doesn't really help how he should but his dumbass tries, heavy angst, jealousy, smacking, Duke Gojo is becoming pathetic, lots of begging, heartfelt chap, cunnilingus, fingering, toxic attraction, Gojo is toxic. OOC. ANGST. SO MUCH TENSION.

♔ Word count this chap: 9.7k

♔ Summary: you are the diamond of the season, he is the charming Duke, it’s the marriage of the decade. Prominent families joining, and it so happens that Duke Gojo is gorgeous. But, he doesn't want you, and now you're trapped in a loveless arranged marriage. Royal AU, dark bridgerton vibes, Cruel Gojo x reader. OOC Set in 1800s England. Slow burn, enemies to lovers. Gojo is awful at first, HEAVY angst Basically- Gojo is a royal dick and doesn't wanna marry you

(taglist open/Comments/ reblogs always appreciated 🥰

Part Five - Masterlist - Playlist

Part Six- Dinner is just a Masquerade

Satoru sits right across from you, glaring as you sit there in your chair, sipping on black coffee from a delicate china, and not touching your plate. You do eat of course, but you refuse to do so in front of him, even after he’d said it was false, you were too nervous. You’d always been a peckish little eater, and your parents praised that, so many people praised your impeccable manners at the table.

Your arms rest just so on the edge of the table, your pinky sits up so high as you take a sip, you know just how many times to chew to seem as if you’re enjoying a dish. You know all the etiquette, and you know how to keep from gaining weight, or to quickly slim if you catch the slightest ounce, you know how to keep healthy enough without looking overly indulgent.

For once, you’d just enjoyed a damn dish, you figured you did not need to impress Duke Gojo, after all he said he’d never want you. But the comment had triggered something you don’t quite like. Aside from Nanami stuffing your mouth full of delicious cookies, you’ve not eaten too much, it’s almost like a control you feel you need, but you must admit, you’re starving right now.

You have fluffy scones, tea and biscuits, and you’re just sipping this coffee, hoping it eases your throat. Duke Gojo slams his hands on the table then, picking up a scone and striding to you, yanks you by your hair. You gasp at the sensation, smacking at his big, stupid hands as he bends low over you.

“Get your damn hands off me.” You bite out, grabbing at his strong wrists and pulling at them, digging your long nails in his skin.

“You’ll fucking eat something, goddamn brat. Open your mouth.” He bends low and you grit your teeth, brows low as you scowl right back at his pretty face, as he’s trying to shove a scone in your mouth.

“Excuse me- ah!” He’s shoved it now, shoving your mouth closed by your jaw, and you’re forced to chew the sweet thing. He leans close to you, thumb brushing against your lower lip, staring at you with swirling blue eyes, so intense you shut your own, chewing it slowly.

You swallow it down, only for him to open your mouth more gently, and it does something to your tummy you hate, this feeling, it’s not butterflies like Nanami, no it’s brutal moths flying violently, and you detest it. You detest that you take another bite of scone for him, finishing it, licking your lower lip and sucking in a breath, your eyes locked on him.

“I should have never said that.” He sits on the table, most casual for him as he’s typically as formal as can be, his thighs spread far too wide and making you remember seeing him. You blush furiously, sipping your coffee then carefully.

“I have forgiven you, Duke. I am not much of an eater anyway.”

“It’s what I said, and I know it’s why you’re wasting away.” He grabs your wrist, wrapping his hand around it gently, an odd sensation and it feels so intense from what you’re used to.

“I’m still a healthy size-”

“For now. Please fucking eat. I know I’m horrible, I know you hate me, I know you owe me no kindness…” You hear his usually cruel voice break, and you struggle to keep your breaths steady, as he caresses your jaw in a way he shouldn’t. “Just don’t let me be the cause of this.”

“Why do you care? You’re so bloody confusing.” You pop another one in your mouth though, and watch his exhale in relief, running a hand through his silky white hair, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I wanted you to hate me, not hurt yourself.” You blink, looking up again.

“Well, you succeeded in me hating you.” You finish chewing and dab your mouth with the handkerchief, an action Satoru’s insane eyes follow.

“I know I did. I will not make a comment again about this however, you have my word. I am… I am sorry.” You feel the sincerity, and though you still hate him, you decide to finally let this go. If this was as good as anything would get with the infuriating, cold Duke.

“Well, thank you, Duke Gojo.” You sip more coffee, as he hops off the table, and your heart thuds in your chest, throat feeling tight again.

“I actually like women with more meat on their bones. You see my mistresses, it was just… I honestly didn’t think you’d believe me.” His voice is strained as he sits back down next to you, nibbling on his own food now slowly, and you sigh, leaning back a bit in your seat, not your typical straight stature.

“I am confident in ways but I have always watched how I look. Making sure to look perfect. It’s what I am praised for, it’s my worth, how well I am wedded. To marry a Duke made my family proud of me, and that is all my worth is, appearance, posture, how I act, how I laugh… how I eat. All of it. A woman has nothing else truly.”

Duke Gojo sips his sweet tea with milk, contemplating you carefully. What were you doing, opening up to this man? Stupid.

“I assumed you were highly confident, that you would know you’re nothing close to a ‘pig’ in how you eat.”

Your hands run along the edge of your little ceramic cup, touching the handle and studying him, tilting your head. “So why say it, then? To make me hate you?”

“Yes.”

Huh.

“May I know why?”

“No.”

There it is, the confusion, the haughty look on his face you want to punch right off of him. He’s clearly done with whatever tiny vulnerability he’s shown, and likely done affording you any kindness. You sigh, rolling your eyes and shaking your head. “And I still disgust you?”

He clears his throat, pulling at his collar, stiffening in his seat. “Don’t I disgust you, Duchess?”

You bite your lower lip, nodding. “You have lay with four women since I’ve known you, covered in their rouge, their perfume, their lip stains. Indeed, I do not find that attractive. But as for your looks, of course you are handsome.” His eyes widen, full lips parting for a moment.

“I’m handsome to you?”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re extremely handsome outwardly, on the inside is quite another story, Duke. But you already know that.”

He sips his tea once more, just a hint of color on his cheeks. “Well you have not said so.”

“You want me to? You hate me.”

He looks away. “Yes, I do.”

You sigh then. “This conversation grows tiresome-”

“You’re attractive outwardly as well, very, very attractive. You disgust me because… of other reasons than your beauty.” His soft words are barely a whisper, especially at the end.

Now your cheeks flush, but you just sigh. “Oh, so you were not serious when you said-”

“No, I should not have said that either. Now you disgust me because you spread your legs wide for that man.” His fists clench, you stand then, shaking your head.

“What care you? Your cock in another woman every night.” Gojo stands now, stepping right in front of you.

“And was his cock in you, like a whore?” You smack him then, right across his face, and he scowls now, grabbing your wrist, bending low over you. “You’re the most insolent brat I’ve met.”

“And you’re the most stupid, cruel man I’ve ever met. I will not answer your stupid question. I ask not what you do.”

“Well you’re the innocent one here, or you were.”

“What do you care? My innocence isn’t yours to take. I’d never give it to you.” You whisper, and he grabs your waist then, pulling you flush against him, eyes darting to your lips.

“You act as if you do not want me, when I touch you, your body tells another story.” His voice is dangerously soft as he runs his fingers down your skin, where it’s bare on your shoulders, you shiver, your nipples tightening involuntarily. You can’t stand your stupid body.

“And you beg to touch me, don’t you Gojo?” His eyes narrow, long white lashes over his gaze now at your soft words. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Just because you taste good doesn’t mean I… you know what? Fuck you, Duchess.”

“Fuck you, Duke. Are the formalities in order for our daily battle? Do you enjoy them so, Duke?” Your free hand slides down his abdomen, watching him suck in a breath, feeling his muscles tense. “Enjoy touching me? Enjoy tasting me? Do you hate that I let someone else?”

You watch his jaw clench, watch him gulp, as his grip on you tightens just so. “It’s disgusting that you do. You’re so desperate, so pathetic, to jump in someone’s arms so quickly. You know you are.” His voice is hoarse, however, strained, his chest heaving with labored breaths.

You laugh softly, giving him a mean smile. “So what does that make you, the man who jumps in any woman’s arms? So fucking desperate anyone will do?”

Satoru grabs your face then, squishing your cheeks as he leans even lower, and you hate your body’s reaction again, you hate everything about him. “What do you care who I lay with then, hmm? Jealous of them?”

“Ha, no… I wouldn’t touch you, lord knows where you’ve been? You wish.”

He snorts. “I do not wish.”

You raise a brow. “Mmm, indeed.”

“Eat one more, wife, since you wish to please your husband, don’t you? The perfect little fucking wife.” You scowl again, popping one more, noticing the pleased smile.

“Only because I am hungry.” You speak after you chew, and he exhales, letting your wrist go, caressing your cheek softly, you hate it, but find that your eyes are fluttering shut.

“Good. Prepare today, we have that dinner with our parents.”

“I’ll be the picture of fake wedded bliss.” You smile sweetly, and he shakes his head, why won’t he let your damn waist go!?

“You sure do know how to pretend. We don’t want them knowing the truth, that we hate each other, hmm?”

“Indeed, I can absolutely pretend. Watch.” You take his hand, batting your long lashes and smiling sweetly, leaning up and pecking a kiss on his cheek, watching the blush decorate the shameless man’s face. “Oh Mama, Papa, I’m ever so happy as Duke Gojo’s wife.”

“Bitch.” He huffs, and you pull back and curtsey.

“I know, perfect performance, hmm?”

“No, you’d be calling me Satoru by now. If I wanted to, I’d have you screaming out ‘Satoru’.” His husky whisper is against your lips as he brushes the backs of his knuckles down your collarbone. You fall into that infinite pool that are Gojo’s eyes, for just a moment, before righting yourself.

“I only scream ‘Satoru’ when he pees on the floor.” You coo, yanking back from him just a step, and earning his furious scowl.

“You’re such a bitch. Imagine if I were the type of husband to take what’s mine, to keep you locked up like some pretty bird in a cage. Ever been happy I don’t?”

“I’m very happy you don’t fuck me. It will be so fun to fuck him-”

Gojo grabs you by the throat then, squeezing just so, and you just laugh as he bends down low. “You’re such a stupid whore.”

“I’m learning from the best.” You whisper out, nails digging into his wrist, but something about how he squeezes, how his other hand slides up your rib cage, makes you…

Wet.

Something’s so wrong with you!?

He releases you, leaning down again, and you hold him at a distance, his blue stormy eyes dilated now. “I should occupy your mouth with other things.”

“I wouldn’t suck you, who knows where that cock has been-”

“You know what that is!?” He demands, tips of his ears red.

You clear your throat, looking down and stepping back, as Satoru is furious. “It’s none of your-”

“You sucked a man off like some-”

“Like how I saw a girl suck you. Mmhmm.” You say then, defiant, raising your eyes back to his, looking at him under your lashes. Gojo grabs you again, and you smack him again, in this stupid fucking dance you both do.

“Did you really?”

“You mad it wasn’t you?” He opens his mouth, those pink lush lips wide, as if he’s at a loss for words. “Maybe I’ll ask your women for tips, you know, for next time.”

He laughs harshly, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair, exasperated clearly. “Ask my mistresses for tips on sucking cock?”

“Mmm, indeed. I’m not sure if I did the best as my first time. But you know, he enjoyed it clearly, he… well you know.” 

“You’re such an evil little bitch.” You just smile as he chokes you once more, you feel him holding back, you know he wants to crush your windpipe, but the soft pressure is thrilling. “So you’re just swallowing cum then?”

“Why not? Don’t they swallow, Gojo?” He says nothing, as he’s panting, as you’re whispering through the squeeze of your throat.

“You wouldn’t be able to talk if I fucked your mouth, that’s the difference, wouldn’t be able to swallow anything for days without remembering my cock fucking your little throat.” His words shoot straight to your cunt, and it’s like he knows, as he grips your skirts tightly into a fist.

“I’d never suck you.” You say then, earning a tighter squeeze before he releases you, furious now. “You won’t be any of my firsts, I don’t even count our kiss.” You cough then, rubbing your throat, and Gojo’s fury just grows, as does his despair, as his eyes look so… sad then.

You don’t care.

Gojo deserves this and worse.

You don’t care when he storms away without a fucking word, and you don’t care when he says nothing to you even in that carriage ride to your parents home, where Gojo’s Mama and step dad would be. You don’t care how his thighs are spread, one pressed against yours, how you feel the heat of him against your skin through those layers of satin.

What do you care if he’s upset?

The carriage ride to your parents' home is tense, the silence thick with tension, as Satoru Gojo sulks like a damn child. He keeps peeking at you, before glaring and staring back out the carriage window, fuming. You sit rigidly, your heart racing from the altercation in the dining room, you can still feel his hand on your throat, and you wish you hated it more.

The soft rocking of the carriage and the rhythmic clop of the horses' hooves against the cobblestone streets are the only sounds that fill the space in the tense quarters. You hate that his scent fill the air between you, a mix of sandalwood and something sweet, fuck does this stupid man need to smell so good!?

You focus on the passing scenery outside the window, you should take this as a good thing, Satoru Gojo finally shutting the fuck up. Right? How often have you gotten him to-

“Bet you were wet.”

What!?

You look to him incredulously, mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“When I choked that pretty throat of yours.” His ankle is crossed over his knee, he’s resting his chin on his hand, smirking now.

“I was certainly not, damned brute!”

“No, not a bit? You looked like you liked it. Wonder how freaky your baker really gets, could he handle you?”

“Stupid fucking man.” You shove at his arm now, maybe you should have enjoyed that silence. “You presume too much, your Grace.”

“Felt you twice, soaked.” His voice drips with sex, as drippy as he had your little pussy, but you'll not say it out loud. Fuck Duke Gojo.

“Wasn’t you who did it.”

“Lying little bitch.”

“Conceited dick!”

As the carriage draws to a halt in front of your parents' grand estate, you both are glaring at each other, and he’s too close, he’s too close. You want to punch him if not for being at your parents’, and them seeing your ‘husband’ with a giant bruise on his face. Your fingers itch badly to, but soon one of the attendants was opening the carriage door, and Satoru steps out.

He holds his hand out then, and you ignore it, choosing to step down instead, holding your skirts up, nearly tripping as your legs aren’t quite long enough with your flouncy skirts. Then Satoru’s hand catches you by your bare upper arm, and it sends a jolt through your body, a reminder of his earlier touch, and you immediately pull away, smoothing your skirts as if to wipe away the sensation.

“Wanted to land on your face, brat?” He demands through gritted teeth, earning your glare up at him.

“Face planting is preferable to your touch.” He scoffs, walking ahead of you, and you struggle to compose yourself, hating everything about this man.

Perfect.

Composed.

You can do this. You can’t let Satoru see his stupid effects on you anymore than he already has.

Once seated at the long, elegantly set dinner table, the weight of your parents' expectations press down on you. Satoru sits next to you, and instead of being perfect and composed, he seemed on the very edge, fury just radiating. You wonder at him, why was he mad you did the same thing he did? He’s confusing, he’s stupid, he’s bloody infuriating.

You wish you were instead baking with Mr. Nanami, not forcing smiles in this masquerade of an affair next to London’s biggest asshole. Let him ruin the sham of marriage you think, perhaps it will end it all sooner… Though you know in your heart your parents will not let this go, they would simply force you to stay, as would Gojo’s mother.

Gojo’s stepfather looks bored, he and Gojo do not even acknowledge each other, which you find somewhat curious as you pick at your food, the rich aromas of roast beef and steamed vegetables doing little to quell the nervousness in your stomach. You make yourself eat some, noticing Gojo’s relief next to you.

Why does he suddenly care?

The room is lit by several candles, along with a beautiful chandelier overhead, casting flickering shadows across the polished silverware and crystal glasses. Your parents manor was one of the most grand aside from royalty, which of course you were now, but the beauty is hard to rival. If your parents liked one thing, it was opulence, it was being the top of society.

It doesn’t feel much like a home truly. You did not have a bad childhood, no indeed you are very lucky, your parents let you ride horses, play outside, cook in the kitchens. The only pressures you faced were preparing to be a good wife, to be the most perfect, and even though you’ve ‘accomplished’ it, the weight of their gazes and their expectations drowns you still.

The sound of forks and knives clinking against porcelain plates fills the air, punctuated by the occasional forced laughter, along with perfunctory conversation, until they get to what they really wanted to talk about. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as your mother looks at you both.

“So, are we trying for an heir?” You sputter, and Gojo smirks then, looking down at you and raising a brow.

“We have been actively trying, haven’t we, my love.” You grit your teeth at his stupid words, sure he’s playing a game but you hate them.

“Indeed, we have been trying most… fervently, sweet Satoru.” He gulps audibly on the sweet wine he’s drinking, raising brows at the use of his name.

“I’m most pleased to hear this. We had our worries.” Your mother says, and Gojo’s mom smiles.

“I also had my worries. But I can see the sparks between you both.” You stifle a rude laugh, but Gojo snorts, earning a subtle stomp on his foot, and a glare from him, to which you just smile brightly, batting your lashes at him.

“Indeed, I see them as well. Young and in love.” Your dad says, winking at you both, and you literally can barely stop yourself from snorting, instead shoving food into your mouth, and you notice your parents shock, brows raised.

“Eat like that so often and you won’t keep that perfect little waist, darling.” Your mom’s words make your fork clatter then, and you clear your suddenly tight throat, feeling your eyes prick with tears.

“She barely eats, like a damned bird, she has an appetite from us riding horses earlier is all.” Satoru says then, and you look at him in shock, as he’s… is Satoru�� defending you?

“Of course, she also must eat well to have a baby you know.” Satoru’s mom says softly, and your mother smiles a bit, nodding, as her crushing words hit an already fragile part of you.

“Indeed, but your husband married you a certain way, you know.” She quips then, and your chest heaves with labored breaths, as you sip on your drink, and you feel Satoru’s hand then, under the cover of the heavy damask tablecloth, on your thigh, not sexual either it’s…

Supportive?

“I assure you she could stand to eat more, she’s rather petite. I enjoy a woman who eats.” He says, and his touch is light, almost imperceptible, but it sends a shiver up your spine, as he speaks so bravely for you, on something he himself had said. He now looks to you, and you see it, pain in his eyes that's reflected from yours.

Understanding.

“You’re not the same size, are you, when you married?” Satoru’s mom quips to your mom, and she gasps, you and Satoru hold in your chuckles just barely.

“Well, I… I’m older and had a babe! We can’t all stay your size, Lady Gojo.”

“Leave her alone, she’s just hungry.” Your dad says, and you sigh a bit as your mother finally relents. You can’t eat another bite, as she picks you apart.

“You look pale. That’s not well. You should have more color.” She says now, and you can’t stand another moment, wanting to throw back your wine.

“She’s been in the bed chambers so much, Mama.” Satoru quips, and soon everyone laughs at his remark, and once again, he squeezes your thigh, giving you a small smile.

“Why are you being nice?” You whisper, leaning to his ear, as a loving couple would do, and you inhale his scent, you feel the heat of his palm over your skirts.

“Because your mom’s a bitch.” You giggle a bit, looking up and seeing a different side of him, his smirk… charming and not cruel. You try to remind yourself he’s horrible, and you will remember that later, but for a brief moment you’re content to enjoy him.

“They’ll definitely be making babies.” Satoru’s mom says, and she looks to Satoru curiously then. “Have you given up your rakish ways, Satoru?”

“What rakish ways, you wound me, Mother.” She rolls her pretty blue eyes, a shade darker than Duke Gojo’s, and you tentatively put a hand on his, making him squeeze your thigh, you watch him suck in a breath.

“He’s a reformed rake at present, aren’t you, Satoru?” The room is quiet, and he looks at you in surprise, nodding, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and his warm lips feel far, far too sweet on your skin.

“Indeed, reformed for you my love.” He murmurs, and you can’t take how charming he looks, acts, even when you know how he really is.

You hate that you wished for one moment this was real, that the man you’d had dreams of as a young girl, the Duke - he’d been so charming and funny you noticed from afar- was actually kind. That he wouldn’t be fucking another woman right next to you, right in front of you. That he would truly mean what he says, and not constantly confuse you.

