#it’s so hard to keep from spiraling when I have a migraine but there is simply no help

[loumauve]

the thing (well, one thing anyway) about chronic pain is how you'll have a day or half a day or even just a few hours that'll get you so close to just fucking wanting to end it all right then and there because you're just so tired of being in pain and it feeling like it'll never end and never get better, and your brain feels like it's on fire and you can't remember the last time you felt even just okay, much less fine or good.

and logically you know it'll probably be alright again in time, but the effort it takes to just make it through that moment is so exhausting that it just leaves you drained.

and it's not like you want to die, you just want the pain and misery to stop, and sometimes it feels like it never will. like you're just stuck on that endlessly-looping train track through hell with no stops to get off, and nothing will help you feel even minutely better at all.

[bloomburnburial]

every day I inch closer to becoming the joker, and learning that I might be on the hook for a few hundred dollars over two absolutely useless appointments might just push me over the edge today*

(*for legal reasons this is a joke. the part about becoming the joker I mean. not the part about the money. unfortunately that shit is real)

[consciouscarrot]

day 8 - gifts [ s.reid ]

spencer reid x fem!reader

content warnings; fluff, r sits in spencer’s lap, r is wearing makeup (at least eyeshadow and eyeliner)

notes; bit of an abrupt ending lol

kinktober/flufftober masterlist

—————

spencer was sat at his desk in his apartment, typing up a case report on his laptop after work when you came up to him. you slid your hands over his shoulders, before leaning down and hugging him from behind. he revelled in the weight of your head pressing into his neck, leaning his own into you slightly.

he noted that one of your hands was closed over something, but your fingers were too tightly wrapped around it for him to be able to get a good enough look and figure out what it was.

he tilted his head, kissing along your arm, gently nipping occasionally before muttering into your skin a soft, “hi, angel.”

you hummed, pulling away languidly then turning his wheelie desk chair around so that he was facing you. he reclined back, shifting his hips forward to accommodate for you. his lean arms wrapped around you snugly as you clambered on top of him, curling your legs underneath you and resting your head on his shoulder again.

your sweet apricot perfume wafted over him, he wasn’t usually a fan of fruity perfumes, finding that they tended to be a stronger scent and gave him migraines, but yours was a perfect blend on your skin. he breathed you in, fingertips running up and down your thigh soothingly.

“what you got there?” he queried.

you slowly unclenched your fingers, revealing a couple of pretty stones that sat on your palm. he took them gently, thumbing over the cool objects.

one was marbled with brown, orange and caramel swirling together, creating uneven stripes and loose spirals. it was covered in imperfections- chips and scratches lining it’s surface.

the other was a smokey grey, so shiny it was almost mirrored. it was very smooth, opposite of the first pebble with next to no marks.

they were both very pretty, and he thought that they were sort of like the two of you- one all shiny and polished, perfect- whilst the other was a little roughed up and tarnished. however, he knew you’d get upset if he told you this, always hating that he was so hard on himself.

“they’re for you, i found them when i was out on my walk. i washed them already, don’t worry,”

you fiddled with the end up his shirt, chewing your bottom lip nervously as your gaze flitted over his features, examining his expression.

“i love them, baby. thank you,” he smoothed over your hair, before gently cleaning up the smudged eyeliner that had begun to muddy your pretty pink eyeshadow, “i’ll cherish them forever.”

you hummed, visibly pleased and all sunny smiles as you looked up at him, basking under his loving touches.

“did you know that male penguins gift a pebble to someone they wish to mate?” he returned your gaze, veiny hand still holding your face, “it’s a sort of engagement ring for them.”

“i did not, that’s so cute. do you know why they do it?”

“i do! there’s not much research that’s been done on it, but it’s believed to be to show that the male penguin is capable of looking after the female, and any chicks they may have, as their nests are built from them, to keep them above any melting ice.”

“that can’t be very comfortable,”

he chuckled softly at your frown, adoring that you were fretting so much over penguins contentment. spencer bent his head down to kiss your chewed-up lips, laughing again when you flushed and quickly buried your head in his neck.

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | intro.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, eventual smut

—word count: 2.0k

—warnings: nothing much; cussing, very general description of research topics/neuroscience experiments including mentions of mice research (no details)!, mentions of infidelity (not oc or san)

—a/n: ty for being patient with me <33 here's the lil intro to professor choi 🤪 i think i'll keep the same update schedule i've had (every other weekend) but ofc will let everyone know if i cant update for whatever reason!! enjoyyyy this rideeee 🖤

Clunk.

San throws his glasses onto his desk before leaning back in his chair, hands coming up behind his head for a stretch. He had been working on his progress report for one of his grants since this morning, and he was starting to feel the migraine come on.

"Fuck." He mutters, pinching at the bridge of his nose before he gets up to grab another cup of coffee from his Nespresso machine— popping in a pod with a level 9 intensity into the slot and pressing start. It's around dinner time, but quite frankly, San isn't too hungry. He'll eat something small. He's just tired, especially because of this progress report. But, it's due next week and he needs to finalize his class schedule for the upcoming quarter at the same time. He won't have as much time to get through the technicalities if he waits any longer.

He's pretty immune to the different intensities of coffee at this point; having eaten it for breakfast, lunch and dinner during his postdoc years. It won't do much for long, but it'll at least keep him going for the next couple of hours before he calls it a day and lays in bed. 

When his coffee is done, he pours some creamer into his mug and gives it a good stir before settling back into his office. His house is too big for one person, but he enjoys the stillness. The quiet. He used to hate it. He used to hate when every corner reminded him of his ex-wife. Now, he's gotten used to it. He's learned how to live alone, how to enjoy his peace. He lets out a small sigh, taking a sip of his hot coffee as he resumes to look at the computer screen to his side. Suddenly, his phone goes off and he's quick to shift his attention to it because it's slightly odd for this time of day. People don't normally call him unless he's settled on a phone call meeting ahead of time, and he doesn't remember booking any calls tonight.

"Hey." San picks up when he realizes it's Jongho. Okay, so he maybe he lied. He does take a few calls from close friends, most who are also professors at the same university. "What's up?"

"How's your T15 report going?"

"Long. It's terrible."

"Well." Jongho laughs. "Perks of being you, I guess." San rolls his eyes. 

"Yeah, thanks. Very enlightening."

"Anyways, I wanted to call really quickly. I figured you hadn't seen it yet, but wanted to put it on your radar. I looped you into an email for a possible collaboration. We're trying to meet this week if you're free. Might be good to see what it's worth, could get us more funding. Open more collaboration opportunities in the future." San presses the phone against his ear, holding it with his shoulder as he navigates to his inbox on his computer. He has a bunch of unread emails that he'll eventually respond to, paying a tad more attention to the pressing ones when he has a moment. He's not gonna lie, he does ignore a few if it's not of interest to him, or something he doesn't feel like he can contribute much to. He'll typically respond with a 'so sorry, no can do' if people get pushy and constantly follow up, but for the most part, he does his best to keep up and respond where it's warranted.

San sees the email Jongho is speaking of, but right underneath it, he sees another email from a student inquiring about rotating in his lab for the upcoming quarter. He's always interested when students reach out to rotate in his lab, but he can't accommodate all, especially when he doesn't feel like his research aligns with their goals. He usually takes 1 per quarter if it fits, otherwise, he doesn't have any at all. 

Out of curiosity, he clicks on the email since it has been awhile since anyone rotated in his lab. 

From: yn@atz.edu To: choisan@atz.edu Dear Professor Choi, I hope this email finds you well. My name is Y/N, and I'm currently a bioengineering grad student who is interested in rotating in your lab for the upcoming quarter. I have been thinking about diving deeper into computational analysis, mice behavior, 2-photon excitation and opto-stim work. I've spoken to your postdocs, Sunwoo and Belle, about their current projects and potentially collaborating since they seem to be touching up on all these aspects. I was hoping we can find a time to meet and chat a bit to see if it would be a good fit. The deadline to submit my rotation selections is coming up, so I'd like to make sure we meet beforehand. Let me know, happy to work with your schedule! Best, Y/N Y/L/N

The thing about San is that he's pretty good at picking up on a student's vibe through their emails. It's the tone, the professionalism, the way they write and carry themselves. He can tell when some people are a little more egotistical and ignorant, and he doesn't want people like that in his rather small, but mighty lab. His current grad students and postdocs all get along well, and they're bright people who are very passionate about their work and studies. He doesn't need people thinking they're above the others. In addition to that, he can also tell when students are just trying to get their name on a published paper doing work in his lab, or when they're just trying to wing their way through grad school. It's a shame, but he definitely has come across a few students in his inbox. They do exist.

You, though? He's intrigued. You seem bright. Genuinely passionate about the specific areas you're interested in diving into. Poised. He appreciates that. He quickly scans over your CV and the little blurb at the bottom that highlights the work you've done in your undergrad years and internships. Your work history. He sees that you've already dipped your toes in a few of the different areas you've mentioned. Worked with a few professors he knows. You've volunteered at a couple of places.

An all-rounder.

"Did you see it?" He almost forgets he's on the phone with Jongho.

"Mm, yeah. I'll respond in a bit, I think I can meet on Thursday. Sorry, I just got a little distracted. Saw another email about a potential rotation student."

"Gonna take one on this quarter?"

"Maybe. If it fits. She seems to be interested in a lot of the work we do. She knows Sunwoo and Belle."

"Oh, nice. That'll be cool."

"What about you? Taking on a rotation student?" Jongho is an assistant professor in the electrical engineering department, and he is often bombarded with inquiries himself. He usually always has a rotation student, and they almost always choose his lab to work in after their rotation program is up. San doesn't blame them— Jongho is brilliant, and his work creates a lot of different pathways for students to navigate and try. San's can be a hit or miss; it's quite niched, and students often find that it genuinely is tough to play around in his field.

"Yeah. Think so." 

"Alright. Thanks for giving me a heads up. I'll check my calendar and respond in a bit for sure." San eyes the email. "It does sound like a good collaboration."

"Figured you'd say that. Thanks, my guy! Take it easy and good luck on your progress report."

"Appreciate it." San gives off a toothless smile even though Jongho can't see him. He slides his phone off to the side and checks his calendar, upholding his promise to Jongho about responding to the email ASAP. He keeps his email short, letting the group know he can make the meeting at the desired time on Thursday to talk about the potential collaboration across labs.

Then, he pulls up your email and checks his calendar once more.

From: choisan@atz.edu To: y/n@atz.edu Hi Y/N, Thanks for your email - for sure! I think there's a lot of possibilities we could visit, especially with Belle and/or Sunwoo's projects. Can you pop into my office on Tuesday morning? 10am good? We can chat then. — San

"Oh shit." You slow your chewing when you see the email notification pop up on your screen during dinner.

"What?" Felix asks, turning his attention towards you and causing Jiung and Eunchae to do the same.

"Professor Choi answered my email."

"That was quick." Jiung takes forkful of food into his mouth.

"Professor Choi as in San or Jongho? Cause they're both hotties." Eunchae swoons and twirls her hair, making Felix scrunch his nose.

"San." 

"I'd kill to be a rotation student in their labs." Eunchae giggles. "What'd he say?"

"To meet him at his office on Tuesday to chat more."

"Well, that's good! Which other labs were you looking at?"

"I'm not sure. Song Mingi, Kang Yeosang, Jeong Yunho. Kim Namjoon—"

"Isn't Professor Choi's ex-wife with Professor Jeong now?" Jiung looks up with a squint.

"Yeah, apparently when it all went down, it was a mess." Felix chimes in, and you continue to type away at your phone. "Imagine your wife having an affair with your bestfriend."

"Harsh." Jiung does a head tilt.

"I guess they don't interact much anymore, do they? Seems to be water under the bridge."

"I don't think so, but Professor Lee works in the Chemical Engineering department so they might have to from time to time if students in her lab wanna be co-advised or collaborate with him. Professor Jeong, though."

"Awkward. At least they can keep it civil." Felix shrugs at Eunchae's response.

"They lowkey have no choice." Felix looks up in thought before shrugging. "Still sucks to know your bestfriend was involved."

"Seriously." You add.

"Either way, those are good labs to possibly rotate in. It'd be cool if you could get into Namjoon's lab. Heard he's cool as fuck even though he's the department chair." Felix tosses his napkin into his empty paper bowl.

"Yeah, same. I'll keep you guys updated." You send off your response to Professor Choi with a small sigh. "There. Hopefully my rotation will be settled for the quarter."

