#It perpetuates an exhausting cycle.

[toxifoxx]

local man realizes he has to actually interact with people if he wants to be interacted with

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent game related things .. hrmm...

[killer-wizard]

i feel like people take steven universe too literally

[yuveenti-blog]

Astrology Observations: 😯😬😵‍💫Your Insecurities Based on Your Rising Sign 😥🫣🫤

Disclaimer: I recognize that there are individuals who may not concur with my posts, and I appreciate that perspective. I, too, do not always align with certain astrology content. However, if the information does not resonate with you, feel free to disregard it. My approach to astrology is intuitive, and I do not adhere strictly to conventional guidelines. I extend my gratitude to those who find value in my posts. 💘

Pisces Rising: Individuals with Pisces Rising often experience insecurities regarding their sexual performance, perpetually seeking ways to enhance their abilities. This drive for improvement can lead to feelings of inadequacy, particularly when their partners do not reciprocate their high levels of desire. Additionally, the yearning for a romantic relationship may be concealed, stemming from the belief that no one can truly match their emotional intensity, which can result in an apparent avoidance of love despite a deep longing for it. There may be a tendency to suppress one's true self or to hold back, even when the desire to express oneself fully is strong. Furthermore, these individuals might grapple with insecurities related to their achievements, feeling compelled to outperform others to validate their worth. This can create a cycle of self-criticism, as they may believe they should be achieving more or operating at a higher level. In social contexts, they might feel the need to associate with those they perceive as weaker, fearing that being around more powerful individuals diminishes their own strength. This dynamic can lead to insecurities regarding power relations and their role within various social groups. Consequently, they may strive to stand out, which can sometimes result in conflicts with others, further complicating their relationships and fostering a sense of instability that threatens to undermine their connections.

Aries Rising: You may experience feelings of insecurity regarding your desired form of affection. Your self-imposed standards are exceptionally high, leading you to believe that you must conform to a specific image in order to be worthy of love or the finer aspects of life. Additionally, there may be significant concerns about your physical appearance and how others perceive you, which can result in a strong tendency to please others. Despite being in a satisfactory position, you often find yourself feeling inadequate about your status, and you may overanalyze your financial situation due to a fear of scarcity. Furthermore, you might struggle with feelings of insecurity related to your organizational skills. Your meticulous nature may cause frustration when you realize that your methods differ from those of others, leading you to feel as though you complicate matters or operate at a slower pace. You may also grapple with insecurities regarding your intellectual capabilities, particularly in terms of how quickly you grasp new information. Additionally, there may be deep-seated wounds related to rejection that hinder your ability to initiate communication with others, making it challenging to establish connections. This tendency to take considerable time to make decisions can be exhausting for those around you, potentially leading to insecurities about how you are perceived by others.

Taurus Rising: Your insecurities are primarily linked to your professional life and career trajectory. You often find the process of job hunting or establishing a stable career to be challenging, leading to concerns about job security, a lack of consistency in your career path, and not receiving the job offers you desire. Additionally, there may be insecurities related to your academic performance, as you might have faced difficulties in achieving the grades you aspired to. Beyond your career, you may experience a sense of instability in your life, which contributes to feelings of insecurity regarding stability. Furthermore, you might feel more at ease around strangers than with acquaintances, indicating a lack of confidence in familiar social settings. There may also be an internal struggle regarding how you allocate your energy, as you might feel compelled to transform your hobbies into professional endeavors, leaving little room for leisure. This internal pressure to excel can hinder your ability to dedicate the necessary time to develop skills in a craft or hobby, as you are constantly driven by the need to perform at a high level. Additionally, there may be insecurities surrounding love; you might grapple with uncertainty about identifying your soulmate due to your fluctuating feelings. This can lead to doubts about your partner, as you may feel that someone better suited for you exists, resulting in insecurities in your dating experiences. You may find yourself questioning the adequacy of your partner or feeling that they are too exceptional for you, contributing to an overall sense of insecurity in your romantic life.

Gemini Rising: Your feelings of insecurity are closely tied to your interpersonal relationships. You may struggle to connect deeply with others, making it challenging to lower your defenses and cultivate the social circle and relationships you desire. Additionally, you might feel uneasy about others perceiving your emotions, which can lead to discomfort. Insecurities may also arise concerning your family dynamics; you might perceive your parents, siblings, or relatives as sources of embarrassment, or you may find yourself comparing your life to theirs, whether favorably or unfavorably. Furthermore, you may experience insecurity regarding your sense of stability, as your thoughts and sense of self often seem to shift, making it difficult to establish a solid place in the world.