Was there kindness in him, in Satoru Gojo, or just this moment, where you both have some strange agreement? Why won’t you lift your hand off of his, why are you brushing a thumb along his knuckles, and why won’t he release your leg? His hand slides higher, his thumb ghosting along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and you bite back a gasp.

The conversation carries on, until Lady Gojo brings up Satoru’s father, and his grip gets brutal, his breathing labored. You clutch onto his hand, looking at him with concern stark in your gaze then. That vein bulges out of his jaw, and now he’s downing a whole glass of wine, holding the empty crystal for a servant to fill, beginning to chug that one down.

“I won’t speak of him, you know that Mother.” She sighs then, shaking her head, cutting a piece of roast beef and chewing it delicately.

“I do not know what ever happened.”

“You need not know. Do not bring him up, he’s dead, he’s gone.” At Satoru’s harsh and cruel words of his own father your mind races, what could he have done to earn such ire?

“Let’s speak of other things.” You chime in then, and he exhales, turning his hand up to entwine with yours, it’s as if you both were relying on each other to get through this sham of a dinner. Something about this was nicer than you cared to admit. “What of the opera this weekend? Are any of you going?”

“Indeed, we have a box seat. Are you two going?” Your father asks, as Lady Gojo is quiet, contemplative, and your mom is still rather huffy about the weight comments.

“We’re going, of course. You know I love the opera.” You say brightly, and soon the topics shift, and they’re on to speak of the races, of gossip, of different businesses and even political matters. The heat is off you and Satoru, so you let go of a hand you’ve held far too long.

Satoru’s hand doesn’t leave your body, it wraps around your back, rubbing little circles against it that feel so good. You laced incredibly tight due to your Mama and her perpetual comments, and you’re struggling just a bit to breathe, but he’s so comforting, his presence. It shouldn’t be.

It shouldn’t be.

It can’t be.

You hate him.

How dare he comfort you, defend you, how could you do the same, how could you act this way when hours ago he’d choked you, and you’d slapped him, and you’d both been so nasty? What was this, were you thinking more into it, was he just keeping up appearances?

Satoru leans close to you then, holding a piece of dessert on a silver fork, and you have flashbacks, of him and Catherine, so vivid you feel sick, you pull back then, wondering how you’d let it get so far, this facade. Just hours ago you had slapped him and he had choked you, and even you had been cruel, something you frequently were lately.

“I need some air, I’m afraid. Excuse me for just a moment.” You say softly, and Satoru’s eyes narrow a bit, his lips pursing just so.

You rush out into the gardens now, just like you had that night, taking several shaky breaths, trying to compose yourself, remind yourself of the cruel reality that Satoru is not kind, he is not interested. The truth that you have someone who cares, and every moment you enjoy with Satoru feels like some betrayal to him, in such an odd way.

You would be at best a plaything, and at worst, something for Satoru to mock, to have something over you. It was not as if the man for whatever reason feels some attraction that anything has changed. You are a damn fool, you realize it, as you walk past the beautiful marble statues of couples in love, naked aside from rippled sheets gracing their bodies.

You touch a particular one then, seeing the beauty of it, but also the pain, a statue with two women and one man. One is pulling at the man’s shoulders, while the other is in his arms, and you see the pain in the woman’s ivory face, the set of her brows, her hollow eyes, as the other woman smiles so coyly. There is the utmost detail as the man’s hand presses into her flesh.

You are that other woman, or you become that woman when you have just one feeling, just one care, just one moment. He is not sincere, he is not kind, just because he gave you one moment of reprieve, just because he apologized for one wrong doing amongst the countless… he is not worthy of forgiveness… he is not…

“It is rather beautiful, isn’t it?” You jerk and turn when you see him behind you in the dark night, where thousands of glittery stars watch you and judge you, will they laugh at how stupid you’ve become?

“It is my favorite piece in these gardens.” You say softly, clearing your throat and tilting your head back to look up at him, at his soft lips that tempt you with every breath, at his long white lashes casting shadows down his cheeks. You look down then, nervously gripping your sapphire gown. “I’ll be back momentarily, your Grace.”

“Your mother, she upset you.” His words surprise you, and you take a nervous breath, nodding. “I did not know… I see now, how jealous she is of you.”

“Jealous of me?”

“Mmm, young and beautiful, and she wishes she still was, not that she’s not a pretty lady, but certainly not…” He trails off then, tugging at his cravat, nervous by your shocked expression. “Not you.”

Your heart falters, tears pricking your eyes, and as they fall, Satoru brushes one away with a thumb, ripping apart a fragile psyche. “Why are you being kind? What games do you mean to play?”

He sighs, looking down now as well, broad shoulders slumping a bit. “I just realize that I triggered something already there, and I feel fucking horrible.”

“Then why do it? Why do any of it? What did I do to deserve-”

“I can’t tell you.” His voice is broken, his words so confusing you can’t stand it. “But we have something in common. Or, we did.”

“What, pray tell, is that?” You ask, raising a brow.

His jaw sets. ‘Shit parents who clearly hate us. Though, my shitty parent is since deceased. And yours lives and eats across from you. Was she always like this?”

You blink rapidly, nodding and brushing tendrils that have fallen from your half up do out of your face. “She’s always needed me perfect, picked me to fucking pieces, it’s like I couldn’t live up to it.”

He laughs, dark and without humor then. “I understand that feeling, to need to be perfect. I suppose I thought you were though.”

“I just come across that way. There’s so much wrong with me…”

“Like what?”

“A lot. As you know.”

“Hmm.” He sighs then, as you both stand together in the night, and you hate how much you ache to touch his chest, to feel his arms around you. And why!? Why?

“Well thank you for the kindness tonight, even if it was an act, it was a rather beautiful one.” You turn then, head dropping and shoulders stopping just a bit, as the gentle breeze of the night blows against your skin, making you shiver. Satoru’s big hands grip your shoulders then, and you stiffen, fighting how good it feels, fighting that feeling when he’s pressed against you.

Satoru leans down, breath tickling your ear. “It was not an act to defend you. That was not an act when you helped me either, changing that subject, was it?”

You shake your head then, breathing so heavy, wishing it would calm, as he’s so fucking close, you can feel him everywhere in the night, as if it’s all him. “You helped me, so of course I helped.”

“After all I’ve done, you owe me no kindness. No forgiveness. None.” His words are terse, as his grip tightens, and you bite your lower lip so brutally you tear the skin of it, tasting just a bit of blood. You fight every urge in your body.

“You’re not owed any. That is true. And we will go back to normal, as soon as we are at Gojo Manor-”

“Home. At home.”

“Your home.” You look up and glare, as he scowls. “You’ll have a mistress waiting in your bed, and you’ll cease to need to excite yourself with this stupid game, once a woman you desire is there.”

“You think…” His hands slip down to your waist, pressing you against him, and your head falls back against his chest before you can stop it, letting out a little whine that you despise. “I don’t desire you? Are you so stupid?”

“Fuck you, Gojo. Fuck you confusing me, fuck everything about you, including making me think… making me…”

“Think what, Princess?” His husky tone and that word make you so on edge you can’t stand it, as a big hand presses on your tummy over your corset.

“Don’t call me that, I’m a Duchess, and that’s temporary.”

“You’re a whole fucking Princess, everything about you. This body, this face, that annoyingly perfect posture, the way the entire room holds its breath-”

“Don’t do this. Don’t. You’re a liar.” You turn then, only for him to bend at the waist, cupping your face, shaking his head, the moonlight like a halo behind his head, behind his body, like he’s an angel, when he’s not. “Devil. You’re a devil.”

“And you’re a fucking angel.” You shake your head again, shoving at his chest, but his lips descend, and they feel so good they pulse through you, until you find yourself tip toeing, and he moans in your mouth. “Slutty angel.”

“Whore devil.” You whisper back, only for him to grip you roughly, hands obscene, grabbing your ass over your gown, picking you up with ease and pressing you against that statue, it digs in so hard but you come alive, as he’s kissing down your throat, your chest, biting and moaning so softly.

“Why must you do this to me? Haunt me so. I should hate you.” He says then, confusing the ever living shit out of you. “I should not want you.”

“Why not? Why do you… no… just, let me go. Don’t want this, don’t want you, I don’t!” You smack at his chest, and he grabs your wrists, shoving them behind your back, bringing your hips to him, and he’s hard and thick over your layers. You cry out, head falling back, and he devours you, bit by bit.

“I hate it. I hate you.” He kisses and kisses, as every confession of hate confuses you, as does your throbbing pussy. “I can’t stop it, I can’t stop these thoughts… of tasting you, of kissing you, bit by bit, of making you cum so much you’ll forget that man, he’ll be nothing.”

“Mnh, stop it. You can’t. You won’t. I won’t.” He’s sliding his hand up your bodice, gripping your breasts, shaking his head. “I can’t fall for this, for you, just leave me be!” He frowns then, brows knitting together, as he caresses your cheek far too softly.

His eyes devour you, full of… it’s fucking desire, isn’t it? A person can’t fake that look, but you must ignore it! You must… “Please… I need-”

You both fall apart as you hear your family now, and you just barely manage to escape with your mind intact. Partially.

You can’t fall for this, what even is this!?

It’s a silent carriage ride back, as you both stare out those dark carriage windows, pitch black nearly aside from soft lights hanging along, marking your path, and you can’t get his touch out of your mind, his kiss off your lips. You touch them then, sighing, and his eyes lock on you.

“What?” You say then, putting your fingers down, and he opens his mouth, then shuts it, opening it again. “Say it, Duke.”

“I was not pretending. I meant it.” You laugh then, shaking your head and facing him, as he faces you in the night, the carriage rocking roughly, shoving you into his damn arms, making him suck in a breath, as you push back.

“You’re such a liar, instead of just being cruel outwardly, you want to make me think you actually…”

“Actually what?”

“Want me! When you don’t!”

“I do! I do, fuck I do. Can you not fucking see!?” He demands then, and you shake your head quickly, breaths in quick pants, as his stupid fucking hands run down your shoulders. “I want you so badly I came and begged to taste you. Twice. What do you think that means?”

“That you’re stupid, confusing, a dick! Angry I don’t fall to my fucking knees for you. Conceited, narcissistic and ruthless! Cold and beautiful and hard, like some fucking diamond. You’re the diamond, you!” You shove at him, and he lets you, he lets you smack at him. “I hate you! I hate my life because of you!”

When you stop for just a moment it’s because you hear his labored breaths, and you look up to see tears in the night. You gulp, shaking your head, unbelieving them, gripping his suit so tight it hurts in your hands. He rests his forehead on yours, and you taste the sweet brandy on his breath, and fuck you hate it, when his head tilts, and when his lips brush yours like a ghost.

“You make me cry, you make me hate myself more, you make me… make me want to… you’ve pushed me so hard I-”

“I’m so fucking sorry. I am. I swear to god.”

“Then explain it!”

He chokes on his own cry, you feel your tears mingling together. “I can’t explain it to you, I can’t, but it was never your fault.”

“So I just accept that!? Fuck that. That’s bullshit.” You shove back, swiping your eyes and backing up, your back slamming against the rocking wooden carriage seat, thighs shaking. “It’s because I’m happy without you, you can’t stand it.”

“No, I can’t stand it, not when it’s me who should be making you cum.” You nearly growl in anger, glaring at him and smacking him, only for him to let you, to grip your wrist and kiss your palm. “Don’t fucking do that! I won’t stop seeing him. He is who deserves me, you do not!”

“I know I do not deserve you. I know.” He pins your wrists against the sides of you, and he’s now between your thighs, on his knees, and you’re panicking. “I know you’re too good for me. I know it, goddammit you shouldn’t even let me touch you, but you want it too, don’t you.”

“N-no! Never!” He exhales, slipping up your skirts, and you let him, fuck you spread your thighs for him. “What on Earth are you doing!?”

“I’m going to lick you. And you’re going to cum so hard you’ll forget anything, anything in that pretty head but me.” He whispers, you’re soaked clean through those pantalets he’s ripped off you then, and you gasp. 

“No, you won’t… you can’t… don’t want you…”

“No? Then explain this.” He’s slid a thick digit in your already dripping entrance, and you’re screaming out in the rocking carriage, earning his moan, his look of desire, as his eyes watch you in the night, watch your heaving breasts pressed high in your corset. “Soaking wet little cunt.”

“You can’t, you don’t want me, remember!? Fuck! I don’t want you… mmm… I don’t, no… ah! Fuck you!” He’s barely moving a finger and you nearly cum at that, as your fingers itch to shove his face where it’s so close, as he’s kissing and biting your thighs.

“Please.” He begs, looking up, eyes still glossy, and fuck he looks good, fuck you hate that you want it, that you want to so badly you can’t imagine anything else feeling that good. “Let me feel your cum on my face, dripping down my lips, let me drink all of you, Duchess. Please.”

 He’s desperate, he’s whiny, he’s between your thighs just begging, his own breaths labored, as he’s curling that finger up, and your head falls back, dripping down on him. “You can’t. It’s not… right. You’ll… fuck your whores… you’ll…”

“Just once, let me.” His desperation makes his voice break, as his breath tickles you. “Let me devour you, let me fucking feel you.” His words, his eyes, the finger sliding against your damp folds, it’s too much.

You hate yourself. 

“F-fine, once. I won’t like it, I know I won’t.” You say with a glare, earning a smirk, and a quirked white brow.

“We’ll see about that, Princess.”

He spreads your puffy, aching lips then, and moans when he watches wetness dripping out of your little hole, pooling out of your entrance, then he bends down, sliding his tongue up you, and it feels so good you can’t stop your moan, as those gorgeous eyes look up, and he’s tasting you, his tongue flicking your clit, making it twitch under it, your thighs tightening.

“Fuck you taste so good.” He whispers, lovingly almost, what a joke right, then he’s not just licking you, he’s grabbing you by the fat of your ass, pressing you against the carriage seat, and he’s devouring you.

“Ohmy- ah- what!? I- f-fuck!” You scream out, your hands clinging to his shoulders desperately as he’s sliding his tongue in and out of your soppy entrance, fucking you with it, drinking you all in. Your hips buck up, earning his groan, as he thrusts his tongue in and out, his nose bumping your clit, making you a mess, making you so wet it’s stupid.

You’re so close so quick, you can scarcely hold it in, and when he looks up at you, and takes your hand, putting it on his hair, you feel so fucking powerful then, so desired. You grip his soft hair, hips arching up for more, pulling at his strands, as he moans against you, diving back down, then you’re done for, you’re destroyed, your tummy is clenching with so much pressure you can’t hold in.

You scream out as you cum all over Duke Gojo’s pretty face, and he’s gripping your thighs bruisingly, sucking your swollen clit into his mouth now, humming, as you cum so hard it’s blinding. It washes all over your entire body now, thighs shivering violently on either side of his head as he pulls back, licking his lower lip, covered in your arousal.

“That’s it, you love it don’t you pretty girl?” His words kill your last resolve, if cumming hadn’t, and they confuse you, as your eyes are lidded, as he teases your sensitive entrance with prodding fingers, eyes locked on your face.

“P-pretty… pretty…”

“You’re so pretty like this. Fuck you are so, so pretty, falling apart for me.” He’s sliding two fingers in now, pumping in and out, and you’re on that edge again, as he huffs, leaning up, a breath away. “Lick your sweet cunt off me.”

“Fuck.” You cling to him then, against any good goddamn judgment, as he’s rocking fingers up and down in your tight entrance, and he’s kissing you desperately, so fucking hungry. Your teeth click as he steals your breath, as your tongues swirl so goddamn messy, saliva mixing with your arousal, and you’re both rough and brutal against each other.

He pulls back, biting his lip and sliding a free hand up to your breast, squishing it and making you cry out. “Cum again pretty. Like a good little slut.”

“S-slut… fuck you… fuck!” He’s dived back down now, as the carriage jostles you both, serving to only shove his face further between the apex of your thighs, and you can hear him groan as he licks you from bottom to top, fingering you and licking you, all while his snowy lashes cover his pretty eyes, his face tilted to the side to hit the underside of your clit in quick flicks.

You can't hold it together, everything falls apart again, and this time you're clinging to that white hair, rocking your hips up fucking shameless. He slurps up your wetness, so goddamn obscene in this little carriage as you scream out - “Gojo, c-cumming!”

He pulls back, face glistening, still pressing on that little spongy spot that has you panting, vision darkened as the carriage rocks you both. “Satoru, call me Satoru when you cum.”

“I can’t, I hate you… we hate each… f-fuck you…” He leans up, kissing your breasts, nipping and biting as his fingers work you, so deep it's insane how they hit, the pressure more and more intense as it builds.

“Please just one time. Say my name.” He whispers, vulnerable and begging again, as he's worshiping your cunt, your body. Your body heaves as you struggle to breathe, to think. “Please, Princess…”

“Princess, stop it, stop saying it fuck!” You’re crying salty tears as you’re about to cum again for this horrible man, who is looking at you hungrily.

“You are one, fuck you are, and I'm nothing. Please. Scream my name for me while I feel you gush this sweetness.” He begs again, eyes so dilated they're hard to look at, you're dripping down the carriage seat. You shouldn't be doing this, you shouldn't… you're awful, he's horrible… 

“You’re-”

“I know. I know. Please.” He says again, dipping back down, looking up at you now, and it ends you, that hot, wet tip of his tongue flicking where you're sensitive and you can’t stop your back from arching, your hands from pulling him closer. “Say my name, please. Please.”

His whispers are tickling that clit, as he now sinks two fingers so deep, deeper than you’ve had something in you, pressing so deep it’s almost painful, but you want it, you want more. You want all of him, you even want that pretty cock against all your better judgment, thinking of it just makes you squish lewdly, makes him lick his lower lip hungrily.

“Once?” He nods, free hand pressing your thigh up, flounces of skirts dangling as he still his motions, as he watches you eagerly.

“Then make me cum, and I’ll say it.” He moans at that, lashes fluttering as he dives back down fully, using two fingers as he mouths your clit, and you’re dripping all the way down, so much you’re slippery, and you can’t take it, you are so on edge, as he’s building this intensity in your core, as you listen to his hoarse moans muffled by your cunt.

Satoru has you there again, this time even more intense, your building climax, as you buck up your hips, grinding on his face, before stopping yourself, only for him to pull back for just a moment. “No, Princess, keep doing it. Fuck my face. All those frustrations, please fucking do it, get them out on me.”

You sputter, but then moan and pull him against you, grinding on his beautiful face in the night, as his tongue laps and laps, and your cunt spasms around his fingers now, pulsating as it hits you, as it rocks in waves, and you scream it, fuck you scream it… “Satoru! Satoru!”

He groans, fucking you with his long fingers as you cum so hard, harder than you could imagine possible, fucking reeling and weak, head smacking the seat as you pull his face so tightly, as he’s suffocating against you, but his mouth never stops. His fingers keep pressing up, forcing you into another, blue eyes looking up as he watches you so intently, fall apart.

“Satoru!” You scream again, and finally he relents, leaving you weak and boneless, and he’s kissing you again, as you cling so hungry, as you realize that carriage stopped. “Satoru…” He cups your face, eyes swirling, as you swipe some of your wetness off him.

“I want you around my cock so goddamn bad. So bad. Fuck I’d do anything to feel her.” He whispers, and you can’t stop it, you just kiss him again, and before you know it, you’re out of the carriage in his arms, and he’s quickly walking you in as you cling to him, as your mouths don’t leave each other, not even to breathe, tongues in desperate strokes.

He presses you against the wall of the drawing room, yanking down your bodice now, and you gasp, eyes rolling back as he kisses and bites, as your cunt grinds where he’s so hard, as you want more impossibly more. And from him!? But you can’t remember a goddamn thing he did when he looks at you like that, when he cups your face, pressing you further.

“I need you, fuck I need you.” He says then, and you can’t respond, as your mind swirls. “Are you innocent still? I don’t even care, I won’t judge you, I just need to know if we take this to my bed or I fuck you here.”

As he’s whispering, you blink back tears, sucking in a breath. “We shouldn’t do this, Satoru.”

His eyes get heady, glazed over as he grinds again. “Fuck, my name on your lips?”