From: yn@atz.edu To: choisan@atz.edu Hi Professor Choi, Yes, I can meet you at 10am on Tuesday. Thank you, and see you then! Best, Y/N

"Maybe you'll get more out of the rotation, especially with Professor Choi." Eunchae nudges your side and you let out a small yelp before you playfully pinch her bicep.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jiung snorts.

"I'm just saying, he's successful. A hottie. Young. Single—"

"Here she goes." Felix lets out a breath.

"Bro. Calm down." Jiung laughs. "He's still a professor."

"What if you two get close during rotation and he falls in love with you?" She looks at you ever so seriously. 

"Relax." Felix laughs. "What kinda movie did we fall into?"

"Eunchae, please." You poke her cheek. "You know we rarely ever see the professors in lab. We get like.. five minute meetings with them and that's about as much of a personal interaction we'll get. They're busy people. Sorry to burst your bubble, bae." She shrugs.

"It was fun to think about." She giggles. "But no, that'll be a good experience for you if you get to join his lab for rotation. The others are great, too. Is he your first choice for a dissertation advisor, though?"

"As of now, yeah. But, we'll see how it all goes."

"Keep us updated." Jiung sips some water. "I think I need to reach out to one more professor for this quarter. Needa figure out my shit before classes start."

"Same." 

Meanwhile, San sees the notification from your email pop up in the corner of his screen and he immediately presses on it. He smiles a bit when he realizes how easy scheduling that meeting was— most of the time, people say they'll work with his schedule but end up pushing back. He slots you into his calendar before he can forget and switches his attention back to the progress report he's close to finishing up. 

San thinks it'll be nice to host a rotation student again, as the experience has always been useful, eventful, productive. He thinks it'll be like any other time; the experience being useful, eventful. Productive. He trusts in his group, the students, to come up with great ideas and be able to execute from start to finish.

So, he doesn't think much of it. He thinks he can hand you off and trust you with Belle and Sunwoo.

Little does he know that's where he gets it all wrong.

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @lynnsqueendom

[puppy-steve]

hold you gently

ftm steve, established steddie. contains detailed descriptions of periods. (ao3)

Steve spends the first day of his period absolutely miserable. His emotions are all over the place. One minute he's this close to lashing out at the first minor inconvenience and the next he's ready to bawl his eyes out.

He knows Robin can tell that something's up. She keeps asking if he's alright and Steve tries to brush it off, tell her he's fine, it's just a little headache, he couldn't sleep last night. But then that sends her into another spiral that makes Steve want to scream and throw something just to get her to be quiet.

Those are mean thoughts, Steve knows, but his body's all out of whack, and his knees and lower back are killing him and he swears he can feel his fucking hips shifting. Add in the cramps that are steadily rolling through his uterus and he's so fucking close to committing homicide.

He's in the stacks, dead-eyed as he stocks the new animated releases, and shifting from foot to foot because now those also hurt and he can feel the beginnings of a migraine that'll have him calling off the next day, and he just wants to go home and lay on the couch with his heating pad and his boyfriend while some shitty TV show plays in the background.

"Steve?" Speak of the devil.

Steve makes a noise of acknowledgement and continues to shelve the tapes. He ignores the pang in his chest that makes him want to reach out and pull Eddie closer and burrow into him.

As if he can read his mind (or tell by the look on his face), Eddie steps closer. "You got Robbie real worried, sweetheart," he says gently, hands in his pockets. Steve can tell he wants to reach out for him the same way he does.

"I'm fine, Eds," Steve says. More like he tries not to snap at the only person who knows about his "condition." He can feel his agitation rising, though, with another wave of cramps that are accompanied by nausea and a sick feeling of something gushing from down there.

"Is that why you look like you wanna blow chunks all over the place right now?"

Steve maybe puts a tape on the shelf a little too hard. "It's been a shit day, Eddie, I really don't need sarcasm right now."

Eddie puts his hands up. "Sorry, sorry." He comes a little closer and lowers his voice. "Talk to me, baby. What's the matter?"

Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's the first day," he mutters behind his hand.

"Hm? I couldn't hear you, Stevie."

"I said–" Steve sighs again, harsher this time, and his hand falls to his side, his gaze firmly locked on the tapes in front of him. "It's the first day, and the first day is always shit. It feels like a rock's sitting in my stomach or something and I can't take more than two steps without feeling like I'm gonna puke."

He doesn't mean to unload it all onto his boyfriend, but he asked for it. His perfect, wonderful boyfriend who takes it all in stride without a single hint of judgement or disgust.

"I'm hormonal as fuck, man, and it’s like customers chose today specifically to be even more annoying than they usually are, like they made it their personal mission or some shit."

Steve looks to the front of the store where Robin is still at the counter and then back at Eddie. "Robin keeps asking me if I'm alright, and I love her, Eds, I really do, but if she keeps it up, I'm gonna end up snapping at her and then she'll cry and that'll make me feel even worse."

Steve takes a deep breath, holds in it for ten seconds, and exhales. "I just need a break," he says, sounding defeated, and so so tired. "I just need to be alone for five minutes, and–"

Eddie, who has been quiet this whole time, like a saint, letting Steve rant until he runs out of steam, tilts his head and looks at him with those big Bambi eyes Steve loves so much.

"And what, Stevie?" he asks gently.

Something in Steve's chest snaps and his bottom lip wobbles before he can stop it. The back of his throat burns like it always does when he's about to cry, and– yep, here come the tears.

He takes a shaky breath and his voice breaks when he says, "I need you."

Eddie's expression falls into something Steve absolutely hates. "Baby–"

Steve clears his throat and the tears are gone as quick as they came, though his eyes are a little red rimmed and shiny.

He shakes his head and waves Eddie off, putting more tapes on the shelves like he didn't just have a mini breakdown in the middle of his shift. "It's fine, Eddie, really. I'll just, I don't know, take a painkiller and tough the next couple hours out."

The tape he's holding is gently taken from him and set on the shelf for him. Eddie levels him with a raised eyebrow.

"Is that really what you want to do?"

Steve bites his lip. He doesn't. Work is the last place he wants to be at today, or this whole week for that matter.

He shakes his head with a soft, "No."

"Okay, then."

Eddie tells him to go grab his things from the break room. Steve is too exhausted to argue. He comes back to the front counter but before Robin can launch into a lengthy apology, Eddie interrupts her with a minute shake of his head.

Steve holds his arms out and pulls her in for a hug anyway.

"I'm sorry for being an ass all day," he says and plants a kiss on the top of her head. He feels awful about keeping this huge of a secret from her, but coming out as bi is one thing. Coming out as trans is a whole different ballgame he isn't willing to play just yet.

Robin hugs him back and kisses his cheek. "I'm sorry for being pushy." She pulls back and takes Steve's hands in hers, lacing their fingers together. "Hope you feel better soon, dingus."

Steve can't leave his car at work overnight so he follows Eddie's van to the trailer. He grabs one of Eddie's pullover hoodies out of his closet once they're inside and a pair of baggy sweatpants before making a beeline for the bathroom to pee and change his pad.

Soon enough, Steve comfortable and cozy on the couch, covered with at least two blankets and even more pillows, his hood pulled over his head and mussing his hair up even more. Eddie's got My Best Friend Is a Vampire playing on the TV, but Steve's saving grace is the heating pad that's covering his waist under the blankets.

Steve groans softly as he's hit with more cramps and shifts his hips against them.

"Here, sweetheart." Eddie comes back from the kitchen and hands him a cup of hot chocolate. He reclaims his spot next to Steve, boxing him between his body and the back of the couch. "How you feeling?"

"Like shit," Steve grumps, taking a sip and reaching back to set the mug on the side table. "I'd rather take being gnawed on by demobats than have to deal with these cramps. At least I can see the bats and try to stop them." He winds his arms around Eddie's waist and rests his head on his shoulder.

Eddie crinkles his nose in distaste. "Frankly, babe, I'd rather you not go through either." He rubs his thumb over the skin of Steve's hip. "What's stopping you from using all that government money to pay for your surgery?"

Steve hums and turns his nose into Eddie's neck, smiling against the skin. "I wanna get at least one kid out of you before I do that."

They've talked about this. In length. Eddie was there for the Winnebago conversation. Steve wasn't lying back then, but he's since realized he was wanting all those things with the wrong person.

"Yeah?" Eddie's voice is amused. "You want a couple Harrington spawn running around the trailer park?"

"Nah, was thinking more along the lines of a Munson brat."

Eddie stills against him.

Steve comes out from his hiding spot and grins at the look on his boyfriend's face. He leans up and kisses his cheek. "Did I break your brain on that one, honey?"

Eddie shakes himself out of his stupor and cups Steve's face, pressing him into the couch so he can kiss him silly.

"I'm gonna give you so many Munson brats, baby," he promises between leaving kisses all over Steve's face and Steve's giggles. "You won't even know what hit ya by the time I'm through with you."

Steve guffaws and lets Eddie cover him with kisses and love.

"I'll hold you to that, baby, don't worry."

buy me a ☕?

[hwaightme]

Avaritia

THIS IS 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI FOR CAPTAIN'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist)

⚫ pairing: ceo/sugar daddy!hongjoong x assistant/afab!reader ⚫ genre: smut... just smut really ⚫ summary: everything has a price, but sugar makes this truth so much sweeter. no matter what he says, hongjoong will buy that new purse for you, will flaunt you in front of his business partners, and will make sure you know you are his. ⚫ wordcount: 8.3k ⚫ warnings/tags: MINORS DNI, tried to edit - lost it - bon appetit, language, teasing, on a flight, a lot of money, wealth, first world, brand name dropping harder than San in the logs, hj is a sweetheart, mc is needy but in denial, full avarice mode lmk if anything else, nsfw tags and playlist rec under the cut ⚫ taglist: @doom-fics @layzfeelit @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo ⚫ network tags: @k-labels @ateezlovenet @kflixnet ⚫ a/n: Sometimes, I am calm. Other times (read 'all the time) I am getting wrecked by everyone in ATEEZ. Here is what Balmain Joong did to me. Any comments, reblogs much loved; we spiraled into madness (hail sucrose pop, glucose father joong lol)

⚫ nsfw tags: daddy/baby girl dynamic, sugar daddy, reader is a 'doll', soft dom!hj (literally cannot stay mad at mc), overstimulation (seriously what is hj doing to mc...), fingering, mile high club, blowjob, deepthroating, dacryphilia, possessiveness, dirty talk, sex on a desk, unprotected sex (wrap that before you tap that) ⚫ playlist recs: Five Star Hotels by RAYE | Sugar Daddy by Qveen Herby | SAD GIRLZ LUV MONEY Remix by Amaarae | Greed by Shreea Kaul | Mile High by Salina Killa | Do I Move You? by Nina Simone | Money Power Glory by Lana Del Rey

Why was it that when real business was being discussed, the location of choice was always the most extravagant, exotic, luxurious oasis? Everything about the resort screamed unaffordable. 'Exclusive' written in blood on the pristine white sands, only to be washed away by azure blue waves to colour sea foam you could swear was whipped up in a divine patisserie. A perverse flavour inaccessible to the majority but driving the decisions that ruled the world. It was challenging to not become partial to the taboo indulgence when it was handed to you on a silver platter together with a tailor-made career. Anyone would need to acclimatise to what most considered a distant fantasy, but a few flights on a private jet later did wonders in curing the delirium of the average and introducing an insatiable materialism.

Thus, you were not particularly bothered when your boss requested you book another retreat to a private resort in the middle of the ocean - considering the business's cash flow and offshore 'pocket money', this was not too different from your routine trip to the cafe down the street to get his 'coffee' - more sugar than caffeine but this was a secret that you were to keep to the grave; it was written in small print on your contract. It was easy to book when you just needed to send out a few messages to staff and drop a name to any external service people at the right time. Their reaction, stuttering and need for clarification never failed to be amusing; even the most outrageous demands gained appeal once the won, euro, dollars, whatever they wanted from the global wallet, began to stack up. Green bills, green trees - in a twisted way, these boys who liked to play the role of the all-seeing and all mighty were farmers too. And fruits of their labour were always the sweetest.

Sure, you worked hard and had your own path that you could have followed. Even had a degree to prove that you had at least an ounce of dedication. But what would it give you, in fact, what did it give you before your renaissance? Crumbs. Sheer crumbs, student debt and a chronic migraine. But as it turned out, a couple hundred k did wonders when it came to personal health and wellbeing. And on top of that, the myriad of other benefits that your current lifestyle had, had the ability to crush any argument and accusation hurled in your direction, of which you had many. You had figured out soon enough that diamonds were your real best friend, while those who you had considered your ride or die evaporated as soon as they saw you wearing designer. And that had been when the best you could ask for was old collections, and widely available products. You were not lonely. You had too many hats to wear, and a very demanding man, by the name of Kim Hongjoong, to entertain. And one who currently had his eyebrows furrowed, a couple of unruly strands of hair perking up out of his otherwise slick business ‘do, glasses barely holding onto the tip of his beautifully sculpted nose, and was leafing through the papers he had asked you to prepare for the duration of the flight.