Cancer Rising: Individuals with Cancer Rising may experience feelings of insecurity regarding their appearance. While there is a desire to stand out, there is also a tendency to adhere to trends and conventional standards of attractiveness, leading to a reluctance to deviate from the norm. Additionally, there may be concerns about personal image, resulting in a need to be perceived positively, which can sometimes lead to inauthenticity. This individual may also grapple with a desire to excel in all endeavors, often engaging in comparisons with others that can foster negative self-perception. Furthermore, there may be apprehensions related to financial status, as there is a strong inclination to project an image of financial stability, which can become a source of insecurity if one's bank account does not reflect that ideal.

Leo Rising: Individuals with Leo Rising often experience insecurity that stems from their self-image and self-perception. They may find it challenging to break free from the expectations of a particular persona, leading to difficulties in expressing themselves authentically. This internal struggle can create a mental confinement, as they grapple with the notion of who they believe they should be. Frequently, they may feel insecure about their communication skills, believing they do not articulate their thoughts as intended, or they may dwell on perceived mistakes, leading to self-criticism. Additionally, they might exhibit frugality, restricting their financial freedom, which can heighten feelings of insecurity when in the presence of those who are more financially secure. Concerns about their physical appearance, particularly regarding body image and weight, may also contribute to their overall sense of insecurity, as they tend to focus on attributes that others may consider normal.

Virgo Rising: Your challenges primarily stem from decision-making. You often experience uncertainty regarding past choices, leading to feelings of regret and self-reproach for outcomes that did not meet your expectations. This hesitation can manifest as an inability to make decisions, resulting in prolonged periods of inaction due to a persistent fear of making mistakes or facing unfavorable results. Additionally, there is a notable insecurity in your interpersonal connections; you may find yourself overthinking situations, particularly when you have feelings for someone, which hinders your ability to engage with them. Furthermore, you may feel a compulsion to maintain a fashionable and youthful appearance, leading to moments of self-doubt regarding your looks if you do not adhere to a specific aesthetic. This can complicate your search for a life partner, as the fear of making an incorrect choice weighs heavily on you, compounded by your sensitivity. Your insecurities are also deeply intertwined with your fears.

Libra Rising: Individuals with Libra Rising often experience insecurities rooted in the fear of not achieving the success they aspire to. They tend to be overly critical of themselves, believing that their sincere efforts are insufficient or inadequate for reaching their goals. Additionally, they may find it challenging to navigate their lives and the underlying issues, leading to insecurities that remain unaddressed, akin to an unspoken problem. A desire for control may also contribute to feelings of insecurity, particularly in relation to others who exhibit strong personalities or egos. Furthermore, emotional insecurities may arise, prompting them to suppress their feelings, which can result in a sense of aloofness and detachment, leaving them feeling misunderstood by others. There is also a sexual insecurity present, characterized by apprehension towards exploration or tension surrounding intimacy, which can hinder their ability to connect with their partner.

Scorpio Rising: Your feelings of insecurity are closely linked to your lifestyle choices. You frequently find yourself comparing your life to that of others, leading you to believe that you ought to be achieving more or approaching life differently. There is also a sense of insecurity regarding your productivity; you may perceive that you are not accomplishing enough. Despite your efforts, you often wish for greater energy, similar to what you observe in others, and this can leave you feeling as though there is always more to be done. This perpetual dissatisfaction may stem from a desire for something beyond your current circumstances. Additionally, you might experience insecurity regarding your tastes, feeling that you should possess a more refined and diverse appreciation for various items and styles. This can lead to feelings of inadequacy if you believe your preferences do not measure up. Finally, you may grapple with the notion that many aspects of your life are transient. You long for joyful moments to remain constant, which can intensify feelings of insecurity during challenging times, as you feel pressured to maintain a cheerful demeanor.