“Satoru I… I am still-”

“Your grace, your mistress and Lady Elaine are both here for you.” Satoru’s butler says then, clearing his throat, and it’s like someone threw a bucket of water all over you. Satoru looks in horror as he watches you break, as you shove and shove until he lets you go.

“I am stupid, you’re right.” You whisper then, running, and he’s running after you, shoving past the butler, and you run almost into them, those ladies giggling and sipping wine in your home.

But it’s not your home.

“Please, it was before this. I’ll send them home!” He pleads as he catches you on the stairway, and the ladies are scowling at you, making you so goddamn angry, you shove at him, and he yanks at you. “I want you! I want you!”

“You never did. It’s a game! That's all I am to you.” You sob uncontrollably, hunching over as he clutches you, and you wriggle in his hold. “I hate you!”

“I swear, I didn’t… I didn’t know we’d…” He cups your face then, gulping, his lips tremulous. “I had no clue I’d ever get you like this. I don’t want it to end, not this… I want tonight to be about you, about you only. Please.”

“You knew they’d be here! Is this funny to you? Toying with my goddamn emotions, making me think you could… we could… Ugh!” You shove past him again, running to your room in your pretty silver heels, clicking up the steps, lifting your skirts, and you hear those women now, making your blood boil.

“Duke Gojo-”

“Fuck off.” He shouts back, chasing you, but you’re already in your room, and you’re trying to shut it. “They’ll go home, I swear. Please, let me… let me just touch you more, taste you more. You can do nothing to me if you don’t want to. Please.” He’s pleading now, as you’re trying to shut the door on him, and you can barely look at him, it hurts so bad.

“It’s a game.”

“It’s not!”

“It all is to you. You mean to break me in other manners.”

“No I do not!”

“Then tell me, why do you hate me!? Why!?” He blinks then, opening his mouth, then exhaling, hands reaching for your face, hands that feel too perfect on your skin, hands that made you forget. “You cannot open up to me, you cannot do anything but confuse me. You go down there with them, have your fun, what do I even care, I’m nothing to you!”

“I want you goddammit, you! They’re nothing compared to you.” He speaks through gritted teeth, and you want to believe it, but you steel yourself, as much as you can, shaking your head. “I swear it. I swear it, let me show you…”

“You’ve made enough of a fool of me. Imagine me thinking you could be my first? After…” He pauses, eyes wide, and you shake with your emotion. “I’m an idiot. You were right.”

“I am the idiot. Fuck I know it. Please, give me tonight, please.” He keeps cupping your face, as you hear his women laughing.

“They laugh at me. I’m a joke.”

“You’re-”

“I am. A laughingstock. But at least before I had my dignity, now you strip even that away! Go, I shall never be a fool again.”

He growls, grabbing at you tightly. “Goddamit, stop this, just let me try!”

“I can’t take it. I can’t.” You sob harder as you finally shut the door on his forlorn face, and he’s smacking the door with an angry fist, as you gently touch the door where his hand is, resting your head on it. “I wish it was real.” You whisper, against your will, and you feel another thud on the door.

“Please let me in, please.”

“It hurts too goddamn much. Play your games with someone else. I can’t take this. I can’t.” You feel yourself losing control, and finally you’re sliding down the door, curling into a ball and sobbing, and it takes a long, long time to calm down, to stop banging on the door.

“Please, I’m begging you, open this door. Even if we… even if I just look at you, please.” Your eyes are so full of tears they burn, at his emotional voice, but it’s got to be an act, it’s got to be!

You’re stupid.

You’re so stupid.

You hate yourself for this.

How could you!?

You almost…

“It was real.” He whispers finally, before you hear one more punch at your door, then hear his thuds as he leaves. And your mind wracks, with what will happen, what you’ve done.

What have you done?

And was he in their arms, as you held yourself and cried?

Or was he truly…

You hear nothing that night, but who knows, what if they’re in the dining hall, in the kitchens… you hear nothing as you climb into your bed, aside from a sob ripped from Satoru Gojo’s throat. You sit up in the bed, heart pounding, talking yourself out of this, out of this folly.

He’s cruel.

It’s a game.

You’ve wronged Nanami Kento now.

Someone who really cares.

For what!?

You touch the cold wall of your room, where his bed is on the other side, a bed you’ve never slept in, a bed you’d have let him fuck you in tonight. How could you, how could you, stupid, stupid, stupid. Those women were waiting, and who knows, what if he was fucking them now!? 

What do you care!?

You care.

Fuck you care.

You stomp out of the room an hour later, throat so tight, Satoru always takes your goddamn breath, he never gives you oxygen, just pain, just confusion. You tense as you walk past his room, and you expect it, his women, but Satoru is alone in the night, in his bed, bare back strong as he shivers against the cold, his window wide open.

You hate when you step in, when you shut the window with a quiet click, and you see him sleep for the first time. You hate when you pull up his thick blue blankets over his bare upper body, when he moans in his sleep, and turns his head, so the moonlight illuminates his face. You hate when you caress his cheek with a finger, and you hate when his lips part with a sigh.

You hate how you want to kiss his forehead, you hate how you can’t find the proper way to be mad at him enough. You sigh then, blowing out the candle barely flickering by his bed, brushing soft white hair back one more time, before padding out quietly, shutting the door behind you, resting your back on it.

You can’t be feeling this. He’ll only make a fool of you. So what if he maybe sent them home early? What’s it matter? You should know better. You go back to your room then, laying in your gigantic bed, all alone, empty, as tears fall on your pillow, as you wonder if you should have let him in, but how can you?

Your eyes shut, and you flit from dream to dream, in flitful images, as the heavy weight in your heart fills, as you remember all he’s done, all he’s said, and how easily you almost forgot it with his kisses. His tongue. His eyes. The way Satoru consumed your mind, until it was nothing but him.

Who is Satoru Gojo, was he this cruel man or was he perhaps something more? Why do you care so much?

You finally cry yourself to sleep, dreading what the reality of tomorrow brings, and hating especially that you had to tell someone you care about that you’re horrible. Nanami’s handsome face makes your heart sink, as you realize you’ll lose him, and you’ve lost yourself, all for that man, a man you don’t know, a man who drowns you just existing.

A man that makes it so hard to breathe.

Until the next one dear masochistic readers <3

Part Seven

[successfulgoddess333]

IDK WHAT TO TITLE THIS??? Just read

I think by creating countless amounts of posts to help people reach the state of shifting or enter the void state is low key pointless

Because why do I have to continue to tell you

A bunch of people I’ll never actually talk to

Irl

How to do something we were all created and born TO DO??

You’re just read this and then proceed to not do it anyway

The reason you’re on here is actually why you “can’t do it”

It’s not that you can’t

You won’t

Because you’re procrastinating but not only are you procrastinating you’re also

Trying to figure out how to do something

You’ve always known what to do

I read somewhere some ppl can’t enter the void

Because it was scientifically proven that we all have different parts of brains that’ll allow it or something I don’t remember but google it

I think that’s weird

Because the void state is literally conscious

Every single human being has consciousness

And we can all access it through meditation hypnosis etc

Why some ppl enter it more easily

Is because they don’t overthink it most ppl look at it as a “oooh I wanna try it”

When you’re excited to try something you don’t over complicate it or assume it’s not gonna work

Even if you do you’re still too excited to try it to care

it’s important that if you’ve already discovered the loa void state and shifting

You should continue to believe in it

But the actions matter just as much as the intentions

Your actions shouldn’t be wavering like

Is it real?

But then saying you believe it is

Figure it out

Do you believe in it or not?

Stop confusing your subconscious mind

Now back to what I was saying earlier

You keep treating it like a chore or a job

When you finally lay down to meditate you think

“What’s takin so long?”

Babe

Your impatience is the reason you’re not getting it

The whole point is for relaxation but since you’ve all put it on a pedestal

With the manifesting

You act as if

It’s a wish granter

It’s not

You are the reason you get your desire

You could get in the void rn but you’d only get your desires if YOU say your affirmations

Stop

Waiting to enter the void

If you have this mindset it’s not gone happen

Think of it as a

You’re setting the intention and just vibing

That’s why my method with the music works so well

Because I don’t overthink with music on

Music keeps me awake mentally and certain songs keep me relaxed physically

Plus it’s a good energy then just depending on a subliminal or something

It’s not doing it for you

My method plus ppl on here literally getting in the void

With no background noise is proof that subliminals are just guiding you to a destination you were already going to reach on your own

So what to take from this post

1. Stop depending on subliminals it’s fine to use them but thinking it’s gonna get your results is putting power into something that isn’t as powerful as you

2. Procrastination is going to be the cost of a life you could be living The more you linger on this looking for the answers you already know the longer you’ll be living in a world you are desperately trying to escape from congrats you’ve got a Dr you can daydream and escape this reality mentally but what’s the fun in that? That life you keep fantasizing is real and the universe knows how bad you want it so why fantasize? Go there

3. Why are you wondering how ppl get in the void easily? Simply just stop thinking about it so much literally just meditate think affirm whatever don’t even think of the void but still have that intention in your mind you wanna move your body? Why? You hate this reality you wanna block out all the physicality it actually feels so good to just be in a moment of peace I’m telling y’all the key to entering the void shifting etc other OOB experiences is literally just stop paying attention

You know so many ppl with adhd

Or other neurodivergent disorders think it’s so difficult to focus

But I remember years ago I accidentally entered the void without knowing what it was

I was so sleepy I laid down

Got distracted by a thought

And literally it went black for like five seconds and I felt nothing

So literally just stop paying attention

Affirm

If you want

Set the intention count whatever

Or you could just set the intention and just think

Of literally anything

That doesn’t cause physical reactions like a funny thought you’d laugh at

But just pretend you’re dreaming like how you normally would

Which brings me to my method

THE DREAM METHOD:

You could pretend to be dreaming

Like if you can’t visualize it still use your sense

Image your dreaming

And in that dream you’re living your dream life or you could “dream” that you’re in the void

However you want your void to look

By not moving you’re tricking your body into thinking you’re asleep

And by pretending to be dreaming

You’re tricking your mind into thinking

You’re both sleeping and dreaming

This will make you either dream Forreal

Or you could use this to get in the void

When or if you feel symptoms

By the way

Those floaty etc symptoms are actually signs that you’re astral projecting because shifting your awareness is a mind thing

NOT an outer body experience

So if you feel floaty dizzy spinning etc

You are astral projecting

BUT

You can use astral projection to shift and to enter the void

You’re Welcome

Also P.S but have you ever zoned out and stared at something til your vision got all blurry and background noises get fuzzy and whatever you’re focused on is the only think you can subconsciously focus on?

Yeahhh it’s a trance

Try doing this while meditating with your eyes open then close them and keep doing it

What ever you were focus on

Close your eyes

Set the intention

Affirm for a bit

Breathe then

Imagine something

Anything you’d want

And pretend to dream

By just visualizing or thinking or using your senses

You could put on an instrumental and imagine your doing a music video

If you feel symptoms just remember

Nothings physically happening to you

So why focus on it?

If someone saw you you’d still be in bed

Not moving

Itchy feelings mean your body is feeling as if you’re awake

There’s no actual physical symptoms of entering the void

Because it’s not really an out of body experience it’s you shifting your awareness has nothing to do with your body

Since you’re shifting to the 4D

The 4D is not physical

I may have mentioned symptoms in my previous posts I don’t remember I’m not a hypocrite I just learn and get more educated

But no matter

Take this how you want

And even if I could help

I could never get you into the void state

It’s literally me trying to tell YOUR subconscious mind to do something you already know how to do

Like cmon

Also

You don’t need the void to shift

Trust me there’s a gagillion methods

Another also

You don’t even need a method just lay down don’t move

Trust me weird shit will happen

[alphajocklover]

InstaJock: Double Friend Request

(Based on the ask I accidentally deleted.)

So, your japanese friend sent you a request for InstaJock, but when you accepted it your phone froze, and now all it shows is you is a picture of a Japanese bodybuilder who seems to be growing. I can see you’re disoriented right now, so I’m going to start by clarifying a couple things. 

The Japanese bodybuilder you’re looking at? He isn’t growing. He’s flexing! It makes sense you made that mistake though, sense with muscles that big flexing can make it look like that's happening.

You’re not looking at a picture. You’re looking at yourself. Your phone is in selfie mode.

Yeah. The Japanese stud currently flexing at you from your phone is you. As I’ve mentioned before, InstaJock allows someone to change what type of jock they turn into through the settings and details page when they set up their account. It’s incredibly hard to navigate though, so most people don’t bother. But if the user can figure it out before they give into the urge to join the app, they can become whatever kind of jock they want. The thing is, they aren’t the only people that can change what kind of jock the user becomes. The person who sends you the friend request can also affect what type of jock the next user becomes. It’s part of the friend request feature. If a jock is still smart enough to figure out how to use the app's settings, they can ‘suggest’ a type of jock to become. You don’t have to accept the suggestion, but it seems like you did, at least by accident. So now, just like your friend, you’re a buff, cocky, japanese jock.

But I don’t think that's the only thing that has changed about you. See, if this was a normal case of InstaJock, you’d have changed mentally just as quickly as you changed physically. It’s possible your friend pressed the ‘multiple personality’ option. It’s pretty much what it sounds like, though I should say for clarity's sake that it's nothing like the actual mental disorder that used to be called multiple personality disorder. It’s more like the cliche version you see on tv shows. Your personality wasn’t overwritten with a jocks personality like most people who use InstaJock, in fact you were able to keep your original personality… it’s just that now you also have a jock personality in your head too. He seems to be in control of your body at the moment too, from all the flexing and the way you keep saying ‘bro.’ I wouldn’t worry though, from what I’ve seen situations like this you and him will be swapping control pretty often. You’ll usually be you… unless something draws him out. Like a hot girl, or a hot guy, or the sight of a gym, or the sounds of a football game, or just seeing your own beefy muscles… Yeah, you might actually be spending a lot of time as your other self. My only advice is to make your peace with him. You guys are going to have to get used to each other.

At least you got a great body out of the deal, even if you have to share it.

[meowzfordayz]

when you're apart

Author’s Note: is my Sanemi favoritism showing? 🤍 Spoiler Alert: yes. 😂 Don’t mind my psychology major brain showing ~a bit too. 🤓

when you’re apart

Hashira x Reader

Word Count: ~1,300

CW: anxiety disorder, explicit language, mild sexual content

Emergency Request Fulfilled: I was wondering if you could do how the men hashira react to a female reader with separation anxiety

I have a fear of being alone which makes me very clingy. My longtime boyfriend recently broke up with me due to me being “to much to deal with.”

Being clingy is such a bother I know I just hate being alone

~faqs~

When you’re apart…

… Gyomei doesn’t mind receiving calls from you throughout the day. He’s endlessly patient, always willing to listen, and warns you in advance if he can’t talk for long. His strategy for setting and respecting boundaries? Planning ahead and communicating his availability to make sure you feel prioritized and included in his decision making, while still fulfilling his own wants and needs.

… Obanai dislikes it as much as you do, but is ~somewhat more subtle about it. He, at least, has Kaburamura to keep him company, but kissing you is decidedly more pleasant. He’s mindful about maintaining healthy boundaries and expectations—he knows codependency shouldn’t be romanticized—but he’s also so wholly in love with you, that sometimes he gives up and surprises you anyway. “Obanai? You’re two hours early?? Are you okay???” He nods sheepishly, already pulling you into a hug, “I’m fine. Missed you.” “Is Sanemi going to complain to me the next time I see him?” you sigh, scrunched grin revealing your contentment despite the exasperation in your tone. “Probably, I don’t care. I left him enough to cover more than my share of the tab.”

… Mitsuri totally understands your anxiety, and is lovingly firm about ensuring you don’t slip into unhealthy habits. “You can text me anytime, but only call if there’s an emergency, okay?” she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your earlobe. You nod slightly, resisting the urge to pout. “I’ll be home before you know it.” Even though it stings, you know it’s never personal. Her willingness to draw straightforward boundaries, as well as her willingness to cross them if you’re truly upset, are just another reason to cherish her.

… Shinobu checks in every couple of hours. Sometimes it’s just a single sentence text, other times a quick call, but she knows how important feeling connected is to you. It’s important to her too, of course, but she’s apt to lose track of time when she’s at the hospital or her lab—she enjoys her work—so she puts in conscious effort to be proactive about your anxiety. When she anticipates a busier or longer day, she’ll ask, “Is it okay if I only check in during meals today?” Generally, you’ll reassure her that, “Absolutely, I’m so proud of you,” and if you’re having a low day, then she always figures out a compromise with you before she leaves.

… Kyojuro unknowingly reassures you, because—apparently—everything reminds him of you. Whether it’s a photo of a flower shortly after he arrives at work Pretty flower, but you’re prettier 🌻, a photo of the sky during his lunch break The cloud formations remind me of you, so soft and mesmerizing ☁️, or a blurry selfie as he finally heads home for the day Cannot wait to see you! 😁, you’re kept in the loop. The one time his phone fell into a puddle (he was trying to photograph a reflection of willow branches Elegant and dreamy, like you 🌿), he immediately visited the nearest shop to borrow their landline Hi, yes, how are you today? Would it be possible for me to make a call? I am happy to purchase something. I would just like to tell my partner that I will be unavailable for the day.

… Sanemi often forgets to explicitly text, call, or otherwise contact you. He doesn’t mean to aggravate your anxiety: he just doesn’t quite ~get it, and assumes it stems from insecurity or jealousy — which also confuses him. “You have nothing to worry about. How could I fall in love with someone else when I’m already in love with you?” he snorts, lightly tapping your nose. “That’s not…” you bite at your lip, unsure how to explain yourself. “I’m not big on texting, you know that. It’s not that I specifically dislike texting you.” You smile despite yourself, eyes rolling fondly, “I know it’s not specific to me.” “So then what’s the issue?” he’s determined to understand. “I’m afraid of being alone,” you shrug, gesturing vaguely, “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.” Arms crossing, he leans in, forehead bumping yours, voice warm and low on your skin as you gulp, “It’s okay to be afraid of things, and being afraid isn’t nothing.” Arms uncrossing, he settles his hands on your hips, kneading gently as he pulls back slightly, fixing an even gaze on your flushed expression, “I can’t be with you all the time, but I can promise that I love you and think about you.” “All the time?” you ask quietly. It’s his turn to blush, eyes closing as he dips his face into your neck, muttering softly, “All the damn time.”

… Muichiro is a bit absentminded, and rarely thinks to check his phone, but he sets reminders—around noon, and later in the afternoon—to make up for it. If he’s occupied and misses his usual look-at-his-phone time(s), then he’s never bothered by a call from you coming through (besides your number, his phone’s always on Do Not Disturb). In the bathroom? He’ll pick up. About to bite into his lunch? He’ll put it aside. Presenting during a meeting? He’ll literally answer his phone mid sentence, and leave the room (creative liberty: thank gosh he’s the boss hah). He’s aware of his head-in-the-clouds tendencies, just as he’s aware of your anxiety, and feels that having a specific routine is perfectly fair: if he forgets to uphold his end of your expectations, then you’ve every right to remind him. Conversely, if he’s feeling overwhelmed, he’s more than capable of reasserting his own needs — an infinite practice of mutual respect and taking necessary space.

… Giyuu feels uneasy too, but his discomfort stems primarily from how most people tend to socially drain him — you’re one of few that he can feel both stimulated and rested around. Therefore, if it’s a spend-time-with-you versus spend-time-around-others situation, then he’d prefer to be with you. Spend-time-with-you versus spend-time-by-himself situations are more complicated. It takes a lot of discussion, some heavy evenings apart, and tense evenings together, but you gradually nurture a shared understanding and acceptance of your varying needs. He’s always happy to reassure you that I’m not upset with you, nor am I tired of you; I’m just tired, while you’re slowly learning to trust him and his commitment to loving you.

