#the devastating luxury of panic.

[rusted-phone-calls]

</3 sorry someone turned up the static in my head

[chillypowder]

Rescued Hearts: A Second Chance at Love

Pair: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: After 6 years of marriage, you've finally decided to end it half heartedly. So how did you end on the floor of your house that was once something you called home.

As I sat alone on the couch in our once-luxurious penthouse, the empty room seemed to echo with loneliness. The soft hum of the city outside was the only company I had, and it offered no solace. I had grown accustomed to these moments of solitude, moments when Bakugou Katsuki, my husband of six years, would once again prioritize his career as a pro hero over our relationship.

At first, his absences had stung, the broken promises a constant source of disappointment. But as time passed, I had learned to bury those feelings deep within me, like embers slowly fading into ashes. I had grown adept at putting on a brave face, hiding the hurt that gnawed at my heart each time he missed a date, a celebration, or simply a quiet evening together.

Unbeknownst to Bakugou, I had been carrying a secret that weighed heavier with each passing day. A secret that, in a cruel twist of fate, had driven a wedge between us even further. I had been diagnosed with leukemia, a merciless disease that had already claimed so much of my strength. After a grueling surgery, the doctors had delivered a grim prognosis - I had just a week left to live.

I couldn't bring myself to burden Bakugou with this devastating news. I understood the overwhelming stress and dedication he poured into his hero work. His days were filled with battles against villains, and his nights with endless paperwork and public appearances. How could I add to his burden with my own impending demise? Instead, I had decided on a different path, one that would ultimately make him resent me.

Tonight, as I waited for him once more, I contemplated divorce. It was a desperate attempt to push him away, to free him from the guilt and responsibility of a dying spouse. The courage to have this difficult conversation had taken time to gather, but I had resolved to go through with it.

Just as I steeled myself to face Bakugou and tell him that our marriage had become too painful to endure, a sharp, excruciating pain radiated through my chest. I gasped for breath, clutching at my heart, and then everything went dark.

Six long hours later, the weight of the door closing behind him alerted me to Bakugou's return. I wished I could see his face, explain everything to him, but I was trapped in this agonizing darkness, unable to move or speak.

Then, his voice, choked with panic and desperation, cut through the haze. "What the hell happened?!" he exclaimed, his footsteps racing toward me.

He found me, unconscious and unresponsive, lying on the couch where I had spent countless nights alone. Panic surged through him, and he fumbled for his phone, calling for an ambulance. But it was too late. I could feel my own consciousness slipping away, like grains of sand through my fingers.

As the paramedics rushed in, they tried to revive me, but I knew it was futile. My time had run out, and I had left this world with so much unsaid. I could hear Bakugou's voice, raw with anguish, begging me to hang on, but there was nothing I could do.

In those final moments, I wished I could have told him about my illness, about the love that had never waned despite the distance that had grown between us. I wished I could have told him how much I cherished the moments we had together, even if they were far too few.

And as the darkness closed in, I hoped that somehow, he would find a way to forgive himself, to understand that life had given us both a cruel hand, and that our love had endured through it all.

Note: I'm sorry I changed the original text from the idea to a more evolved version if you want to read the original idea I'll post it separately.

Once again. Sorry 😔

[kikidoesfanfic]

Melancholy March

KikiDoesFanfic on ao3

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV) Fluff, Pining Rating: T No Archive Warnings Apply Words: 675 Chapters: 1/1 On Ao3

Summary: Every year they part, and every year Jaskier seems more grim the closer they arrive to Oxenfurt.

Geralt doesn't understand, until he does. Fic below the cut

He watches his bard walk, head forward, mouth set in a grim line that only gets more severe the closer they get to the crossroad.

Every year his mood worsens around the lead up to Winter truly setting in.

Going from bubbly babbling with excitement that first parting, to nervous babbling, to subdued babbling, to falsely cheerful babbling, rather a lot of babbling as Jaskier is want to do. Geralt had assumed he just hated the weather, they had cut it close a few times, Jaskier almost not making it to Oxenfurt before the snow set in.

But this year is different.

It's the silence that has Geralt worried, out of everything, the resigned acceptance in the slump of his shoulders and the occasional perfectly mundane sighs, so far from Jaskier's usual performative dramatics. It all paints a picture that's far from promising, but the silence? On a scale of Jaskier's usual moods, silence indicates a level somewhere between devastating and catastrophic.

Geralt wracks his mind for something that could have happened before Jaskier's mood took a turn, to sour it, but can't come up with anything. They'd had a perfectly lovely day together, and they're making even better time than they usually would.

Now Jaskier would get to go to Oxenfurt, back to his students and luxury living for the Winter, while Geralt made the trek to see his brothers and rest, well before the weather truly turned and made his journey up the mountain miserable.

They reach the crossroads, and Jaskier looks up only after scuffing the ground with the toe of his boot.

"I suppose I shall see you in the Spring, then?" He says, smile small, but eyes tight with an emotion Geralt can't quite parce. He doesn't ask.

Instead Geralt nods, places a hand on his shoulder, squeezes, "be safe, bard." Jaskier ducks under his arm, squeezes him back, but with a hug, not a hand.

"Be safe? You're the one heading up 'The Killer," and Geralt can hear the air quotes in his voice, "alone. I'll be in Oxenfurt, there's nothing to worry about there."

"Dont sell yourself short, I'm sure you'd find yourself some trouble somehow, it's your greatest talent after all." Jaskier pulls back with something that sounds alarmingly close to a sniffle, and slaps at Geralt's shoulder.

"Oh you are terribly rude to me, I don't know why I'm missing you already when you treat me so horribly." He says it with fondness, a more genuine smile curling at his mouth, so Geralt shifts ready to move lest he change his mind and walk with Jaskier a while longer.

"I'll find you in Spring, Jaskier." He says, long past pretending he doesn't look out for the bard each year, knowing Jaskier does the same.

"I'll find you first, just you wait and see." Jaskier replies, staring at Geralt a moment before decisively turning and walking off down the road, humming as he goes.

Geralt waits, looks after him, and just as he does every year Jaskier turns and seems pleased by Geralt's watching him leave, before continuing on his way with an extra bounce to his step.

It takes years for Geralt to understand, until he comes to realise while standing in that very same spot and waiting for Jaskier to walk away, that the reason for Jaskier's melancholy upon their parting each year isn't something mundane as disliking the weather. That Jaskier is increasingly upset, of all things, for leaving him and being left in turn.

"Jaskier," He says, and Jaskier cocks a questioning eyebrow in the pause it takes him to gather his courage, "come with me?"

While Jaskier's eyes widen in shock, Geralt has time to panic at his incoming rejection. Why would Jaskier give up his months of luxury and teaching for a crumbling keep in the cold.

His worries are unfounded though, Jaskier reaches him, reals him in for a soft kiss that tastes of his sweet smile and happy laugh, and merely says:

"Why Darling, I thought you'd never ask."

On Ao3

[frogzxch]

THEM CHEATING ON YOU

character's pairing: Scara/wanderer, pantalone, dottore and childe might make a part two! this part 1 includes what happens after so that ya'll don't need to scroll for parts

warning: involves some slight nwsf, angts, cheating, pregnancy, fights , violent, let's just say they will have complicated relationship, some typo

enjoy this mess up fanfic HAHAHAHA

let's start now

Scaramouch/wanderer

You where looking for him you ask the the other's if they know where he is for some time of looking for him you where getting worried you started overthinking if something bad happened to him. It started raining you where running to find a shelter to stay and then you saw two figure from the distance you saw.. a girl rap around scara arms while they both where under scara hat, you though this was just an illusion you watch them for some time now you where silent.

You suddenly feel your heart heavy you touch your chest while looking at them they didn't notice you yet, tears running down your cheeks as you watch them both warm and happy while your there standing crying silently you couldn't move you where soaking wet and cold, you then run away without a word after that when scara was looking for you, you where nowhere to be seen.

Bunos part

Year's had past you returned it was your birthday you and your friend's decided to celebrate your birthday by travelling in another place, you where done unpacking your stuff and your friends where taking pictures of the view you decided to take a walk by yourself after a long trip you suddenly walk by someone who was familiar and there both of you face to face with your ex lover scara, scara eyes widen when he saw you again he look like he didn't sleep well he then greeted you " how have you been?.. I have been looking for you. "

You just staired at him silent clinching you fist you just said " I'm good thank you. " and then you just walk pass him. he felt guilty and regret.

Pantalone/ Regrator

You where about to tell him that you where pregnant, when you where holding a box and you where ready to surprise him with it the moment you about to open the door to his office you suddenly stop when you heard noises inside his office you listen and you heard another woman voice, you though it was just a employee but you heard the conversation.

The woman: " When will you leave her you know that impatient. "

Pantalone then replies " I will tomorrow love " he then kiss the woman you where livid instead of making a scene you throw the box in the trash and walk away you where crying you ran out you where holding your stomach, you pack your stuff but left the luxurious gifts that pantalone gave you.

When he arrive home from work he notice that the place was kinda empty without you he was looking for you but he didn't know where you are he look in the bathroom and saw a pregnancy test he saw it positive he felt devastated. He then left the woman.

Bunos part

1 year later your child was 1 year old and it was a baby girl you where playing with your child in the park smiling laughing you felt free just to be with your baby girl you named her Valarie the girl has the orchid eyes like his father and the hair like yours a white blonde type of hair skin that is like a doll, you two where going to buy a ice cream after playing in the play ground you notice your baby girl was gone and you where starting to panic and worried your heart start to beat fast, and then you saw your child she accidently bumped onto someone.

Then your heart sunked the person was your ex lover the regrator himself your child was looking up at him kinda scared because you weren't there pantalone look down and ask the little girl where's her mother the girl was crying and then pantalone carried her and tried to find the "mother" you then go to them and pantalone was shocked to see you again you then said " That's my child.. " you then took your baby girl and your daughter hug you tightly.

After that day pantalone was trying to win you back and his child.

Il Dottore/ The Doctor

It was the day of your anniversary with him you where well dressed and ready to go in his lab, you where walking by the hall when you saw him and his assistant making out you where livid.

Dottore then saw you both of them stop and dottore tried to explain and you know your not a fool to believe anything he say's after this happens you grab one of the chemical in his lab and then you throw it to his assistant face the assistant was screaming when her face was burning you then look at dottore " You motherfucking bastard.. I have ENOUGH " you shouted at him.

He tried to hug you but you grab a broken glass from the bottle you broke you then threaten to kill yourself if he goes closer he was horrified he didn't know that you could do such thing, you reach your limit you where mad you then just walk away.

Bunos part

Pass weeks you still work for the fatui tho, sometimes you would walk pass him he tried everything to go close to you again but it was to late. and then one day peirro assigned you to work with dottore for awhile you where annoyed about it when you arrived at his lab you have a frown on your face when you see him, the room was silent. hour pass you feel asleep from your desk dottore took off his coat and cover you with it he then kiss your head and said " I'm sorry... ".

Childe/Tartaglia

You and hu tao where going to eat some where while both of you where walking and talking about something, you suddenly remembered that you have to visit childe after a long day helping hu tao you then told hu tao that you need to go, as soon as you where going to run up to childe you saw a girl hugging him both of them look inlove you where shocked and confuse.

Childe then kiss the girl cheek while holding her on her waist you have tears on your eyes purring down you where heart broken from what your seeing right now you then walk away.