Sagittarius Rising: It appears that you may often grapple with feelings of inadequacy. Your underlying insecurity stems from a persistent sense that you will never achieve true contentment with what you possess. This may be attributed to your exceptionally high standards, which often lead you to become your own harshest critic. Consequently, you may find yourself excessively critical of your own actions, amplifying your feelings of insecurity. Additionally, you might perceive yourself as overly serious about life, contrasting with a desire to project a more carefree demeanor. This ambition can sometimes feel burdensome. Furthermore, you may experience insecurity related to your responsibilities, feeling overwhelmed by the demands placed upon you, which can exacerbate your self-doubt. A lack of self-discipline may also contribute to feelings of being out of control. Lastly, financial concerns may weigh heavily on your mind, leading to a constant worry about not having enough resources.

Capricorn Rising : Individuals with Capricorn Rising may experience feelings of insecurity regarding their interests, often grappling with a sense of being out of place and a desire to fit in. This can lead to a perception of standing out in a negative way. There may be a multitude of ideas swirling in their minds, yet doubts about the practicality and feasibility of these ideas can create a sense of frustration. Such individuals often possess a heightened sensitivity to their surroundings, feeling as though their true selves are not fully understood by others. Additionally, there exists a profound yearning for an alternative lifestyle, making it challenging to accept the constraints of reality and the limitations it imposes. Intellectual pursuits may also be a source of insecurity, as they may feel inadequate in their knowledge and continuously seek to learn more, driven by a desire for empowerment. This can manifest in feelings of inadequacy in academic settings or in comparison to those perceived as more knowledgeable. Furthermore, there may be difficulties in forming genuine connections with others, leading to a sense of isolation. Some may find solace in online friendships, yet still harbor doubts about the authenticity of their relationships in the physical world, questioning whether their real-life connections are meaningful or fulfilling.

Aquarius Rising: Individuals with Aquarius Rising may experience feelings of insecurity related to a sense of not belonging in various environments, leading to doubts about their place in the world. In a professional setting, one might feel out of sync with colleagues, perceiving themselves as underperforming in comparison. This can result in persistent self-doubt regarding their capabilities, fostering a belief that they are slower or less competent than others. Such feelings may culminate in an inferiority complex, where one believes that everyone else excels while they fall short, leading to a pervasive sense of inadequacy. Additionally, there may be insecurities regarding one's life path, often feeling misguided or misunderstood. This can manifest in a struggle with self-identity, as individuals may feel that others do not truly understand them. While they possess the ability to make others feel at ease, they may grapple with their own discomfort in social situations. Furthermore, insecurities may arise from the perception that the energy they invest in relationships is not reciprocated, leading to concerns about whether others are as supportive as they are.

[sweetimpurity]

“I don’t know why you kept running, I always catch you!” Miguel yells. He’s got you cornered in a dead end hallway on a random floor in HQ. After a long and tiring chase through HQ’s halls and vast spaces, you’re both here. It was a fight that started this. A fight about Miles and the fate of the multiverse. Where you seem to agree with Miles and want to help him, Miguel disagrees.

Peter and Jess will never understand the perpetual cycle of need and hatred you both feel towards each other. The two of you always butt heads on everything. From who’s leading what mission to the font on mission reports. Everything has to be a fight, an argument, a screaming match. It’s a miracle you haven’t quit yet, or that Miguel hasn’t thrown you out the window by now. And yet every time you storm off, he always chases after you. 

“You are so stubborn it’s exhausting!” You yell in his face, watching him stalk towards you as you’re desperately trying to catch your breath from running so fast. Leaning back against the wall, your lungs burning from the exertion. “Maybe if you’d just agree with me, just once, then we wouldn’t have to waste our time running around!” He yells, his voice booming back down the empty hallway. “Instead you have to act like the little brat you are, a little princess!” He spits with venom, trying to break you down. 

“You’re the princess! You need everyone to just do what you say all the time, you’re just… you-” You yell, stammering over your words a bit and he presses one hand to each side of your head against the wall. You don’t even notice at first, you’re so wound up, but he’s trying to intimidate you with his size. “Yeah say what you need to say, princesa, I’ll wait.” He says mockingly, watching you unable to find the proper words as you’re still simultaneously catching your breath. “Shut up!” You yell, slapping him hard across the face. 