… Tengen could care less about how clingy you are. Super duper clingy? He loves it. Not clingy at all? He’s cool and confident — he knows you adore him as much as he adores you. His easygoingness, however, isn’t the most productive in terms of processing and reducing your overall anxiety. In fact, you eventually have to tell him that he shouldn’t answer your texts or calls immediately, every single time, without a hint of irritation, because it reinforces your self soothing behaviors. “But I’m happy to?!” he grins, kissing the top of your head. “I know, and I appreciate you,” you chuckle, tucked snugly into his side, “But I don’t want to feel afraid of being alone-” “Sooo don’t be alone!” he interrupts enthusiastically, “Again, I’m happy to keep you company!” Inhaling deeply, you gently grip his jaw, a silent request for him to focus, “And again, I appreciate you, but sometimes I have to feel afraid to stop feeling afraid. If I’m never alone, then I can’t ever feel afraid,” hesitating, voice softer now, “And I know you’ll promise to never leave me, but shit happens. Y’know?” He’s silent, maroon eyes steady and tender as he holds your gaze. Before you can nervously murmur Tengen?, he touches his nose to your forehead, still smiling. “I love you. I’ll do my best to help, even from a distance.” “Well don’t go too far away,” you quip. “Of course not,” he laughs, “I’ll just go wherever you tell me to,” declared earnest and true.

[the-hopeless-haze]

Let’s Spend the Night Together

Chapter 3 of If You Want It, You Can Bleed on Me

Greg House x Reader

Word count: 6.5k ??? what did I do

NSFW - smut

“Where does she live?” Greg asks James.

“If I tell you, am I assisting you in a crime?” James asks in response, barely looking up from his desk.

“I’m sure she told you about our date later.”

James huffs in frustration, finally looking up at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“Did you like her? Is that it?” Greg questions, trying to get to the bottom of his friend’s snarky behavior. Not that this wasn’t the usual from him. It was one of the things Greg loved about him, that he was always a little fed up with him, always preemptively aggravated, always in a state of annoyance. It was harder to piss someone off that was always a little pissed with him at baseline.

“Is that what you think? Because if that’s the reason you’re taking her out… you’re more fucked than I thought.”

“The correct answer would have been, ‘no, Greg, I do not want to sleep with her because I am married’ but we’ll go with that.”

James sighs, looking up at him. “Yes. She’s very attractive. But no, I had no intention of entertaining her.”

“Then what’s your issue?”

“Because I don’t know why you’re doing this. You sick of your prostitutes?”

Greg scoffs. “This isn’t about sex.”

“It’s not? I’m mistaken then, because you were flirting with her, made comments about her body, called her to your office…”

“Okay,” he corrects. “It’s not just about sex.”

“Are you trying to tell me you want to date her without saying the words? Because if so… congratulations.”

“No. I want to figure her out.”

“Just look in her chart. Save both of you the trouble.”

“It’s no fun if I learn all the answers at once.”

“Do you ever wonder why you’re single?” James asks.

“Do you ever wonder why you’re unhappily married?” Greg counters. “And. About that. Either her psychiatry training gave her some leg-up here or you tipped her off. She went through her files already. All that she left was a med list.”

“You already looked?” James asks, incredulous.

“Yeah. No birth control. Wonder what that’s about? Propranolol. Maybe some blood pressure issue… she’s young for that and that’s not first line. Idiopathic tachycardia? Maybe. Anxiety?”

“She can’t have an interesting med list. Stop looking for zebras. She’s barely thirty.”

“No birth control and barely thirty? Either she’s not getting any or she’s tied her tubes already.”

“Or… if she does have a blood pressure issue she can’t be on it. Or she has an IUD. Actually… don’t drag me into this.”

“Lamotrigine. Seizures. Bipolar disorder. What’s more likely?”

“lamotrigine isn’t the first-line med for either. Maybe you’ll have to talk to her.”

Greg rolls his eyes. “No fun. Hey… she’s on Vicodin.”

“A match made in hell,” Wilson grumbles, running his hands over his face.

“Well. She was. Eight years ago.”

“Most people don’t stay on it indefinitely.”

“Why would she leave that on there? It’s just these three meds.”

“Don’t you have an actual patient?”

He shrugs. “I need her address. I’m picking her up in three hours.”

“At least buy her dinner. Do not just bring her to your apartment.”

“I can’t learn anything if I just have sex with her. I mean, I’ll definitely learn some things, but…”

“Well, I don’t have her address.”

“You’ve got to have her address. You hired her.”

“Nope. I’m not her direct supervisor since she’s a consult. You’d have to talk to the head of psychiatry or Cuddy. And no. I’m not losing my job searching for it.”

“She took it out of her medical records,” he says, shaking his head, but he’s smiling. “I guess she likes to play.”

——————

“So let me get this straight. You want me to risk the safety of one of my employees so you can drive by her apartment?”

Greg looks at Cuddy for a moment, as if he’s  actually thinking about her summary of his request and he nods. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

Sighing, she says, “I shouldn’t be shocked you live the rest of your life like you practice medicine, but I don’t care about the results here. The answer is no, House.”

“It’ll be worth your while.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Because… if I get laid I’m in a better mood which means I’m less likely to cause you issues.”

“Right. Hm. Surprising, but that didn’t persuade me.”

“Have you met her?”

“Is that supposed to convince me?” she asks, looking up at him for a second.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. She does work in psychiatry. For someone who constantly loves to tell me I have a drug problem and there’s something wrong with me I’d think you’d want to make sure this relationship runs smoothly.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “I feel like you and I both know you’re not doing this for the emotional healing.”

“I won’t be doing anything if no one gives me her address,” he grumbles. He doesn’t tell her but for once he can’t believe how stupid he was that he fell for that, that he thought you might be interested.

“Hm. Well. I’m busy, House.”

He walks out without a word, heading back to his office. It’s 7:00.

Well. Alone again. Not much different than the last night or the night before that.

And he knows he could have Cameron. She’s been not so subtle in trying to get his attention, and yes, he certainly didn’t help matters by telling her she’s beautiful. Sure. But she isn’t… she’s not what he wants. He doesn’t need someone to take him on like a charity case.

You… you were fucking with him. And it’s fair, maybe he even deserves it. Maybe you got off on this, being a Walmart version of a femme-fatale, wounding men’s egos, seeing which ones would chase you and which ones would give up after a little pain.

Doesn’t really ease the sting of the ache of rejection, though. That you’d brush him off that easy, leave him without an avenue to reach you.

Sighing, he turns on the TV, trying and failing to focus on the screen, but you’d taken over his mind like a case he was on the brink of solving and just couldn’t get there.

8:15. He gets a page from your number. “YOURE LATE”. It reads.

Well. Screw that. He still had a way to reach you after all.

Possibly.

Smiling to himself, he calls down to the psych ward, asking for you. You’re not there, they say, but they’ll be happy to transfer him to your extension if you’re still in the building.

“I thought hookers took pride in their punctuality,” you say when you answer the phone.

“You’re kind of a bitch, huh?” He asks, trying not to let his chuckle be so audible in the receiver.

“You keep Wilson around. You love bitches.”

“Funny. Would’ve thought you’d been swooning, begging him to leave his wife by now.”

“I’m not so easily charmed.”

“Those big brown eyes don’t do it for you?”

“Sounds like they do it for you. Something you want to tell me, Gregory?”

“Don’t ever call me that,” he sighs.

“Not going to deny the gay allegations but you’ll draw the line at me calling you by your first name? What gives, House?”

“You can call me Greg.”

“Wow, could I? What an honor that we’re on first name basis.”

“Not many get the privilege.”

“Still haven’t denied the gay allegation.”

“Don’t really see the point. You’ll believe what you believe regardless.”

“Wow. Truly. A disaster of a man in all other regards but you’re comfortable in your sexuality? Greg is 1 for 0.”

“I have one male best friend and I’ve been single for five years. I embrace the gay jokes at this point.”

“Five years?”

“Yeah. It’s been a while for you too, huh?”

“What makes you so sure?”

“No reason,” he lies.

“Right.”

“You’re single now.”

“Moved here less than a year ago. Haven’t really had the chance to meet people.”

“Okay. What hellhole did you crawl out of to willingly move to Jersey?”

“Maybe I just like Frank Sinatra.”

“He’s dead. You didn’t come here for something. You left something and you came here to make sure whatever it was didn’t follow you.”

“Is this really the date you had in mind?” you ask.

“Nice deflection.”

“I just moved. No story there.”

“Also. Almost a year? And no one’s asked you out?”

“I can say no, you know.”

“You didn’t say no to me.”

“Maybe I should’ve.”

“Cold. Come down here. I’ll walk you out to my car.”

————-

“Ah. The bitch arrives,” he says, looking you up and down again, not hiding his checking you out. You’d changed, red blouse with a leather jacket and most likely the same black slacks you were wearing earlier. “Not quite slutty enough.”

“Could say the same for you. Where’s the assless chaps?”

“I could never pull that off,” he says. “You could, though.”

He’d changed, too, a button down with slacks for once instead of jeans... at Wilson’s nagging of course.

“Here,” he says, handing you a bouquet of flowers he thought for a second were going to wilt away at his desk.

“Flowers? don’t tell me you went all out. Maybe you’re not as much of a disaster as I thought.”

“I shouldn’t give them to you since you stood me, a cripple, up.”

“Stood you up? You didn’t come get me.”

“You never told me where to get you. Ergo… you stood me up.”

“You were supposed to figure it out.”

“Yeah. Right. Wilson didn’t know and Cuddy wouldn’t put out. And you knew I wouldn’t figure it out. That’s why you stayed here.”

“You actually asked Cuddy?”

“What? I’ve asked her for much worse.”

You shake your head, smiling. “Falling head over heels for me already, Greg?”

“Puzzles are no fun if you can’t figure out the answer.” He doesn’t say that the unsolved cases haunt him, nag him and he sees them where they’re not.

One day he knows you’ll haunt him, too. One day, when you leave, when he pushes this until it breaks.

“Mm. Try harder then,” you say.

“You gave me an unsolvable puzzle.”

“Mm. Not really. You gave it to yourself. You said you were picking me up at my place. I stayed here and gave you the easy way out.”

“You could’ve left it—“ he cuts himself off, lest he incriminate himself.

“Left it where, Greg?” you ask, bemused.

“Nowhere.”

“Right,” you laugh. “So what opiate do you pop constantly?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Funny.”

“Why would that be funny, Greg?”

“Let me sleep with you first.”

“Absolutely not,” you say, grinning at him.

“Well, I shouldn’t have thought you’d be easy if you’ve put me through hell just to take you out,” he sighs.

“Don’t think I’ll leave you completely wanting, though,” you say, reaching out to touch his face, his stubble scratching your hand pleasantly, a shiver running down your spine. You run your thumb over his bottom lip gently.

Tentatively, he reaches out for you, too, copying your movements, hand on your cheek, thumb over your lips, but then your tongue darts out to run over the pad of his thumb and he thinks he might die right there. “Dirty girl,” he chuckles, smirking.

“Mm. You’re pretty, Greg,” you say, with enough sincerity he almost believes you’re not bullshitting him.

“Pretty? That’s a first.”

“Like no one’s ever told you.”

“Maybe ten years ago.”

“Mm. It’s those eyes,” you say, stepping a little closer to him, letting your breath mingle with his, snaking your hand around the back of his neck. Your lips almost touch, once, twice, wordlessly. “You gonna kiss me or not, Greg?”

You expect him to be rougher but he’s soft, testing the waters, lips still barely touching yours until he gives in, gives you what you want, kisses you like he means it. God, it’s been too long, and you missed it, the thrill of kissing somebody new, and you can feel his anticipation, electricity from your skin to his.

“Come on,” he says, breaking away from you after a few minutes. “I said I’d take you to dinner.”

———

“So what is it? Percs?” you ask once you’ve been seated and get waters. It’s a nice place he chose, somewhere a little out of the way, mostly serving Italian fare and seafood. It’s where men who haven’t been on a date in a while would choose to bring a woman, you figure.

“Percs? You do some time on the street?” he asks.

“So what if I did?” you counter.

He shakes his head. “Not your story. I’m not buying that.”

“Fine. Used to work at an addiction treatment facility when I was a nurse. Everyone calls them percs, though. Not exactly some down low street name.”

“It’s Vicodin.”

“Nasty drug,” you say.

“Really? I think they’re yummy.”

“You would.”

“What’s your personal aversion to them? They take you on a bad date?”

“Got them prescribed after a motorcycle accident. Didn’t agree with me.”

“Hm. You driving?”

“No.”

“What’d you break?”

“My leg.”

“Which one?”

“Right femur.”

Wilson was going to have a field day. Match made in hell, alright. Wilson’s personal hell, that is.

“Femurs are hard to break.”

“When your partner is drunk and doesn’t care about anything it’s not that hard,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “Lucky I didn’t die. I mean, not that I cared so much then.”

“Partner? What were you, 19?”

“22,” you say, silently cursing yourself for not just saying boyfriend.

“Did they not make it?”

You look at him questioningly but don’t say anything about his use of the gender neutral. You don’t want to have that conversation tonight. “No. Life support for a couple weeks until they pulled it.”

“Hm. So that wasn’t the reason you left.”

“No. There was no reason. I just needed a change of scenery.”

“Right,” he says. “Jersey isn’t usually the place people pick for a change of scenery.”

“How’d you end up here, then?”

“There was a job opening,” he answers.

“You were running away from something, too.”

“No, I was running to something. I needed a place to hire me and Cuddy was the only one insane enough to take me on at that point.”

“You’ve always been discourteous and unprofessional?”

“Those are my middle names,” he snarks.

There’s a natural break in the conversation as the waiter comes back to take orders. Greg takes notice of what you order, a baked scrod, certainly not the least expensive thing you could have ordered but not the most, either. It’s an assessment of how you value yourself, he thinks. Average. Average is boring.

Or you could just like scrod, he supposes.

“Why are you single?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Life was busy. Didn’t have time for relationships,” you say, shrugging. “Why are you?”

“Myriad of reasons.”

“Give me one.”

“My leg,” he responds indignantly.

“What happened to it?” you ask.”

“That’s a second date conversation.”

"You're in pain."

"How'd you know?" He asks sarcastically.

"Was it the cane? The Vicodin?"

'I think it was your charming personality.

Anyway. If you're going to cite your leg as a reason you're single, I'd love to know why."

"I was with someone when it happened. It's a long story."

"We've got nothing but time,” you say.

"You really won't sleep with me if I don't tell you?" House asks.

"Nope. Keep pushing me and I never will.

Tell me."

House sighs dramatically. "I had an infarction in my thigh muscle. No one knew what it was, I diagnosed it, but... so much of the muscle was dead already. I didn't want an amputation, I wanted a bypass. I didn't care about the pain. I just wanted to be able to use my leg. I asked them to put me under sedation to cope with the pain at the time... and the woman I was with decided it would be a good idea to remove the dead muscle completely."

"You made her your medical proxy?”

"Mm. Stupid decision on my part,” he says.

"Any medical background?"

"Nope."

"Then yes. Stupid decision,” you agree.

"I'm sure you've made plenty of stupid decisions. Getting on that motorcycle, for one,” he says, adding a jab at the end so to help heal his wounded ego a little.

"We all make mistakes. It's human. So... what's the reason now? You resent people who can walk without pain so you don't get close to anybody? It interferes with sex? You feel like no woman would want to deal with it long term?"

House sighs and rolls his eyes. "Do you really think it interferes with sex? Is that what you're worried about?"

"No. I'm asking if that's what you-"

"No. You see me as a potential sexual partner, correct?"

"I never said that."

"We're going with it. You ask me as if you're posing the question to me... but you're projecting."

"And you're deflecting. I asked you three questions and you didn't answer one" you point out.

"No. It doesn't interfere with sex, at least not to the point where you have to worry if I

can get you off or not. Whenever you decide to spread your legs for me... you'll see."

You feel your cheeks redden a little and cough. "I asked you two other questions."

"They weren't what you were getting at."

"Entertain me."

"No. It's not that I resent people. Am I jealous? Sometimes. I'd love to know what it's like to wake up in the morning without pain. But I'm not going to wake up every morning wanting to kill my partner because she jogs every morning and I can't."

"Is it because you've been able to accept it?

Was it an issue with your girlfriend at the time, coming to terms with it?"

"What do you think?"

"Yes."

Greg shrugs. “Not hard to put that together. I bet I could get a psychiatric nursing degree too.”

"Third question? You feel like no woman would want to deal with it?"

"Mm. Or she'd want to deal with it for the wrong reasons, take me on like I'm a charity case. That's unattractive for an abundance of reasons. You could go that way, I think, or you used to."

"You think I'm taking you on as a charity case? You pursued me.”

"You agreed. You didn't think for a second,

'well, he's a cripple, I'd better at least give him a shot'?"

"Your leg is not the reason I am here," you say firmly.

"What is it then, my deep blue eyes? This big, thick cane? My ray of sunshine personality?"

You chuckle. "It's your drive. You barely knew me, decided I was interesting and pursued me without abandon. That is attractive."

"You're not curious as to why you?"

"Little tits and ass, as Keith Richards would say?" You ask. "I'm used to being objectified. Pretty privilege is a thing. I'm sure you have noticed that yourself. If there's something deeper, enlighten me."

"Well, you are attractive, there's no doubting that. But I intend to find out why you're in the medical field, and psychiatry at that. It's like Cameron, on my team. You're gorgeous enough to have become an actress, marry a millionaire. Something happened to you to make you choose this."

"Did you take Cameron out until you figured what her deal was?"

"No. Cameron pities me. I have no interest in her that way."

"Well. Why do you assume brilliant minds reside only in unattractive faces? Why do you assume I worked my ass off to get here because of some past trauma when this could have just been a goal of mine like it could've been if I wasn't as hot as you think l am?”

"Okay. Then why did you choose psychiatry?"

"That's a second date conversation." You quip.

He smiles wryly at you. "You coaxed my issue out of me. Come on."

“I hold fast to my principles. You're weak,” you say, grinning back. “Why are you a doctor, then, hm?”

“I’m not a beautiful woman.”

“Right…” you say. “Chase is pretty. Foreman is too, you know. Either of them could’ve done something easier.”

“Chase is trying desperately to fill his father’s shoes. His father was a doctor, and well, you know how that story goes. And Foreman is an overcoming adversity case. He could’ve been a hood rat. He was on that path.”

“You know… women just started to be able to open credit cards in 1971. Maybe I don’t want to have to rely on a man to make a living.”

“No. Believe me, I get that. My point was there’s easier ways to make money. You chose the hard way,” he says. “And unpopular way. People become doctors and they fantasize about cutting people open and diagnosing infections, not getting hit and restraining children.”

“Your hypothesis is stupid. Maybe I don’t want to be an actor or model… or an infectious disease specialist,” you say. “And I think we’re all damaged. All of us. No one gets out unscathed.”

“No one just chooses psychiatry because it’s such a good time.”

“They do when it can make them ridiculous money without as many hardships as medical school. I could be using my degree to write suboxone scripts and make more than I’m making right now. I know a lot of people who went back for that.”

“Proving my point. Why are you doing things the hard way?”

“You take on the most difficult cases across the country, cases no one else can solve. You’re doing things the hard way, too. Why? Because the easy way is boring.”

Greg smiles at that. “Fair enough.”

“Yeah. Fair enough.”

—————

You don’t quite know how you got here. Or well, you do. Greg asked you to come back to his place for drinks, and you agreed, and you should’ve known better but it’s been years and you can’t really care too much when his warm body is underneath you, his tongue down your throat, his hands everywhere he can reach.

“How bad are you hurting?” you ask him, breathlessly.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry,” he whispers back, reaching a hand back to touch your chin. “What do you want to come of tonight?”

“Let’s just see where this leads us,” you say, leaning back to kiss him again.

But he stops you, gentle pressure on your jaw to prevent you from closing the space between your lips. “I need to know what you want.”

You sigh, pressing your elbow in his chest as leverage to lift yourself off him, and you sit next to his feet on the other side of the couch. “Why are you asking?”

“Because I don’t want this to head somewhere we can’t get back from. Move over,” he says, and winces, moving his legs back over to sit beside you again.

“It wasn’t sexual trauma,” you huff, aggravated. “You can say I’m damaged all you want but that doesn’t mean you have to treat me like glass.”

“I tried to take your shirt off and you pushed me away but you kept kissing me. What do you want?”

“What do you want?” You ask, glaring at him.