Bunos part

The next day you saw him acting like nothing had happen as usual he would kiss your forehead but this time when he tried to touch you push him away and you then told him that you saw everything yesterday.

Both of you broke up and you always despise him every time you see him you feel your blood boil already.

[shybunnie20]

Bff!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader x Bff!Dustin Henderson

★My Masterlist

Summary: The last thing you want is to bring your friends down with you, so you decide against telling them how much you've been struggling. They find out in the worst way imaginable.

Author's Note: Thank you for another request, Anon! This is the darkest fic I've written thus far. It was cathartic to channel some of my personal experiences and I hope that reading it provides similar relief.

Not suitable for sensitive readers! Extreme angst with a bittersweet ending. No use of Y/N. Inspired by the song Sara - We Three. Be sure to reblog, follow, and show some love ♡

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: MDNI 18+! Depression and anxiety, self-harm (cutting), panic attacks, suicidal ideation and attempt (overdose), substance abuse, Eddie being a crybaby, includes swearing.

Do not proceed if the warnings are triggering for you. Read Down & to the Left instead, it has a similar theme but it's far less intense.

There are people in this world who have the luxury of not knowing what it’s like to experience mental illness. From the outside looking in, depression is nothing more than being exceptionally sad. Unsolicited advice comes with such naivety. A myriad of superficial solutions to the multidimensional hardship that isn’t so easily soaked away by a candle-lit bubble bath or intensive exercise.

You’ve been dubbed as moody, complicated, and sensitive. These surface-level generalizations indicate that your friends wouldn’t understand what you’re going through. At this rate, it’s not worth trying to explain the corrosion eating away at your cheeks. Therefore, you continue the everlasting game of bloody knuckles and you have yet to say “mercy.” With one foot in the grave, you daydream about what your funeral will be like. Does anyone even care enough to know what your favorite flower is for the floral arrangements?

Draping a sheet over your bedroom window is essential because it makes it trickier for your demons to find you. Instead of them ripping you apart limb by limb, you dissolve into your blankets in the dark. The quietude instills a false sense of security that you hold near and dear. It’s lonesome, but you don’t want another person’s presence. Numbness is the company that you ache for. Christ, what you wouldn’t give for it to swallow you whole.

In art mediums, blue is considered the color of sadness, but it isn’t for you. With a blade as your brush, the crimson drawn to the surface of your skin is the paint. The picture you’ve created is less than pleasant but it’s certainly eye-catching. Looking in the mirror feels like seeing your scars on the wall of an art gallery, a mocking image of everything you’ve failed to be. You avoid your reflection at all costs, the full-length mirror in your bathroom is without exception.

Perhaps you’re a sucker for devastation because frankly, smiling feels unnatural. Any flicker of happiness feels repulsive and out of place. You’ve accepted that it’s not an emotion you’re meant to experience. At one point you’d felt envious of the carefree spirits who live vibrantly, but that’s not the life you’re meant to live. As if assembled with faulty parts, you’ve always felt defective.

You haven’t been going through this unaccompanied though. Dustin and Eddie have always had your back. You couldn’t ask for more reasonable best friends. Considering that you don’t open up to just anyone, it’s comforting that you can confide in these two dorks. The panic attacks have been occurring for a while now and the boys figured out how to effectively help you through them. Dustin has gotten especially adept at detecting the symptoms before you’ve noticed them yourself.

However, their awareness doesn’t go beyond your experience with anxiety. You’d think they could piece together the rest considering how often they come over to tidy up your place and make sure you’re taking care of yourself. But at the end of the day, they’re simple creatures. Even though it’s right under their noses, they don’t realize the gravity of what you’re dealing with. You refuse to drag them into the darkness with you. They’re so full of love and light, they don’t deserve exposure to emotional turmoil of this degree.

You didn’t think you could be any more exhausted but another demanding day at work has proven otherwise. More than anything you want to lay in bed to drift away from the agony.

After dropping your keys while aiming to stick them in the lock, you scoop them up and successfully open the front door.

“Surprise!” 

You convincingly mirror the expression on the beaming faces of Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin while simultaneously noticing the bundles of balloons and the handmade banner. “Oh, wow. You guys, this is- amazing.” You’re startled by the sound of a party horn crinkling as Dustin bounces out of his hiding place. He insisted on hiding even though no one else did.

“Y’Little shit.” You chuckle and wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a side hug. “You’re the mastermind behind this, huh?” 

Dustin tries to dodge the attempt you make at tussling his coffee-colored ringlets but fails miserably. “I couldn’t let my party planning skills go to waste. It turned out pretty great if I do say so myself.” His eyes twinkle with a sense of achievement while they search yours for approval.

“Everything looks great, Dusty Bun. Thank you.” Your arm is still draped around his shoulder, so you give him a squeeze. He cringes at the use of his pet name as you make your way across the room to greet the remainder of your guests.

Nancy is perched on Jonathan’s lap while Robin is on the opposite end of the couch, which leaves the middle cushion available for you. As much as you don’t want to be this close in proximity to anyone right now, your body is far too sore to stand for much longer. Steve pours everyone’s beverages of choice and has Dustin deliver them from the kitchen. It takes a minute for you to find the ideal spot between your friends where your thighs aren’t touching theirs.

You drown out the lively chit-chat and music by descending into yourself. Birthdays don’t mean shit anymore. They’re simply a reminder that you just spent another 364 days pretending that you’re fine. Your preoccupation with death is always breathing hotly down your neck.

Just as your throat tightens and your eyes are on the verge of watering, the front door swings open. While balancing a carton of candles and a stack of paper plates on top of a pink bakery box, Eddie attempts to shake frizzy curls out of his face. He’s slightly winded from hustling in the hopes of making it back before you did. When his eyes meet yours, the expression of tizzy deflates. “Son of a bitch. I missed it?”

Dustin snorts mockingly while motioning to you. “Obviously, dude. She beat you by a couple of minutes.”

“God dammit!” Eddie throws his head back with a groan. “I was really looking forward to yelling ‘surprise.’ I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Eddie’s pout curls into a grin when he catches the eye roll you give in response to his belatedness. He quickly dresses the cake with candles and lights them with his trusty Zippo. Even with the pep in his step, he manages to approach you slowly enough that all of the candles remain lit.

Steve kills the lights and your friends begin to sing “Happy Birthday.” Not only is Dustin intentionally off-key but he’s ad-libbing through the whole song as well.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve been uncomfortable during the duration of the tune. Rather unsure of what to do with yourself while being serenaded. Are you supposed to be singing along? Where should you be looking? Luckily your counterfeit smile is realistic enough that it’s not obvious how uncomfortable you are right now.

Eddie crouches at your feet while balancing the cake over your knees. He grins sweetly, his honey-colored irises reflecting the swaying flames atop the multicolored candles. “Okay, baby doll. Time to make your wish and make it a good one.” He winks with a nod.

The room is hushed save for the record player continuing to spin a faint melody. You can feel everyone’s eyes boring into you and it makes you want to peel your skin off. All of your friends are buzzing with merriment but you can only think about the unorthodox method of relief you’re desperately craving. What’s your birthday wish? It’s for this to be over already.

You blow out the candles with a shallow breath and the tightness in your throat exacerbates as the dark room swells with clapping and whooping before Steve turns the lights back on. Those few seconds allow you to rid your cheeks of the tears that escaped before anyone can notice.

The last thing on your mind right now is eating cake but you force yourself to do so in order to play the part of being the birthday girl. Everyone is having a blast celebrating your existence while clueless as to how badly you want to die. Even though you’re surrounded by people who love you, it doesn’t quell the provocation from within. You can’t picture anything past this birthday and you’d be content with it being the last one.

To be honest, you’ve never been very good at coping. It’s become impossible to ignore the need to etch into the plush of your thigh. You’re not going to be able to get through the remainder of this party if you don’t get it out of your system. After politely excusing yourself, the pounding in your head thunders and you slip away to your bedroom.

Once you’ve closed the door, you hastily shimmy your pants off and plop yourself at the foot of the bed. A blade is drawn from the top drawer of your nightstand and with a fierce inhale you sink the straight edge into the existing lines to deeply reopen them. Your teeth chew the inside of your lip and a dull ache shoots through your body. This is it, this is how you’re supposed to feel. You’re not meant to feel content, you’re destined to self-destruct. The countdown ticks on, though you don’t know precisely how much time you have left before you finally beg for mercy.

You’re brought out of your thoughts by Eddie’s zestful voice before the door opens. “Are you ready to tear into your presents? We’re-” With his mouth slightly agape, Eddie’s eyes lock onto the blood dripping down the curvature of your calf.

Well, the cat’s out of the bag. You intended to lock the door but failed to do so in your rash state of mind. You try to think of an excuse as if there’s a rational way to dismiss the damaging act. Your thinned forcefield evaporates and tears flood your vision once more. It’s awfully convenient because you can no longer see Eddie’s crestfallen mug.

Without further hesitation, Eddie closes the door behind him. He’s shaking from head to toe, eyes lingering on the bloodied razor blade still pinched between your fingers. He approaches cautiously, removes it from your hold, and places it in his jacket pocket. Out of sight out of mind. Eddie slides onto the bed behind you with his legs stretched alongside yours. After snaking his arms around your shoulders, he gently guides you backward against his chest.

He’s rigid for the first few seconds, but the sound of your wailing reminds him that his intention is to be a haven right now. You cling to him, fingernails digging into his forearms that are folded across your sternum. Eddie squeezes his eyes closed so tightly that the insides of his eyelids are splashed with tingling colors.

Every fighting gasp for air that you take between the silent screams causes panging in his chest as if atomic bombs are going off. He can’t afford to be distracted by his profuse concern because his priority is bringing you down from your heightened state. His mind is racing and yet it feels so blank at the same time. The blood transfers from your bare leg onto his jeans.

Of your friends in the living room, Dustin is the only one who hears the muffled commotion. He strolls down the hall to investigate. “Hey, guyyyys. The super awesome party I threw is out here.”

Eddie is quick to respond before the doorknob turns. “Don’t come in!” He knows Dustin will let himself in just as he had done moments ago. Eddie doesn’t want you to feel even more mortified by Dustin seeing you like this. “She’s not feeling well. Just uh- have everybody go home.”

“Did she hurl or something?” Dustin presses his ear against the door to try and determine what’s happening on the other side. You seemed fine a couple of minutes ago, how sick could you possibly be?

“Dude, please. Tell them she’s too tired for all the socializing tonight.” Eddie shushes you calmingly while you swallow your whimpers to avoid giving yourself away. “And you’ll need to catch a ride from Steve.”

Dustin doesn’t understand why he doesn’t get to stay and comfort you, he’s your best friend too. He cares about you just as much as Eddie, he would even argue that he loves you more than Eddie does. Regardless, he doesn’t bother arguing because judging by the tone of Eddie’s instruction, it’s not up for debate. He rallies your other pals to gather the accumulated trash on their way out. Dustin feels that his effort in making your birthday special was overlooked. He spent weeks planning out your party with the objective of impressing you.

Once the front door slams shut, your mental breakdown resumes in full force. Eddie scoops you up into his lap and rocks you gently. With your head bowed, your hair catches the tears plummeting from Eddie’s eyes. By the time you’ve stopped hyperventilating, your voice is coarse like sandpaper from screaming through the tears. “I’m sorry. I���m so s-sorry.” You whine exasperatedly. Your nasal passage is blocked, forcing you to breathe out of your mouth. It feels like your head is full of helium and the pressure is pushing against your eyes. It’s making it unbearable to keep them open.