For the CEO of a global company, and the heir to an even larger network, he sure as hell was incredibly young. You did not envy his turmoil and exposure to stress one bit, almost feeling sorry and in part guilty, since percentages of his spendings were technically lost on you. There had even been instances when you found yourself sat in a dark room, laptop screen aglow and on a blank page, with you wondering how one crafted a resignation paper. But once you and Hongjoong could have even a couple of moments alone, when he would ravish you, make and call you his and reveal to you all the things he had planned that could not be reflected on his calendar, that document would be promptly deleted and recycle bin emptied. Your ‘relationship’ had been this way since the one meeting, in his main office, on a bright and early morning.

He had called you up into his office and simply told you that he had another ‘job opportunity’ for you. At that point you had been desperate, with financial problems endlessly piling up, from debt to your family’s hospital fees to bailing your estranged brother out of prison. And to make things unethical – Hongjoong had known this. He had done his research – more specifically, he had asked some colleagues in his company, ones who you would never suspect, to snoop around and find out more about you. And as it turned out, you were the perfect candidate for ‘being treated right’ by him, while bearing the title and carrying out the formal façade of secretary and personal assistant duties. In his practice, as well as his father’s and partners’, this was probably the most stable relationship they would ever get in life, so might as well be picky.

Initially, you had simply become a receiver of gifts. Pretending like this was Hongjoong’s love language, you were touched and did not think much of it. Maybe through these purchases he was moving money in ways it should not be moved, but you could not care less – not your problem, not your area of expertise, you had the outcome, and the outcome was something like a crocodile leather bag or a dress fresh off the runway. Hongjoong had insisted on picking every single item out for you, letting his controlling executive side win over. He had explained that you had to look like ‘the prettiest doll in the world’ for him, and for that he needed to check for quality. After a couple of months, however, such sugary sweet presents had been reserved for special occasions, and for the rest, money was wired directly to a new, account, a platinum card he had opened for you and given you. To just step into the consultation room with his portfolio manager and private banking consultant had felt like you were cheating existence. You had been a lowly assistant to an assistant before. And now, decked out in Dior, were sat beside one of the most influential men in the modern era of this industry, letting him hand you eye-watering sums as if it was a couple of coins for a pack of gum.

Now, well, now you were conflicted. As months had turned into a year and were now approaching the two-year mark if you could remember correctly, your ‘relationship’ had started to feel more and more like a real one. Hongjoong had caught himself divulging details of experiences that he had never spoken about with anyone before. And nowadays, when you had sex, it felt less like a mindless fuck and more like making love, with the man expressing more than he ever could with every hot touch, press of his lips to yours, even his lustful intensity had gained a new colour. You could feel that he was confused, but would not dare let go of you – you knew that he put your name down on some very important documents, after all. As such, it was a rare but unbelievable pleasure to push Hongjoong’s buttons and get him all riled up for you, just so he could expel that pressure and that tension from a busy work day out on you. You were that caring of a personal assistant. And wanted him to keep on talking. Keep on telling you his deepest darkest secrets. You wanted to be a part of him, the hedonistic side, the one that seized the day and knew how to enjoy the earthly realm without counting and fighting.

For the flight to the resort and extended series of meetings with key business partners, you had chosen to wear an outfit that you knew Hongjoong was unravelled by. It was a black and white Prada poplin mini dress that did wonders to accentuate your curves and edges, and was paired with some classic, black leather, So Kate Louboutin heels and gold accessories to match the dainty little buttons on the dress. Really, this was dress number two since the last one had been quite literally torn off you by none other than your boss, but he did not want to ruin the night and as such, had promised to contact the house of fashion itself to get an exact replica of the limited edition garment. And this man kept his promises. But right now, even though you were sat in the private office in his jet, with the bodyguards safely outside, lounging and doing whatever bodyguards did to occupy themselves, he was not paying attention to you at all. Only winding himself up more with those compiled quarterly reports that you were now regretting having finalised them and bringing them at all. What was the worst that you would have gotten had you not done the task? A spanking? Oh, how scary… you have had it rougher on a casual and uneventful day. Now you needed to get creative to get his attention, and being needy would not do. So very slowly, gazing out of the window at the clouds your were drifting past, you crossed your legs, revealing the legendary red bottoms of the heels you were wearing, and reached for the notebook and pen that were just peeking out of your handbag. Unbeknownst to you, you already had his attention with your abrupt change of pattern. Normally you would be on your phone, or typing away on your laptop, even remaining idle would be more characteristic, so Hongjoong’s interest was piqued by the little planner that contained all your thoughts and actions. He slouched back in his seat, and raised he papers a little higher, so that he could steal glances at you more discreetly.

You were paying no mind to what your boss was up to, preoccupied by the cream pages and the visualisation of the figure in front of you, but in your mind. Sometimes, when work was slow, you had taken to doodling random people around the office, as well as sketching out a variety of landscapes that took your fancy. Though the main subject was always Hongjoong. You had gotten quite good at picturing his facial features and depicting them even in a few lines, catching his micro expressions and shift in body language. There were also a couple of drawings you had done with him as a live model, though he was asleep and in the nude, so no one was ever going to know about that – you had stashed them away in a safe hidden behind the drawers of your desk. It only made sense that he was in most of your drawings: after all, he was the man who had bestowed upon you such unimaginable riches and a quality of life so drastically improved, that you had no choice but to worship him. He had made you who you were now. A shining diamond.

And this shining diamond was a little too bright for him to keep on focusing on the profit and loss analysis. After about ten minutes of frustrating silence, he dropped the papers onto the table in front of him and leaned to put his elbows on its edge. You had still not raised your eyes at him – something that you normally did nearly on instinct since you were so in tune with his gestures, which made Hongjoong inhale aggressively. His previously neutral expression had turned into a scowl as he raised an eyebrow and gave you a onceover. His precious doll was up to something.

“What are you doing?” though the question was simple, his voice was dangerously low. But you could not be threatened by a good time. You kept your eyes trained on the page as your hand moved methodically to hatching the shadows of his, as of not too long ago, brilliant blond locks, ones you adored to run your hands through whenever you had the chance. Which was a rare occurrence outside of the ‘bedroom’, but still.

“Just noting some things down, Mister Kim.” Though he had insisted that you call him Hongjoong when you two were alone, it had been a challenging transition to get used to. But at least it gave you ample opportunity for… discouraging him further. He liked for everything to run like a well-oiled machine, with his eyes reading a business strategy in anything and anyone. You had no doubt that that was how he was scrutinising you now. Equal parts assessing the attitude and doting on you.

He was a sweetheart treating his favourite toy. Talking competitive analysis and takeovers in the morning, and clinking glasses with you at an exclusive Michelin star restaurant in the evening. And to think that you were the only one, aside from his family, who got to see more than one side of him was an intriguing notion. Actually, scratch that. Certain things you were sure to be the only one taking care of. Take his nasty habit of overworking, which you had called out even if it was just you feeling bored: all work and no play made Hongjoong a dull boy, and thus, less likely to compensate for your presently aimless sitting around.

“By colouring the entire page? Not good to lie to me, you know that.” Of course. When it came to matters of business, for example, this man had ears everywhere, had infiltrated every other competitor and had become a spider in the corporate world. He would probably find out someone was cheating on their spouse sooner than the spouse themselves. When it came to you, however, he did not have your intricate neural network mapped out just yet. He could only fluff up his feathers and put on airs.

“It is only ink, Mister Kim. And surely the ink to paper ratio is not more than the balance sheet on page twenty seven.” You purposefully moved away from his interrogation, subliminally reprimanding him from stopping his concentration. The ghost of a smirk was gracing your lips, hidden by hair that had fallen to perfectly frame your delicate facial features. Hongjoong still had not corrected you on using his ‘work title’.

“I should ask you to start drawing the spreadsheets out by hand then.”

“Maybe next time, as a special treat. In the meantime, we have what we have and must settle for it.” A lot more standoffish than usual, you were brushing your boss off as you continued the sketch. He could not exactly reprimand you, however. You were right in the fact that his suggestion was nothing more than white noise.

“Settle for less, Y/N?” the question rang loudly in your ears and translated itself to a reminder to know your place fairly quickly. You could imagine Hongjoong’s raised eyebrow and playful grin. In addition to him hinting at your arrangements, he switched to calling out your first name. Promising.

There was a customary mention of money and class even when it was not the main topic of conversation. Really, it was what had brought you two together, or rather the stark difference between what you and him had, respectively. Hongjoong enjoyed having financial control over you and ended up dangling it above your head in the form of his not so subtle first-world conduct. You preferred to imagine that it was him wrapping you up in the softest, silkiest Chanel ribbon, like the one you had seen in adverts and on the packaging that, alone, could have probably provided you with enough food to last a week in your life before.

It was not that Hongjoong did not try to ‘stay humble’. Based on your observations, out of all his financial peers, company clients and members of the executive board, he was probably the least likely to boast about the figures that his numerous bank accounts contained. It was possible that when the strings of digits began to look more like a phone number, one grew more tranquil. Money spoke louder than words. But you knew how to make Hongjoong get vocal. Or so you thought.

“More is never enough.”

“Having more takes a lot of work and being on your best behaviour, Y/N.” he may not know all of your thoughts and reasoning but knew that you got extra charming when you became needy. Trying so hard to get his attention that you would invest all your efforts into it. It was only fair after how much he had invested in you.

The Tiffany & Co necklace on your neck that he traced with his gaze was nothing more than a collar, a leash tethering you to him. An Elsa Peretti piece, a golden snake which had cost Hongjoong just under thirty million Korean won, was perhaps the best way to symbolise the chokehold you were beginning to have on him. You were there in business, there in pleasure, and he was contemplating preventing you from taking holidays unless they somehow involved him. It would be easy – just block all of your cards and you would come crawling. He was greedy for your reactions. The way your lip would curl when he would put somebody back in their place during a conference or a meeting. How you enjoyed it when he praised you for completing the challenging, soul-draining tasks that never ceased to pile up – he had never failed to continue scrutinising you through the glass walls of his office as you excitedly returned to your desk, a soft smile always on your face. How you were completely at his mercy when he wanted to give you an extra special present. He loved how the jewellery he had gifted you or sponsored for you to buy rocked back and forth as he took his time to take you apart. Piece by piece. His priceless game.

Hongjoong smoothed his lapels and adjusted his cotton jacket that he had bought in the colour warm khaki, tightening the knot of the wrap belt. Smugly, he took note of how your pretty, made up lips parted. What were you imagining he was doing now? He was not going to care, at least not right away. He demonstratively picked up the reports again, flipping through the bounded pages on autopilot as, what he could only decipher to be a disappointed gasp, reached his ears. It was a relief that the paper hid his growing smirk. Mister Kim was work-mode Hongjoong, after all. What did you expect?

Ignored and rejected, so be it. You knew this interaction well enough to be able to count, down to the minute, when Hongjoong would crack, or you would crack and still come sauntering over. He liked to be needed – the main reason why he had agreed to become the heir to the corporation in the first place, more than you liked to be needy. But sometimes, you were a little too impatient for your own liking – probably a side effect of having been transferred to a silver spoon lifestyle after experiencing hardship after hardship. As such, the dynamic between you and Hongjoong was a constant battle. You could almost taste his pride as he inspected the figures you had compiled for him, a lazy hand moving to adjust the collar of his white turtleneck. Through fluttering eyelashes, you feasted on the dangerously handsome man, determining that he really did look astonishingly captivating in Balmain.

It was frustrating, this ongoing game that you two played and would not quit despite the effect that it very obviously had on all parties involved, but much like with the drugs that made the occasional special appearance in the closed VIP-only events, it was too addictive. Even now, you knew that you should not pay attention to Hongjoong, but your eyes were not obeying you in the slightest. Over the time you had come to intimately know this man, if there was one thing you knew for certain, it was that he had an aura. An enigmatic charm, a magnetism that was so subtle to anyone who you now had the ability and first world clarity of deeming 'average' was unlikely to detect. However, before you knew it, upon locking eyes with Hongjoong, listening to his dulcet tone that would turn to orchestrate the music in your mind, you began to fall hard and fast into the abyss that was his power and control, trapped and even if you wanted out, forgetting the words. Once you fell in, the only words that mattered were the ones that he deemed to be so, and they were so heavily contextual and dependent on his mood that, usually, you did not dare oppose it.