Truth was, you were using him, maybe just like he was using you. You hadn’t had the opportunity to make quite as bad of a decision as sleeping with the man in front of you in a long time. And as bad decisions go, he wasn’t so terrible anyway. You like him so far, you think he’s attractive. But you know Wilson is right, that he might drag you down to places you haven’t been in a long time.

Still.

It’s been a while since you’ve felt something. You want the hating yourself in the morning for giving yourself away so soon, you want the walk of shame as he drives you back to the hospital where you left your car, you want to revel in the fact that Greg will be telling people how you were in bed, bragging that he got you in between his sheets. You want the dopamine hit and the subsequent crash.

You spent so long getting healthy but you had to keep everyone at arm’s length to do it. It was probably the worst idea to try to get close to someone else who also isolated people and couldn’t even be healthy then.

Why didn’t he just want it to be easy? Just fuck you and be done with it, continue if it’s convenient and worth the effort. Easy is boring, sure, but sex isn’t boring even if it’s easy (if so, he wouldn’t be seeing hookers, would he?). And you know he wants to fuck you, but why he wants to make it difficult… it’s beyond your reach at this moment.

“I want… I don’t know,” he admits, because he doesn’t.

Prostitutes were one thing. Vulnerability there didn’t really matter. They were doing a job and they didn’t even take a second glance at his leg. As long as they were getting paid. If he wanted attention drawn to it, they’d kiss it red with their lipstick but because he tells them to leave it alone… they do.

Sleeping with somebody new… it’s so much harder. It’s so much easier with someone you know. Or someone you don’t have an obligation to know.

With an aim to please rather than take, he doesn’t know how he’d perform.

Looking at his face, reading the ambivalence there, it suddenly clicks. If Wilson knew the truth, if you really are the first woman since his injury, there’s a lot of insecurity in being seen.

And you know all about being seen.

It’s easy to come off with bravado and arrogance but when you’re actually in the situation, when you’re called to be vulnerable… it’s something else entirely.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” you ask quietly.

“Yes. God yes,” he affirms, nodding his head. “Don’t take tonight as an indication.”

“It’s okay. I understand,” you say, nodding.

“That doesn’t mean… that doesn’t mean I can’t help you get off.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “That’s still sex.”

Scoffing, he rolls his eyes. “If you’re in high school.”

“What do you think lesbians do?”

He raises his eyebrows, chucking a little. “Are you a lesbian?”

“You wish,” you laugh. “Say you could be the one that changed me.”

“I would. Except people don’t change.”

“Yeah. They do. They change all the time,” you counter, shrugging your shoulders. “Every day, every hour, every moment… it changes you. They’re minuscule changes, changes you don’t see immediately, but you look back a decade and then it clicks.”

“Right. Maybe. But fundamentally people don’t change. The parts change, but the whole never does.”

You want to say that he has been changed, that his leg injury changed him, that he holds so steadfast to that belief that people never change so he can convince himself he was always this miserable. Sure, you get the feeling he was fucked before, but this did change him. Made him worse. Made him push people away.

You don’t say that, though. You know deep down he knows it and doesn’t want to face it.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” he asks, insecurity creeping in, and he doesn’t know why this is so difficult or why he cares at all. He could pay for what he wanted, live his hedonistic lifestyle and not have to worry if the woman in front of him wanted to fuck him or not.

You aren’t boring.

But that’s not true, anyway, that’s not why he keeps people at arms length. Routine medical cases are boring, but people aren’t. It’s why he went through all the files he could of the applicants for his team, trying to pick the combination that would interest him the most, play off each other in ways he could live vicariously through. They weren’t the most deserving, or the most academically gifted, they were the most interesting. It’s why he loves gossip, loves knowing about things that don’t concern him, always living life like it’s a spectator sport and he’s got front row seats.

It’s always the people that love to watch that hate to be seen.

“I could be convinced,” you say, in that bitchy tone he knows hes going to love to hate. You soften; though, turn to him, your hair falling a little in your face, kiss him gently on the mouth.

Greg responds in kind, deepening the kiss, his hands tangling in your hair, pulling lightly before traveling to your breasts, kneading your flesh through your shirt.

“Could you be convinced to have lesbian sex with me right now?” he asks.

You’d burst out laughing if you also weren’t so admittedly and ashamedly turned on right now. “Yeah. Sure. Think you’d have an easier time in bed though.”

“You treat me like all your girls?” he asks, a glint in his eye, and oh, there’s the being seen. You’re not a fan, either. You’re surprised he’s not being forthright about what he no doubt is putting together, but ultimately you’re thankful.

“A slut’s a slut,” you quip as he leans back in, his mouth barely touching yours and he chuckles against your skin.

“You really are a bitch.”

“Mm,” you agree, closing the distance between you again, pulling him to stand up with you, letting him lean on you as he puts weight on it again.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, without thinking, never one to apologize for his actions but never one to let his disability affect others, either.

“It’s okay, Greg,” you whisper. “I got you.”

“No, I’ll go get—“

You stop him, holding his jaw gently in your hand. “It’s okay.”

Empathy. Not sympathy.

You had been here, in a way. Femur fractures take a good six months to heal. You walked half a year in his shoes on the same medication he was on.

Now it all clicks, what James had done, keeping you two apart to bring you together, doing something by not doing anything, letting it all happen by chance. He had been patient enough to let time do most of the work, something Greg could never do, but something that ultimately worked in his favor.

It’s okay. We all need someone we can lean on. If you want it, you can lean on me.

You still lived a life without pain.

Greg hates it, hates it all, and if you had had just the slightest twinge of force, the slightest indication that you were saying it was okay just to say something he would’ve told you to get out. He hates the way it kills intimacy, makes him older, more decrepit, makes him dependent, in a way. There’s certain things he can never do, or that he’d need help to do, and it’s something a woman would leave him for.

It’s something a woman did leave him for.

He wants to hug you, but that would feel too much, too intimate, too soon, so he kisses you again instead, and then the two of you hobble on to his bedroom. It hurts. God, it hurts, aches like it always does, maybe more so—the last pill he took was at dinner, but you make it, helping him ease onto the bed and wasting no time, knowing he was insecure, wasting no time to prove you still wanted him, mouth on his, your legs straddling his good thigh, moving on to his neck, laving your tongue over his skin, biting gently, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt.

“Hey,” Greg says, stopping your hand’s ministrations.

“I’m only taking your shirt off,” you assure him. “I won’t go further than that.”

“Fine. Not much to see there, either,” he mutters.

“I like tits,” you blurt without thinking. Jesus Christ. You have to stop doing that.

“Yeah,” he says, chuckling. “Sure you do. Good thing mine are bigger than Cuddy’s.”

“They absolutely are not.”

“You familiar with their size?”

You stop yourself just in time before you say “I wish.”

He lets you finish, helping you take his shirt off, take his undershirt off, shivering as you kiss down the length of his torso to the top of his pants. “I’ll show you mine,” you say, unbuttoning your pants and slipping them off, throwing them on the floor haphazardly. You move over so he can see the scar down the side of your leg, deep gash where they cut you open, you were a month away from a nursing license and you were in the OR, someone’s patient before you could ever be on the side you studied for.

You were lucky, they kept saying. You didn’t feel lucky at all.

Tentatively, his hand comes to touch your skin and you nod, silent agreement that he could touch. He’s gentle even though he doesn’t need to be, touching carefully, tracing the line of the scar up and down, hard keloid under his skin.

“This isn’t what you don’t want me to see,” Greg says.

“Hm?”

“Your upper body. That’s why you didn’t want me to take your shirt off.”

Oh. Yeah. That.

“I don’t care,” you lie.

“Yes, you do,” he counters immediately, looking at you knowingly. “Why are you lying?”

You sigh, pulling him back to you, kissing him hard, hoping he’ll shut up if you don’t give him the chance to speak. “Just touch me already.”

It would be so much easier if he just fucked you, fucked you over, fucked you up all within the course of a month. You get the feeling right now, as your tongue is down his throat and you’re letting out moans against his lips you try to suppress as his fingers enter you, stretch you out, reach angles you couldn’t reach by yourself, you get the feeling this is going to be for the long haul. Not that he’s necessarily going to be down on one knee, but that he’s going to drag out hurting you like he’s dragging his fingers against your walls, drawing you closer and closer to the edge but never quite bringing you there.

“You okay?” you ask him, breathless, head hazy, you just want him, want him closer than this, want him deep in you.

“Shh,” Greg whispers, almost a little irritated. “I’m busy right now.”

You can’t really focus on coming up with a retort because he starts rubbing your clit and as you tilt your head back into the pillows, he starts biting at the flesh he can now easily access, starting gentle but then applying more pressure with his teeth, smirking as you whimper.

Sweat trickles down your back and you wish this was different, but he’s naked from the waist up and you’re unclothed from the waist down, and it’s stupid, you know it’s dumb, that you’re letting this man fuck you with his fingers before you let him see you fully naked. It’s not like no one has before. It’s just a conversation you don’t want to have again.

Still. All this is making you a little too hot to be half-clothed.

Greg wonders why he let you in at all. Why he went through the trouble, bought you dinner, why he’s trying to get you off right now. Maybe it’s to fuck with James. Sure, it was originally, but now he feels like it was James who fucked with him, set him up, used predictable behaviors to create a predictable outcome. Still. If you’d been professional with him instead of giving him crassness right back, he would’ve decided to make your life a living hell instead of getting you in between his sheets. Either way, he was going to make someone miserable.

Himself, first and foremost.

Not that he can really be miserable right now. It’s not terrible being needed in this sense, he’s remembering.

You weren’t like Stacy, though, not here. You’re louder, not in a patronizing way where you exaggerate your moans to try and stroke a man’s ego, but it’s like you genuinely can’t hold yourself back. It’s hot. It’s unreserved. It’s… passionate in a way Stacy just wasn’t. She loved him, he knows that, but when things got hard and he got mean instead of fighting back she got cold and walked away.

Not that he can glean exactly how you’d be in an argument from how you act in bed, but he has a feeling you don’t let go of things easily.

And… well. Takes one to know one.

Who would give in, though?

His relationship with Stacy worked before his leg because Stacy would accommodate, she would compromise herself for him. It’s why his friendship with James works now. Sure. Both of them gave him some pushback — it’s not like they in good conscience could let him get away with all the things he wanted to do. And eventually he pushed Stacy until she broke.

You, though? You don’t seem like you shatter easily. If anything you seem like you’d harden like a scar, healing over stronger, uglier, thicker, nothing really hurting you because you’d just put more walls up. You’d fight him to the bitter end.

And you know, maybe he wants that. Someone he’s not afraid to push too far because he knows you’ll push right back the second he gets even an inch.

All he really knows is your vague med list, that you got into a motorcycle accident almost a decade ago, and that you chose to be a psychiatric provider among all other things you could have been. And yet… he feels like he can glean much more.

All he really knows in this moment is that you’re coming apart under his fingers, gripping his forearm with your hands as he drags out your orgasm, trying to get him away from your now overstimulated cunt.

“She comes in colors everywhere,” he mutters, smirking lazily at you, dragging his fingers out of you, finally, then brings them to his mouth, sucking slowly on each one.

You scoff at his comment, but just as quickly he sees the light turn green again and you straddle his left thigh, coming to kiss his mouth, hard, bare cunt against his slacks and he can’t help it, he’s thinking about you wrecking them, thinking about your wet pussy on what could’ve been his bare thigh… and he groans despite himself, in pain, yes, but also pleasure - and he’s pulling you closer by the collar of your shirt, and he begins to remember why men put themselves through what could very well be the potential torture of dating a woman.

It’s just so much better when it’s with someone you know. Or… someone you need to know everything about, need to memorize like they’re an extension of yourself.

You’re not soulmates. It’s not love. It’s not romance, like James would decree.

You won’t fix him. He sure as hell won’t fix you.

But you’ll do something to each other, alright.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Hi roman. I know this is very weird, but i've seen you give some life advice to other people, so i thought i could give it a try too. Don't answer if you don't want to. Anyway

Do you have any advice/tips for a 15 y/o who thinks they just have no control over their life? Like, my concentration is dog shit, i think my grades are slipping. My executive dysfunction so bad and i think i'm disappointing a lot of people. I have no idea how to handle anything in my life. I can't force myself to do the things i need to (not that that'd be any good, i'll immediately cry lol). I just, don't fucking know how i could make things better for myself. And i can't really talk to adults about it, they'll repeat the stuff i already know, and i am the worst person to put their feelings into words, so they'll prob never understand. Not in the edgy way.

Yeah so sorry for half venting into your ask box. Thank you in advance if you'll answer it, if it's too weird and you don't want to do that for whatever reason, that's ok. Peace and love <3

Dude, you’re unfortunately suffering from being 15. And possibly a learning disorder. Godspeed to you.

And I don’t say that to belittle your problems. In many ways as a teenager you don’t have control over a lot of things. You’re still under the control of your parents, you’re still learning how to deal with adult level emotions and ideas. A lot is expected of you and a lot of things are made to seem more important than they are. It’s hard to tell what’s actually important and what’s just adults blowing things out of proportion. It sucks and it’s frustrating!

If you can, you might want to talk to a counselor. If your parents or guardians are anti-counseling you might try to talk to someone at your school like a teacher or administrator or school nurse about the possibility of getting counseling without your parents knowing. Some schools have programs like that.

The adults closest to you might not understand but if you keep looking you’ll eventually find someone who remembers what it’s like to be in your shoes.

And I remember fully feeling like I’d never get control over anything. The end goal of life was graduation from high school and god only knows if I keep existing after that. But the thing is, you do! You keep existing and you figure a lot of stuff out. Wisdom does come with time, it turns out. And legally and practically you end up getting a lot more autonomy as time goes on.

And I know hearing things like this might not feel comforting. When you’re stuck, you’re stuck and no matter how much you logically know it’ll get better right now it sucks.

Just find ways to keep going. And try asking for help sometimes. If your family won’t listen, find someone who will. Take the time to write down your problems and how you feel if you can’t come up with explanations of what’s going on. Or find a friend to talk it out with so you can practice explaining yourself.

If there’s one thing I can promise you, when you’re a couple years into adulthood all of the problems from your teenage years start to feel small. At the time they were big and important though. And that’s what you’re going through right now. And a lot of adults forget about that. Hang in there, and when all of this is behind you, remember how hard it was and maybe someday you can help someone like you.

I’m sorry if all that wasn’t helpful. I don’t know too much about your individual situation. But ask for help when you can. Someone out there understands. You’ll find them.

[ghost-proofbaby]

if it were anyone else (e.m.)

warnings: strong allusions to depression, disordered eating/rough relationship with food, mentions of smoking, description of a sort of panic attack. very sad. hurt/comfort? not edited.

wc: 1.6k+

a/n: this is literally entirely self indulgent and written entirely after i sat and cried and thought "i wish i had eddie here right now to hold me". maybe in like thirty minutes tops. this is for me and only me. go figure lol. sorry. yeah. anyways.

if you relate, my askbox is always open, and i'm very sorry you've felt this way as well. i hope you all take care of yourselves. drink some water, call a friend. be kind to yourself.

“I’m worried about you.” 

Four words that always manage to strike a certain type of fear in your gut. You don’t know how to react as he says it, how he wants you to react. You can only stare blankly, you can only wish harder for the earth to swallow you whole.

“What do you mean?” you laugh nervously, following it with a hard swallow.

You’re playing dumb. You know it, he knows it. The tremor in your bones and your numb appendages know it, too. 

“You’re…” Eddie stalls, licking his lips, letting his eyes rake over you, “You’re getting bad again.” 

You’re quick to shake your head, forcing another hollow chuckle from your chest, “It’s not that bad. I’m fin-”

“You’re not fine.”

The look in his eyes could crack your spine if you stare too long. Wet eyes, a trembling bottom lip, worry lines etched into his forehead that you realize might be caused by you.

You’re causing him worry. The last thing you want to do, you’ve accomplished. You’re on a fast-track to becoming a burden – the first step is always acceptance. 

You’re still unsure of how he wants – no, needs you to react right now. This conversation is a landmine for both of you, and you hold every breath with every step as you try to navigate it. If you make one wrong step, it could cause an explosion that spares no survivors.

You don’t mind if it tears you apart limb by limb. You do mind if it hurts him. 

“How… How do you know that?” 

It’s not a sarcastic snipping or defensive deterrence. It’s an unfiltered response of genuineness – you want to know the signs, you want to know what has exposed the rot this time.

And then, maybe next time, you’ll be able to better shield it from him with this knowledge. 

“How could I not?” he takes a deep breath in through his nose, and you focus on the flare of his nostrils rather than any of the tears beginning to gather at his waterlines, “It’s been happening for a while now, though, hasn’t it?” 

Your throat is a cage, tight and restrictive and ringing with a bitter metallic taste in its tenseness. You can’t respond with words. You can only nod. 

He chooses to answer your question more properly now that you’ve admitted it, “You’re cold all the time again. You’re always sleeping too much or too little. You’re smoking again, running yourself into the ground. Picking up distractions like they’re going out of style.”

“Hey, they might be. We never know-” you cut yourself off when your eyes meet his. Now’s not the time for jokes, “Sorry. I… I know. I’m sorry.” 

He’s right. Fuck, he’s right. 

“I want to ask you something, and I need you to answer me honestly,” his own steps across these landmines are just as delicate, just as feathery light, as your own. You hear it in his tone, see it in his body language. You wish your body could sink into the mattress you’re sitting on the edge of as he crouches in front of you, warm palms connecting with your knees. Grounding you. Tethering you. Holding you back from that sinking you crave. “Are you… Sweetheart, are you okay?”

If anybody else had built up to such a stupid question, you would have laughed in their face. You would have shoved those warm palms right off of your skin and you would have thrown up those ice cold hands of your own, shouted obviously not. 

Obviously not. I’m not okay. I’m so far from okay, it’s a bit comical. I am drowning. I am treading in freezing cold waters and I am barely capable of keeping my head above the waves. My engine is fucked, my tank is empty. I don’t think I’d even know how to be ‘okay’ again if you did manage to pull this mangled body of mine from these depths and sat me down on safe, solid ground again. 

You can’t say any of this, though. Not because you don’t trust him, not because he would judge you. But because the moment he asks the question that should make you scoff, you let out a sob instead. Something like a muffled, broken wail that tears from deep within you. It had already been ready and poised, laying in wait for a perfect moment like this one to escape. 

His eyes aren’t the only glossy ones anymore. 

“I-” you start, breathing already stuttering and chest already constricting, “I- I-”

“Hey,” he palms smooth up your thighs, carrying their warmth with them, as if he were trying to spread it across you. As if he had heard your thoughts. As if he already knew all about those dark, treacherous, freezing waters you were stranded in. All you can do is spew out another cry, strangled as you tried to swallow it down before it entered the atmosphere between you two, “Hey.” 

You only notice the tears when you crumple forward and he meets you halfway. Those warm palms, those hands so capable of safety and promise, cup your cheeks and his thumbs make quick work of swiping away the salty streams. 

“Hey, baby, breathe for me,” his voice is tragically gentle, “Just one deep breath, okay?” 

To demonstrate, you watch his chest expand dramatically, his hands forcing you to keep your eyes on him. 

You can’t see through the bleariness. 

“C’mon, sweetness,” he encourages again, “One breath. Just one.” 

If it were anyone else, you’d turn into a fit of rage at the coddling. You’d break everything in sight. You’d scream until your already burning lungs finally collapsed as they’d been yearning to for so long. 

But it’s him. It’s just him, it’s just Eddie. 

His chest rises dramatically again, and this time, yours does as well, albeit through stifling hiccups. You’re dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the flood of emotion that was wrecking you. 

“There you go!” his voice rises ever so slightly, and when you flinch a bit at the sudden volume, he retracts, “Sorry, sorry. But that’s it, sweetheart. Another one, okay?” 

Another breath. Another sob. Another wave of all the pain you’ve been battling off. 

You’re cold all the time again. You’re always sleeping too much or too little. You’re smoking again, running yourself into the ground.