Eddie rests his cheek on the crown of your head and exhales steadily to release the pent-up tension. He assumes that you’re apologizing for injuring yourself but that’s far from the truth. You’re not sorry for doing it, you’re just sorry he saw it. Eddie refuses to let go regardless of the pins and needles swarming his legs.

The two of you sit in silence, the only noises being your sniffles and labored breathing. Once the pattern has returned to normal and he feels confident that you can drink safely, Eddie gets to his feet to leave the room. He stops in his tracks when you tug at his hand in protest. You’re visibly troubled by being unattended.

“Sit tight, sweetheart. I’ll be back in two shakes.” Eddie pets your hair and you reluctantly release his hand from your own.

Upon his return, he’s gathered a glass of water, a wet cloth, and your first aid kit. Your arms are far too feeble to support the weight of the glass, so Eddie tips it attentively as you drink. “Thank you,” You say breathily between sips.

Eddie wipes dribbled water from your chin with a subtle hum. After placing the cup aside, he kneels at the edge of the bed. He looks up at you for permission and you nod weakly, wincing when he uses the warm cloth to rid your leg of the dried blood. The site is visibly inflamed so he’s being as gentle as he can. Once the wound is clean, Eddie applies antibiotic ointment and a bandage. Lastly, he presses a barely-there kiss to the site in order to help make it feel better.

He spares you much back and forth, so as to not overwhelm you. “Arms up.”

Ever so compliant, you raise your arms. Eddie pulls your shirt off and tosses it in the hamper. Prior to this evening, being half-naked in front of him would’ve been awkward. Although, having been pantsless up until now, you could give a shit. Being caught doing what you were was more undignified than wearing one less article of clothing would be.

“That’s goin’ too,” he motions to your bra, turning away from you to dig through your dresser.

While you’re tugging off the garment, Eddie runs his palm over the folded pajamas to see which ones are the softest and will in turn be the most pacifying. He pulls out a band tee that he hadn’t realized you’d swiped from him and the corner of his mouth quirks up but he can’t form a full grin.

You take the shirt from his extended reach and pull it over your head. “Okay.” You utter raspily as the cue that you’re decent and he can turn around.

Eddie hands you a tissue because he can hear that you’re only breathing through your mouth. You blow your nose harshly, far too spent to care about how gross it sounds. After clearing your airway with a few tissues, Eddie discards them and then uses the clean side of the wet cloth to wipe the remaining mess from under your nose. “There we go. That’s much better, isn’t it?”

With a sheepish nod, you scoot backward on the bed and lay down gradually, your muscles like stiffening cement. Eddie tucks you under the covers and as soon as your head makes contact with the pillow, your eyes fall closed and don’t reopen.

Minutes after you succumb to exhaustion, Eddie cries quietly to himself. For hours, he lays here watching you sleep and strokes your tear-stained cheek with the pad of his thumb. His eyes remain open, unwilling to rest because he’s fearful that something bad will happen if he dozes off. Eddie needs to guard you, even if that means he has to protect you from yourself. Losing you would be the worst thing that could happen to him.

Despite trying, he can’t get the image out of his head. The scattered scars that surrounded your fresh wound are burned into his memory. This wasn’t a one-time thing. Whatever is going on with you is unmistakably severe enough that you’re hiding it from him and have been for a while.

How is he going to tell Dustin? Maybe he'll leave it at the fact that you’re having a difficult time and omit the part about you hurting yourself. It would positively crush him if he found out. Besides, Eddie doesn’t want to jeopardize everything by violating your trust.

You made Eddie promise not to tell a soul what happened that day, including Dustin. He agreed on the terms that you’d inform him when you need help from thereon out. You wish you could keep your word but that’s easier said than done. How are you supposed to vocalize the wretched things your brain tells you? It’s a language only you can comprehend, it’s meant to torment you specifically. 

You’re not stupid, you know how much that evening shook him up. To put Eddie’s heart at ease you’ve gotten better at feigning that everything is peachy keen. Not dissimilarly, Eddie is playing pretend too. He acts as though he doesn’t see you differently knowing what he does now. Obviously, you don’t want to discuss it so he continues to act like it never happened.

Eddie thinks about it every day and he’s had an abundance of nightmares that replay like an echo. He can’t move past it because not only is he concerned that you’re still hurting yourself, but you’re also refusing to let him in. You’re effectively shutting out the person you’ve told everything. Certainly, if he tried to talk to you about it, you’d remove yourself from his life entirely.

To his credit, he’s right on the money. Not only that, but your state of well-being has worsened. The daydreaming is more vivid and you ponder what the least painful way to go would be. Existing already hurts so much, you want to feel at peace when you rest.

It has surpassed psychological pain nowadays. The entirety of your body is overrun with fatigue. You just want to be free from it all. It’s like a home invasion where anxiety and depression ransack your mind in search of valuables. Anxiety leaves no stone unturned while depression covers your mouth and presses a gun to your temple.

Dustin and Eddie are still your best friends, but you’ve met someone new. Their name is Ativan and god, they’re a treat. Although prescribed as needed for your panic attacks, they offer you access to a realm of serenity that you can’t reach without them.

At the end of every grueling day, the first thing you do when you get home is swig down a tablet. By the time you’ve changed out of your work clothes and crawled into bed, you’re seeping into the dimension that connects this world to another. It feels dense but it isn’t warm or cold and it doesn’t hug nor choke you. It simply carries you away from worthlessness and inadequacy.

At the thirty-minute mark, your brain has melted to slush. Your surroundings smudge together, erasing any previously discernable objects. It’s best to be in bed because with how uncoordinated and sluggish it makes you, you become one with whatever surface you end up on.

The day Eddie caught you, you learned that he truly thinks the world of you. But when it comes down to it, you need to be more secretive in order to shield not only him but Dustin too. You hate that Eddie checks in on you from time to time. You don’t hate that he cares enough to ask, it’s that it pains you to lie every time he does.

Ideally, if you withdraw from your friends subtly enough, no one will feel majorly impacted when you decide to call it quits. People say that suicide is selfish but that’s not entirely true. If anything it’s inherently selfless because you believe that you’re freeing your loved ones of the burden that you perceive yourself as.

Today is another one of those days where you can’t be bothered to get out of bed. You missed your shift at work in its entirety by having slept for 14 hours straight. It doesn’t matter. You’d much rather lie here to rot, so you did. Asleep or awake, all you can think about is that feeling of pure ease. A state beyond numbness and unconsciousness. Rather, it’s nothingness. That’s where you want to be.

You’re hanging on by a thread worn too thin. The apathy bites at your toes and gnaws its way up your body. Tears well in your eyes and drip onto your pillowcase. You feel nauseated and woozy. Living day after day has slashed you to the point of being able to see through yourself. Your headstone is half engraved, only missing today’s date.

While choking on the reasons why you should give up, there’s no flavor of justification for continuing to live. You subconsciously rip open tallied scabs on your wrist from last night’s bloodletting. The bedsheets run red, blood smearing across your skin. You can’t feel it, it’s not enough. The ringing demand is painfully loud. You have to make it stop.

The brittleness of your lungs causes you to claw for a rickety breath. Spit drips down your chin as your burnt-out throat fails to produce a scream. You clutch the sheets with bloodied fingers. Gotta make it stop. After rolling off of the mattress, your palms hit the floor before you can get to your feet.

You use the wall to brace yourself as you stagger to the bathroom. The medicine cabinet is torn open and rattling fills the small room as bottles fall into the basin below. The thunder in your brain overrides your senses, impairing your ability to see and hear. Your hips press against the sink to keep yourself vertical while you search the cabinet. 

With the desired bottles in hand, you pop the caps and they bounce when they hit the floor. You dump the contents into your palm, balling your fist to ensure that you don’t drop any. You don’t care how many are left, it just needs to be enough. With a few gulps of booze from the bottle tucked beside the bathtub, you throw back the handful of tablets and swallow thickly. The sensation of the bitter liquid searing your throat is tranquilizing in itself, ensuring that solace is soon to come.

Due to your stomach being empty, the shift hits like a whirlwind. You sit on the cold floor with your back against the side of the tub. The tears stop, your heart rate slows, and an unfamiliar warmth washes over you. Finally, the urge is satiated. As the full-body trembling ceases and the earth stops turning, your eyelids seal as you melt in the stillness.

Your phone rings twice only moments after you’ve taken the pills. Ten minutes later your front door opens and slams shut.

Dustin toes off his sneakers, eyeing Eddie while he does the same. “If she’s working late shouldn’t we just wait for her to get home? I don’t think she'll appreciate us being here unsupervised.”

Eddie shakes the spare house key he snagged from its hiding place. “She won’t even know we were here. We’re just gonna dig around real quick. My lighter has got to be here ‘cause I’ve looked everywhere.” He ties his hair back with a rubber band and shucks off his denim jacket.

“There’s no way you looked everywhere.” Dustin remarks, earning an annoyed look from Eddie.

“Yeah, no shit. That’s why we’re here, genius.” Eddie commences the hunt by lifting couch cushions and tossing around the decorative pillows.

Dustin fake scours for a beat before heading toward the hall.

“Where are you going?” Eddie dramatically shakes out a throw blanket as if it’ll make his Zippo appear like a magic trick. 

“Bathroom.”

“Seriously? I told you not to drink a whole can of pop.”

“Well, I did.” Dustin crosses his arms defensively. “And if I hold it any longer I'll spontaneously combust. Do you wanna have to clean that up?”

“Gross, no thanks.” Eddie tosses the blanket back on the couch, neglecting to refold it. “Just hurry up and don’t touch anything.”

“Why would I?” Dustin squints.

Eddie mirrors the teen’s prickly body language. “Uh, ‘cause you’re nosey as hell.” He states matter-of-factly.

“Am not,” Dustin calls out as he pivots down the hall. He stops in the doorway to the bathroom, met with the sight of you slumped on your side. “Eddie…”

“What? Found it?” Eddie cocks his head at Dustin’s statue-like stance. He approaches and peeks into the bathroom, then abruptly brushes past Dustin to get to you. Eddie’s knees bruise from the sheer force at which they smack the porcelain tile. He guides you to sit upright but your unsupported head rolls forward. “Nononono shit shit shit!”

When he scoops you up into his arms, he feels the subtle warmth of your skin against his own. Still alive. Thrust into panic mode, Eddie repeatedly taps your cheek to elicit a reaction but to no avail. Tears pour from his eyes as he secures your head to his heaving chest. “Go call for help!”

Dustin doesn’t flinch, his mouth hanging open and eyes unblinking. Utterly frozen in carbonite as he witnesses his best friend dying on the bathroom floor.

“NOW!” Eddie booms pressingly.

Dustin dashes away to dial 911. In the meantime, Eddie cradles you and sobs. “We’re here, sweetheart. We’re here now.”

After all this time, the way you’ve been feeling has finally broken the surface. Your emotions are now presented in their rawest form, revealing how broken you’ve been feeling.

“Hurry, Dustin!” Eddie beseeches through a wet cough. The tears cascade from his cheeks onto your limp body, soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “Just hold on for me, okay?” His voice cracks, “Please don’t go.” The knot in his stomach is taut while he focuses on the jagged passing of air through your nostrils.