It was fascinating to you how time seemed to pass differently when there was a price associated with it. Be it Hongjoong's net worth or what he was wiring into your accounts, it did not matter. What mattered was the bills that bound you together like the lace of your lingerie, one which was growing tighter around your body by the second as you kept on openly devouring Hongjoong with each shameless gaze, the thoughts cropping up because of the ghost of a smirk that he was wearing only fanning the flame. He was illegal. In all senses. No man should have the right to have such an influence over you as he did, and yet here you were. Working the role of his personal toy, so dedicated that you were on the verge of begging for him to play with you. You needed him. As much as you hated to admit it, since you still did want to retain at least a tiny portion of independence, this man had given you more than what you could ever wish for. Riches, connections, diamonds, sex. And you could not get enough, happily driven to madness by the immense pleasure of being a capricious diva with infantile demands for all the world's sweetness. Or, as your brother had put it, perhaps out of a sick gratitude to you for helping him getting at least a part of his life back on track, before you blocked him for good, you were getting off on being a pampered, prissy sugar baby. Though you saw no issue with simply doing what you were good at, and you still completed your regular duties as a personal assistant. It was just that your 'personal' was a little different from the commonly accepted corporate average. And the business that you carried out in the after hours was not just classified – when you had been faced with the decision of whether to agree to enter such a relationship with Hongjoong or not, you had naively placed your life at stake. That was the level at which you had to operate. But the thrill that it gave you, more than justified it.

Your internal clock was ticking away like a time bomb as you grew more and more frustrated, while Hongjoong, in a manner not too far from that of a cat’s, gave a soft yawn and made himself more comfortable in his chair, spreading his legs further apart under his desk and leaning back to continue his reading. Deciding that he had enough of having to repeatedly push his glasses up, he decisively took them off, and slowly folded them together, holding one of the temple tips very lightly with his lips. In a graceful motion, Hongjoong set them down to his right, beside a couple of pens. You recalled speaking with the designer over the phone, ordering for them to be customised and getting shipped over from the US in record time, and while you were not exactly sure as to why they were so important, the key stakeholders in the company had raved about them on multiple occasions, much to your boss’s delight.

You could feel that he was well aware of your present sensations, and purposefully was not acting on them, just to see you squirm. This was only making you more fixated on getting his attention, which you tried to do by letting out another soft sigh, quickly realising that if you were to get anything out of him, you had to be more rash, and act on instinct. In other words, act out of line. Taking the moment he dived back into the report as an opportunity, you rose from the couch, and slipped out of your high heels while keeping your eyes trained on your boss. A barely noticeable twitch of the eyebrow and you were struggling to fight off a smirk, feeling every bit seductive even though it was most probably a vision of your own design. But a little confidence did not hurt.

This time, you did not make a sound as you slowly moved towards Hongjoong’s desk in a straight line, using your strength to keep your adrenaline-ruined breathing as level as physically possible, and your steps measured out as the plane rumbled beneath you. Head and body in the clouds. All because of the heavenly ruin who was paying no mind to how you rested the tips of your fingers on the edge of the desk, before lowering yourself onto your knees and dropping into a languid crawl. As you inched past his lacquered black boots, and soon found yourself right between his legs, you could see Hongjoong stiffen, but resist the urge of responding to your bold movements. This only played to your advantage, as you let your hands rest on his denim-clad thighs before snaking up to tug on his coat’s belt, loosening it until the material gave way and exposed the waistline of his jeans.

Even as you, with practiced, methodical motions, undid his jeans, he did not spare you as much as a pat on the top of your head, like he usually did when you were being his ‘good girl’. The only sign he gave of his awareness of you was the obviously hardening member that your hands purposefully grazed as you attempted to pull the denim a little further down to give you better access. When the jeans, or rather, their wearer, did not budge to allow you to take them off, you growled in annoyance and gave up trying to be gentle, instead wanting nothing more but attention, not from Mister Kim, not from your boss, but from Hongjoong. From Joongie. From your one and only daddy.

Said man was resisting every urge to yank you from under the desk and to punish you for being such a vixen, but it was clear to him that his disregard of your efforts might just be more painful – a realisation that did little to subdue his arousal. It made him acutely aware of your nimble hand finding the cut in his Armani briefs, and pulling out his erection, giving it a few pumps at the base with your fingers. The sudden caress had made him buck his hips forward, encouraging you to continue admiring his length and running your fingers up and down, not a single bit escaping your touch. He gripped the papers in his hands until they began to get crumpled at the edges, and eventually dropped them to lean back and get a view of the scene unfolding at his feet. All just to catch you as you licked your lips, revealing a thick coating of spit, moved towards his dick, and while keeping it steady with one hand, ran your wet tongue from the base to the very tip, parting with a lewd twirl over the head. Hongjoong bit back a hiss as he locked eyes with yours, half-lidded – you knew all his sensitivities, his pressure points and guilty pleasures, and that was infinitely dangerous for a man like him to share, it only made you more attractive. You had memorised him as if he was your assignment. Your most important test and duty. Never leaving your mind and driving you to insanity as you drifted from wave to wave of uncontrollable desire for him, and him alone. You were his. And you looked so pretty, a queen all made up and dressed in gorgeous rare pieces, kneeling before him and taking in his member between your soft lips. Deeper. Deeper, until he could feel your hot inner cheeks, the back of your tongue and how a rumble emanated from you as you hummed in satisfaction, the vibration forcing Hongjoong to tilt his head back and sigh.

You were greedy for Hongjoong, moving yourself at a slow pace to take in as much of him as you could, hands finding themselves clinging onto the legs of his jeans for support, and to allow you to try your best and continue devour him without his guidance. As you moved away for a couple of seconds to catch your breath, a salacious pop announcing the temporary loss of contact, you noticed a string of what you could only guess to be your saliva, mixed with his pre-cum hanging between his member and your progressively more swollen lips. Once again, you took the throbbing member in your hand and were about to resume its worship, when a strong grip of your hair, nails momentarily sinking into your scalp, alerted you and made your gaze shoot upwards. The sight made you cower, though the thrilling trepidation fuelled your yearning for the glowering man.

There was a demonic quality in how he stared down at you, every bit of the expression demeaning you and demanding your ruin. You knew you had overstepped by disobeying him and taking intimate matters into your own hands, but who could blame you when he was so breath-taking when wearing his favourite brand? When you lowered your eyes he tugged on your locks, sneering.

“Baby girl could not even wait until we landed, huh?” his dulcet tone dropped into a rough drawl as he could feel your breaths washing over the tip of his sensitive dick that was begging for you to finish what you had started.

“I couldn’t.” you purred, batting your eyelashes.

“And so, you resort to being naughty? Do you think that is the right thing to do, especially when I say that I am working, hm?” he was hooking the answers out of you, one of his eyebrows twitching in surprise as you did not respond immediately. He tightened his hold and made your head fall further back so that you were completely face to face, his member pressing against your cheek.

“It isn’t, daddy, but I couldn’t help myself. You just looked so pretty that I could not resist.”

“And I think you are being incredibly selfish, Y/N. Spinning these tales just so you can satisfy yourself.”

“No daddy, I want to make you feel good!” you insisted, a whine escaping you as you could feel your core beginning to grow warmer with the progressing conversation. Pressing your thighs tightly together, you relished at the friction, and bit your lower lip.

“Is that so?” he mused out loud, waiting for your to attempt to utter even a single word more.

“Yes Da-mmfph!” taking the chance, he pushed you right in, his member hitting the back of your throat, the impact making tears spring up. As you struggled against him, he held you in place and watched as you tried to adjust to him. Just as unexpectedly, he yanked you back, leaving your lips to kiss his tip, only to drag you down once more and thrust his hips once, twice against you until he could see the wetness in your eyes building until it was about to spill over.

“You said you wanted to make daddy feel good, yes?” he asked, lust clouding his brain as you mumbled utter nonsense, mouth pacified by the hard erection, “then do exactly as I say, baby girl.”

This was exactly what you missed. Hongjoong coaxing every unholy state out of you, sin setting you ablaze as you began to fail in registering the nuances of this demeanour, tears that were on the verge of rolling down your cheeks blurring your vision. This was how you pinched yourself for grounding, to assure that the lifestyle you had, the gifts which you had been bestowed with were all real and all yours. You did not search for forgiveness when the forbidden fruit was so damn sweet. So, you let yourself be used like an expensive escort by him, comforted by the thought that even though he could definitely afford having anyone else, he had selected you. And let you stick by him for almost two years. A true sweetheart who knew how to treat his girl right. You moaned into the pressure as the low grunts you elicited from Hongjoong let to the climbing of heat in your core. With the abuse of your throat becoming a rhythmic orchestration, you grew brave enough to improvise, and hollowed out your cheeks.

"Ah... fuck, baby girl..." the airy proclamation escaped him as your teeth just barely grazed his member, and he could feel his high building at an accelerated pace. He resisted your bobbing to catch a few seconds' break by pressing you to his hips, barely giving you a chance to breathe. But he knew you would take it. You always did.

Hongjoong's ragged breathing was sending you into overdrive, and you shut your eyes to allow yourself to focus on the lewd music. Barely audible over the jet engines, the loss of control was his primary expression of gratitude. The illusion that he was not, in certain senses, under your heel rapidly evaporated when the adrenaline shot him through the heart, and his frontal lobe shut down to give up the reins to carnal pleasure. Once the barriers disappeared, his one desire and need were clear. You. The one thing in his life that he would never be able to truly own, and as you unwounded him, he comprehended with an unprecedented lucidity. That was why, as you sensed his hold on you loosen and his orgasm inching closer than ever, and were about to give him the sweet release, Hongjoong snapped back to consciousness and nearly ripped you away from himself, your head barely missing the drawers under the desk.

With flushed cheeks and an adorable, innocent pout, you looked up at him, dribble accumulated at the corners of your mouth. He fell for this face every time. Your glistening eyes studying him as you appeared disappointed that you could not get daddy to cum, afraid that you made him mad. That you did something wrong. Oh, how far from the truth this was. Even though you had acted selfishly, and approached him on your own accord, nothing about you could be anything less than right. Right just for him. It was as if the heavens themselves had moulded you to fit him like a glove. Body and soul. And he will be a fool if he did not indulge in that every opportunity he had.

Taking both your hands in his, Hongjoong helped you up from under his desk, careful to not damage your dress - not that he cared for the price, but it was not particularly enjoyable contemplating the conversation you might have to have with dry cleaning. Or with the designers. Again. It was troublesome striking deals with strangers to keep their mouths shut. He rolled back on his chair, taking in your trembling form. Holding your legs together you were fighting your ache for stimulation, knowing full well that your panties were already ruined with your slick and were only serving as a fabric made for rubbing your sensitive clit. Every breath, every sigh from Hongjoong as he took off his jacket and carefully hanged it on the back of his chair, then fully undid his jeans and pushed down his underwear, was a reason for you to start begging. Couldn't he see how anxious for touch his little toy was? Evidently not, for Hongjoong took his sweet time with removing your dress, every button like a special prize that he wanted to cherish, while you were growing hazy as he peppered kiss after kiss with every new inch of exposed skin, crouching down to let the sensation build lower, feeding the knot in your stomach. His pecks stopped just about when he reached your navel and with a lazy smile on his face, he stood up to gaze into your soul with an unbelievable intensity. Hands running up your body, Hongjoong slid the magnificent article off you, hastily draping it over one of the chair's arm rests and not once glancing away from his favourite sight, a sultry oasis, within reach, and so beautifully hungry for him. He stopped your arms from resting on his sweater, muttering that you would mar it with your lusty filth, and rushed to take it off and throw it behind him. Then, there was no barrier for him anymore, and in one motion, his pelvis was against yours, member resting against your black lace-clad heat, and hands kneading your ass, moving closer and closer until they began to toy with the g-string the action turning to torture as he purposefully made the material dig into your pussy, enjoying how you threw your head back and bit back a groan.

"Please daddy, I need you..." you whispered as he increased the friction and proceeded to move his dick in and out between your full, closed thighs, teasing your erect nub until you writhed to seek even more proximity. This, however, earned you a sharp smack on your ass, the lack of anticipation making it sting. Hongjoong did not give you time to recover as he let the pins and needles work their magic and elevate your reception of his steady thrusts. You tried to grab onto him, the table, anything, but as soon as your fingers touched Hongjoong's chest, another hit echoed in your ears, eliciting a frustrated moan.