He’s stunned for a second. It wasn’t hard enough for him to really be affected by it but he’s not just gonna let it slide “Did you just slap me?” He yells. “Yeah! I slapped you! And you deserve it!” You squirm to escape the enclosure of his body but he puts his hands on your hips to stop you from moving, his thighs on either side of yours to keep you from leaving. “Stop moving around!” He yells as you squirm, his frustration growing. “Let me go, asshole!” You slap him again, and his grip on you tightens, grabbing your wrists to stop you from doing it again. “Princesa, you’re acting crazy right now.” His voice drops an octave, his cheek growing slightly pink from your hand across it. “I’ll do it again.” You threaten, and his eyes flash with something. “Do it again.” He demands, letting go of your hands to give you the option. But you know it’s not that simple. “Do it again and see what happens.” 

Your eyes narrow, wondering what the catch is, knowing there must be one. His eyes burning holes into yours. “No.” You huff, crossing your arms defiantly. “C’mon, princesa, I’m giving you the green light, slap me again.” He says mockingly. “Stop calling me that.” You demand, scowling up at him. “Slap. Me. Again. And see what happens.” He practically growls, staring you down. You have half the mind to just do it. What would he do? The worst he can do is hit you back, right? And you’ve fought countless villains before, this shouldn’t be too different. 

The silence is heavy as the tension is between you. His eyes just daring you to do it. “Come on princess!!” He shouts. And your hand meets his red cheek for the third time. 

Smack! And it’s all happening at once, you slap him, he makes his move, smashing buttons on his watch and your holographic spider suit disappears. Leaving you completely naked. 

“Ahhh!” You scream, instantly covering up, a flush on your cheeks and goosebumps over your whole body. “The fuck is wrong with y-” And his mouth is on yours, his hands grabbing at your hair, keeping your mouth locked with his. His tongue in your mouth, his talons pricking at the back of your neck. He’s not kissing, he’s devouring, pressing you up against the wall, pressing his knee between your legs, his clothed thigh against your bare beating pussy. 

You want to yell at him more, cuss him out, punch and scream. But all you can think is “thank Jesus… finally…” 

Moans leave your throat, escaping into his mouth, his body moving to press into you more. He manages to press some more buttons, his own suit disappearing in an instant, and you feel his warm skin on yours. He’s so warm, in fact, he’s sweltering hot. You remember him giving you that suit. One of nanotech like his own. He said it was because he needed you to not be reckless and get yourself killed. He needed you to protect the multiverse and this suit offered much more protection than the old spandex. And while that was true, he also gave it to you so he could monitor your body. Like knowing when your hormones change or when you’re hurt. And like right now having total control and instant access to you and already knowing that you’ve been dripping wet for him ever since you stormed out of his office. 

“I told you… something would happen… you never listen…” He pants between suffocating kisses, moving to your neck, his teeth biting marks into your skin, sucking and kissing all your sweet spots he’s able to find in seconds. You just moan at this, hands running up his bare arms, eyes closed but you’re able to feel every sculpted muscle, the hair on his forearms, the veins bulging. “So wet, princess…” He whispers, hand moving down between your flushed thighs and playing with you, collecting your slick on his fingers and running his fingertips down your slit to where you need him most, plunging two fingers inside with no warning. 

“Ngh!” You whine at the instant stretch and slight burn. Slapping the back of his shoulder, fingers digging into his skin. He looks down at you, grinning evilly. “Fuck you…” You groan, knowing he did that on purpose. “But you’re dripping princesa, they just slide right in…” He mumbles, smiling at your pout, and his lips are back on yours, sucking at your lips and the tip of your tongue. His fingers start their rhythm, pumping in and out, curling at just the right time to hit all the perfect spots. “M-Miguel!” You gasp, head throwing back against the wall, hips rolling up into his hand. You just can’t help it. 

“Feels good?” He grins, kissing over your cheeks and biting at your jaw. Teasing you as your walls melt down. “F-fu-uck y-you…” You breathe out, withering away from his touch. Bound to become a puddle on the floor. “Good…” He hums, flicking his fingers inside, feeling for when your walls squeeze and continuing that motion the same way over and over again. His thumb presses to your clit as his fingers work inside, your beating bundle of nerves soothed and stimulated by the pad of his finger working in small controlled circles. 