He kisses your temple and nuzzles his blotchy cheek in its wake. “Please, god. Please please please… don’t take her from us.” Eddie is doing his damndest to keep you from slipping away by stimulating you with his voice and touch. A faint rattle spills from your throat, your brain is convinced that you’re floating but you’re sinking fast. “Dustin!”

On cue, he reappears in the doorway with puffy bloodshot eyes and a wet sheen trailing from his nose, pooling in his Cupid’s bow. “They’re on the way.”

“We gotta keep her warm,” Eddie sniffles with glossily desperate eyes. Dustin gets on his knees and complies. The two of them cocoon you in their body heat until the paramedics arrive.

The boys are forced out of the bathroom and they stand in the living room to stay out of the way. Dustin is enveloped in Eddie’s trembling arms. He buries his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck to dampen the sound of his unbridled blubbering.

Eddie shields him from looking as you’re wheeled out of the bathroom on the gurney. He has to be strong for Dustin because you couldn’t say the same for yourself.

Dustin grabs fistfuls of Eddie's shirt and tugs so hard that the seams snap. “She’s gonna be okay, right?” He rasps with a saturated cry.

“Yeah-” Eddie refuses to think for even a second that it’ll just be the two of them from now on. You’re a part of the unit, it’s meant to stay that way. He tightens his embrace, holding Dustin impossibly closer. ”She’s stronger than both of us combined. She’s gonna pull through this, I know it.” 

Author's Note Cont.: Eddie and Dustin are so proud of you for trying your best every day, even when it doesn’t feel like you have much to show for it.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

★Ko-fi ♡

tags: @protecteddiemunson4vr @nj01

[tothemaxi]

all the quotes i wrote down from "the seven husbands of evelyn hugo"

“she's beautiful, and she's rich, and she's powerful, and sexual and charming. and i'm a normal human being. somehow i must convince myself that she and i are on equal footing, or this is never going to work.”

“everyone's dying, sweetheart. you're dying, im dying, that guy is dying.”

“i don't regret many of the lies i told or the people i hurt. i'm ok with the fact that sometimes doing the right thing gets ugly. and also, i have compassion for myself. i trust myself.”

“make them pay you what they would pay a white man.”

“do yourself a favor and learn how to grab life by the balls, dear.”

“oh, i know the whole world prefers a woman who doesn't know her power, but im sick of all that.”

“the world doesn't give things, you take things.”

“i love you too much to let you live only for me.”

“because i don't want to be meant for someone like you.”

“‘you love me?’

‘oh, my god, what an understatement,’”

“if there are all different types of soul mates, then you are one of mine.”

“she's such a spectacular woman—by which i mean she, herself, is a spectacle. but she's also deeply, deeply human.”

“i was neither angry nor flattered. i simply didn't care. it cost so much, caring. i didn't have any currency to spend on it. instead, i walked away.”

“i kissed her forehead like she was my baby again because she was forever my baby.”

“i broke like i have never broken before. the devastating luxury of panic overtook me. and it has never left.”

“nobody deserves anything, it's simply a matter of who's willing to go and take it for themselves.”

“my hate is not uncomplicated.”

“she is painfully human to me now.”

“a star is always and forever a star.”

“and it occurs to me that it is the very thing that made her that will be the thing to finally take her down.”

“we just really liked each other.”

“knowing there are all different types of great loves out there, is enough for me now.”

“he was my best friend.”

“even though it is too early yet, i will, one day, forgive her.”

“you do not know how fast you have been running, how hard you have been working, how truly exhausted you are, until somewhat stands behind you and says, 'it’s ok, you can fall down now. i'll catch you'."

"I'm under absolutely no obligation to make sense to you."

[fandomfluffandfuck]

okay, so I know this isn't really your normal ask/request, but I've had this is my brain for so long, and you are such a fantastic writer, I'd like to present it to you anyway:

stevebucky time travel!!

specifically, steve and bucky after the events of the winter soldier (with bucky in any recovery stage) getting somehow transported to brooklyn in the 1930s and meeting the pre-serum, pre-war steve and bucky.

the reaction to the metal arm? steve getting juiced up? the jealousy and admiration pre-serum steve has for post-serum steve? how baby!stucky deal with their counterparts and lovers. how gentle normally-a-firecracker pre-serum steve is with winter soldier bucky and how thirsty but loving pre-serum bucky is with touch-starved, desperate, lost big steve.

feel absolutely free to imagine any kind of beautiful, deliciously hot scenarios as well, that's definitely your usual jam, and I most definitely enjoy it. I just thought I'd add the heartbreaking parts as well.

This is from the requests I got before I closed my writing requests for the school year, I'm no longer taking requests

You're right that this isn't my "normal" request, but I still love it! I do enjoy writing angst and fluff along with smut <3 So, I'm gonna take this prompt as an excuse to go with the things I don't write as much! Meaning, surprisingly, there's no ✨️spice✨️ in this drabble, lol, just pain

Get ready... </3

The immediate thought I had with this prompt was actually about post-serum Steve rather than recovering Bucky...

When modern Steve and modern Bucky find themselves back before the war--when the days seemed longer and hotter than any of the days after, they share a silent exchange, their eyes boring into each other in the middle of the cracked sidewalk, swapping emotions. Nostalgia. Good and bad nostalgia. Then, as they're ducking into a back alley, quick to jump from sight before they're spotted, tall and large and certainly not dressed for the time, Steve reaches for Bucky's hand.

Their fingertips brush.

And, instantly, they both jolt.

Now clothed in shadows, their eyes meet once more. Steve's eyes flick sharply down to their entangled fingers. Flesh and metal.

It hardly takes a moment for the ingrained memory to take over and their flirting fingertips part ways.

They can't risk touching in public, not when they already are liable to contract attention. They don't need to be arrested in the past. But the shake-up runs deeper than that, too.

Bucky has just gotten to the point where he feels comfortable enough venturing into public without a glove. Long sleeves are typically still a must, but not always gloves.

Steve finds his jaw clenching, not because he's upset with Bucky for not having a glove on him to better hide them. No, of course, not. But because...

What else are they going to do--stranded in the past with no way home until the timeline hiccup decides to resolve itself--but find their past selves? And when they find their younger counterparts, there will be no way to explain a completely different arm in any way that isn't devastating.

Guaranteed, it will petrify younger, past Bucky, and it will make younger, past Steve ache for his lover and fill with fire in pure, justified rage against a Nazi organization that (probably) doesn't even exist yet. Plus, it could trigger modern Bucky. Explaining it himself... maybe even hearing it from modern Steve... it won't do Bucky good. This isn't a good time or place for Bucky to have a panic attack or worse.

Blinking, Steve realizes that they're just staring at each other. Silently hovering around each other, wanting physical comfort, the luxury they've been spoiled with in the 21st century, but being unable to take it.

"It'll be okay," Steve hardens his voice and squares his shoulders, "we just have to--" that's it! His shoulders! He has a jacket on. One of his tan leather jackets. Quickly, he shrugs it off and hands it over to Bucky.

Bucky slips into it, jamming his shaking hands into the pockets. He exhales shakily.

Risking a friendly, pal-ish pat on the shoulder that melts into a more intimate back rub, Steve hopes to a God he doesn't believe much in anymore that this doesn't set Bucky back when they get to the future. He just started to be comfortable with his metal arm! Apparently, being back in the time and place where he was swamped by religion puts the religion back in the forefront of his mind.

"We have to find us," Steve finishes his earlier thought.

Bucky nods tightly.

Steve can tell by the way he looks at the floor he's desperately wishing he has wearing a baseball cap when they were transported back, too. More to hide under. No matter if it would be out of place here.

"Okay, okay," Steve races through his thoughts, "where would, where would we be on a Thursday afternoon in, whatever, whatever year it is now..."

Bucky's eyebrows draw together, "home?"

Steve considers it, tipping his head side to side, "maybe, yeah. I--shit. Do you think we're back far enough that we were still living with our, our parents?"

Shit.

For two reasons.

1) If they're each still in their family homes, it means even more people to explain the situation to.

2) If they're in their family homes... it means Sarah Rogers is still alive. And Steve, Steve doesn't know--

Just thinking about it--

Steve feels his lips quiver, a stone dropping onto the back of his tongue so heavily that it triggers the edge of his gag reflex. Thick, wet salt coming up the back of his throat, pooling in his mouth, a warning that he might vomit.

Steve doesn't know if he will be able to handle that.

He's thought a thousand, million different times about what he would say, what he would do if he could see his Ma again. He's dreamed about it. He's cried about it. He's screamed about it to that God that didn't ever seem to hear him. The unfairness.

If--

If it comes to that, being able to calm Bucky, being able to help Bucky through a triggering situation, will be the exact opposite of Steve's worry. It will be Bucky desperately working to hold him together instead.

Fuck.

Thankfully(?), regretfully(?) that doesn't turn out to be the situation.

The situation of past, younger Steve and Bucky is their cold water walk up. Their first (and only) apartment together before the war. It's in that sweet spot (if you ignore the glaring, awful hardships of the Depression) after Steve had steadied himself, floating above the grief over his Ma and before the war started, before Bucky's draft number was drawn.

Okay.

Okay.

Steve can deal with this.

It's gonna hurt. It's gonna tear him apart, and he'll be licking his wounds for weeks (at least) when they return to the future... to the present? But at least it's not--

Not that.

Steve and Bucky slip up the worn, bowed stairs to their apartment, decide against knocking discreetly, and instead jimmy the handle just right to let themselves inside. They are spared no mercy as immediately, they come face to face with their younger selves.

It feels like--

Like an out of body experience in a fun house. Pure insanity. The mirror image of themselves is warped and changed and standing toe-to-toe with them. Too close. Familiar but separate. They are the same, and they are opposites. The beginning and somewhere near the end, except, wait--the younger versions of themselves are young adults, and the older versions of themselves, themselves, are just adults. So... perhaps not a beginning and an end but middles. Middles staring at each other.

Nebulous and totally discombobulating.

No one makes a sound.

Then--

"What the fuck."

The sound of Steve's own voice echoes back through his ears with his mouth having moved at all. It's jarring. Bewildering because he spoke, but he didn't speak. But it's also bewildering as hell because... holy shit it's weird to hear such a little guy possess such a deep voice. He's never known himself from this angle. He's never--

"Of course it'd be you," Bucky turns to him, his lips curling at one corner.

It's on the tip of his tongue to murmur, "you remember?" But he... he can't. Not in front of them. He needn't reveal memory issues when they don't even know--

Fuck.

Why didn't they just loiter in that alley for a few hours? Waiting for the timeline to snap back.

Why did they come here?

He doesn't want--

He's looking at his younger self and he knows he'd hate him for wanting to protect him; he's looking at the younger version of Bucky with puppy fat clinging to his face and chin and belly and he looks so fucking sweet and soft and Steve feels poised to bend him out of shape in the same violent way you ruin a smooth lump of fresh clay by punching it with your fist.

Fuck. Hot pressure builds behind Steve's eyes. He is poised for destruction. And there is nothing he can do about it. So...

Steve clears his throat.

Where does he begin?

Where does he end?

The whole time that he explains, painting with the broadest brush and the most diluted paint possible, Steve is preparing himself for their younger versions to deservingly fuss over his Bucky. So, when his younger, much, much smaller self steps forward, uncrosses his arms over his thin chest, and extends a hand to his forearm, feathering his fingers against the bunched muscle and whispers, a raw edge to his voice, "why don't you come sit down then, you look exhausted," it hurts.