He was right and it fucking killed you. None of those are things you could ever shield him from. You didn’t have the heart to pull away those numb and icey fingertips every time he’d reach out for your hand, or try to cover the shivers that managed to rack your bones even in the middle of summer. The sleeping situation had been spiraling, a pendulum of sleepless nights that would end in a sleep so deep that you could have been mistaken for resting with the dead. Maybe the smoking you could have hid, especially when you’d been so boastful about quitting. 

You weren’t running yourself into the ground. You had already collapsed into the dirt, you had already joined the worms. You’d buried yourself alive, six feet under, and nothing could have stopped him from sniffing out that scent of decay on you. 

The death of a soul and mind. The death of the thing that had propelled you forward for so long. No amount of sweet perfume, or hour long scalding showers, or minty gum to occupy your mind rather than a proper meal, can erase that stench. 

You never could have shielded him. He always saw right through you. Always had, always would. 

“I’m sorry,” you end up crying out. 

You don’t know what you’re apologizing for, but you echo the words again. Over and over, on repeat, until he’s rising from the ground. Until he’s sat beside you. Until his arms are suddenly encasing you and you’re awarded a warmth you didn’t feel deserving of. 

He doesn’t smell like the decay you’d surrounded yourself with. He smells like slow waking in the morning, dreary and calm and at a reasonable time. He smells like warm baths that only relax your bones, and don’t have to blister your skin in the process. He smells like three meals a day, all comforting and all effortless and that never linger with a sense of regret.

He’s not decay, never even treading close to death. He’s home. He’s the promise that you could be okay. Even if it isn’t right now. 

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs into the crown of your head, squeezing you tighter into his chest, not even blinking an eye at the patch of wetness you leave behind from where your cheeks bury against him, “Never apologize. Ever. Not with me, sweetheart. Keep the sorries. I don’t need them.” 

If it were anyone else, the holding would have suffocated you. But it’s him. It’s Eddie.

You don’t fight him when he pulls you fully into his lap, situating the two of you comfortably on that mattress. 

You don’t know how long you let him cradle you like that. How much of that time is spent filled with your cries, or how many breaths he gently urges you to take with him. He never once has to verbally say what you already know; he never once promises aloud that it’ll be okay. He doesn’t put that pressure on you, not yet. Not today. Not when he knows the journey to okay is still such a long one. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispers to you instead, “I’ve got you, now, sweetheart.” 

If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t believe them. 

But it’s him. It’s Eddie. 

And he’s got you, for now and for as long as you need.

[maple-the-awesome]

Friend or Foe || Part 2/3

Part 1 || Part 3

Pairings: Time, Wind, Wild x GN Reader

Overview: Link visits an alternate world without its hero and, more importantly, a version of you without your Link. Unfortunately, it seems even the smallest of details can lead to disastrous results. In spirt of Halloween, I've decided to do a little evil prompt because none of the Links have enough emotional damage yet😈

Zelda Masterlist 💙Fandom Masterlist

Time may not remember everything that has occurred over his many, long adventures, but he does remember the day you met. Only children then, you both made an innocent promise to marry once adults. Now, Time may be a lot of things, but he has always been a man of his word. How could he not be when presented the perfect chance to spend the rest of his life with his childhood crush? You’re the one person he can trust with his every secret - the reward at the end of every troubling journey. He lives to see your joy and dies to see your sorrow, even when it isn't exactly 'your' sorrow...

It's difficult business keeping track of eight young boys and men, especially when they're all cursed with the same adventurous spirits that are easily distracted. Of course they’ve managed to disappear here. He can only blame himself for not having questioned their silence sooner, although he’d be lying to say he doesn’t feel disappointed, notably with the older boys, Twilight and Warrior, who are usually more responsible than to simply wander off without a word of explanation. Alas, even they’re nowhere to be seen, his only hint of other life nearby being a giggle that echoes off the vast number of gigantic trees.

"My, my. One more left I see?" Time leaps back, hand already on his sword when he hears the voice, “Oooh, and look at you! So handsome! So fierce! I’m digging the scar - it makes you look so tough. And those muscles, too! You seem like you would really know how to -”

“- Where are you?!” Time demands, getting his answer promptly when a figure swings down from a branch mere feet away from his face.

“Wow! You’re even hotter up closer!”

Time's eyes widen in surprise due to both their sudden entrance and their physical appearance. This mysterious person has wild hair that sticks out in every direction with their body lacking a healthy weight or color, yet Time immediately ignores all of that in favor of focusing upon the mask they wear - one he knows all too well but wishes he didn’t. He thought, for a second, that he may have recognized their voice, too, yet he’s more certain that he must be mistaken in that regard. No way it could be…

“Hey, you were traveling with those other boys, right? So maybe you’ll be nicer by giving me the answers I want! You see, beautiful stranger, I’m looking for a special friend of mine. We made a promise a while back and I intend to fulfill it if I could just find him first. None of the travelers I’ve found in these woods so far are him, so I was beginning to lose hope until I overheard those friends of yours mention his name, but they -”

Time can’t move, his body overcome with a chilled wave that ends with his feet cemented to the ground. It would be reasonable to say he misheard the first time, and he could keep denying it if he wants now, but that wouldn’t change the fact that he does recognize this person’s voice. How could he not when it’s the same that belongs to his own person angel? It’s a disordered version of yours, however this person isn’t you. This can’t be you because last he checked, you were safe back home where you promised to wait for his next return. How could you suddenly be here in this world, kept under the binding influence of Majora’s Mask?

“- Hey, are you broken?!” This person - who still so eerily sounds like you despite Time’s refusal to admit such a thing - knocks a fist against his forehead, barely flinching when he jerks back with a gasp, “Sooo? You gonna help me or just be difficult like your friends, eh? I don’t have all day, miser!”

Perhaps this ‘you’ is simply a figment of his imagination created by the forest to torment him; that must be the answer. He just has to play the game - no matter how much it messes with his head - to find out what happened to the boys. He’s dealt with enough Skull Kids before, this would be a piece of cake.

“I -...This friend of yours, who is he? Someone you’ve lost in the forest?” Time asks carefully, doing his best not to react too much outwardly, after all he’s seen first hand how Majora’s Mask can affect the mind of its wearer, and this ‘you’ before him has already clearly been put through the wringer.

“If I knew where I had lost him, I would’ve found him!” You snap in irritation.

Time swallows, “...Right, that does make sense, but perhaps if you could tell me his name, I could offer you better help in finding him?”

You seem pleased by this answer, swinging yourself upright on the branch where you become illuminated only by the glowing eyes of your mask, “Link.”

“L…Link?” That cold feeling from before returns, making Time suddenly feel sick to his stomach as the dots finally begin to connect in his head. This is no figment of his imagination - no trick of the light or evil illusion. It really is you…not the same version of you he married, but the other he promised to…

In Wind’s world, you're an adored teacher on Windfall Island. You’re kind, caring, and very knowledgeable about Hyrule's history which came in handy whenever he needed pointers during his early adventures. Yes, you would express concern over a child of his age partaking in such dangerous affairs (you thought it was all a joke when he first told you) and you've let it slip before that you aren't the biggest fan of pirates, although beyond your mother-like worry which you’ve adopted towards all your students (even the unofficial ones like Wind), you’ve ultimately supported him every step of the way. You've always been a huge role model for him, so this shift in personality is more than unexpected...

Wind was excited to show his new friends around what he thought to be his own Hyrule and relieved to discover they weren’t alone on this island they’ve found themselves stuck on after wandering through another portal. A pirate ship anchored on shore - the very ship belonging to Zelda’ crew, as Wind foolishly assured the others despite their caution. Now, thanks to his impatience and eagerness, he sits saddened and embarrassed next to the rest of the heroes as they remain tied to the ship’s mast. 

It’s confusing. The pirates of this ship are the same as Zelda's crew, yet they claimed to not at all recognize the younger pirate regardless of his attempts to jog their memories. Instead, they had rounded him and the rest of the Chain up the second they approached their dock, taking them prisoner where they currently wait for 'the Captain's reaction'. 

The Captain. This made Wind feel relieved again. Zelda. He doesn't know why the other pirates are acting so strangely, but Zelda will be able to clear this whole mess up, in fact here she comes, dressed in her normal pirate attire Wind's accustomed to seeing.

"ZELDA! Goddesses, am I glad to see you! I don't understand what kinda trick the guys are trying to play on me, but this isn’t the time! My friends - they're all heroes of courage like me and we could really use your help to -" The words come so quickly from Wind's mouth that Zelda barely has time to look disgusted. 

"How hard did you exactly hit this guy?" She asks while looking to Nudge then back to Wind with a smirk.

"Wha - I'm serious! This is urgent, Zelda -!"

"- Who?" She places her hands on her hips, generally seemingly confused which makes Wind's blood run cold, but not as much as it does when another voice speaks.

"Oi, what's the ruckus out here, eh!? I thought I told ya' lot to keep it down - Oh. What do we have here, umm?" The doors to the Captain's cabin burst open, out walking a figure dressed head-to-toe in a bright red uniform with a large black, white, and magenta feather sticking out from their hat.

"Captain," Zelda immediately backs off from Wind, "These guys were just caught after trying to rush our ship."

"No, that’s not what we -!"

"- Little thieves. 'thought they could just follow us here and steal our treasure!" The pirates hiss together, although you take more time to look over the boy in front of you along with his companions.

"You all look familiar…" Your statement - as disinterested as it sounds - almost gives Wind hope. Almost, "Lock 'em up in the cellar where I won't have to listen to their annoying bitching. Gonzo, set a course for the Forsaken Fortress. I think Ganondorf would like to meet these boys. Tetra, you stick with me."

"YES, CAPTAIN!" An assortment of shouts follow, both from the pirates who follow your every order loyally and the heroes who express their dismay. Wind, however, can only stare in complete disbelief and betrayal as you look back at him once more, your eyes dark from underneath your hat's shadow which is a sharp contrast to the usual warmth that he knows you for. 

Wild lives with a lot of heavy regrets weighing him down, perhaps the most unspoken being his missed chance at ever telling you his true feelings. You were an ever-so-dear friend to him before the Calamity - someone who never expected the impossible from him and always offered a shoulder to lean on should he need one. He loved you quite a bit; something he remembered almost as soon as he remembered you. He has often visited your grave, replaying past events in his head while suffocating in his own guilt from not having protected you. He has sometimes begged the Goddess to let him see you again, even if just to apologize, but this isn’t what he had in mind - far from it…

Wild’s version of Hyrule is chaotic and messy; a land that thrives off of quiet hope and the shattered remnants of a once mighty kingdom. Zelda has mentioned the theory before: that like Hyrule, Wild needed to become something else - something different and unruly in nature because if you can’t beat it, then join it. 

With that said, he’s accustomed to using a lack of forethought, at least in any way comparable to his past self (which is what he tells himself, anyway). As far as he knows, before the Calamity, he was as straight-laced as they come, always concerning himself with his public image and focused on never letting anyone down. He’s nothing like that now, often running into danger head first with messy hair and a blaze of fire following his trail. You would think after the amount of concussions and scars he’s gained, he would’ve long learned his lesson, but alas, he raced through this dungeon with little worry as he’s done many others because his confidence - or perhaps his dull wit - has once again outweighed any common sense. 

Now this is the price he must pay for his own ignorance: a nightmare reanimated before him as it taunts and tortures his inner conscience…and all he can do is accept this horrid punishment in frozen terror as you stalk across the room towards him.

When he raced ahead of the others and turned the key, he expected to be greeted with the typical dungeon boss - an overgrown bokoblin or fiery wizard. He didn’t expect it to be you, crumbled on the ground with gloom affecting your entire body. He didn’t expect for you to react so harshly to his presence, throwing him across the room with a blast of magic when he tried to reach your side, desperate to know how you’re alive and if you’re okay.

You look as angry as you have every right to be, your face curled into a snarl as you come closer, eyes narrowed in an orange glow and a sword in your hand…yet Wild could do nothing but let his knees buckle from underneath himself and dig his nails into his scalp as he asks himself over and over again how this is possible. How are you here? How are you alive? How were you affected and how does he fix you? …He can’t, though. He let you down then and has no idea how to save you now despite having been granted the gift of your presence again - the very thing he’s been begging for.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” He cries, not sure if it’s for you or himself as he sobs your name with the same heartache he would over your grave, “I’msorry! I’msorry!”

“IT’S AN ILLUSION, WILD! IT’S NOT THEM!” Someone shouts from behind - someone who he’d usually easily recognize as Twilight yet his mind is in too much of a rush to even listen to his concerned friend’s words, let alone care about his identity. 

Wild can only think of his final moments with you. The day you ‘casually’ told him about plans to try a new restaurant in Castle Town and how you were looking for someone to join you. Foolishly - ever so foolishly - he asked if your sister wouldn’t go, generally confused that you, someone so kind and loved, would have trouble finding a willing companion for any aspect of your life. 

Bashfully, you agreed to ask her, and that was it. You walked off, leaving the poor hero to wonder why you looked so dejected and heartbroken. The next time he’d see you was a mere picture an old woman showed him, curious if you happened to be the one he ran into town desperately searching for. The woman - your niece, as it would turn out - confirmed his worst fears, explaining that while you had survived the initial attack during the Calamity, you like many others soon succumbed to an illness Purah now theorizes to have been a result of close contact with gloom. 

Wild can only imagine your final moments, poisoned by gloom and betrayal much like this other version of you is. If only he had done his job properly, you would have never felt such pain. You, like your sister, would have grown old and lived peacefully as you deserved. He, himself, wouldn’t have to forever live with this guilt he bears from your death - guilt that tries convincing him it would’ve been better if Twilight hadn’t pulled him away from the danger, instead allowing you - even if not truly you - to get some sort of revenge for his mistakes. 

[babyspacekwid]

Astrology Observations and Advice ✨ (TW talks of ED)

From a non professional astrologer who has no idea wtf she’s posting half the time 💕

Chiron 4th house in Capricorn, Your dad may be very hard on you, like a perfectionist dad. Could have also been abusive. Could be the type to comment on your shortcomings. Remember that you are enough as it is, don’t be so hard on yourself, treat yourself as you would a friend. With compassion and kindness. Its okay to make mistakes in life. It’s common to have daddy issues with this placement, so try not to let that affect your love life, this is a personal placement of mine😜 rlly into toxic men, but they ain’t good for me, so let us be aware of that. Don’t take life too seriously, do the serious shit without being too serious about it. Idk if that makes sense but for example, let’s say u got a math test, do the math test seriously, like study and shit but don’t let the stress of it consume you because it rlly ain’t that serious.

Aries moon, especially men y’all’s temper is unregulated af. Ive seen y’all snap at stuff that energy shouldn’t be wasted on, y’all are one of the most emotionally reactive signs I have ever met. Like a ticking time bomb. This moon sign might have experienced a mother figure that was harsh and emotionally neglectful. Very hard on you, wasn’t that nurturing when raising you. The type of mom to tell you to get up and wipe the dust off when you fall and scrape your knee as a kid. y’all gotta delve into those emotions in a healthier manner. Therapy and journaling could be very beneficial. Go to one of those rage rooms where ppl break shit, I feel like y’all would go all out. There’s definitely some pent up anger. This goes for Scorpio moons too, y’all is more internal though, got some deep dark thoughts and intense internal feelings that could easily overwhelm which is why downtime is needed.

Speaking of some Scorpio moons I have met, don’t let your trust issues fuck things up. This a hard placement, y’all feel things so deeply, but just cause one person backstabbed you don’t mean everyone will. Open up to people, trial and error and you’ll find that person. Obviously set boundaries and don’t just trauma dump on everyone you meet, but don’t build an invisible wall as soon as you meet someone. Not everyone is out to get you.

(TW) Taurus risings I’ve met have dealt with some type of eating disorder. Could have had family members or people comment on their weight as a child or just got rlly influenced by the negative parts of social media. Every taurus rising I’ve met has dealt with body issues, y’all are actually so beautiful though, and I’m sorry you don’t hear it often,no matter the size. You guys are also so photogenic, like maybe I’m just the type of person that sees human beings as cute in general but istg y’all could be making the ugliest of faces and I’d still think it’s charming 😭 my best advice would be to stop comparing yourselves, and to learn unconditional love towards your body at every stage it’s at. We’re gonna be 60 and wrinkly anyways, might as well enjoy what it can do for you now!

I have this friend who’s a Capricorn sun and moon, and as a Gemini sun and moon myself I feel so similar to her in like every aspect. Idk if it’s because we’re both born on a new moon, but anyways, this girl needs to learn to open up😭 like hun I wanna be your shoulder to cry on, don’t get me wrong she will vent, and spill the tea, but when the waterworks come out she’d rather isolate. I’m just like naurrrrrr, come back. I might not be comfortable with tears and shit but il awkwardly pat your back and listen to you. Either way y’all don’t be afraid to be vulnerable, you aren’t a burden and you can’t deal with it yourself. Stop trynna convince yourself that you can. Humans are social creatures and our primal instinct is to receive and give love. M

ANYWHOOOO y’all I rlly ain’t that knowledgeable about this shit, I’m rlly going off my friend’s placements (and mine). I am studying astrology tho so maybe one day 🤠 but I got the memory of a goldfish so it might take a while, I appreciate everyone who’s been liking my posts though THANK YOU💕💕💕💕

[cherry-pop-elf]

Weasley Siblings Helping You Lose Weight

AN: I suffer a binge eating disorder, inflected from my mother. I also suffer with medical issues and medication that genuinely have made things so difficult. My mom refuses to help, so sometimes you just gotta be your own cheerleader. Call me crazy, but imagining George Weasley supporting me is what keeps me going sometimes. Maybe this can helps others in my shoes to. It’s scary, and isolating, but hey. I’m your cheerleader to!

Warnings: Binge eating disorder, weight loss, sensitive topic matter with food, diet culture, it’s just a trigger warning of weight topics in general

William ‘Bill’

As the eldest sibling he’s had to try and be the best influence. He’s had to try and make sure his younger siblings ate and stayed health. Third parent syndrome. So he knows that this will be a journey, but one he’s happy to help with. Given his curse breaking job he often needs to keep himself in a very healthy mental space. So he would be more than happy to drag you in with yoga, tai chi, and simple mental work outs like that. It’s simple, but easy on the joints. A important part of weight loss is doing things that are enjoyable. Makes you want to do them more. His focus on mental health is very important, and often ignored when weight loss is involved. So this important step is going to make the journey so much easier. Slower? Maybe. But slower means it’ll STAY off easier. His focus on mental health is going to be a god send

Charlie

Since he works with dragons he knows how important it is to keep healthy. He’s constantly doing Manuel labor, and eats a pretty heavy diet of protein. This also means he’s going to be a great cheerleader to help you. Knowing all kinds of great work outs to help you, and finding useful tasks for you to do at the sanctuary. Not to mention he knows how to cook, and is more than happy to show you how as well. He is also a nice reminder that you can still be healthy will looking chubby. He’s made of heavy muscle. Muscle isn’t tense twenty four seven. That squishy is deadly. It’ll make losing weight a bit scary though. You’ll be developing muscle as you lose weight, so the number on the scale won’t really move. Don’t worry. Muscle burns a lot since you need a lot of calories to keep it. You are in safe hands. You need to trust the process. It takes time. You’ll do it! Charlie knows it!

Percy

He’s not a jock. He doesn’t work out like crazy. Especially not like his siblings. But he does know how to cook. Every Weasley does. Eating healthier and cleaner is exteremly important. Most of weight loss relies on being under a calorie number. That’s, unfortunately, the harder parts to. So Percy will be more than happy to do a bunch of reading on the topic. To do his best to figure out the best meals for the day. To help trade out snacks for healthier alternatives. It’ll also give him a good excuse to try and repair the bond with his family. Practicing and learning family recipes. That’s so nice

Fred & George

They run a joke shop full of candy, sweets, and pastries. Needless to say it’s a binge eaters worst nightmare. That’s going to cause so many trials and tribulation. The smells and scents, the new recipes, it’s just hell. They want to help so much, but they are shop owners. Not like they just take it all off the shelves. It’s truly going to be a test that you will fail, many times, but they will be there to pick up the pieces. They’ll be there for every crying session you have after you finish off so much that you feel inhuman. They’ll even use this as an excuse to try and invent new sweets that can be healthier. Children deserve to eat healthier too. Some kids are victims of obesity and need help. Diet culture makes them think they are bigger than they actually are. So to have healthier sweet alternatives helps everyone. Your struggles will be what help kids feel better. They’ll be more than happy to find alternatives to help. You won’t be treated as ‘different’ for needing to diet. You won’t feel like a burden because you need to eat different. Being a kid is being happy and whimsical. And by god they will help you make eating fun again! And help you through that toxic relationship with it!