"You want to... make... daddy really happy and cum... right?" He panted, his nails digging into your flesh so violently that you could not help but wonder if Hongjoong was going to draw blood, but that brief musing only elevated your pleasure. “Then, you are going to be my pretty little fuck doll… understood?” there was only one right answer to the question, and you were not about to get on Hongjoong’s bad side by being a brat. You were too fazed to put up a fight, and merely mumbled a soundless:

“Yes… daddy…”

Hongjoong leaned closer to you, until his forehead was almost touching yours, and moved to wipe some of the lipstick and remnants of his precum from your lips with his thumb, while his other hand hooked the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down to reveal your wet core. You wriggled to let them fall and kicked them away with an impatient foot, earning a chuckle.

“So eager, baby girl… I almost want to forgive you for not listening to me. I just said you are to be a doll,” he peered into your eyes, his breath hot on your mouth as he ran his fingers between your folds, covering them in your slick. It was adorable how you tried your best to keep up appearances even now, even when you had signed yourself away to be what effectively was his servant. You trembled as the cool metal of the ring on his index finger hit your clit, and exhaled shallowly as he played with you, “and dolls don’t move, do they? Can you do that?”

As he asked, his fingers curled into your pussy, while a thumb traced rhythmic circles over the nub, the sensation electric, building your high. The lasciviousness flashing in your pupils as your eyes rolled back was a cry to Hongjoong’s darkness. Hands suspended in mid-air, you did not dare act out nor attempt to navigate the intimate act, submitting to your boss, your daddy. Letting him take care of you. As he sped up, watching your face contort as you battled the approaching climax, Hongjoong found you endearing, the corners of his mouth twitching as a soft, radiant smile surfaced. He could never stay cruel with you for too long. He was giving you more than you could ask for, and yet, he still wanted to give you more. Everything would not be enough.

“Oh, my baby girl, are you close?” he inquired, cooing as your breathing quickened in response to his accelerated pumps into your wetness, wild from the addictive sound it produced. “Fine, you can hold onto me, Y/N, daddy will take care of you,” you did not need to be told twice, falling into him as your orgasm was imminent, “doing so well for me, baby girl…” he whispered into your ear, kissing the lobe and pulling you into an embrace as he felt your high wash over you, your sex pulsing around him and muscles contracting uncontrollably. Brushing your hair back, petting it a couple of times before settling on having a hand rest between your shoulder blades, he praised you. But did not stop. Greed went both ways.

Your prior filters completely broken, you moaned and whined as you kept on unravelling, Hongjoong’s fingers abusing your overstimulated cunt. With his toned body, and your ass pressed against the edge of the desk serving as your only support, you draped your arms over his shoulders and wrapped yourself around his neck, rationality leaving with every tremor. As you could feel another scalding fire building in your abdomen, just before the release Hongjoong removed his hand and instead took to gliding his dick against your pussy lips. With the sensation being too much, you yelped and sank into an orgasm, sweet nectar dripping onto, and coating his cock.

“Such a good girl for me, well done… Come on my dick baby girl.”

You were not sure when, due to the fog that enveloped your fucked out mind, but Hongjoong had made you lie on your back on his wooden desk, surrounded by the financial reports he could not be bothered to clear. He wanted you now, and that meant no pauses. Without as much as a warning, the blonde gave you one final teasing flick with his tip before bottoming out, the fullness making you gasp. Your walls were still clenching around him from your climax, which made Hongjoong growl as he grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to him, spreading your legs further apart.

“So perfect for me, Y/N… only mine…”

He mercilessly pounded into you, chasing his own high while you were seeing stars. When you were like this, under him, hair cascading onto and off the mahogany, knuckles turning white as your grasped onto the desk as he thrusted, you were the closest thing to heaven that he could believe in. In a world that was drenched in materialistic attraction, sabotage in the name of another stack, and human lives turning into corporate statistics to improve key performance indicators, this was an ethereal madness that unlocked a primal bliss, untainted by present crises. The sweetest distraction, you took him so well that he liked to pretend that you had been made just for this. Just to become his possession. His gorgeous doll.

With you, Hongjoong had begun to see purpose in his riches, being able to play dress up with you, making the office a private cat walk as you strutted in the latest collections and custom made pieces. Gucci, Versace, Prada… it did not matter to him so long as you were wearing it with the intentions of impressing him, seducing him, and only him. He was fully aware that, technically, you could be dating someone else alongside your so-called partnership with Hongjoong. As a sugar baby you could even have another ‘sponsor’ out there somewhere. Another person to make you cum, to provide you with a sensual paradise. But the notion sent him into an inexplicable rage as soon as he entertained it, and as such, he preferred to isolate visions of you from the rest of the world. In turn, this manifested itself into his real life attempts to do the same. Longer hours spent after work, an unspoken rule that the assistant should not leave until the boss does. Michelin star restaurants and exclusive rooftop bars to lure you into being in his company. And of course, sex. Or making love. However, one wished to call it when the lines began to get blurry. But Hongjoong could not care less. You made him comfortable. You were his, you had to be, otherwise what did the two years mean?

Skin against skin, breath joining breath, sight clouding, going dark. Hongjoong rolled his hips, and lowered himself to a stance where he was hovering directly above you, his piercing gaze not once leaving you. Getting drunk off every moan and gasp that he was the cause of, he relished in the feeling of your pussy taking him so well, the orgasm that he had not allowed you to ride out still making your walls clench repeatedly around his dick, pleading for his intimate, salacious demise. His thrusts got deeper as he slowed the pace, progressively losing his senses to the speeding high.

“Mm… baby girl you are… fucking priceless…” he uttered, words broken apart by each time he bottomed out in you, his balls pressing against your wetness as you could only let out a series of mewls in response, thoughts unintelligible as the repeated hits to your g-spot brought you closer and closer to total destruction.

“Daddy… please, I’m-”

“Going to cum?” he finished your sentence as your try at speaking was interrupted by a wave of pleasure, mixing with the tension from before and making the tears spring up once again. You were a wreck, impaled by Hongjoong’s member as he returned to standing up in front of the desk, thrusts rapid, sharp and finally making a droplet roll down from the corner of your eye. You yelped:

“Hongjoong… ah this is…”

“Is it too much baby girl?” he asked, without any intention to stop as he could sense himself faltering at keeping up the act for any longer. His own climax was within reach, and he was not one to deny himself any pleasures.

“No, daddy, feels…. So ah… yes…” you mumbled, at least you thought you did, but could not confirm for certain.

“Pretty girl crying for me…  so cute.” Praises spilled out of him as he groaned into the tightness, and, unsteady, removed himself from your cunt, letting out a low moan as rivulets of cum shoot out from his cock and onto your stomach.

The viscous white fluid decorating you was more than what he could ever hope for. The final marking that you were his to use, you were there to serve him, and he would never get enough. A light shake in his thighs forced him to seek balance in having a hand on either side of you, while his pulsing dick rubbed against your inner thigh.

“So pretty, Y/N. Just for me.” He stated, more to himself, and lowered himself further to give you a soft peck on the lips, which quickly deepened as you responded with an elated sigh. In these moments, you wondered if it was money that you were doing this for.

As he moved away, and with practiced motions began to clean you up with some tissues which you had in your bag, you regained full ability of inhale… count… exhale, and in the clarity, drifted to a post-coital contemplation. Hongjoong knew how to make you do what he wanted you to do. But did he know you? Could he confidently paint the portrait of your desires beyond financial and sexual gain? A man made of sugar, with an alluring physique and a kindness which he showed only to you, but should he be your only one? This thought had been plaguing you ever since last month. An unexpected, shattering appearance of a business card, that was now hidden behind a card you rarely used in your wallet, with gold embossed lettering and an otherwise minimalist design. Tasteful, exclusive, expensive. When you checked the names of those attending the meet on the island, the object had grown considerably heavier, weighing onto your consciousness. Discreetly given to you amidst a kiss of the hand and the reception of a smouldering gaze, it served a similar purpose to a number at an auction. The person whose name the card bore had announced himself as a bidder for your attention and services, a bidder astronomically higher than Kim Hongjoong, at that. It was tempting. Very tempting. And you knew that the conversation would occur at some point during your stay, seeing as even in the business setting, the man would undoubtedly be sat across from you, and would stare you down, right to the avarice festering in your heart wrapped up in designer. But you were caught in a dilemma.

Your eyes travelled back to the graceful form tending to you, forgetting about himself, at least until his baby girl was well cared for. A sweet angel, his face finally rid of tenseness and agitation as his entire focus was on your body, on you. The one who, unknowingly to himself, had shown you unprecedented vulnerability and, endearingly, trusted you much more than he ever should have. A man who walked on people and money, yet wanted a woman who could play with his heart.

It was not that simple anymore, was it? After so many doses, could you give this up? Give up and betray Hongjoong in search for a stronger hit?

What was it that you were truly greedy for?

[trixree]

he is RISEN baby girl

hello hello! yes i'm alive, just very mentally ill. things are on the up and up and i have mega brainrot right now so i decided to try and get back on the "being a person" horse. you may see i've just posted some poolverine smut to AO3 here.

if you've sent me messages during my year hiatus (especially regarding commissions) I love and appreciate you and will be responding SOON, i PROMISE!

long ramble about where i'm at/life update below the cut.

May of 2023, I graduated with my masters. yaaay woo but also booo because it didn't help me get a job at all! i finally landed a paying gig in September of 2023 after sending out quite literally hundreds of applications. i only had two interviews total and a mountain of auto-rejections to show for it and it took an immense toll on my mental health. It started what was (in hindsight) a year of a prolonged downward spiral.

i already really struggled with self worth and turns out riding the merry-go-round of job hunting rejection cranked my depression up to new heights. for the first time in a long time, i found myself so low as to be entertaining thoughts of suicide. my eating disorder peaked the hardest it has since high school. i had also moved out of my parents house and in with my partner May of 2023 and was readjusting to being out of a traumatic environment. i had panic attacks anytime he came into a room too quietly and surprised me for months. I found myself isolated from most of my friends (partly because of my own communication death-spiral depression paralysis) and also because i moved to a different city than all of them to live with my partner again (0 complaints there, i love the city i live in and love my home with my partner and our bird children. however i miss my fucking friends, and the loneliness compounded the Despair Arc i was having.) My fucking health insurance changed because my previous policy holder retired and i lost some medications for a period of time, stressing my body in bad ways. a really bad spell of migraines compounded things chemically for the worst.

i borrowed some money to return to my therapist and my doc recently upped my antidepressant dose, and I can tell that both of those things but ESPECIALLY that last one there has helped already. My partner, closest friends, and even some coworkers have said I seem much better, too. I'm hopeful about it. Optimistic, even!

i did get a job working for a behavioral health nonprofit that provides outpatient psychiatric services in administration. It pays in fucking sheckles and pennies (nonprofits be like) and psych is a challenging environment to say the least. it was another 6-month fight to hammer out disability accommodations with HR. my body is a machine that consumes paid leave. as any of you that have danced an accommdations dance can probably attest, it sucks so goddamn bad. i had basically round after round of requests for my doctors to fill out paperwork that amounted to "will they get better? Are you sure? Alright, please estimate how often this person will need this accommodation in hours per week." of course it took an immense mental health toll, too. i kick ass at what i do and i do it chronically understaffed but it's really hard to feel secure anywhere when you're constantly missing work due to uncontrollable Body Bad Times (migraine, explosive diarrhea, uncontrollable vomiting, my three horsemen). especially if someone has a grudge, and someone did, which added extra layers of complexity.

i'll be honest, it's good to have something to get out of bed to go do 5/7 days of the week (i was going stir crazy without employment) but i'm running myself ragged and barely making it financially. not only was this body i have NOT built for an 8-5, i have less than 15$ to my name right now to show for it and i keep having to borrow money from my family for medication. but i truly love the people i work with and feel like i get to do good for my community where i'm at, and that's something folks!

speaking of health, i kind of got my gut stuff figured out? not really. but also yes! i don't have a diagnosis of any kind but i have a treatment that's WORKING for the constant nausea i was always blogging about last year. my GI put me on domperidone before meals and oh my god, total fucking game changer. no longer am i burping up half-digested food and walking around with 24/7 debilitating nausea AND my appetite even kicks in when i take the damn pills!!! the only down side is that domperidone is not FDA approved in the USofA because of sudden cardiac failure or what the fuck ever so i have to pay out of pocket for all of it. that's a good 150$ per month on top of all my other medication, so that's a bummer. but god, to have something that works!!! it's been so nice. no sudden heart failure yet, fingers crossed.

i have really bad executive dysfunction when it comes to responding to messages (i currently have 100+ unread text messages from friends and family) but i'm challenging myself to work through my backlog of messages in the coming days, so stay tuned if you've DM'd me in the last year. thank you for thinking of me and i appreciate you endlessly.

as for commissions, my life is just too unpredictable for me to be as consistent with those as i'd wanted to be. as much as having the bonus income was really amazing, i just feel like i'm too flakey and unreliable to deliver on that regularly and that's just a shitty thing to do to someone. (please check your DMs if this describes an interaction we had with me.)

i'm sorry if this decision is disappointing to anyone, but i think i'm going to stick to having a kofi live if folks feel inclined to show appreciation for any fic i post and maybe taking a comm very very rarely, once in a blue moon when circumstances allow. I do want to honor anyone that messaged me about a comm during my year hiatus. Please check your DMs. for my casual reader: none of my current projects on AO3 are abandoned. i've never stopped working on them this past year, even if it has only been in my notes app. i really want to start posting more regularly again. i miss the outlet immensely. I think it's good for me, creatively and for a sense of community. i hope you all understand and thank you. thanks for still being here.