It hits Steve so hard.

Steve is talking to him. He's not talking to Bucky and him. He's talking to Steve alone. Staring him right in the eyes. Knowing.

He was--

He was waiting for rage from himself. He was waiting for terror and grief and numbness from the past Bucky. He was waiting for pretend-detached, monotone, vague answers from his Bucky who came from the future (the present?) with him.

He wasn't--

He was not expecting his younger self to see through it all as if he's transparent and prod one of his boney fingers right into the hole inside him. He was never scared to go up against anyone, though, no matter if they're twice his size or bigger. So, maybe he shouldn't be surprised. It doesn't mean it doesn't make his legs feel more sturdy, though.

Steve doesn't recognize until he sits down on their worn, mostly springs and flattened, shitty cushioning couch with a metallic squeak that neither of the Buckys followed them. It's just the two of them. Him. Steve and Steve. Younger and smaller and older and bigger. What an odd pair.

Peering over his shoulder, Steve sees them in the kitchen, looking at each other. The younger, shorter Bucky is stuck in place, and his Bucky is reaching forward, lifting his hand. His metal hand. He's offering. He's unhesitatant and steady as he slips out of his leather jacket and rolls up the fabric of his long sleeve so the younger Bucky can see. A swirl of pride curls through Steve, warm and budding--a spring flower.

A throat clears.

Steve.

Steve swings his head back to face... himself.

God.

It's still weird.

It's nothing like walking into a room that smells bad and relaxing into it, going blind to the stench after you acclimate. It's still fucking strange. Shivers crawl up his spine, leaving his hair with no choice but to stand on end. Hyper-aware.

His younger self hasn't had a seat on the broken, thread-bear armchair or on the practically decaying couch beside him. Instead, he steps closer and closer, one surprisingly large foot in front of the other over loose, rickety floorboards. He looms into his space, presence much larger than seems possible for his small, sickly frame.

"How are you?" He asks, bushy eyebrows drawn together.

The look on Steve's face must convey his thoughts, shouldn't I be asking you that?

"Don't you know?" Younger Steve answers his mute inquiry, "you were--" he frowns "--you were a version of me."

Steve nods emptily, "I guess."

The pale sounds of the Buckys conversing in the kitchen fills the space between them like static until... younger Steve floats his hand into the gap, the empty space, reaching and reaching toward him, giving him plenty of time to flinch, anticipating that Steve will scowl and move out of the way, still allergic to being babied. But Steve doesn't move.

It is impossible to twitch, to move, to dodge. His muscles have turned to stone--at any other time, it would be funny; he recalls Bucky's shock the first time he saw him in this body, proclaiming he must be a Greek or Roman statue.

He feels like a statue.

A statue that melts the moment his younger self's fingertips grace his forehead. This version of himself from this past echoes himself from earlier, "you seem tired," his cold, poor-circulation touch draws the strands hair swept against his face back into his more modern, brushed back style.

Steve sighs with the weight pressing on his shoulders. It feels even heavier than usual.

Maybe... maybe he should've expected this.

He remembers the fatigue that pulled at his bones, tugging until he was slogged down into the mud and could hardly move; his heart struggling to beat, his thoughts fighting their way to conference-y, his mood dampening to constant exhaustion. If anyone can read the weight on his shoulders through the lines on his forehead and the slump of his back, of course, it would be his younger self.

The weight of his illnesses have been gone for years at this point, but they've been replaced and doubled by the weight of a moniker, which means nothing to this version of himself.

Suddenly, there is no point pretending.

Was it really so long ago that he was this version of himself? Was he really so young when he was made the face of the war? How young was he when he awoke to be the face of a new effort? A new team? How young is he now?

Steve barely stifles a sudden, chest-squeezing sound. A sob?

His younger self says nothing. He only steps in closer. Close enough for Steve to bury his face in the concave, hard plane of his stomach, and ring his hands around his boney, thin hips. His entire waist fits in the circle of Steve's index fingers and thumbs. Two hands. He feels each clumsy beat of his heart. He feels the stutter of his uneven breaths. He feels how cool he is, even right here at his core. How is he standing? How is he taking his weight? Steve may be tired, but his younger self must be exhausted. He can't--

How could he burden his y--

"Nope," his younger self holds his shoulders in both hands. Fingers digging in sharply, intent on getting his message across and not afraid to be mean about it. "You're not going anywhere."

This time, Steve does sob. Audibly. He is tired. He's so tired.

To conclude:

I have lots of emotions about post-serum Steve and the world taking advantage of his strength.

Thank you for the request!

P.S. I kept listening to this while I was writing:

[josephquinnswhore]

Eternal Destiny

Chapter 4 - Betrayal of Traitors

Pairing: Prince Oberyn Martell x fem!Reader

Summary: Oberyn must solve a riddle in order to find the antidote to save your life, time is against him, and his only clue is a small letter attached to a wine bottle left in his chambers.

Word count: 3.9k

It was devastating, Oberyn watching how quickly things had fallen apart, the way the toxic remnants of venom had left a stickiness on her lips, ingesting a good amount before she had a chance to savour the wine that was requested, a whirlwind of panic swirls through his bloodstream, attacking his heart in a manner that it reacts to erratically, her body stiff as she fall to the floor across from him. Before he can think he is off the chair and he's kneeling on the cold floors beside her, shaking and chanting her name like a prayer begging to be answered. She's completely unresponsive, the way her eyes flutter shut as she falls unconscious sets alight a determination inside of him. There had to be something back in his chambers that could help him, an herb mix or an elixir that would keep you alive until he manages to find an anti-venom. Oberyn is disrupted of his thoughts by his brother, "she should be taken to the doctor Oberyn." He scoffs, picking up your limp body in his arms, rushing to his chambers with his older brother by his side, two guards accompanying him. "I can help her, I want everyone accounted for, this was a targeted attack and I want the perpetrator caught and locked away." Doran pulls the wooden doors to Oberyn's chambers open, creaking in resistance.

Doran follows Oberyn in and the two guards stand outside the door. “Let me help you brother.” Oberyn pushes his brother to the side, seething, “I got her.” He puts her down gently, the luxurious silk sheets puff with air around her, hair sprawling across the pillow case, head falling sideways so her cheeks met the pillow, the beautiful gown still as your chest barely makes the effort to rise and fall as a result of your shallow breathing. Oberyn’s fingers are on the side of your neck, finding a shallow pulse, so shallow he thought maybe he was imagining it. “Go through my dresser draws, find the small vial with the green liquid.” Sensing the urgency, Doran rushes to the dresser, pulling out the draw and seeing dozens of vials threw him off momentarily, the pressure almost making him combust. His fingers are shaking as they fiddle with the vials, the sounds of them clanking together makes him cringe, he finally finds it. It has a note attached with Oberyn’s name. “Quickly Doran.” He rushes back to the bedside and Oberyn snatches the vile, his finger pulling back her lip, slack jaw opening as he poured the entire vile down her throat before shutting her lips, making sure she swallows. Her breathing steadies, the ragged breaths have stilled and your pulse feels stronger and it’s a good indication he may have enough time yet to save you.

As he sets the vial down, his finger is covered in a clear substance that sticks to his fingers, glue used to stick a small piece of parchment paper to the vial with a piece of twine. He unravels it, knowing it wasn’t he who had done this. The twine slips and burns through his fingertips as he pulls it harshly to get it undone, the parchment falling into his hands,

“The antidote is protected by your true name. It will be found where your betrayal began.”

As Oberyn reads this aloud, he’s both confused and infuriated, he didn’t have time for a riddle, he already had so little time-yet he was left with no other choice. He would have to play the perpetrators game if he were to save your life.

“Let me help you brother, we save her first. Then justice will be served.” Surprisingly, Oberyn agrees, accepting his brothers help. Oberyn presses a light kiss to your damp forehead, before moving away. The guards stood tall and still as the men exit the room, “no one is to enter or exit this room while we’re gone. No exceptions.” The guards chanted in agreement and stood tall as the men rushed away, guilt swallowing him into a pit of anxiety as he leaves you, unsure of if you would be alive upon his return. They take a car, refusing David’s offer to drive them, they were unable to trust anyone and refused to let anyone leave until they found out who was responsible. If they escaped and got away with harming or-killing you, he would never forgive himself, not if he never had the chance to avenge you. “Read the script again,” Doran pushes as he speeds down the secluded road to town. “The antidote is protected by your true name. It will be found where your betrayal began.” Doran hums in question. “We’ve got to break it down, got any ideas? I only know you as one other name; the Red Viper.” Oberyn gets stuck in his head, the name ringing through his ears like nails on a chalkboard, his past quickly resurfacing ad if he was reliving it. “Oberyn?” His brothers voice is silenced by the ringing in his ears and pitiful memory of the origin of his nickname.

-

“Oberyn, are you listening?” His eyes turn to face her, the older woman he had fallen so fiercely in love with. “Hm?” He turns to face the older woman, the brown robe falling loosely around her as she lies beside him. “He can’t find out, I fear for your safety and my own.” Oberyn takes her hand in his and traces a gentle pattern, “he won’t find out, we’ve been so careful. I’ll look after you.” She smiles, her teeth shining bright I’m contrast to the dull room. Although they had been careful, they weren’t careful enough. The Lady’s assistant was sick of sneaking around-scared of the consequences she would face in being compliant in the affair the Lady was having on the Lord. Which lead the burly man bursting through the doors, his face bright red, blood pressure rising at the sight of his wife in bed with a 18 year old boy, a Martell nonetheless, he considered slaughtering him then and there to punish his wife. He decided to be merciful, not wanting to start a war with the Royal family. “You will pay for this indiscretion, a payment of your blood will be made. You have two hours, noon in the town centre, be there or I will have you hunted down.”

Oberyn was confident enough that he could win in this duel, the Lord was a big man, slow in his size and his old age would give him the upper hand. As an extra precaution, he made a potion and coated his blade in the substance, deathly poisonous in its own right and an extension of Oberyn’s dangerous skills in combat. Even at the cost of his own blood, he would make sure the vile Lord would never hurt his lover again.

A crowd of a few hundred had gathered, the town intrigued by gossip and rumours that Oberyn had lie with the Lord’s wife. As Oberyn predicted, the older man’s age has worn him down, his footing was jumbled and his offence attacks were sloppy, thankfully he was also slow. This all played part in the multiple opportunities Oberyn had to slice the older man’s skin, creating an opening for the poison to deep into, toxicity flowing through his bloodstream. Oberyn allows the Lord to strike him once, his arm bloodied and the crimson red stood out adjacent to the light grey cement it fell to in a small pool. “Oberyn Martell your due has been paid, repeat the same mistakes, you may not be so lucky to live to tell the tale.” The old man huffed, breathing ragged from the duel, small surface cuts littered his arms and one on his face, the lethal strike.

The Lord fell sick over the days, unable to move, eat drink, within the week he passed away, the town knew it had to do with Oberyn. His interest and knowledge in potions wasn’t unknown, there had been whispers and gossip of his part to play in the murder, earning him of his name; Red Viper.

-

“Oberyn?” The car had stopped in the town, his older brother waving a hand in his face, trying to pull him out of his dissociation. “Red Viper. The first answer to the riddle.” Oberyn looked to his brother, the conformation between them as he accepted the answer. “Where my betrayal began?” Oberyn mutters to himself, exiting the car and wondering from the car, the old streetlights providing minimal light of path ahead as he follows the path to the town square, where he had met her at the markets that day. Betrayal. He remembers Ellaria’s words to him.