Ron

He can be the one person that understands the relationship dynamic of food. Sure he has a high metabolism, and is constantly working out, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how eating can just make everything feel better. Food can feel good, but it can also feel so damn bad. He knows that feeling. He knows that pain. He knows that horrible dance. He gets it, and knows it’s not as easy as just ‘eating less’ as everyone says. It’s not that easy. He knows. He knows you are trying your damn best, and he’s going to remind you that you have made successful steps. That because you relapse doesn’t make you any less of a person. Everyone falls down. The fact you get up again is what matters. He gets it, and will help you. You two can do it. TOGETHER

Ginny

As the youngest she’s seen her siblings trial and tribulations. As the saying goes ‘the oldest does everything the youngest shouldn’t’ and learns not to do that. She also over all has more life experience than people give her credit for. She understands that you are struggling, and is more than happy to help. Have you train with her before her quidditch seasons, and just try and make things fun. Just like her siblings ya gotta make it fun. She’s got that high energy spirit that will help you stay active. Morning runs, yoga, dancing, she has an energetic lifestyle that will help you be more active. Even if you both stay home all day. Her energy is infectious, and it’ll help motivate you to move more. She’s got your back, and has so many health programs to let you use. She’s a professional quidditch player. Everyone needs a specific diet plan for their needs. Especially since everyone works a different part. A seeker needs a different diet compared to a beater. She’s gonna help you, and her quidditch team has your back all the same. You won’t face this alone

[infinite-hearts-333]

Credits:

Au by @onyxonline !!

Zane: @moonspiritleaf

North Heat: @north-heats-stronghold

Sunny: @novalizinpeace

Zelda: @svetikfandomfrom0902

Merrit: @fishy0bishy

Halt thou beast, bare your scales waxed with sins.

Bare your neck.

Here you’ll perish.

Ouroboros.

Ouřa Thorn’s feet barely made a sound as they walked, head hung low as they trailed slow circles around the kitchen island, into the lounge, in front of the tv, before looping back around into the kitchen.

There was a word for this in animals, they vaguely remembered.

Zoochosis. Some form of stress disorder that made them do repeated things to soothe themselves or deal with a problem that they can’t solve.

Ouřa Thorn growled, a low rumble in their throat that echoed in a quiet cackle they heard the birds make back on their planet, stopping beside the door that led them outside to the halls.

Their scales prickled up, sharp, sharp,,

Having to mind how they stood, being careful around those smaller than them, constantly being aware of their large spines and tail..

Ouřa hissed, chomping down on their spiny arm, grinding their sharp teeth into the hard plating. They huffed through their nose, quivering, inhaling and exhaling.

Too unreliable, too dangerous, they really were just a monster.

The thunder of rage from the Beast as their eyes had landed on Zelda- who was not at fault for being infected with red smoke-

Ouřa gritted harder, little drops of blood welling to the surface.

“Thorn?”

Ouřa’s eyes snapped to the movement in the hallway, their back hitting a wall with a thud as they stared.

It was just Merrit.

It was just Merrit.

Why weren’t they breathing?

The Ferret’s brows furrowed, and she slowly lifted her hands. “Thorn? You don't look to good, buddy,”

She started to move over, and faintly Ouřa could hear another door open form the hallway.

No… no, no, they couldn’t let them see them like this.

Ouřa made a muffled panicked noise, jerking away from Merrit, they had gotten close enough to touch (they were SHARP, don’t get CLOSE).

“Merrit? What’s going on?” Came Zane’s voice, half awake and dazed as he flicked on the light.

It was like a flare gun went off.

Ouřa shrieked in agony, tearing their arm from their maw to claw at their eyes- the bright blinding light stunning them as they stumbled back, feeling the edges of their consciousness being tugged at.

And like any frightened animal- Ouřa reached out.

——————————— Zane’s POV ——————————————

To be frank, Zane wasn’t sure what was worse, Ouřa Thorn screaming, or when the howl of agony was suddenly cut off, the large lizard’s voice cracking a little at the end, their body jerking, their head hitting the wall once as they stumbled back.

Merrit was perfectly still, her eyes flicking in concern, as if she was trying to figure out what was exactly happening. She winced at the thud of Thorn hitting their head, reaching out to help again.

Ouřa Thorn must have seen the movement, cause they yank their hands from their face to snarl like a cornered animal, their snout pulled back to bare all their teeth.

Their three large spines catches the light- as Zane jerked a little, just fast enough to yank Merrit back a little at the snap of the lizards teeth - wait- when did Ouřa Thorn have more then three spines?

“Thorn!” Merrit called, worry lacing her voice as fumbled with her hands, half between reaching out again and raising them as if to calm an aggravated animal.

And then something snapped.

Zane froze, feeling his breathes start to quicken as Ouřa Thorn began to change- the lizard they had come to like as a friend rapidly changing, their bones breaking and voice wailling in hoarse crying screams, their spines splitting and growing into skewers, as if the humanity was being drained from them.

Zane couldn’t help but be reminded of Asta- when he had injected himself with the red smoke and had turned into a monster.

“Ah, shit,” Merrit said, seeming familiar with this, as Thorn snarled overhead, now far too large for the room, seeming determined to back themselves into a corner, their tail lashing uncontrollably behind them. It hits the couch, sending it sliding across the room just in time for Sunny, followed closely by Zelda to come into the living room, probably awoken by the noises.

“Oh dear,” Sunny said in a rush, before dashing back down the hall, yelling for North. Zelda watched silently, her eyes wide as the Beast taking up half of their living room, growling and snapping at Merrit every time she tried to get close to calm them down.

“Thorn, Thorn, please, calm down-” Merrit pleaded faintly, as Zane continued to stare, unmoving.

He’d been right.

He knew, from the get go- the staying over, the panicked nature, the weird occurances around the lizard-

He knew something was up with them, and he’d been right.

Zane startled a little at the sensation of something clambering up his arm, jerking and nearly knocking off the large blue spider frantically clambering up his arm. He paused- he’d seen it in Thorn’s room, or occasionally nestled in Oura Thorn’s spines.

It was waving it’s little feeties toward the large beast that was Thorn, chattering frantically. Zane paused, before looking up at Ouřa Thorn, hesitating.

They looked scared.

Sure, they were big- but they were just scared.

Inhaling, Zane offered his hands to the spider, who looked up at him for a second silently before clambering into his hands. Now armed with a blue spider, Zane marched straight past Merrit, to Ouřa Thorn, the spider held out in front of him.

North Heart had finally made it to the chaos of the living room, bed ruffled and confused, before spotting Ouřa Thorn, and then Zane, flaring his wings in slight panic.

“Zane, Merrit, back up NOW,”

Ouřa Thorn had whipped their head to Zane and snarled, their maw opening to reveal a blood red maw of razor sharp teeth and large pointed spines. Their breath still smelt of the mint they had been eating before Zane had headed off to his room for the night.

He smiled faintly, willing all of the fond memories he had of his time with Ouřa Thorn, as the spider made a soft, vibrating purr.

“You're okay,” He mused slowly, shifting the spider into one hand so he could slowly start to reach out to touch Thorn’s large scaled muzzle.

Ouřa Thorn snarled a little, but it was quieter, weaker.

They were just scared, Zane reminded himself, gently rubbing his hand over the scales.

The sharp slits that were Thorn’s pupils slowly started to dilate, their breathes becoming slower, and therefore easier to hear each shaky inhale and exhale.

The spider clambered across Zane’s body so that it could reach his arm on Oura Thorn and nestle in between their eyes, purring with all their might that their abdomen was practically rattling.

Thorn’s eyes flickered over Zane, before their eyes close with a defeated, exhausted huff, pressing their head into the wolf’s body, nearly knocking them over.

The living room was dead silent, before a low, trembled whimper emitted from the larger lizard, their spines quivering as their defences slumped.

Zane looked over to North Heat, who was staring in bewilderment, relief, and pride. “I guess this is their power?” He murmured softly, stroking down the side of the beast’s face, getting a gentle rumble.

“Yeah, how did you get them so calm?” North mused, taking a step closer. Ouřa Thorn’s eyes opened, and they made a low, defensive thunderous growl, one large claw hoarding Zane closer.

Zane squeaked a little, mindfully watching the sharp claws. North took two steps back, hands in the air.

“Unsure, Cap. Um. I think I’m gonna be here a while, could someone get my pillow?”

Sunny snorted, nodding a little. “Sure. I think for safety were all gonna stay out here to make sure spikey here stays calm.” He chimed, nodding at the large lizard, who had settled back down, tail coiling defensively around them.

“Well, I'm gonna get some popcorn then. Doubt anyone will be sleeping for a while.” Zelda huffed, already moving to the kitchen, pulling Merrit with her.

Zane smiled a little, his tail flicking as he got comfy, looking up at his now larger than usual friend.

I wont let you be scared, Thorn. Not anymore.

[usedtobethelegendcreator]

Okay, let’s try that again.

Hey, I’m TheLegendCreator. ’Sup, how’s it going. I’m 17, from Louisiana, and I really, really want people to talk to me. I write a lot, I draw even more, and I like writing analyses on Hazbin Hotel. Minor DNIs will not stop me, because frankly, I’ve seen worse. I’m autistic and have an anxiety disorder. High-functioning or low-functioning? Both. I’m the token cishet in this wild wonderland. I’m occasionally funny.

I’m in (and have been in) a lot of fandoms, so here’s a list:

Beyblade Burst

Encanto

Gravity Falls (pre-Book of Bill)

The Silmarillion

ATLA

Soul Eater

Hazbin Hotel

Noragami

If you’re ever doubting which one is currently my hyperfixation, just look at the banner. I update that.

I was only in the Soul Eater fandom for a couple weeks, so I never got around to writing anything for it.

I’m always open for requests and asks. Always. I like to joke that it’s my Wattpad training, but if you give me a prompt, I can usually whip something up in a week. I’ve been trying to sound more approachable about it, because I miss doing that. I love doing requests, whether it’s art or writing. But be warned—my writing is much better than my art. I’m getting better at it, but I’ve been told my art looks horrible.

My AO3 account is TheLegendCreator. That’s my username literally everywhere. I’m on Reddit, too. (Not anymore. Got perma-banned for posting pictures of myself having…fun. Because god forbid women do anything.)

My other account is @thelegendcreator. I no longer have access to it. That’s where all of my Encanto stuff is. Go take a look if you want.

If you’ve been here a while, you might have heard of NOT-TLC. That’s Leah, my friend from school. She got me into Hazbin Hotel by showing me “Hell’s Greatest Dad”.

If you think you remember someone with my username on Wattpad—congratulations, you’ve found me! I had to delete my account there, but if you dig deep into the Beyblade Burst fandom, you’ll see me eventually.

I have quite a few favorite characters, so here’s a list. Yeah, another list. I swear I’m not usually this boring.

Alastor the Radio Demon

Bruno Madrigal

Ford Pines

Shu Kurenai

Zuko

Soul “Eater” Evans

Maedhros

Yato

The genre of fanfiction I write wildly varies, depending on the fandom. I don’t write smut often, but when I do, I make it filthy. I’m still trying to figure out what my ‘type’ is when it comes to favorite characters…so far the only consistent thing is that they’re guys.

I’m not a big fan of AUs, outside of Canon Divergence. Unless it’s Modern With Bending. Then I’ll French-kiss that fic, please and thank you.

And down below are some of my favorite people!

@captaintrips9

@walkingweirdmageddon

@thecrazyashley-blog

@diamondkat

@eggcats

@tardis-scooter

(EDIT, because apparently people need it:

I’m not excusing Alastor’s abusive behavior towards Husk. I’m just giving Alastor the overall “not as much of a jerk as you could have been” award. Let Husk be responsible for his actions, let Alastor be responsible for his, and leave me the fuck alone about it. I don’t have the time to slowly walk you all through how Husk’s actions as an Overlord were horrendous. Instead, take a moment to imagine what it would be like to have your soul gambled to an Overlord in the Hellaverse, then get back to me on how you still think Husk was the nicest sweetest kindest Overlord ever.)

(ONE MORE EDIT:

Now opening, @thelegendcreator-version3!)

[mamuzzy]

— Is “psycho” a slur? —

My easiest answer to this question: ASK IF A REAL PERSON IS OKAY TO BE CALLED A PSYCHO. If not, then you are not calling the person with ASPD, BPD, or any other PD a psycho.

Listen to the people with personality disorders, not the people who claim they are allys so they call everything ableist that can hurt our pretty sensitive disabled heart. There is a chance that someone is made the label their own. And someone is not okay with it. No, you don't make a fucking a poll where everyone can vote, and even the neighbours cat can puke on the reblog button. YOU TALK TO A REAL PERSON, YOU ASK. End of story.

Personality disorders and especially Antisocial Personality Disorder are often associated to “being a psycho”.

And you especially met with this term in RepComm while reading.

“EWWWW REPCOMM AND KAREN TRAVISS AND KAL SKIRATA IS FUCKIGN ABLEIST DON’T READ IT OR YOU’LL BECOME ABLEIST YOURSE-“

When I mention TODAY to someone that I have personality disorder, people are being like: okay and you are eating that with fork or spoon?

You call out ableism because you heard it somewhere that being called a psycho is ableist, and calling out ableism gives you browney points on tumblr.

“Psycho” is not a slur. Sometimes not even the self-diagnosed psyhopaths know about the existence of the term of ASPD (that's how personality disorders are not in every speech!!!), they just now that something is wrong, because they always hit walls around people. Psycho or sociopath was the closest that you could name this condition in the early 2000's.

Nulls being called a psycho is not Kal Skirata’s elaborate trick to enslave the nulls or whatever the fuck anti-kal people comes up with. People with pd-s are mostly self-aware. Being always fucking self-aware is why we know that we don’t fit in.

Someone with personality disorder is extremely important to be self-aware, that's why name-erasing, mental-health erasing cause more harm. You don't say shit like to a pd that "you are completely normal, there is nothing wrong with you, carry on" because the next time we actually do something mentally ill™, you will be the first to call us "fucking psychos".

(yeah. I know. so much we, and them, and us, like I'm one with ASPD too, I'm trying to figure if I have more personality disorder than BPD, and probably have.)

In this age where everything is within reach via internet, people truly forget that media is accessible written by different generations, and when I see younger people engaging with the Republic Commando series TODAY in 2024 with today’s tumblr sensitivity standards, I think: vod. Are you aware that the first book came out in 2004, TWENTY YEARS AGO? The accessibility to everything is great but it totally messes up the ability to see TIME CONTEXT. And this time blindness can truly mess up communication between different generations too, causing rifts and we end up invalidating other’s experiences if we are not careful.

“But there were more progressive books even before 2004” - Probably. Only we didn’t have an entire library of progressive labels of genders, sexuality, phobias and MENTAL ILLNESSES AND CONDITIONS.

Not in everyday speech. If no one talks about it, you won't know the concept. You don't know how to ask questions aside from "what's wrong with me?"

WATCH OUT! SLURS INCOMING!!!!

In the early 2000’s and before if your teachers hated you, your parents weren’t educated (or just didn’t care), or your parents themselves never got proper treatment for their neurodivergency, there is chance that YOU ALSO didn’t have a chance to get a proper diagnosis for different types of neurodivergency as a child.

children with dyscalculia were called lazy.

children with dyslexia were called retards who can't even read.

children who were fine playing alone were the weird ones.

autistic people? You mean rain man? Or those braindead retards shitting themselves and throwing fits and should have been euthanized if their parents had any love for them? Oh no you are not autistic, stop being oversensitive to noises and shit and people bullying you for your special interests is not bullying, they are just trying to involve you sweetheart.

ADHD? Problem children with behavior issues.

Antisocial Personality Disorder? Psychos. Problem children. HOOLIGANS. DEVIANTS.

Sounds familiar? No? Then I am truly happy for you.

People like to use this quote to prove that the Nulls didn’t have mental illnesses, it’s just Kal who spread the rumors about them, and the Nulls weren’t more than your ordinary bad behaving children. Because Vau is an outsider, therefore more reliable and objective narrator about the Nulls and because fuckkalskirataingeneral. Yeah. Sure. But we are talking about Walon Vau.

Walon “my father beat the living shit out of me as a child but I turned out fine” Vau.

These kind of abused people In real life with the exact same mentality tell you that you don’t have a problem, you are just oversensitive. You don’t need therapy, you just have to man up. Don’t take pills because pills are for pussies. YOU DON’T HAVE MENTAL ILLNESS, YOU ARE JUST A BAD CHILD. Generational trauma is fucking shit and affects everybody.

Walon Vau alone deserves a separate post about his non-existent mental health. And Sev, now that he was mentioned here. Sev is especially heartbreaking, seeing how Nulls as psychos are treated, and how Sev as a psycho is treated in the books.

This blurb is born from the thought that the Nulls are having Antisocial Personality Disorder and I’ve come to this conclusion because they are constantly called psychos, the most common label people used for this kind of behavior patterns they show throughout the series.

ASPD or Antisocial Personality Disorder and the usage of this name is encouraged in scientific circles because the symptoms and traits of psychopathy can’t be measured objectively anymore. Psychopathy is a neurological/hormonal condition, but no longer its own sickness, because other non-related disorders, diseases and illnesses can mimic the symptoms of psychopathy for eg.: DEMENTIA.

If you ever wonder how can a 80 years old person who never showed any sign of aggression before just go and brutally kill their neighbor for a sole treebranch hanging over the fence and littering the garden with leaves, there is a chance that something is not alright in the brain anymore.

Emotions developed healthy with healthy self-restraints and and self-control will not let you do socially unacceptable things like killing to solve problems, just because your brain tells you: BASH THEIR FUCKING SKULL WITH A ROCK.

Every emotional response are hormones and neurotransmitters in work. Brain is responsible to give the appropriate response to each situation we are facing. If you have hormonal problems, or neurological conditions, different brain structure than a neurotypical people, there is a chance, that these responses are not working as they are intended, you will have different or more extreme emotional responses to things, or not having at all.

So that is why we don’t use the terms of psychopath today as an individual sickness, because PSYCHOPATHY ITSELF IS A SYMPTOM of various conditions! People with psychopathy, the “psychos” are usually on the spectrum of ASPD.

So again, repeat after me like I'm Dora the explorer who put you on gunpoint:

ASK IF A REAL PERSON WITH ASPD IS OKAY WITH BEING CALLED A PSYCHO. IF NOT, YOU DON'T CALL THE PERSON PSYCHO. END OF STORY.

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

Step 6 : Focus On Yourself (Y.JI)

Word Count : 4.6k

Warnings : swearing, suggestive, body worship, hand kink (I have a problem okay?), sex (no smut), alcoholism, clubbing, fwb, heartbreak, failing grades, period mention, bullies, eating disorder mention, mention of beating people up, food mention, hospital, this one has a lot of angst, like this one hurts, i cried writing it, a lot of tears were shed, happy ending though

A/N : This one is slightly different than the others, and deals with a triggering topic (alcoholism). It is a minor plot point and I only wrote it with my personal experience with alcoholism but I know everyone's is different. It is not violent alcoholism, it is emotional alcoholism. As in drinking to forget, drinking to feel happy. If that is triggering for you, please do not read this story. Thank you.

She peered over to the guy sleeping next to her, double checking that he was in fact asleep, before sneaking out of his bed, redressing herself as quickly and quietly as possible, and leaving his place. The entire walk back to her place she wonders why she seems to fall back into his bed every single time. A simple plea, a pout, a pet name falling from his lips, and she’s putty in his hands.

            God his hands. The sinful things his hands have done to her, the sinful things she thinks of them doing to her all the time. His long, slender fingers ghosting over her body, leaving goosebumps in their path, before delving between her thighs, causing sinful sounds to fall from her lips, sounds he covers with his own mouth, kissing her quiet.