[queenvidal]

The Missing Piece

Chapter 2: Strange Feelings

Chapter Summary: Goodneighbor is facing quite some problems but Hancock needs a break. It's hard to concentrate with his mind spiraling back to the woman from the vault.

Wordcount: 2159

Chapter Index:

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9

Masterlist

The last week has been a mess.

The group of green skins that have attacked Nick and Blue settled down not far away from Goodneighbor. In fact, they came far too close for Hancock’s liking. He and Fahrenheit spend the last few days working hard on finding a solution. So hard even that John didn’t have time to take one of his little chem breaks every now and then to take off the edge.

His usually blurred mind sobered up over the time and got almost completely clear and sharp and it just wouldn’t shut up. Though being sober isn't something John is unfamiliar with, the sheer chaos in his head had kept him from concentrating. 

Thoughts were racing through his head, bringing past demons back into focus. His mind zoned out constantly, brought him back to diamond city, to the things he did and didn’t do. But the worst part was the anxiety. Out of the blue he’d feel knots tightening in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He’d find himself clenching onto his sofas or desk, his chest heaving. At first he thought it might be some kind of bad tripping or a response to the never ending flood of pictures in his head. But he knows what that feels like and it doesn’t come close to whatever is going on with him now. It’s something he has no idea how to handle.

His nerve-racking arm was just the cherry on the top. Amari couldn’t find what was causing that unpleasant feeling and ended up just injecting Med-X. It did not help in the slightest, but Hancock didn’t bother to tell her. He thanked her for her help with Blue and his arm and quickly left.

“Hancock, what the fuck?” She asks, looking up from the map on the table. John’s face stays unreadable sternly, if she wouldn’t know him as well as she does, she’d find it quite intimidating. “That’s just bullshit! Are you even listening to what I’m saying? We are low on supplies as it is.” She points onto the map. “We can't go in with two teams, the two blocks are still raider territory, we'd have to -"

Needless to say that John’s mood soured quickly over the past few days and Fatenheit is getting sick of it.

“I’ve said two teams and two teams will get sent.” His voice is uncomfortably calm. The guards around the makeshift warrable share uneasy glances. Hancock has been really on edge like he is right now. To call the atmosphere in the room tense would be an understatement. 

Fahrenheit doesn’t care about what he wants. “I won’t send our men on a suicide mission just because these mutants hurt the robots little girlfriend.”

John's knuckles are turning white from the tight grip on the table. “You do as I say.”

“Nope. Know what,  I’m out.” Fahrenheit rounds the table to go for the door. She snips into the air, getting her men moving out of the room. “I am fucking tired of your irrational and stubborn orders. We'll adjourn this whole revenge trip of yours until you get your shit together. Go get your ass to The Third Rail and get wasted or something. It is absolutely impossible to work with you right now!" And with that the woman steps out of the office, leaving Hancock alone in the dim light of a few candles. 

He's furious. How dare she talk to him like that? As much as he treasures their friendship, this woman is crossing lines. At the end of the day, he's the mayor and she's just his right hand. He's in charge and that's something she needs to keep in mind. it's one thing to yell at him when they are private and talking eye to eye, no problem with that. But she has to fucking stay in line when it is business related. Especially with their men around.

Her current disobedience is maddening. And the damn migraine isn't helping either. Or his shaking hands. Or the cold sweet. For fuck sake, withdrawals already? The absolute last thing he wants to do is admitting that Fahrenheit was right. Maybe he really should take a break and drown himself in cheap whisky that  would make humans go blind. Maybe combined with jet, slowing his spinning mind that won't shut up about things he'd rather not think about.

Well, If they are still having jet and whisky, or alcohol in general that is. Their supply line is still cut. Another problem Hancock still has to solve. Maybe the mutants will kill the raiders or the other way around. That would be the easiest way but that again, nothing in the Commonwealth is easy.

Whatever. There is still an untouched 'survival kit' of all kinds of chems in the drawer of the mayor's desk. It definitely won't save his life when his town of criminals and junkies revolt against him for letting them dry down but at least he would be far away in mindless bliss when they paint his office with his guts.

Damn, since when did his thoughts go down such dark roads? John shakes his head, he really needs a break before his thoughts drive him crazy. With a sigh he takes his pack of smokes and leaves for The Third Rail.

When he passes Ham with a nod in greeting and enters the bar, he gets hit by the smell of cheap perfume, booze, smoke and vomit. Home.

The ghouls face cracks a smile when he sees his favorite detective sitting right at the bar, downing a longdrink, that smells exactly like coolant. Hancock takes the chair next to him. "Look who's here. Mind some company, Nicky?"

The synth huffs a laugh and takes a sip from his drink before he answers. "Not at all. And who am I to reject the mayor of Goodneighbor?"

Hancock orders two whiskeys and downs them both in one needy gulp. The liquid slowly burns its way down John's throat. Damn, he really needed that. While savoring the slow burn, he puts the glasses down with a loud clink.

Nick eyes Hancock with a questioning frown. "Ehm. A bit eager, are we?" Charlie refills the glasses without a comment and hovers away to the other guests. 

John pulls out a pack of smokes from his pocket, taking one out and offers Nick one as well. The detective doesn't say no but the frown doesn't leave his face when he takes one.

"Long day in the office." John sighs as he lights up his cigarette before taking a long drag. "How are you doing, Nicky, everyone treating you alright?"

Nick simply nods before he takes another sip. "Yeah, yeah."

John notices the tiredness in the synth's voice. Something is the matter. "So." The ghoul starts. "And what is your excuse for being here? Despite the girls and drinks?" Hancock lets his gaze wander through the bar. All familiar faces are sitting on crates, listening to Magnolia, drinking, fainting. Nothing out of the ordinary. A black haired woman meets his eyes, she smiles at him from under her bangs. Hancock acknowledges her by tipping his hat down a bit before he returns his attention back to his friend who still didn't answer his question.

Nick's eyes are glued at the almost empty glass in his hand while he takes long drags of his cigarette. He looks lost in thought, like he is pouting for whatever reason. "C'mon Nicky, what's bothering you? Everything alright with your vaultie?"

The synth just shakes his head. Eventually he sighs, "No, not really." John feels his stomach drop at that. Were her injuries more severe than they thought, did she catch an infection? All kinds of scenarios are floating around in his head. Nick takes another drag, "But I guess the Doc already told you." 

Actually she didn't. John hasn’t talked to her since Nick and Blue came into town. His arm did really go on his nerves, but he didn’t want to bother Amari with it again. He figured it might be part of his ghoulification. Losing some parts other than the nose and ears is normal, usually a toe or two. To lose whole limbs is possible but it's  very, very rare. Definitely not something John would be looking forward to but in the end he knew what he got himself into when he made his decision to become one. 

Also the last days were very stressful.  He was so occupied with his arm and the super mutants, he simply forgot to ask the doc about the woman from a vault. 

Which is a total lie.

John found his mind taking him back to the night where Nick and Blue stumbled through the gates ever so often. But lying to himself is easier than facing his worries for a person he barely met. Or the strange clenching of his guts whenever he memorized Blue’s wound and the sheer amount of blood all over her suit and Nick.

John tears his mind away from the memory, "Haven't spoken to her since you two came here. What's wrong?"

The vague answer only adds to the uneasy feeling in Hancock guts. "Care to be a bit more precise?"

Nick just sighs. “A lot.”

"She… well, let's say she's been through a lot and it shows - mentally."

Now that just piques John's curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"You know I don't talk about running investigations, Hancock."

So Blue is an actual client of his. Why the hell would somebody from a vault leave one of the safetes places in the Commonwealth behind to ask a synth detective for help? John hits the synth on his shoulder lightly. "Come on now, Nick. Don't leave me hanging here like that."

Nick puts out his cigarette in an ashtray before looking up to answer. "She's in the Rexford. Talk to her if you want to know more about her story, it's not my place to tell."

Hancock just rolls with his eyes. Of course he could just do that but if he’s honest to himself, her private matters are none of his business. Sure, he could defend himself by playing the 'I'm the mayor of the town and saved your life' card but that's not his style. And technically did Amari save her life - He just stabbed Finn out of the way.

John cringes internally at that. Damn, shes a fucking vaultie after all, her people are not used to the harsh reality outside their giant metal doors. Hell, she even most likely never saw a ghoul before. What  must she be thinking of him-

"Good evening, mayor Hancock."

The soft voice behind the men makes them turn their heads towards the source of it. It’s the black haired girl from the table on the other side of the bar.

"Good evening yourself-" John knows her, he is certain of it but what's her name again? Mindy? Suzi? "Pretty." Or just go with harmless, flattering pet names. A method that proved to be very sufficient over the years. The woman gives him a bright smile in response. "What can I do for you?" John asks even though he already knows what she's up to.

She bites her lower lip playfully, all of the sudden acting shy. "Well, I wondered if you'd like to have some company later, you know?”

Yeah, just like John thought. Nick looks at him with a knowing smile on his face but doesn't say anything. The ghoul considers her invention for a moment. The main dilemma for the last few years, ever since he became mayor of Goodneighbor - Sex or drugs. 

Both at the same time can be fun, too. But the possibility of passing out during a one night stand, being that vulnerable around a person who is just interested in his caps or chems, or just has a weird ghoul fetish, that's stuff nightmares are made of. At least his. So no, both are not an option.

"You can have him." Nick says nonchalantly as he stands up from his chair. "I've finished my drink anyway and I have a client to take care of." 

Jealousy hits John like a bolt of lightning. A feeling he didn't have in a very long time. It's so sudden and without warning, it takes him off guard. He tries not to read too much into that and turns his attention back to Trudy. Or Ruby? The woman takes Nick's seat immediately even though John hasn't answered yet. With a sigh on the remaining of his lips he just gives in. No drugs tonight then. But before Nick is out of earshot, John calls after him. There is one burning question he needs an answer for. "Nick! Blue ain't her real name, is it?"

The synth waves at him as he makes his way to the exit. "It's not."

Chapter Index:

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9

Masterlist

Taglist: @loverofclones / @squeakythedragon / @martinys-world / @id-rather-be-in-middle-earth

[cozza-frenzy]

Okay so it's been a bit since I made a "State Of The System" post, but... to be honest we're a mess right now. We're not doing great. Trigger warnings are in the tags. For a start, both of our persecutors, Jeremy and Getter, are dormant. According to Dr. Brewer - who was the last alter to have contact with them - this was a conscious decision they both made. Ongoing real life situations that I can't talk about in detail mean that their continued pressure on the system could have caused a collapse, similar to the Mass Fusion Disaster, so they went dormant to make sure there is still a system to come back to someday. Hopefully when we see them again, we'll be better equipped to deal with their problems, and they'll be more able to accept help. Besides that, apparently we're going through another discovery phase, which means we've had a series of alters show up that were extremely limited in their purpose and didn't exist for very long. These included Seamus, Chainey, Harley, Cooper, and several unknown/unnamed fragments - all of them either fused outright with someone else, or disintegrated into their component parts and ceased to exist. I've been hesitating to update our headcount for a while, but Gadget and Anarchy have returned from dormancy, and the only new ones so far who've stayed are Susan Sto Helit and Tim Stoker. Susan is an introject from Discworld, and she seems to have split to help deal with our ongoing poor mental health. During a particularly low point, things spiraled out of control, and I (Terry) suffered a spontaneous "fatal" injury in our inner world - a hole through the center of my chest, a metaphor for losing my will to live. It would have put me into dormancy or broken me apart if the others hadn't intervened, and pooled their efforts to restore hope and heal the damaged part of me. Susan appeared the next day, and appears to be handling our fears of uncertainty and instability, as well as taking care of our suicidal ideation. She's not particularly social and doesn't seem interested in fronting, so she's an assumed Fragment. Tim is an introject from The Magnus Archives, and is the first "full" alter that's shown up for quite a while. Apparently he was active during our time in college (this was before we knew we had DID/OSDD, so he didn't gain an identity until now) and went dormant after we were physically assaulted in a nightclub for being queer. Like his source, he's bitter and jaded and can't always hide that with his signature witty banter - but he seems determined to try and heal, and is embracing the fact he has a community in our system he can turn to for support. Everyone really likes him; he's been one of the few good things to come out of this mess. Things could be worse, but they could be a lot better. I'm front-fatigued, I badly need another extended break, and we've been suffering from migraines - but I'm stuck here with yet another new alter with no ID, who I don't even know will be here in the morning. Jeremy and Getter did something surprisingly noble to try and save us - but there's a lot of things both in real life and in the system that we just can't stop from happening. I really hope that their voluntary dormancy doesn't turn out to be for nothing. We have to keep going - there's too many reasons for us not to give up. But fuck me if it isn't hard right now.