-

"I haven't done anything to your pet, Oberyn, regardless of your betrayal. I simply put her in her place and told her to stay away."

-

Ellaria. How could he have missed this, through the panic and desperation to help you, he forgot the one person that was fixated on trying to rid you of their life. What was their life. Oberyn’s legs run as fast as they can, despite his brothers confusion and pleas for him to tell him what he knows. He connects the dots as the memory plays in his head, the citrus stand, bumping into her and rushing off to work, him dropping off a new drink to replace the one she had split.

A small woven basket lies ontop of a stack of crates, the small creature hissing at him causes his movements to falter. “Oberyn tell me what’s going on!” Doran demands, but is met with a shush, his younger brothers finger held upward to silence him, then he sees it-the Red Viper sitting in the basket, a small vial right in the centre that the snake is protecting. He approaches the snake, ignoring his brothers pleas to leave it, that they would find another way. “She’ll be dead before we get the chance, now I won’t hear another word from you, brother.” Doran turns away, unable to watch his brother as he risks his life for one vile of antidote, risking being bitten and being affected by the venom himself. The snake hisses loudly, a warning not to come closer, scared in its own right at the man invading his space. “Do not fear me, for I am not your enemy.” The snake recoiled, a warning tell of being ready to strike, “so strike me, if that is my destiny.” As it wasn’t so, the snake wearily lifted its head and eyed Oberyn before slithering out of the basket and down the crates-making a hasty escape away from the men. Oberyn takes the small vial, the words ‘antidote’ are written on the front. “We need to go, now.” Oberyn exasperates to his brother, rushing back to the car.

The drive back was silent, until Doran breaks the silence, the entrance of the gate coming into view as the headlights shone bright ahead, darkness of the night consumes everything around them. “She’ll be okay.” “Don’t.” Doran pulls up to the speaker turning to his brother before winding his window down, “it is your destiny, Oberyn. Do not deny yourself of the happiness and future you deserve.” The dust creates a cloud around the small car as it comes to a screeching halt, both men rushing to get to you, eager to give you the antidote that would save your life. The guards step aside for them as they approach a Oberyn’s chambers, turning a light on to your unmoved body, sweat building on your forehead and the silk covers seemingly soaked from continuous perspiration. His lips gently parted your lips, caressing your jaw as he opened your mouth and poured the antidote into your mouth. His hand discarded the empty vile, checking your pulse on your wrist that had seemed to beat steadily under his fingertips. Without a moment to relish in the relief of your life, your safety, a guard rushes in frantically. Oberyn was about to protest, reprimanding the guard whom disturbed them. “King Doran and Prince Oberyn, we found two people trying to escape by the south wall, there were supplies outside of the palace and they’ve been locked up, we’re waiting for your command.” The brothers look at each other, Doran instructs the guards, “stay here and protect her, with your life if necessary.” The guards accepted silently with a nod, standing in front of the door as the men rushed to the holding cells on the other side of the palace.

The lampposts were the only source of light, their footsteps echoing in the dungeon on the old cobblestone, centuries old and still standing firm, the trickle of water indication of a leak, the rats squeaking at their sudden presence. Three guards surround the cell, not taking any risks in allowing any attempt of escape. Oberyn looked through the small window cut through the door, bars obstructing his full view of as he suspected, Ellaria, who he didn’t expect to see however was Doran’s assistant, Fredrick, chained to the wall on the opposite end of the room. “Open the door.” Oberyn requested, the loud creak of the hinges echoed and sent the rats in the room scurrying to their hiding holes. “You thought you could conspire against me.” Oberyn accuses. Ellaria pulls at her restraints, “not against you Oberyn, her.” Oberyn stiffens, stalking towards his ex lover before kneeling down to her as he sneered, “she will be apart of me, our destiny permits it, as for yours,” his finger hooks under her chin and lifts it so she looks at him, her body trembling. “Yours will come to an unfortunate end.” He forgot about Fredrick in the corner, his protest alerting Oberyn of his presence. “As for you, servant. I serve no purpose for you.” Fredrick shuffles in his shackles, to no success. “Wait, wait! Oberyn please don’t!” Ellaria’s voice begging for him to spare the man’s life had him curious, he stood tall, turning his head to her, “you care for this man?” She nods, defeatedly, “he is my lover. The children I birthed were from his seed, not yours.” Oberyn grits his teeth at her confession. “You’re lying.” She shakes her head, truthfully. “You accuse me of betrayal yet is you who has betrayed me for years! If it is the Red Viper you wish to see, you have your wish.” Oberyn chants darkly, pulls a small blade from his sheath that’s attached to his belt, holding it upward and seeing the poison glistening all over. “No! no don’t, don’t!” Ignoring Ellaria’s emotional and frantic pleas, Oberyn kneels down to Fredrick and sinks his blade into his side, in a non lethal area, ensuring a slow and painful death. Serving as part of Ellaria’s punishment for her crime. “You will feel the same panic, the same pain as I have this evening, however you will find no solace in knowing he will not live.” He sheaths the blade and exits the cell, the chain and bolts being locked behind him as he exits, turning to his brother, “looks like you’ll be needing a new assistant.”

-

Over the two nights you lie still, body recovering from the toxicity of the venom that had coursed through your body, Oberyn had done nothing short than dote over you. Giving you medicine every 6 hours, opening windows to let a fresh breeze circulate through his chambers and provide some relief to your overheated body. His hands became no stranger to your body, giving you goosebumps even in your unconscious state, he would caress your face, run his fingers through your hair and kiss your forehead. All wordless praise of how much he needed you. Thankfully, you had overcome a fever that had Oberyn worried if this would be the thing that causes you to slip from his grasp. He sleeps next to you, in a stiff chair beside the bed, shopping for flowers to put in a vase, fresh fruit and bottles of water for if-when you awake.

You awake when Oberyn is asleep, the sweat that falls down your temple from your forehead itches, in a weakened attempt to wipe the sweat away, you notice a hand in yours weighing it down, Oberyn’s hand. He was asleep in a chair beside the bed, holding your hand, your heart swooned at how sweet the action is. It takes multiple attempts to blink away the blurriness that coats your eyes, lips smacking dryly and immediately noticing your cotton mouth. Pathetically, you attempt to sit up, desperate for the water bottle that sat by the bedside, not wanting to disturb Oberyn.

Your shuffling alerted Oberyn, his eyes shooting awake to meet your own looking at him, “hey.” He doesn’t respond by speaking, instead he stands and pulls you into a hug, his emotions overwhelming him in a way that makes his chest expand. “My beautiful, strong girl. You’re alive.” Your heart skips a beat, hearing Oberyn call you his girl felt like you had died and gone to heaven, euphoria interrupted by your dehydration, voice to weak to speak and throat to dry to protest. “I’m sorry my love, you must be thirsty.” He reaches for the bottled water, holding it for you as his other hand holds the back of your neck, supporting the weakened muscles. The liquid cools you down instantly, the relief washing over your body as you slump back into the bedsheets. “What happened to me, I feel so.. weak and drowsy and everything is aching.” You complain, Oberyn frowns, standing to fetch you some more of his healing potion, trusting the natural healing of it more so than pharmaceutical drugs. You gratefully take the potion, heart bursting with pride as you realise he has the same hobbies as you, the same intentions, to heal.

“Your wine glass was poisoned with venom. The perpetrators were playing a game, requiring me to solve a puzzle to find the antidote, I didn’t think,” Oberyn sighs defeatedly before continuing, “I didn’t know if I was going to save you in time.” You frown at his confession, voice laced with self doubt. “You saved my life Oberyn.” Your fingers traced shapes down his large hands, sun kissed skin relaxing under your touch. “Who was it?” The question startled him, an uncomfortable gaze in his eyes, unable to look at you. “I can take it, please.” Your pleading eyes and soft voice broke down all walls Oberyn had of wanting to protect you. “Ellaria and Fredrick.” Your mouth gapes open in shock. Fredrick? Ellaria was no shock, after the threats and fiasco over the wedding menu meeting. “Oh my god the wedding, I-I have to.. what day is it?” Your voice is frantic and with each movement you attempt your body denies the urgency you need to get out of bed, Oberyn pushes you back down gently. “The wedding has been postponed. They don’t feel safe enough to risk something like this happening again.” He gestures to your weakened state and you immediately feel guilty. You bite your lip, hoping to drown out the thoughts and provide a distraction so the tears welling in your eyes don’t fall. Oberyn notices your sullenness, “it’s my fault, all of this.” The whimper in your voice felt like a red hot knife to his chest. “This could never be your fault, my love. Refrain from any further blame on yourself. Please, let me help you take your mind off things.” You nod, silently accepting whatever Oberyn had planned.

You were pleasantly surprised to see him turning on the hot water, running you a warm bath, bubbles protruding from the tub as it filled near to the brim. He sits you upright in the bed, and you notice you weren’t in the gown you remember wearing the night you fell into your deep sleep, instead you wear a light fluffy nightgown that covers your body, the fuzziness warming your skin. “I thought I could help you be more comfortable in your recovery.” Oberyn’s ears were bright red, it was sweet how bashful he was. He guides you to the giant bathtub, slowly taking one step at a time as you quietly thank him. “Call to me when you’re done, my love.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, stopped in his attempt to leave by you grubbing his wrist. “Please stay. Join me.” You weren’t sure your quiet plea reached his ears until he turned around, his eyes watching yours for any doubts. You untie the knot that kept the robe to your body, letting it fall to the ground and pool around your ankles before stepping into the bathtub, humming in relief as you submerged into the warmth, your joints relaxing as the ache melted away, throwing your head back against the back of the tub, closing your eyes at the feeling. Oberyn tried not to stare, your beautiful body had him enamoured, he was speechless for the first time in his life. Stripping his gown and belt, then undergarments, he joined you on the opposite end of the tub, large enough to give plenty of room while still allowing the intimacy of your legs touching as they intertwined. You lift your head to look at him, a cloth in hand dipping it into the warm water as you collect some of the soap, “hey.” A smile reaches his lips, brown eyes boring into yours with a sincerity that you loved. “Hey, my love.” You pull the washcloth up out of the water, gesturing it to him, “may I?” He hesitated, shocked by your request before nodding, “of course.” You start with his feet, manicured perfectly and hair trimmed down. Moving upward of his legs, you begin to message his calfs, relieving the ache in them. You scoot closer toward him, faces inches apart as you wash his chest, the freckles and chest hair had a knot forming in your stomach, he was so handsome. “I’m not a good person, my love.” His hand stopping yours as you wash his arms, looking up at him through wet lashes. “I poisoned my blade and struck Fredrick. He’s doomed to a death more painful than any.” You watch him, how his eyes are trying desperately to avoid yours, scared of chasing you away. “Ellaria will be next, Doran has decided to make the execution public after..” He sighs, running a hand over his face, sadness emitting from his body. “She was his lover, I raised his children, 8 daughters I thought were mine that were never.” Your heart dropped, anguish you felt for the man reflected your comforting voice. “You could never be horrible, they have to pay for the crimes they committed, one’s we are both victims of. I’ve got you now, I’ll cherish you, I swear to it.” You begin where you left off, bringing the soapy cloth to the mark that matched his own to yours, showing the second set of coordinates to an unknown location, bringing your arm forward to match them, making a perfect circle. The closeness was addicting, his plush lips millimetres from your own, begging to be kissed. You push your lips to his in what becomes a passionate and desperate kiss, his desperation in a form of thankfulness that you’re alive. You pull away and look into his eyes lovingly, caressing his cheek, “for I am your destiny, as you are mine.”