Eyes closed, kissing him back sloppily, you reach down, finding his dick hard and heavy for you against his stomach, feeling its length and size in the palm of your hand. Hearing his breath hitch against your lips as you grip him, pressing your thumb to his tip. “Ugh.. turn around…” He husks, pulling back and pushing you to face the wall, your breasts pushing up against the cold metal, his hands on your hips instantly. “Haaa….” He breathes out in relief when his tip runs through your puffy folds, just dripping for him as always. But you’d never let him know that before. 

Without another word he slowly sinks in, relishing in the gasps that escape your kissed lips, his hands moving all over you, feeling all the nerves in his body exploding and tingling at once. “M-Mig- ah!” You gasp and whine, reaching behind you, grabbing onto his wrist, his fingers soon entwining with yours. One hand in yours and the other reaching around, splaying out on your stomach as he starts pushing into you, pulling out and back in again. “Haa… so warm princesa… so tight…” He groans next to your ear as he makes shallow thrusts within you, stretching you out, his tip gradually delving deep enough to hit your cervix. You whine at the slight sting, back arching and pressing your chest and face to the wall in front of you, and he plants kisses on your shoulder, moving to your neck and biting down on your skin. It all descends into madness, his hips snapping into your ass, both his hands entwining with yours, holding them behind your back. Panting like a hound and humping into you against the wall. Neither of you are able to care about any unlucky spider-people who would potentially walk down this way. 

“I-I’m gonna cummmm…. Miguel!” You whine, gasping and flushed all over, losing your mind on his big dick. “Not yet… not yet.” He scolds softly. You whimper, already feeling that ache in your tummy, the one that tells you you’re close. He keeps going, grunting and growling in your ear. “Wait wait- someone’s coming!” You whine, your spider sense suddenly alerting you to someone walking up the stairwell that leads to this hall. “No one’s coming.” He husks, his lack of spidey tingle keeping him unaware. “No no really!” You whimper, your knees buckling when his fingers come back in contact with your clit. He only believes you when his super sensitive hearing picks up on the click of the door latch at the end of the hall. Grabbing you and pushing through the door to your right. His security clearance opens the door right away and you both burst inside. A vacated office, dark and littered with old boxes and filing cabinets. He’s grabbing you, your chest pressed to his now and your fingers in his hair, kissing him deep and sloppy, your orgasm dying down the longer he’s not inside anymore. In his haste, you both bump into a filing cabinet, the metal making a loud crash and bang once it meets the floor. The box of old tech falls on the floor adding to the noise. He lifts you onto the big metal desk, shoving everything off, the smash and thud of everything just adding to the cacophony of sounds from inside this room. 

“Stop breaking everything!... fucking animal!” You yell and frown at him, smothered by his lips and his hands all over, his strength pressing you down flat on the desk. “Just hold still! Squirming all over the place!” He scolds, a smile on his face and you swear you heard him giggle. This beast of a man giggling as he mounts the desk hovering over you. You can’t help but smile and try to stop yourself from laughing. “C’mon…work with me here…” He pants, pushing his hair back and out of his face as he nestles his hips between your thighs, his big dick slipping in so deep and easy. “Ah!” You squeal. “Mmm!” He grunts. And you’re both moaning, groaning, grinding into the other, chasing that sweet release as any sense of reason flies right out the window. 

…

“Should we go check on them?” Jess sighs, glancing at Peter across the desk. The two of them waiting in Miguel’s office, patiently all this time, assuming the two of you would return at some point and you could continue with this meeting. “No, I’m sure they can handle it… they just need to work things out.” Peter says optimistically, fidgeting with a random piece of machinery that was laid out on Miguel’s desk. The two of them just fiddling their thumbs and waiting for you two to come back. 

“D’you try that new burger in the cafeteria?” Peter asks. Jess shakes her head, checking the time and crossing her arms. “It’s the Spider-Ham… burger…” Peter laughs. Looking pretty proud of himself. “Did you come up with that yourself?” She raises a brow, eyes narrowed, unimpressed. His smile fades. “No.” 

“Hm.” 

…

“Mm fuck… take it all… all that fucking cum…” He grunts in your ear, pumping his second load into you as you’re pulsing from your third orgasm. By this point you’re ass up, titties smushed on the desktop, his enormous size humping over you, the arch in your back almost painful with how hard he’s giving it to you. “Ahh-hhh…” A fluttering moaning sigh escapes you, riding out your last orgasm but he doesn’t stop and you feel the next one building up already. 