            Last night he had only invited her over for a movie, that’s what they both agreed on. It wasn’t even halfway through when his hand gripped her thigh, inching higher and higher. She tried to clench her thighs, stop his hands from feeling how badly she wanted him. But there was no use. He knew. Let me make you feel good, baby girl. Growled softly in her ear, and she was a goner.

            She’s not even sure when this happened. When the line was crossed. When they stopped being just best friends and became something a little more but a little less than lovers. And she wonders when she began to hope for the final line to be crossed. When they’ll get out of this limbo and she can call him hers.

            He keeps promising her soon. But soon has come and gone many times over. She tries to leave the limbo, go back to being friends, but he pouts at her, whispers to her that he loves her so much, and she’s back in his arms, under his spell. You’ll be mine soon, I promise puppy. And he kisses her so sweet, smiles at her so lovingly. And she believes him.

            She just wants to wake up in his arms, traces the features of his face as the sun breaks through the blinds, watch as his eyes flutter open. Wants him to kiss the tips of her fingers as she traces over his lips, grab her hand, press a kiss to her palm, pull her close, and press a final kiss to her lips. She just want him to love her the way she loves him. Wants him to love her the way he promises he does.

            And if he can’t love her, she wants him to let her go.

~

            “He doesn’t love you.”

            “Damn Keeho. Tell her how you really feel.” Theo chuckled, punching Keeho in the arm before turning back to Y/n. “Don’t listen to Keeho.”

            “Hey!”

            “Shut up. As I was saying. We’re all young and confused and trying to figure things out. Maybe he really does love you and is just trying to figure that out.”

            “Okay cool great. Can he stop pulling me along and making promises he doesn’t mean? I never wanted my feelings to complicate our friendship or become a burden on him. He can reject me and I can move on, it’s not that deep. I’m just done with the hot and cold.”

            “Fuck someone else.” Keeho said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as he continued to eat his lunch. Theo and Y/n stared at him like he had two heads, but Keeho didn’t seem to notice.

            But it got her thinking. Maybe it wasn’t the worst idea. Maybe she could distance herself, focus on herself and her needs instead of his. She didn’t have to pick up the phone every time he called, didn’t have to open the door every time he knocked. She didn’t have to give into him every time his hands started feeling her up, going under her clothes, ran over her bare skin.

            But fuck did she want to.

            What would he do if she didn’t sneak out during the night? What would he do if he woke up to her face? If she gave into her needs, cuddled deeper into his arms, and allowed herself to fall more in love with him, would he be there to catch her, or would he watch her hit the ground and walk away laughing?

~

            She really meant to let the phone ring. She stared at his name, his contact picture staring right back at her, a mirror selfie he took on her phone, his hands practically covering her entire phone. And she thought of the things his hands can do to her. The sounds they make her make. The moans, the screams. And her legs were clenched as she reached over to answer before it could go to voicemail. “I miss my baby.” It’s like she could hear his pout. Her heart melted, and she gave in quicker than she’d like to admit. Knocking at his door in five minutes, kissing him the second he opened it.

            Keeho told her to fuck someone else, but Jeongin was the only one she wanted. He was the only one who knew what she liked. She would let him break her heart a million times if she could have him like this. Hovering over her, looking at her like she was a goddess, kissing every inch of her skin. “Beautiful.” He whispered.

            Something felt different this time. It was slower, like they had all the time in the world. He took his time, looked in her eyes with every compliment, letting her know he meant every word. He worshipped her. He loved her.

            “I’m letting you go.” He told her as they laid beside each other as they came down from their highs. “Find someone that can love you the way you deserve.” He had just spent the last hour staring at her, but now he refuses to look at her. “I hope one day you’ll forgive me and we can be friends again.”

            She swallowed her sobs down. Blinked back her tears. “You’ll always be my best friend, Innie.” And one last time she got dressed and left his place. Cried all the way home. Sobbed until her throat ached. Drowned in her own tears. But she would do it all over again just to have him look at her like he did one last time.

            He had worshipped her. Loved her. Just to say goodbye.

~

            Their friendship went from meeting on the playground, to birthday parties, to graduation, to university, to frat parties, to sex, to awkward waves when they pass each other. It’s like they were going backwards. Like they were re-meeting each other. Like they were strangers that knew a little too much about each other.

            All their favourite movies, foods, memories. Things they like to do on rainy days. He could write a novel about her and she could write one about him. But they were acting as if they barely knew each other.

            Jeongin didn’t want to let her go. But he knew it was time. He loved her. God did he ever love her. He loved her so much he couldn’t control himself around her. Always wants to kiss her, feel her, touch her, love her. But he couldn’t be with her.

            Jeongin was on the verge of failing out of the university. And he knows she would never judge him for that. She would support him no matter what, help him get into a new university, help him get a job, whatever it took. She was good for that, she always was. But he had a dream. A dream for the two of them. And that dream needed a degree.

            He thought if he had her close enough but not all of her, he wouldn’t be distracted, but he still couldn’t get enough. Needed to have her all the time. She was all he could think about. During all his exams, it was only her. All the lectures, her. His notes were filled with doodles of her. His entire life revolved around her. Everything was about her.

            And he wanted to ask her to wait. Beg her, plead for her to just wait for graduation and he would give her everything she could want. A house. A ring. All the love she gave him all these years and more. But it was embarrassing. He didn’t want her to know. Didn’t want her to pity him. Didn’t want her to offer to help him because he didn’t want to have to admit she was the reason he couldn’t focus.

            Was it love or obsession? Does it really matter anymore? She’s not his. He’ll always have the memories. Her body beneath him. Her lips around him. Her moaning his name. He just wishes he marked her up their final night. So he could see her walk around with the marks he gave her, looking so pretty with the purple showing through the concealer she’d use to try and cover them. God he loves her so much.

~

            The first week was the hardest. Waiting for a text or a call, begging, pleading, for her to come over. She tossed and turned, scared of missing the sound of her ringtone signaling him calling. Her grades slipped during the first week, everything slipped. It was like she was losing control and she didn’t know how to get a hold of anything.

            The only calm she felt was when Jeongin would smile and wave at her when he’d see her. It let her know that he still knew her, still remembered her. She wasn’t just some stranger to him. A stranger he whispered I love you to before falling asleep. A stranger he tossed aside after breaking every single promise he made in the same bed.

            By the second week, she was able to put on a front that she was okay. Smiling when Keeho and Theo argued with each other. Stopping them when it got too far. Writing notes down in her classes as if she was actually retaining any of the information. Conversing with some classmates about projects that were due, projects she had completely forgotten about. No one knew she was breaking inside.

            She still tossed and turned at night, waiting for a sign that he was still just a little bit hers. I’m letting you go. Find someone that can love you the way you deserve. His words echo in her head. Over and over like a sick taunt. And she cries herself to sleep for the twelfth night in a row.

            By the third week she was practically a shell of a person. Barely able to continue on without Jeongin by her side. Keeho and Theo have tried to drag her out during the weekends, but she stays curled up on her couch, rewatching sad movies so she had another reason to cry besides mourning a relationship that never happened.

            She wishes she would have listened to Keeho. Wishes she cut Jeongin off sooner. Stopped falling into his bed, stopped breaking her own heart just to keep his whole. But that’s what you do when you’re in love with someone, right?

            Who cares how broken you are when the person you love is whole?

            “This wallowing in self pity shit needs to stop. Go take a shower and put on something sexy. You’re coming out with us tonight. No ifs, ands, or buts.” Keeho stole the remote from her hand, shutting the movie off before she could even protest or ask how he got into her apartment. He ripped the blanket off her lap, pulled her off the couch, and pushed her towards the bathroom.

            As she took her time in the shower, hoping her two friends would get tired of waiting and leave without her, Theo and Keeho decided to tidy up her apartment. Folding the blanket and putting it back where it belonged. Washing the dishes and putting them away. Keeho even went the extra mile and went around her small apartment, grabbing the things he knows Jeongin gave her, and hid them away where she couldn’t see them. Out of sight, out of mind.

~

            As much as she didn’t want to leave the comfort of her apartment, she did have to admit that the alcohol in her system did feel nice. The heartbreak started to lessen. Almost as if it didn’t exist in the first place. The more she drank, the better she felt, and she wondered why she didn’t think of it sooner. Alcohol was the key to fixing her broken heart.

            “What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?” The guy standing in front of her was tall and devilishly handsome. The kind of guy that draws you in before you knew what was happening. Dark hair, dark eyes, a sinister smile. He was bad news, but that’s what was so attractive about him.

            “She’s not alone.” Her heart stopped at the familiar voice. Tears immediately welled up in her eyes. And when the stranger walked away, she pushed him away, not even bothering to spare him a glance. She hoped he’d follow her. Grab her wrist, fight for her to stay. Tell her he fucked up, that he was in love with her. But he let her walk away. Not even a call of her name.

            She walked right into Keeho’s open arms, begging him to take her home. She just wanted to curl into her bed and disappear. Keeho looked forward, seeing Jeongin watching her from where he was standing, a sad look in his eyes. He knew Y/n wasn’t the only one hurting, but she was the only one he cared about. Jeongin made his choice, he has to live with it.

~

            It was the fourth week that things seemed to turn around. She was smiling again. Laughing at the jokes her friends made. Turned in all the projects she forgot about. It was like she was back to the Y/n everyone knew and loved. But there was one difference.

            She reeked of alcohol.

            Every single time she finds herself thinking of Jeongin and her heart starts hurting, she takes a drink. It helps numb the pain, helps her feel happy again. That’s what everyone wanted. It’s what everyone kept begging for. They wanted happy Y/n back. Wanted to see her smile and laugh again. She was just giving them what they asked for.

            No one said anything. It was a phase, they all said. It would pass. Just like heartbreak passes, this too will pass.

~

            But it didn’t. It got worse. Graduation was just around the corner, and she was still drinking everyday. She was still crying herself to sleep, staring at her phone, waiting for him to call her. Why won’t he just call her once? Can’t he see that she’s a mess without him?

            Find someone that can love you the way you deserve. She doesn’t want someone else. She had years to find someone else. But it always came back to Jeongin. Came back to his empty promises that he broke. But she didn’t care. Because it was Jeongin.

            Yang Jeongin who was there when she first got her period and she leaked through her pants. He gave her his sweater to wrap around her waist and called his mom for help immediately, holding her in his arms, soothing her sobs.

            Yang Jeongin who was there when she got a failing grade and helped her study for the next test. He didn’t scold her, tease her, or even shove his passing grade in her face. He spent extra time studying with her after sitting with her, holding her hand, as her parents yelled at her.

            Yang Jeongin who beat up all her bullies when they were kids, despite it getting him in trouble every single time. He told her he would do it again and again if it meant she would smile again, because her smile was the most precious thing in the world.

            Yang Jeongin who refused to let her starve herself throughout their entire friendship, telling her those diet fads were ridiculous. She looks perfect the way she was, no matter her weight. He would always find her more beautiful than any model.

            Yang Jeongin who introduced her to his new friends with the biggest smile on his face, an arm wrapped around her, telling them she was the most important person in his life. She was his other half, she completed him.

            Why would she want anyone else when Jeongin already loves her more than she deserves? She doesn’t care that things got lost in translation, some boundaries were crossed before they were ready. She would wait for him. Right here, in the darkness, their memories surrounding her. She would wait no matter how long it took.

~

            There was a blinding light in her face the next time she opened her eyes, mumbled voices just out of earshot so she couldn’t hear what they were saying. But her eyes were fixated on one thing, one person sat right next to her, hand in hers, head on the bed, eyes closed, breathing slow as he slept. She could see the remnants of the tears he cried, the puffiness around his eyes, the pout still on his face. But all she could think about was how he came back for her.

            It didn’t click until the doctor walked in that she was in the hospital, brought here by ambulance after she hadn’t answered any of Keeho’s calls. “Your friend put up quite the fight.” The doctor chuckled. “Good thing too. If not for him, you would have died.”

            Death is such a weird concept. It used to scare her when she was younger. She was so careful about everything. Never living life on the edge, taking every precaution necessary. But hearing that she was minutes away from death made her feel nothing. No fear, no sadness. The only thing she could feel was Jeongin’s grip tightening around her hand at the mention of her dying. He didn’t meet her eyes, kept his gaze locked on their hands, clearly trying not to cry again.

            “Once this bag of fluids is empty, you’ll be free to go home.” The doctor gave her one last smile before leaving the room, leaving her alone with Jeongin. It was silent. It was so unlike them. She was used to one of them filling up the silence with a random story, or him kissing her because he missed her so much. But so many things have changed since they’ve last been alone. They aren’t the same people they were all those months ago.

            “What happened?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Secretly, he knew the answer. He received quite the earful from both Keeho and Theo when he insisted to be the one to sit with her until she woke up. How he ruined their friend, turned her into a shell of a person who could barely function without alcohol.

            “I just wanted to be happy again.”

            “You scared the shit out of me, you know.” Of course she didn’t know. How could she know how he was feeling when he avoided her as best he could. Heard all the rumors of the girl crumbling in front of everyone’s eyes. He wanted to run to her, hold her in his arms, run his fingers through her hair. But he thought she was just dealing with things her own way. Focusing on herself the way he was focusing on himself. Working on moving on the way he told her to.

            But she still held the exact same amount of love in her eyes as the last day he held her. Still looked at him like he was the only thing she’ll ever want. “I missed you.” She whispered. Jeongin reached up, wiping away the tear that began to slip down her cheek.

            Her skin was dry, and a little cold to the touch. His hand was warm against her cheek, and he continued to rub his thumb across her cheek, looking at her with a softness she’s never seen before. “I missed you more than you know, darling.” The pet name rolled off his tongue, and when it hit her ears, she smiled. Maybe he was still hers in the way she was still his.

~

            “We’ll talk after graduation, I promise. Just focus on yourself right now. Stay sober for me though, please.” Jeongin helped her into her own bed, Theo and Keeho both watching with trained eyes from the doorway.

            “You can’t stay for just tonight?” She wrapped her hand around his wrist, and he looked up at the two watching them as if they were her parents. Their arms were crossed across their chests, eyebrows raised as they waited for his answer. “I won’t bother you again until after graduation. Just one night.”

            And just like always, he gave into her. He always would. Even if she asked for the world, he would find a way to get it for her. The love he has for her overwhelms him, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Because it’s her. And if it’s her, he’ll do anything.

~

            They went back to only seeing each other in passing, nothing more than a smile and a wave. But it was different this time. Because now he would text her, check in on her. He should have done it this way from the start, but he didn’t think of it then. He thought letting her go completely was the only way.

            But now he can watch as she checks her phone, giggle at whatever he sent her, and look towards him with the same beautiful smile as always. The light has returned to her eyes. She was still healing, still struggling from her bout with alcoholism, but Jeongin could see that she was doing better.

            No matter what, whether she was diving off the deep end, hitting rock bottom, or flying sky high on cloud 9, she would always be his Y/n. He knows that for sure, looking at her as she walks off to her next class. He could tell it was a harder day for her, but she was still the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. He still only had eyes for her, even if there were millions of eyes on him.

~

            Graduation grew nearer, and the only thing that kept her going was knowing that she would have her Innie back. She wasn’t sure in what capacity, whether she could kiss him and love him with her whole heart, or if they would be just friends. But she didn’t care as long as he was in her life.

            Theo and Keeho have taken turns staying with her just to make sure she doesn’t turn to drinking again. And she’s grateful, because the longer she goes without drinking, the more the thought of drinking herself into oblivion again scares her.

            She thinks back to waking up in the hospital room, the look on Jeongin’s face as he slept beside her. The way Theo and Keeho threw their arms around her in the waiting room once she had emerged from her room to go home. The tear filled conversations they’ve had since, talking about the what ifs and the what could have beens. And she doesn’t want to be her anymore.

            It’s hard at first, especially during the lonely nights when her guest is already sleeping and she’s left staring at the ceiling wondering what Jeongin is doing. Is he alone? She stares at his open contact, debating texting him, but part of her doesn’t want to know the answer. What if he’s not alone? She would rather pretend that he’s thinking of her like she’s thinking of him and save herself the possible heartbreak.

            But if she were ever brave enough to send the message, she would know that he was up looking through pictures of the two of them on his phone, reminiscing about the past. Writing down date ideas in his notes, places to take her when he has the chance.

            She would know there’s no need to worry what he’s doing because everything leads back to her anyway. And as soon as graduation is over, he’s running to her, pulling her into his arms, and telling her just how much he loves her, how everything is for her, and then kissing her with everything he is. So she’ll never doubt his love for her again.

~

            “She doesn’t actually think he’ll show up, does she?” A group of girls giggles as they walk out of the café. It was graduation day. She worked her ass off the last month to bring her grades back up so she could still graduate, and then as soon as she had her degree, she left for the café Jeongin agreed to meet her at.

            He had approached her with a bouquet of flowers at graduation with a smile on his face, girls surrounding him hoping the flowers were for them, but his eyes were trained on Y/n. And he told her he’d meet her at their café after graduation was over. He promised, and though he was known to break his promises in the past, she decided to trust him one last time.

            So she waited. Every time the bell dinged, she looked at who walked in, hoping it would be Jeongin, that he wouldn’t break yet another promise. But as the minutes passed, her heart was slowly breaking again. She was spiraling, hands shaking, eyes watering. Why does she let him break her heart over and over again?

            One hour. It’s been one hour she’s sat here, scrolling through her phone, looking at the door, listening to the giggling girls make fun of her. She’s not sure why she’s still waiting, holding out hope that he would still show, but she didn’t move. Almost like she was glued to her seat, like something was holding her down, stopping her from leaving.

            The time kept ticking, her drink was left untouched on the table, the messages she had with Jeongin were open on her phone. She was waiting for a text, a call, anything. He wasn’t going to show, she knew that, but he could at least text her, tell her why she wasn’t good enough for him. Tell her why he kept giving her false hope.

            The flowers were taunting her on the table, and she almost looked up the meaning of each and every flower in the bouquet. But before she could, the door was slamming open, a man running in, rushing to her table completely out of breath. “You waited.”

            It took a second for her to register that Jeongin was standing in front of her, still panting, smiling at her. But when she realized that he came, she smiled. “I’d wait forever for you.”            

He reached for her hand, taking it in his, sliding a ring onto her finger, and then showing her the matching one on his finger. “I had to go pick these up, that’s why I took so long.” He laced their fingers together. “But I’ll never make you wait for me again.”

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[sheabutterbitch]

hiii idk if this is okay to ask but is being a clinical mental health therapist worth it? i got my B.S in psychology and i’m leaning towards a masters but would you say the pay is worth it, i know your just starting out so somethings may not be high yet. i don’t need to be a millionaire or anything i just want to have a live able wage because i’ve always wanted to be a therapist.

also i’m proud of you, i’ve been following you for as long as i remember <3 you kinda inspire me in some aspects! 💛

Hi there, this is totally fine to ask!

One piece of advice I will give you is to look deeply into different paths for your masters degree. Even though you got a BS in psychology, it doesn’t mean you have to go this route to become a therapist. This video from Katie Morton on YouTube really helped me when I was in school.

I also like this video: What’s it like being a therapist, are you rich?

To answer your question, though: I love being a therapist so it is worth it for me. So often, where you work is what impacts your perception on this field. It is so easy to become exploited in this profession, especially as a social worker which is what my license is in.

As of now, you can expect to make 50k to 80k as a new therapist give or take. My salary is in this range and I work in one of the lowest paid states in the country so I think that’s still pretty good. If I were to live in a less rural state such as New York or California I’d likely make much more. Once I elevate my license next year, I’ll be making much more as an LCSW and will be able to open a private practice to generate more income potentially. There’s room for growth in this field as long as you do not become complacent or stagnant.

It is also important to consider the population and setting you plan to work with. For example, I work in addictions (chemical, sexual and romantic, shopping, eating disorders, etc.) and the setting is residential treatment. You’ll figure this out (and likely change your mind a couple times) during grad school or even afterwards so it’s okay if you’re unsure now. I still think it’s a good idea to ponder this as it may serve as motivation.

Also, try your hardest to land a graduate assistantship to pay for your studies.

Hope this helps!