[tauforged]

i need to quit this fucking birth control i can’t even be assed to reach out to my gyno about it first like i think it’s ruining my life. i’ve been on my period consistently since i started this shit in fucking JUNE to try and treat my pcos and while it’s lessened the painful cramps and migraines it’s making my life miserable in so many other ways. like no matter how hard i try i feel disgusting, im already prone to cystic acne and the fact that i have to wear pads or period underwear 24/7 to keep from staining everything i own is really not helping and it’s so fucking embarrassing of a problem to have and is made 10x worse by the fact that even when i’m doing everything i can to try and keep that shit clean and let it heal it’s just painful and gets worse every day. i feel like i’m rotting like i’m actively convinced that i smell like decay and have just gone noseblind and nobody’s said anything to try and be polite. it’s completely unfounded but it haunts my every waking moment like i’m so paranoid that this is spiraling wildly out of control and that when j do finally go to the doctor it’s gonna be necrotizing fasciitis or gangrene or something and im going to die. whatever im kinda just word vomiting into the internet im sure when i do finally drag my ass into the shower and do my laundry i’ll feel a little more normal and be ashamed of posting all this deep dark fears type shit for everyone to see but im honestly kinda numb rn so who cares

[hum--hallelujah]

I keep thinking about Killjoys-verse Benzedrine and the possibility of opioid (or whatever equivalent they have in the danger days universe) addiction like... the chronic debilitating migraines. living through days when even talking hurts too badly because it means moving his jaw. light offends. blankets over his head to try and tough it out. the others don't need to take care of him. he's the doctor. and then the hunting through smuggled supplies for medication, trying coffee in the hopes the caffeine will alleviate the pain, becoming angrier and angrier at what's been made of what was once a promising life. the medicines are supposed to be for others. he's always been chemically imbalanced. the head injury and devastated lab only made the pills stop working. and then the light (still offending) at the end of the tunnel. intravenous medications. the pills don't help, caffeine doesn't stop the life-controlling, stomach-turning pain in his skull. the fumbling first try, when he can barely get the needle into his arm. the relief that finally comes. not every day is bad but on the bad ones he can fix it. he can take care of himself. the adjustments of a body that doesn't feel lived in being poured into. the easy sensitivity of someone who hasn't been on any of these medications in months upon months upon months. it only takes a little to make the migraines go away. and then it takes more. and then the niceness of it, of not having to live in constant pain and frustration. the gentle rush of dopamine. it feels good. he's a doctor. he knows what he's doing. he can take care of himself. and this is how. clinically it's called euphoria, the way this taking care of himself makes him feel. as long as the migraines go away, as long as he feels this happy, he doesn't care what it's called. the comfort of this. the way the fog that sometimes overtakes his brain doesn't upset him when he takes it. the simplicity of it all. and then the spiral: the raised doses. the resistance. the careful choice never to do this when the others are around. the justification: the pain pressing inwards at his temples is only helped by this. the need growing. the anger resurfacing. the longing for the dopamine, the happiness, the euphoria. the classic signs of addiction that he shows no one. they all think he's an open book, easy to read, soft and unjaded. they're all wrong because he is good at hiding things. the oath penned on his arm by a teacher and memorized. do no harm. do no harm. do no harm. the lies he tells himself: that regards patients. he is the doctor. he is not harming himself. he's helping. even if harm was done, it's not breaking that oath if his only patient is himself. the spiral of his thoughts continues. the spiral of his actions does too. it's a long slow spiral and fall, like a leaf from a tree. the bottom that comes too fast and too hard. the races. the aching, pounding in his head when he wakes. the confession that it hurts. the concern, so uncharacteristic, from the boy with two mouths. the conversations that even as quiet as they are pierce through his head like a spike. the blankets he hides under. the assurances to the others, that they can go without him, that he doesn't want them there anyway. they don't need to take care of him. the needle piercing his skin, then the vein. the scars from all the past times. the higher dosage. the euphoria spilling into his veins, the pain easing from his skull, the dopamine flooding his mind. and then the darkness. the garbled, muddled voices. the unconsciousness. the hands holding him. the darkness. the darkness. the darkness.

[danielforshort]

I'm actually so physically exhausted from work this week, which is incredible as I do not have a physically demanding job.

My team ran our first MRIs without the PI present!! And when I say my team I mean me and one other person!!!! I was so terrified as I felt really unsure of myself and incompetent at what was expected of me. I realised later a lot of that was because I did not have concrete steps/goals/expectations of what to do.

I sat down before the MRI days and wrote out a list of the tasks that needed to be done for the appointment (consenting a participant, opening different programs for the scan, etc) and sent it to my PI for review. I also gathered all the different scripts to put together a super easy to access way of guiding myself through an appointment. That calmed so much of my anxiety.

Unfortunately I didn't get to that till later in the day and I stressed myself out so much that I got a stress migraine and spiraled into an OCD loop for almost all of Monday. It sucks to lose so much time and energy to my illnesses.

The MRI appointments went really well and I think most importantly (for me) I felt confident and mentally present during the whole appointment. I wasn't overwhelmed or scared I wasn't doing the right thing.

Huge takeaway: I need to remember (and remind my team mates) that being autistic is a disability. I need accommodations to present me with the exact steps/expectations of me in order to keep myself regulated. We work with the autistic community in our research, so we do a lot of scaffolding and work to make sure all of our participants feel comfortable and know what is expected of them. Yet I forgot to do the same for myself!

I'm going to keep this in mind when I have my next one on one meeting with my PI next week. A huge drawback of being late-diagnosed and never receiving official accommodations is that I have to figure it all out on my own. I can tell when I'm distressed but I don't always know how to fix that/accommodate myself. My PI even asked (because I was really open with how anxious I was about running these MRIs without her) how to best support me/lessen the anxiety. I didn't have an answer.

Now I know that I was so distressed partially because I did not understand what was expected of me, and I can work on making sure that I am accommodated for that. But this can't only fall on me. Accommodating and working with disabled people means that my team needs to also understand and consider if what they are asking of me is accessible to me.

Being disabled in academia is hard! Academia is hard! My life has been so difficult lately and I feel like I cannot catch a break!! But I am not alone and I am determined to persevere.

[nobully]

25.  UMBRELLA :  for one muse to share their umbrella with the other on a rainy day!

a comprehensive list of scenarios | 25.  UMBRELLA :  for one muse to share their umbrella with the other on a rainy day.

Winter rain was the worst.

It stung, it froze, it somehow chilled the air around your face so when you breathed it in it was like inhaling aerated slushies up your nose and...yeah, it was pretty miserable.

Wang Yi stood at the trolley station with his hands in his pockets, looking at the raindrops as they drip-dropped in muted misery, and wondered how long he'd have to wait.

Ding!

A message on his phone. He reluctantly dug a hand out of its glove to read it.

Due to emergency road work around the Water of Styx, there will be detours on the Spirale-Line routes 1 and 3. The following trolley stops will be missed until further notice...

Oh look, his station's on the list. Fantastic. He checks the train schedule instead and nope, not gonna make it to the next one on foot. A taxi isn't worth the price and he doesn't have his own wheels, so it'd make more sense to walk. He would've done that in the first place if it wasn't, you know, raining freezing death and he had a bag of library books to carry home.

Sigh...time to suck it up.

Not long after he started trodding through the downpour, the hems of his pants are wet. His shoes are soaked through too, leaving him with cold feet. The library books are fine because he shielded them under his jacket, but that meant his head was exposed to the elements. Sometimes it sucked to live in Archimedes, where the roads wound back and forth like silly string and a distinct lack of malls meant no convenient storefronts to duck in from the weather. Sure it was picturesque, but who took selfies in the rain anyways?

'Achoo!' Damn but it was cold. He better not get sick again—

"Wang Yi!"

He looked up at the voice, peering through soppy bangs at a faint figure across the street.

'...Zhilan?'

'What are you doing out here?'

Instead of answering, the scholar started running towards him with a huge umbrella over his head. But the rain tripped him up a few feet away, causing him to slip.

"Ah—!"

'Got you!' Wang Yi caught him around the torso just in time, half spinning in the rain before they come to a stop. The umbrella in Zhilan's hands bopped against his head a few times before shakily steadying above them both.

"T-thank you." A bit flustered, the scholar wiped his glasses to give Wang Yi a closer look. "It really is you!"

'How come you're in Archimedes?' Wang Yi asked back. 'Isn't your apartment in Golden?'

"Ah, I wanted to stock up on Jueyan chilis from Star Trail. It's a hometown delicacy of mine," Zhilan began, but quickly adopted a serious expression again. "But Wang Yi, why are you walking in the rain? Did you forget about the last time you got sick?"

'Er, the trolley got cancelled so I thought I'd make it home on foot.'

"It's freezing out!" Zhilan scolded. His grip on the umbrella tightened as he shook it above their heads. "Here, share this with me. You're already completely soaked."

'But don't you have to get home yourself?' Wang Yi asked as he meekly shuffled under cover. 'I won't take long, I'm only about three blocks away.'

"That's not an excuse," the other tsk'd before noticing the bundle on his back. "What are you carrying?"

'Oh uh, library books.'

"I see, for your research again?"

'...yeah, you're right.'

"Then it's all the more important that you keep up your health," Zhilan went on matter-of-factly. "Back at the Akademiya, there were scholars who pushed themselves too hard in the pursuit of knowledge. Although their passion was commendable, it's fooldhardy to neglect one's body. I once witnessed a student who refused to sleep for a week and suffered debilitating migraines in consequence..."

Slowly they began to set off, Wang Yi nodding humbly to each and every example from Zhilan's past. When the scholar got worked up enough to start gesturing with his hands, he quietly took over the job of holding the umbrella above their heads.

The handle was still warm from where his companion held it last, soothing his icy fingers.

'...Zhilan,' Wang Yi tried after a lull in the conversation.

"Yes?"

'What do Jueyan chilis taste like?'

"That's right, I haven't told you about them!" Zhilan reached into his bag and plucked out one of the round, red vegetables, his eyes shining with excitement. "But I must warn you, they're quite spicy. Actually, I've meant to ask if there might be something akin to them in your own world, considering the geographical similarities you mentioned last time. Perhaps you could find its equivalent in the Star Trail as well! It would be fascinating if we were to compare their properties and..."

And on and on he went, cheeks turning a dusty pink that complemented the scarlet pepper in his palm. When they finally reached his condo, Wang Yi had to cough, then nudge Zhilan's shoulder, to catch his attention.

'We're here.'

"We are?" Zhilan looked around in surprise, then flushed slightly. "My apologies, I didn't mean to ramble on..."

'It's fine,' Wang Yi replied, then coughed again. 'Do you want to stay for dinner?'

"Oh no, I don't want to impose." Immediately Zhilan raised his hands to wave off the generous offer. "You still need to dry off, and to make you cook on top of that would be too much—"

'Because I'm pretty sure I have a recipe that'll work with Jueyan chilis, but I'd need an expert to tell me how it tastes,' Wang Yi went on as he led the way to the front door and took out his key. 'I'll pay you for them, I mean.'

"You don't have to do that, either!" the scholar protested. "It's getting late. I should leave you to your privacy!"

'So I can leave you to get hypothermia?' Wang Yi's gaze drifted down to Zhilan's legs. 'You're not even wearing rain boots. Your shoes are completely soaked through—at least wait for them to dry before heading home.'

"Ah...you're right..."

'I also still have your umbrella,' Wang Yi pointed out, neatly tucking it out of reach before Zhilan could reach to take it back. 'Come in and I'll start us off with a hot drink. Shouldn't you look after yourself too?'