“M-Mig… mmmm…” You moan and hum, cockdrunk and soft like silly putty, malleable for his use. “You sound so pretty…” He breathes out, panting but it doesn’t stop him. “Pretty little slut…” 

His hands go in your hair again, pulling it back just so he can hear you whine again. “Mmm-ah!” You whimper and gasp, jaw falling open as he pounds into you as if you haven’t been going at this for four rounds straight. He pushes into you, in deep, toe curling pulses, his dick gliding perfectly past all the spots that have you melting. 

Squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak. The desk adds to the noise. The structure shaking with his unending, ever powerful thrusts. Squeak squeak creak creak pop! And you’re both gasping as the desk gives out from under you, one side going down as you both slide down the desktop tilting towards the floor. It all happens in a blur of seconds and as he pushes on top of you, his dick goes deeper than ever. Ripping a gasping scream from your throat. “Mm-AHH-hhhhaa!!”

He manages to catch himself by the time you both slide to the floor. The arch in your back even deeper as your lower half is elevated on the slanted desktop. But it doesn’t stop Miguel. He keeps pounding you, grabbing at your hands and pulling them back. 

“I can’t… I can’t ah!” You whine, completely overwhelmed and fucked out. Eyes rolling back as he reaches unimaginable depths. “I win…” He grins, panting and trying his best to keep fucking you with all his might. “I won, say I win.” He chuckles, his hand rubbing over your back in a stark contrasting tenderness. “I win.” You smile deliriously, knowing that’s not what he wanted to hear. His hand meets your red and raw ass cheek. “Mm! Fuck!” The gasp fills your chest but the slap makes you squeeze around him, your orgasm burning in your thighs and your stomach. “You never learn, do you?” He rasps in your ear, leaning over you, his chest pressing down to your back as his hips piston into you with undying fervor. “No…” You sigh, eyes fluttering closed and moaning sweetly as the waves wash over you, his face falling into the crook of your neck as your bodies move as one, a live grenade about to blow.

“Ohhh… Miguel!” Your moans really are music to his ears and with a few final thrusts he’s pushing deep inside. Spurting right at your cervix, pumping you full and raw for the third time as you tremble and pulse around him. Legs like jello and shaking all over. “Haa…” He sighs, arms wrapped around you as the movement eventually and finally stops. The room stilling, coming down from madness as you both come down from all that just happened. 

“Oh my god…” You sigh, sweating and worked out. “Are you okay?” He asks softly, looking around to try and move from this precarious position half propped up on the collapsed desktop. He carefully pulls out and lifts your hips to lay more comfortably flat on the floor. “Hey. You okay?” He asks again, sitting up next to you, brushing some hair out of your face as he looks over you. “Mm… yeah” You sigh, catching your breath as the aftershocks pulse through your nerves. 

He leans down, kissing your shoulder a few times, resting his head in one hand and laying beside you, looking down at you. Among the mess and disaster this room has been made into. “How’s your back?” He asks and you can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. “Broken!” You whine, slapping his arm with the back of your hand. He giggles, hiding away from your gentle slaps, knowing he really pushed your limits just now. Soon he grabs your hand, pulling to his lips, kissing your palm and the backs of your knuckles. The line between loving and hating him getting thinner all the time.

[romanoffsbish]

Close Your Eyes; Give us Your Hand

WandaNat x Fem!R

Warnings: Drained / Overworked R | Sad Lovers

When your girlfriends come back from their mission they are met with an unfamiliar feeling of loneliness. You didn’t intend to worry them, but you got used to going through the motions of the cruel world alone and it is apparently up to them to bring you back to a more peaceful reality. | WC: 4,238

Wanda knew something was off when you left this morning, she barely got a kiss on her cheek as you rushed out the door to get to work. Normally you'd cuddle into her as she cooked, eat breakfast with both of them, then you'd rush out so you weren't late. This anxious rush out the door was deeply concerning.

Natasha felt it as she ran into you in the hallway, literally, your rushing body slammed right into her sweaty one, her arms wrapped around you to steady you, but also to offer some comfort. "Everything okay lovebug?" The redhead gazed at her watch, noticing that it hadn't even hit 5am, her concern deepened.

"Sorry Nat," you rushed out, both in speech and from her arms, shocking her a bit. "I'll see you later."