[kookyberry]

Long ago, in the early 17th century, a ship carrying a cargo of exotic flowers sailed into the bustling port of Antwerp, Belgium. Among the flowers were vibrant and mesmerizing tulips, which had originated in the Ottoman Empire and were relatively unknown in Europe. These delicate blooms immediately caught the attention of botanists and collectors, sparking a growing fascination with their remarkable beauty.

As the tulips made their way through the markets of Antwerp, their allure spread like wildfire. The vibrant colors and intricate patterns of the tulip petals captured the hearts and imaginations of the people, creating a sense of wonder and desire. Soon, tulips became a symbol of wealth and status, as owning rare and exceptional varieties became a mark of prestige.

The demand for tulips grew rapidly, and prices soared to astonishing levels. People from all walks of life, from wealthy merchants to humble farmers, were captivated by the allure of these radiant flowers. Tulips were no longer just flowers; they had become a form of currency, with their value surpassing even that of gold.

Tulip bulb trading became a common practice, with specialized brokers emerging to facilitate the transactions. The bustling tulip market resembled a stock exchange, with buyers and sellers coming together to negotiate deals. Excitement and speculation ran high, as people sought to acquire the most coveted tulip bulbs, hoping to make a fortune overnight.

The frenzy of Tulip Mania reached its peak during the winter of 1636-1637. Prices skyrocketed to unimaginable heights, with some rare tulip bulbs commanding the equivalent of a luxurious estate or a year's worth of income for a skilled craftsman. The tulip market had become a feverish hotbed of speculation, with fortunes being won and lost in a single trade.

However, like all speculative bubbles, Tulip Mania couldn't sustain itself forever. Doubts began to creep into the minds of some investors, and the market began to falter. Word spread that the tulip prices were inflated, and suddenly, panic set in. People rushed to sell their bulbs, causing prices to plummet drastically.

The crash of the tulip market was as swift as its rise. Many who had invested their fortunes in tulip bulbs found themselves bankrupt, their dreams of wealth shattered. The government attempted to intervene and stabilize the market, but it was too late. Tulip Mania had come to an abrupt end, leaving behind a trail of financial ruin and broken dreams.

In the aftermath of Tulip Mania, the Dutch government passed laws to protect investors and regulate the flower trade. Economists and historians studied the event, drawing lessons about the dangers of speculative bubbles and the psychology of markets. Yet, despite the financial devastation, the legend of Tulip Mania has endured, captivating imaginations and serving as a reminder of the extraordinary lengths to which human obsession can reach.

Today, tulips continue to enchant us with their vibrant colors and delicate petals. They serve as a beautiful reminder of a bygone era when a simple flower bulb held the power to captivate the world and ignite a blooming madness that would be remembered for centuries to come.

Click here to mesmerised by this magic tulip tribute mirror

[addypillar]

“we had the sort of relationship where we believed each other, believed in each other. She knew she was loved. She knew that she had changed my life, that she had changed the world. She made it eighteen months before she passed away. And when they put her in the ground next to her father, I broke like have never broken before.The devastating luxury of panic overtook me.”

-Evelyn Hugo

[booksnstuff58]

Book Review: Thriller

This one is by an author my amazing roommate said was good, and I was not disappointed!

One By One by Ruth Ware

Blurb:

Getting snowed in at a luxurious, rustic ski chalet high in the French Alps doesn’t sound like the worst problem in the world. Especially when there’s a breathtaking vista, a full-service chef and housekeeper, a cozy fire to keep you warm, and others to keep you company. Unless that company happens to be eight coworkers…each with something to gain, something to lose, and something to hide. When the cofounder of Snoop, a trendy London-based tech start-up, organizes a weeklong trip for the team in the French Alps, it starts out as a corporate retreat like any other: presentations and strategy sessions broken up by mandatory bonding on the slopes. But as soon as one shareholder upends the agenda by pushing a lucrative but contentious buyout offer, tensions simmer and loyalties are tested. The storm brewing inside the chalet is no match for the one outside, however, and a devastating avalanche leaves the group cut off from all access to the outside world. Even worse, one Snooper hadn’t made it back from the slopes when the avalanche hit. As each hour passes without any sign of rescue, panic mounts, the chalet grows colder, and the group dwindles further…one by one.

This is another one that I absolutely loved every second of! It was well written, to the point that I felt like I had just gotten back from a skiing trip when I finished! I had a lot of fun reading this one though there were plenty of skiing terms and French words I didn't know.

This one will be joining my faves on my shelf of books that I have read and loved!

Thriller, so yes for triggers, language, violence, gore.

There will be more mentions of this author, since I have a few other books by her and can't wait to read them!

[xeloie]

To let go is to change.

I suffered a great loss recently when my dog Yuki passed away. He lived a long life and gave me and my family 17 years of pure happiness and unconditional love. I knew I was running out of time with him but acceptance doesn't make things easier, it just makes things better to understand. The wound is still fresh and some days are harder than others. I'm a creature of routine and it is that routine that cuts deep these days. It's been difficult filling up the gaps in time that used to belong to him. I'm learning to live life differently.

This post is dedicated to my Yuki. I'll post what I did on primfeed at the end.

DETAILS:

LOCATION: Echo Beneath Surface Tension - Morris Code Studios

HEAD: LeLUTKA Lilly 

SKIN: [Glam Affair] June Skin [Lelutka EvoX] Basic Line (Past FLF sale)

BODY: Maitreya Mesh Body - Lara

HAIR: EXILE, Dina Hair (Past Hair Fair Gift)

EYES: Misunderstood. Valentine Eyes (Group Gift)

MAKEUP:

Eyeshadow: :LMB: Dolorosa (Gift in Store)

Gold Tears: {EP} Dripping Luxury Tattoos (Past S&H SL21B Gift)

Lipstick: SSD. Marceline - Lipstick EvoX (Past Midnight Order Gift)

OUTFIT:

Glitter Dress, Headdress, Roses: La Maldita Bruja, TALASSA Set (60L, MIIX Weekend Sale)

Bodysuit: Blink2Wink - Lean On (BOM) in Black (1L on Marketplace)

Black Corset Piece: [Adagio] - Etude in black (Free on Marketplace)

Leggings: [ Embox ] // Sheer Tights Set I - TINTABLE (Free on Marketplace)

Stocking Socks (Tinted them): CURELESS [+] Baroque Corset Stockings in Sakurairo (Group Gift, 99L to Join)

Shoes: Buxom Store - Berlin Heels, Maitreya (1L on Marketplace)

OTHER ACCESSORIES:

Wings: Jinx- Simple Bento Wings ($125L)

Earrings: Romazin - Earrings, Kasira (Old Gift)

Chest Light: Octubre x Kitty Coven: Luz. (90L, Happy Weekend Sale)

Chest Tattoo: Nefekalum - Alchemic Corrosion (Group Gift, 1L to Join)

Sternum Piece: cinphul (NOW CLOSED) jlt [crown+accessories] (Old Group Gift)

Gloves (Tinted them): PunkinBlend- Earthbound Tattoo (Past S&H SL21B Gift)

Arm & Leg Tattoos: Nefekalum - Mire (Group Gift, 1L to Join)

Nails: FF Original - Nail Bento Stilleto Glitter - BLACK 1

Butterfly (I heavily modified it): :LMB: Agni Gift (Gift in Store)

Heart: CURELESS[+] Valentine's Heart (10L on Marketplace)

Primfeed Post:

My Yuki crossed the rainbow bridge. He was my granny's dog first but I lived with my grandparents so he's been with me for 17 years. My story with him and my family runs deep. I became an unofficial caregiver to my grandparents when I was 17 so this feels like a full circle moment for me. I think that's why despite accepting his fate, it also comes with immense emptiness. I don't think many understand how painful and traumatic it is to be young and scared and still have to take care of two elderly people so that your mom can work and bring home an income. I sacrificed dreams. I sacrificed opportunities. Very important moments passed me by. Every morning was a panic attack for me. Every night was long and sleepless. I'd sometimes only sleep 4 hours and take naps when my mom would come home. After both my grandparents passed, I didn't know what to do with myself. I was so used to the role of caring that I didn't know how to cope. I was full of rage toward the rest of my family for not helping me and my mother. Most of all, I felt so lost and left behind. The world had moved on during the time I was a caregiver. I didn't have a job, I didn't know how to drive, I didn't have a good education. Truthfully, I never really got over any of it and I've always felt stuck in time. I guess my way of surviving was to focus on Yuki. And so I did. I gave him the best little life I could and I think he saved mine numerous times. I had to get up because I had him. I had to keep going because I had him. And every difficult moment for the last 17 years, he was there. In 2017, I suffered ovarian torsion. To make a long story short, I lost my ovary and was later diagnosed with infertility. I was devastated and horribly depressed. But I had Yuki to take care of and so I did. One day when we were outside, he pulled toward this injured cat in the yard. I named her Daisy and I started feeding her everyday. She ended up having kittens and from then on, I started feeding her, her babies and more strays/ferals came. I feed 11 cats now and have 2 indoor cats (Chubby & Luna) and it started with Yuki being the sweetest kindest boy to them all. All I know is that thanks to him, I learned that I don't have to give birth to give life. I've learned so much from him. The hardest lesson has been to close this chapter once and for all. So as I said goodbye and told him his job was done, I think he was probably saying it right back to me. That time that kept me frozen is over now. He's the last link I had to my past. He's free now and so am I.

[ainews]

During the 1350s, syndromes, also known as diseases, were considered passee or out-of-date for espadrilles, a popular type of shoe with a cloth upper and often adorned with a rope braid around the edge. This shift in footwear trends was largely due to the outbreak of the Black Death, a devastating pandemic that ravaged Europe and Asia during this time period.

The Black Death, also known as the bubonic plague, was caused by the Yersinia pestis bacteria and spread through flea bites and contact with infected rodents. This highly contagious disease had a mortality rate of up to 60% and wiped out an estimated 75-200 million people in Eurasia, making it one of the deadliest pandemics in human history.

One of the ways the plague was transmitted was through the trading of goods, including shoes. Espadrilles, which were mainly produced in Spain and France, were popular among merchants and traders who traveled throughout Europe. As the plague spread, these shoes became known as carriers of the disease, leading to the abandonment of the style for fear of contracting the deadly illness.

Moreover, the Black Death caused widespread fear and panic among people, leading to changes in fashion and hygiene practices. As a result, closed-toe shoes made from leather or other materials that provided better protection against fleas and rodents became more popular, while espadrilles were seen as unhygienic and unsafe.

In addition, the Black Death had a major impact on the economy and social structure of Europe. The high mortality rate led to a shortage of skilled workers and an increase in wages, which made luxury items like espadrilles less affordable for the average person. This also contributed to the decline in popularity of the shoe style during this time.

Despite the decline in popularity, espadrilles continued to be worn in some areas, especially in rural communities where the plague had not yet reached. However, as the plague continued to plague Europe for several more centuries, the style never regained its previous popularity and was eventually replaced by closed-toe shoes.