There was a sheepish chuckle back. "I suppose it wouldn't be very convincing if I keep refusing your offer...and it'd be a poor example besides if I didn't follow my own advice."

'Right. So first off, coffee or tea?'

The door closed behind them, shutting out a bitter night.

Inside, all was warmth.

[theevilmaninyourcomputer]

For the past few weeks I've felt like I've been in some kind of mental decline. Stringing thoughts together takes way too much effort, and I feel weak and faint when I stand for an extended amount of time. Also, my head has hurt constantly. I mean, I've had a headache for three weeks (I have chronic migraines so this isn't that unusual). I came to the conclusion that I was just extremely burnt out, and coming down off of final exam stress. But I'm a hypochondriac, so I secretly began to assume the worst. Maybe I have a blood clot in my brain, or I've spontaneously developed early onset alzheimer's or childhood dementia! I actually cried about this to my mom yesterday and she was like, "I'm not taking you to the ER for 'brain fog'" which is honestly reasonable. So, because I am incapabale of being normal about anything, I started doing research and I realized: I am so fucking dehydrated. Like, ridiculously dehydrated. There have been multiple days in the last month where my daily water intake has been one or two cups of coffee. And fun story, my sister absolutely despises the flavor of water. So much so that she has developed an irregular heartbeat, is randomly overcome with vertigo, and has done irreparable damage to her vital organs. It's bad. She's probably going to have to go on IV fluids in the near future. Anyway, I asked her how much water she actually drank, and she was like "I don't know, two, three cups a day?" Well, shit? If she's experiencing these symptoms and drinking more water than me, then what the hell am I doing? So long story short, I probably don't have a serious medical issue. I just need to drink water. Hopefully.

Still, it's freaking me out. I keep forgetting words, like, really basic words. Or accidentally substituting words for other words. And if I focus too hard on the spelling of a word, or the grammatical structure of a sentence, the words lose meaning. When I referenced my hypochondria, I wasn't exaggerating. I legitimately do have hypochondria. So since I've noticed this, I've been in a state of constant panic. I'm used to my head being a place I can retreat into. But lately, I haven't felt compelled to invent elaborate daydream worlds or internally monologue for hours. And to combat this, I find myself straining, forcing myself to do so anyway. I miss the comfortable chaos that used to be my mind. It's too still, too stagnant. It's disconcertingly silent. I feel like something is legitimately wrong with me and I'm fucking scared. But at the same time, I recognize the possibility that I am making a mountain out of a molehill.

My anxiety always worsens during the summer. I wouldn't consider myself an extrovert (far from it), however I do need some level of human contact or I lose my fucking mind.

But still, what if this is just how my life is now? What if I'm just not smart anymore? My entire life, I've been told that my writing is what's going to get me into college. If I can't form a coherent thought, or write a sentence without second guessing myself, how the hell am I going to get anywhere in life? If I lose the ability to create, then I am nothing.

This is besides the point, but I've already made the decision not to pursue a career in writing. I think I would enjoy journalism, or screenwriting (just, something creatively challenging), but with the recent developments in AI, I don't think that dream is feasible anymore.

I'm trying not to spiral, but thinking gives me a headache. An actual, physical headache. That's not fucking normal. What the hell is wrong with me??

Anyway this blog is like, my journal now. I know that no one will really see (or read) these, and word vomiting into the void makes me feel better. It's like, the potential of someone stumbling across it and connecting that is reassuring to me. So if you see this, just...idk. Tell me I'm not going insane. Or having a stroke. Or losing myself or my mind of whatever. Tell me I'm just dehydrated, and that the world isn't ending, and that everything is going to be okay. Because every day feels like the fucking apocolypse and my head hurts so bad and I wish I could just feel good and normal and okay.

So I'll try to drink more water (like, wayyy more water) and I'll update you guys. My head feels like it's full of cotton balls right now.

Later, dudes.

[ramblingvents]

Ramble

2024 has been such a weird year for me personally. Its kinda been the year where all of the maladaptive coping skills that I knew on some level were unsustainable stopped working.

Throughout a lot of school, I slept 6 hours or less. I could only do work at the last minute, out of fear of failure rather than love for learning. This somehow got me 3/4 of the way through a Physics degree before I got seriously burnt out from over-exerting myself (which people had been warning me about since highschool).

This was the year I finally got treatment for ADHD (tho I realized that Adderall makes me unable to sleep). It was the year I started getting treatment for migraines because it had reached a breaking point.

Last year during Fall semester was the first time I talked about the suicidal ideation that I've had for a decade with anyone. I refused to make a safety plan at that time because I didn't want to worry my friends/partner/parents. I wasn't able to see my therapist due to insurance after December. This is only relevant to this year because I eventually got out of the depressive episode, swore it wouldn't happen again, made an AITA post on whether I should make a safety plan and then proceeded to mostly ignore it. It got bad again in March. I told one of my friends and it was the first time I told anyone close to me. And I think talking about it and coming to her for help actually ended up making our friendship closer.

Around that time though, I was once again taking on too much because I promised a friend I'd do a project I knew I wasn't capable of. I was still sleeping 4 hours, dissociating in all of my classes, and then one of my grandparents died and I spiraled into the worst depressive episode of my life. I had days where I couldn't remember basic course material or even my name for like an hour at one point when I was really sleep deprived. I ended up almost attempting at the end of April, stopped at the last minute. Then proceeded to not tell any one that had happened, and went to another state for an internship for 3 months.

At the internship, I was trying really hard to be agreeable to everyone and people-pleasing and then had my coworkers exclude me for being autistic (literally had someone ask me that as soon as a senior scientist left the car on a road trip) for pretty much the whole summer. I definitely think some of this was me not really being in a good place anyway, but it was really difficult because I have RSD, I didn't have a car, so I had to walk like 45 minutes each way for groceries.

And then my project didn't work because I couldn't get the program to install on the thing it was supposed to for reasons that weren't my fault and I had to install and reinstall it effectively like 20-30 times, while my program director got mad at my mentor, before completely isolating myself in my room and doing the entire project in 2 weeks.

And like I think that was the first time I really internalized that you cannot make people like you and at a certain point people-pleasing to people who don't like you for reasons out of your control is just hurtful to yourself.

Anyway I had a whole breakdown at the end of that internship even though I did learn a lot and then started school like a week later and decided to take 18 credit hours. I also reached out and got accomodations for the first time but they didn't end up going into effect until late October so not the most helpful. I was really hoping to do well this semester to like 'make up' for grades in other classes, and I thought the ADHD meds and treatment would fix everything, but I've ended up burning out really hard, partially because I think the Adderall caused mania like symptoms (couldn't sleep more than 4 hours for like 3-4 weeks, keep missing homework, but like I didn't care and felt relatively euphoric and was barely aware of anything till I stopped taking it at week 8). Also because I was trying to "lock in" and didn't socialize with people as much as I should of.

I did as much as I could accomodations wise to get reduced course load for next semester and looked into a leave of absence if I need it. I also started seeing a therapist for ADHD management, was completely honest about suicidal ideation from the start and haven't lied or omitted anything in any of our sessions, which ended up being really useful because it meant that when the ideation did come back due to insomnia I had a safety plan and coping techniques, and she could monitor me when I started an antidepressant mid-semester. Also worth noting that everyone I was super close to graduated last semester, so having that support was really helpful.

That actually ended up turning well and I'm finally at a place where I'm stable though still having some depressive symptoms and difficulty sleeping/focusing. My grades are not good this semester but I have reduced course load, I'm going to take an extra year, and I'm gonna try to figure out how to do college in a way that's more sustainable and where I can retain the content better.

Also importantly I realized that the ideation is more a symptom of a need that's unmet for me. Like it didn't start back up until I was sleep deprived and unable to focus on my classes.

Very mixed bag of "a lot of things happened that were kinda festering for a while and got triggered by too many events" and "I'm actually starting to get help for my chronic illnesses and mental health, even if I haven't made a lot of progress yet". It could have gone a lot worse and I'm grateful to have gotten the support I have.

[devolawrites]

I originally posted this on Twitter, and tbh I'll probably get the worst cringe in a day and delete the thread and this as well but I need people who have commissioned fics from me or at least know my writing to know what the actual mcfuck has been going on with me lately.

Re: status of my fic comms right now.

It's not that I haven't been honest with people, I have been, but probably not as honest bc I haven't been too honest with myself either? I am working on them. They will be finished. I guarantee that. But... I have very high expectations for myself. Ones that are, most likely, unrealistic. I am genuinely running on fucking empty right now and have been for the better part of six months now. Not that I was much better beforehand but it's been the worst in the past 6 months.

I'm very open and honest about being physically ill with fibromyalgia and endometriosis. Chronic migraines. Asthma. Spinal issues and the like. I also have bipolar disorder, ADHD, OCD, C-PTSD and, while not diagnosed, am likely touched by the tism as well. As such, I take (or I should say am supposed to take) a lot of meds daily. I haven't been able to take them bc I've been getting violently ill immediately after taking them and no one can figure out why! I also work full time and have been attempting to finish my masters.

That, right there, is baseline 'what the fuck mary take some time to yourself' but, lol. lmao, even. Then my life fell apart in March. How so?

In the span of one week: someone I considered a family member passed away. I finally allowed myself to be open to someone about how I felt after two horribly abusive situations only to get the kindest, gentlest thing ever said to me while also being turned down INTENSELY. And then found out not even 10 minutes after said FAMILY-ZONED (not even friend zoned FAMILY ZONED do you know how weird it is to tell someone you have feelings for them only to get told 'oh i see you like a sister i've never had' and just wanna die) that your best friend died.

Via fucking Facebook message.

And then that week also be the one year anniversary of my Nana's death which I'm sure still was malpractice but we'll never know for sure and I'm still bitter about it. Needless to say, I spiraled. Very badly.

I was already stressed from paying for fixing my car and finding myself needing the extra money from comms more and more and piling on more work on myself bc lmao bills and making my back log even worse and now I felt horrifically alone and vulnerable and embarrassed. And, to be sure, I still did put work out. But I also struggled with a lot of comms that I genuinely had been excited to take on only to find myself just... unable to do them. For one reason or another. Writers block? Feeling like it wasn't meeting expectations?

I'd ask other writers for help. For suggestions. For feedback. For other angles to approach shit. And I got fantastic advice. And still, nothing budged. I literally had burnt myself out and was still trying to run on empty. On fucking fumes. And I still am. And, I'll be honest, it also did sorta sting when I'd finally get work posted and then I'd just... idk. Feel like it flopped. Either with the person who comm'd it or with people in general and that's bc of how Twitter's algorithm hates creators but it's hard to not internalize.

And it made wanting to write and wanting to work on things so much harder because it became less and less about wanting to do something I genuinely enjoy and wanting to smush yalls Barbies around and felt like an obligation with no reward. And that's not yalls fault, truly. But I internalize that shit really hard and take it as a 'you're not doing this right, no wonder people would prefer others write shit and not you, you can't keep up the schedule you made for yourself.' Which is why my timeline even changed in March.

I tried to make a more realistic turnaround time, with the same disclaimers. I even mentioned to people that they'd be on a WAITLIST. And I still feel like I'm not working fast enough. Not because of any pressure from those who have paid. But my own brain. And it sucks.

Because it's making me spiral and making it even worse and it's a snake eating its own tail because if I can just get out of this fucking cycle of doubting myself and feeling like it's not gonna be worth it, I can conquer this shit. I owe so many people so much and I just... I feel horrible. I know that I should refund like, most if not all of you at this point. I just haven't had the funds to be able to do that, tbfh. I only just was able to get caught up on bills these past 2-3 checks. And if you want a refund, please, tell me! I'll do it!

But I think once this batch I have currently listed on Trello is completed, I'm closing comms for a good fucking long while. And learning how to actually enjoy my writing again. Because right now, I don't. I don't enjoy sharing my work and getting no boosts. No comments. Kudos are nice, don't get me wrong, and I love every single kudos that I get, when I get them. But it's hard to not let the self doubt and self critique fester. And again, this is not any of yalls fault. It's my own. And I don't know how to fix it, tbh.

So, once these comms are up, it's gonna just. Stop. I'll probably work on my own stuff, but I didn't even do any of the ship week content that I wanted to do (wolchefant, wolcred, wolmeric OR wolstinien) because I didn't want to upset those who I owed work to.

So, that's the state of me as a fic writer right now. It's more theory than practice, at this point, and I'm just... I'm trying, I really am. I have so many drafts in my google docs right now and I hate everything I've written so much that I'm starting from scratch every time.

Which is why the Trello has, for the most part, stood still. I'm not blowing you guys off. I just genuinely have nothing to show. And I'm sorry.