The redhead stood in the hall, a bit bewildered as the usual response to a hug is your body melting. Her once easygoing morning off was now riddled with worry.

"What's up with lovebug?" Wanda sighed as she saw the redhead enter the apartment with a clear frown. "Okay, good, so it's not just me who sees it then..."

——

Natasha shook her head, and approached Wanda to give her a reassuring kiss on her forehead. "Let me go get cleaned up sweetheart, then we can figure it out?"

Wanda nodded, then moved back to the kitchen to finish making the breakfast you'd skipped out on...

Meanwhile, you were clocking into work—early, head hung low from a mix of both exhaustion, and guilt.

Not only have you allowed yourself to be severely overworked, by the kind of boss who doesn't lift so much as a finger, but you're also now lacking in the girlfriend department. They'd been gone on a mission for a month so you'd become so used to just rushing on out, and sleeping alone. A cycle that perpetuates hurt.

Now that you have a minuscule moment to think, you realized that you left the both of them with a frown.

You didn't have time for guilt though, so now your frustrations are heightened, and you wanted to leave, but bills don't stop, so you very well couldn't either.

"Y/N to the front, a party of two is waiting for you."

You looked at your watch and cringed, not only did you have unread messages in your group, "Lovers," but it was way beyond the time in the shift where one should take a break, and you hadn't had one, now it was lunch.

Lately, you'd been working through at least part of your lunches, to ensure your productivity remained proficient (even if capitalism barely benefited you). Working your body down until you're on fumes while hardly profiting is just not beneficial in the long run.

You knew that, but again, the bills never stopped.

Your boss raised a brow in question in your direction, and you simply shrugged, pretending you didn't know what (who) was awaiting you at the front of the store.

Wanda's face lit up at the sight of you, but Natasha's eyes observed you with concern as you were sluggish.

"Hey my loves," you greeted, tone clearly exhausted, but you wore a soft, appreciative smile. "What's up?"

Wanda lifted her arm, showcasing the bag in her hand. "You left without breakfast, so we brought you lunch." You winced at the call out, words at the ready to both defend your rush, and to get out of the current offer.

The natural redhead saw it in your eyes and frowned. Natasha reached for your hand, and tugged you out the door towards a table before you could turn them down. You knew then that there was nothing you could do to skip all of today's breaks, and your body was relieved.

It was frigid outside, even with the sun still shining, so Natasha naturally pulled your body against hers as she sat beside you, and this time you melted into her, making her heart beam with endless joy. Nat kissed your temple, and you snuggled closer. As you cuddled into one, your other girlfriend unpacked her bag.

"I made soup," she slid a bowl in front of you, then ladled some from her tupperware, you eyed it warily. "It's good detka, for your body and in flavor, eat up and maybe there'll be something sweet to follow." Wanda slyly held up a bag of homemade cookies, you smiled as you caught her playful wink, then you moaned, "This is delicious my love!" You shoveled down the spoonful of whatever soup Wanda had made like you hadn't eaten in weeks, and in part, that was true.

TV dinners, vending machine snacks and skipped breakfast was the previous, solo months meal plan.

Wanda knew, you know she did. The soup was packed full of vegetables, from her garden you presumed, but you couldn't taste the undesired flavors as she had added a delightful array of seasonings to mask them. It's not that you don't like vegetables, it's just that you don't like them enough to consume them on your own.

"Thanks detka," Wanda chirped, eyes full of adoration fell on you, but you were too busy eating to notice. The women watched you silently, eyes flitting between your face and the others. They had a mental conversation, one that would require your later input, but for now they just wanted to enjoy the serenity of the moment.

"Are you guys going to eat?" Natasha squeezed your hip as Wanda shook her head. "We already had some, this whole container is for our hardworking detka."

"So eat up krasivaya," Nat purred against your temple, a smirk sent Wanda's way as you squirmed beside her.

You giggled, hiding your face against the redhead's shoulder, stomach suddenly alit with the nerves you usually feel whenever your lovers compliment you.

Everything was feeling lighter, even after less than twenty minutes, the dark cloud above your head had all but disappeared. "Thank you guys, I have been—."

"Y/N to the dock," the speaker crackled, interrupting your moment of calm, and repeating with unnecessary urgency. You nearly groaned, but you put the mask back on as you stood up, and slid your hands down over your uniform, ironing out any wrinkles.