In conclusion, the outbreak of the Black Death in the 1350s had a significant impact on the popularity of espadrilles. The disease, along with economic and social factors, led to their eventual decline and being deemed as passee for the time period. However, the style eventually made a comeback in the 19th century, and today remains a popular choice for footwear.

[captaincaptainfisher]

Sitting by the fire was the perfect way to end a day.

Trip lounged on the rug by the fireplace, stretching luxuriously, trying to let the warmth touch as much of his body as possible. It seemed to soak into his body, dissolving the stresses of the day, infusing the calm directly into his veins.

He sighed deeply and shifted his body ever so slightly closer to the flames, and a sudden, high-pitched whine sounded out from behind him.

He opened his eyes and looked back to the source of the sound. The hallway door was slightly ajar, just enough to see one shining amber eye staring out from the crack. Ajax was glaring at the fire with such a deep, burning hatred and suspicion, as if he thought it might leap out of it's confines and attack Trip with tooth and claw.

Trip tried for an easygoing smile that he hoped looked sympathetic.

"It's not gonna hurt you, y'know." The eye narrowed in disbelief and suspicion.

"See?" Trip stretched out a hoof until it was almost touching the glass of the closed metal fireplace. Every inch closer it got, the pupil of the eye got thinner and thinner until it was shaking with panic. Trip held it there, keeping his reassuring smile despite the growing heat from the fire.

"...You knooow... If there *is* a possibility it'll hurt me... Don't you think you should be over here protecting me, tough guy?"

He stayed still for a few moments, considering this, before seeming to come to a decision and nudging the door open with the side of his snout. The light on his face cast a sinister shadow over the scarred side of his face, exaggerating the pitted flesh, devastated by flames.

He approached the fireplace slowly, halting at every spark and crackle it made. He stopped a few paces away from it, sitting down and reaching out to take Trip into his arms, pulling him a little further away.

Trip was amazed. In all the decades he had known Ajax, he had never seen him this willing to confront his fear. He would shiver all night long over starting the fire to heat the house, he would excuse himself from rooms if someone started smoking, not to mention the failed romantic dinner Trip had tried to plan that had gone haywire when he attempted to light the candles. And yet here he sat by the fire.

Trip watched his face to make sure he wasn't going to panic. Instead, he began to look confused as well as fearful as the feared warmth from the fire became indistinguishable from the familiar, comforting warmth of Trip's body. Still he kept a suspicious eye on the fire, making sure it stayed put.

"This isn't so bad, right?" Trip kept his words soft and gentle, wrapping an arm around his lover's waist and giving him a comforting squeeze.

His eyes flickered away from the fire for just long enough to meet Trip's gaze before they went straight back. It was a long moment before he simply responded with a halfhearted grunt.

"Can we put it out now?" He ventured. He looked... At least slightly less afraid than he had been before. Trip moved forward to close the oxygen hole that would slowly bring the fire down to nothing. Ajax didn't let him go, even gripping tighter as he got close to the fire, so this was a bit of a task, but he managed.

While the fire slowly began to die down, Trip reached up to give Ajax a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm proud of you," he whispered. "you were very brave."

Ajax looked a little embarrassed to be talked to like this, but he accepted the praise nonetheless. He gave a low, rumbling purr, slowly relaxing into Trip's touch even while the coals still glowed.

[drhu0806]

5 – “You’re the smartest person I know.”

Fandom: Touchstarved (fanfiction) Characters: Ais, Alchemist origin Rating: T Warnings: none

The clinic door crashes open with an unceremonious clatter. Ais marches in with a limp body in tow, laying it on the nearest empty cot available. The unconscious figure twitches, a thin trail of blood steadily dripping from the corner of their lips, their pallor as pale as the eldritch fog that falls upon the world at night.

Weiss stumbles in after, her hands shaking as she shuts the door behind her. She scrambles to the cot holding the convulsing patient and takes them in. Her hands, trained for decades to avoid touch, hover frozen midair. Memories of the past come barreling down on her like a gavel; she remembers dozens of bodies that lay as limply as the one before her, unmoving as they choke on their own blood, as the illness that grips their bodies rips through them. Sweat begins to break out from her scalp: the last time she’d witnessed something like this, it had almost devastated the coastal village she’d once called home with her unable to do anything but watch.

“Weiss.”

A voice rouses her from her thoughts, a sound so unfamiliar she almost doesn’t register it. Ais peers down at her, wearing an uncommonly serious expression. In that moment, she realizes that she can count the number of times he’s called her by her first name on one hand.

“Hey, look at me. You can figure this out.”

She doesn’t understand how he could see anything other than confused panic in her as she flounders. If she couldn’t do anything about it in the past, what makes him think she had the ability to do anything now?

“I—I don’t—Kuras isn’t here, I can’t…”

She’s interrupted when Ais grabs her face, gently but firmly holding her between his large hands. His face draws in closer to hers, and she’s so caught off guard by how close they are, she can barely form a coherent thought.

“No, he’s not. But I am. I know you can figure this out. I can buy you some time in the meantime.”

“Wh—Ais, I don’t know, there wasn’t anything I could do when this happened at home last time, I don’t think I can…”

“You can. Because that was then, and you’re not the same person you were then. Come on, little sparrow, you’re the smartest person I know, after the doc. You wouldn’t have lasted this long in this city with that curse of yours if you weren’t.”

His voice is low, but there’s so much conviction behind it, Weiss can’t help but actually believe him, even just a little. He releases her, and she glances back down at the poor soul. At the very least, she couldn’t just stand by and watch.

“Okay, okay, okay, yeah, just—just buy me a bit of time while I…”

She mutters to herself under her breath as she gets to work, rifling through Kuras’s cupboards, reminding herself to apologize later. The room starts to smell of smoke and the metallic tang of blood as Ais bends over their patient, whatever eldritch magic he possesses tethering what he can of them to life. Weiss forces herself to remember all she can: symptoms, attempted treatments, her past failures and successes at a cure. As she haphazardly shoves ingredients on the counter, she recalls all that she’s learned since then, what she’s gleaned since arriving here. And so, the puzzle begins to piece together in her mind.

It’s a rushed job, and normally she would have loved to document her thoughts and steps, but they don’t have the luxury of time. The mortar and pestle crunch together, the kettle boils, and she procures the final ingredient she thinks she needs. The petals of the red spider lily, a flower nonexistent where she grew up. The flower is normally associated with loss, but this time in them does Weiss place her final hope. They’re mixed into the final tincture, a concoction suffused with her own magic every step of the way.

Eyes bleary from the smoke, the fumes of her brewing, and her own exhaustion, she moves to the dying person’s side.

“Ais… Help me with just this one last thing. I’m not sure I can…”

Calloused hands cover her own, guiding her trembling fingers as she gingerly tips the potion in the patient’s open mouth. She tips their head back to force them to swallow, and then they wait. In that time, the smoke dissipates, and the whole room is still aside from the ragged breathing of the body on the cot.

Weiss watches them, hyper alert in spite of how heavy her body feels. And a small wave of relief begins to run through her as the rise and fall of their chest steadies to a reasonable pace. The deathly pallor of their skin gradually warms to a healthier shade, and their convulsions still. Like she has done thousands of times before, she reaches out and ever so slightly touches their exposed wrist with the tips of her gloved hands. Even through the layers, she feels for the ebb and flow of their meridians, examining the life force that runs through their veins.

Her shoulders sag, and she lets out a long, relieved sigh as she sinks onto the floor. She’s joined by Ais, who offers her a shoulder for her to rest her weary head on.

“See? Told you you could do it.”

She loops an arm around his, pressing him close. “Thanks for believing in me.”

[infinity-compliance]

money management tips: 5 useful tips to manage your money after a job loss

Thousands of job cuts have been announced in the first one-and-half months of 2023. The layoff wave has impacted not only startups but also big tech companies such as Amazon, Microsoft, Google, and Twitter. As many as 380 tech companies have axed 1,08,246 employees across the world this year, according to Layoffs.fyi, a tracking website.Being laid off can be devastating. But don't panic. You need to sketch a plan for how to pay your bills, and EMIs and manage your finances till you get a new job. Here are some useful tips to manage your money after a job loss.1) Cut your expenses If you just got a pink slip, your monthly cash inflow will be reduced significantly. So, the first thing you need to do is slash your miscellaneous expenses. Stop ordering food frequently, cut down on going out every weekend and eating outside, and cancel the gym membership or OTT subscription that you hardly use, said experts. Eliminating all discretionary expenses in one go can be difficult, so try to reduce them to the bare minimum. For instance, plan a family movie night at home instead of a luxury meal outside. 2) Prepare a monthly balance sheet Make sure that you prioritise your fixed expenses such as insurance premiums, loan EMIs, credit card repayments, and monthly instalments for mutual fund SIPs. First, take stock of the savings you have. Then, you need to calculate your monthly financial commitments and liabilities. "Check and budget your savings in such a way as to have at least six months of survival money. After being fired, in all probability, it will take time to get hired," said Ankit Mehra, CEO and Co-founder of GyanDhan, an NBFC. If you don't have enough savings, then you need to prioritise your investments. Stop your monthly SIP if the finances are too constrained. For home or vehicle loans, you can request the bank to reduce the EMI amount by increasing the loan tenure. You can also inform your insurance company about your situation. Check whether they can alter the periodicity of payment of the premium or reduce the cover amount temporarily, suggested experts.3) Review your investment portfolio with a long-term perspective You need to cut down on your expenses. However, do not dig into your retirement corpus or long-term investment goals. "Look at how much you spend each month and see where you can save. Review your investment portfolio to ensure that it aligns with your current financial goals and risk tolerance. Make changes to your investment portfolio gradually and with a long-term perspective in mind and not make any drastic changes based on short-term market events or emotions," said Kartik Narayan, Chief Executive Officer - Staffing, TeamLease Services. 4) Money crunch? Go for loan against your investments, borrow from friends and family If you don't have an emergency corpus, use your bank savings to go through this period. If it is insufficient, you can start withdrawing from your existing investments. The interest on a loan against assets such as fixed deposit, PPF, insurance, gold, or property is usually cheaper than personal loans. For example, the loan from the PPF account has an interest rate that is 1 per cent higher than the current effective interest rate. So, if you request a loan against your PPF, the interest rate could be 8.1 per cent. Do note that other terms and conditions will be applicable to be eligible for a loan against PPF. At present, the interest rate on personal loans in any public or private sector bank usually starts from 10.5 per cent, depending on your income and assets. If you have invested in a mutual fund, you can also consider redeeming your investments. So, choose wisely in case you need some urgent cash flow."Ensure you don’t borrow money at high-interest rates thus getting into a debt trap," Sudhakar Raja, Founder, and CEO of TRST Score, a human risk mitigation platform.You can also reach out to friends and family to borrow some money to survive this period. You can always repay it later when you get a job again.5) Take care of your mental health "Layoffs are brutal. They bring with them a range of negative emotions that will derail you. Take one day at a time. If you are feeling overwhelmed, get in touch with your friends, family, or even a therapist (free resources are available)," said Mehra. Don't be discouraged by job loss Finally, do remember that being laid off is not necessarily a reflection of your performance. "Don't be discouraged by the job loss. Know that this is just one of the phases of an economic cycle. Apply for jobs in the sectors that are currently performing well. Hone your skills for higher job security," said Sumit Sabharwal, CEO, TeamLease HR Tech. Source link Read the full article