"That wasn't even thirty minutes..." Wanda huffed, you sighed, "From the moment I left the back it counted."

"That can't be legal," Natasha grumbled, but she stood up and pulled you in for a tight embrace. "We'll be at home, waiting for you. Your shift ends at two right?"

You nodded against her chest, and allowed yourself an extra second just to breathe her calming, woodsy scent in before giving her a soft peck and migrating into the embrace of your slightly taller girlfriend. Wanda held you so tight that your tense back actually popped, you groaned into her neck, but it was in clear satisfaction.

When you pulled away you heard a crinkle, and found your pocket was filled with a ziplock bag full of cookies. "Thanks Wands," you leaned in to peck her lips, but her hands trapped you for a moment longer as she deepened the kiss. It had been ages since she last had been able to, and your time constraints need not apply.

Natasha pulled her away from you after a moment, allowing you the chance to head in (against their hearts desire) and they waved you off with loving smiles.

"We are in agreement?" Wanda nodded, kissed her on the cheek, then left the redhead behind to fly home.

Natasha sat in the car they'd driven, listening to an audiobook while eating some of Wanda's cookies; watching, and waiting for you to leave the store.

Three hours later, an hour beyond your shifts end was when she finally caught a glimpse of you. It broke her heart to see your unfiltered face, the mask you wore for them had fallen, and you just looked fragile, like glass.

She would be fixing that...

As soon as your car tore out of the parking lot she got out of hers, the overwhelming sadness became anger, and your boss barely made it two steps out the door. Natasha had not so gently pressed her into the wall to the right of the store where the merchandise trucks sat. Offering privacy, and shielding her public reputation as a reformed Russian assassin turned America's hero.

"For starters, you never saw me," Natasha's voice was clipped, to Amy—the boss, it was all too menacing. It took her less than a second to nod her head. "Good."

"Now, as for my business. Y/N has been being worked too hard, so now, you are going to offer her time off."

"I-I don't have the capability to—," she had stuttered, but Natasha's darkened laugh full of cynicism cut her off, her voice was even deeper now, "You and I both know you can make it happen. Don't play dumb Amy."

"Okay...”

Natasha smiled devilishly, "See, I knew you were smart enough not to test a widow's patience..." she lifted her right hand up, fingers pinched, "It's very thin."

Amy nodded, her throat bobbed as she gulped down her fear to ask the necessary question, "How long?"

"Three months."

"Um, that's a long time, I can maybe do a month..."

"Fair point," Natasha mused, pretending to consider it, but then she cleared her throat and lowly said, "Still not nearly as long as you'll spend begging for mercy for all the damage you've done to our beautiful angel."

"Consider it done," she squeaked, and Natasha winked as she let her go. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Oh, and Amy..." Natasha stopped, then pointed her finger at the slightly trembling woman. "Y/N's not to work beyond the actual limits again. Understood?"

"Mhm..."

Natasha walked away with a triumphant smirk, keys twirled around her fingers as if she had just been on a normal stroll, and hadn't just threatened a civilian. The women's love knew no bounds for you though, so they would break every rule known to man for your sake.

Which is why Wanda was turning your living room into a dream as you both drove back home. Fortunately, with their Avengers salaries, you'd been on the top floor, in the luxurious loft. Your living room alone was the size of the average New York single bed apartment.

With the help of her magic she was able to create a massive fort, giving the nostalgia of childhood to you, but also leaving room for a premium air mattress, the TV, and a table full of your favorite movie snacks. It was nearly perfect, all she needed was you to arrive.

As the heard the keys in the door she made a beeline to cut you off just as soon as you entered, trying to keep the surprise hidden until Natasha returned with the rest of what's meant to be found within. Wanda's lips quirked up as she watched you enter, your shoulders shook as you adjusted to the enveloping warmth that contrasted the outdoors, and you smiled as she took your jacket and beanie off to hang on the racks.

"Welcome home," she hummed, and pulled your still slightly shivering form into her even warmer embrace. "I've run you a bath sweetheart, let's get you relaxed."

You leaned into her instantly, and kissed her throat. "Oh my love," your eyes instantly glossed over in gratitude as you whined, "You didn't have to do that."

Wanda playfully glared at you as she reluctantly pried you off of her body, and asserted why she actually did. "You are stressed and overworked, the actual least I could do is to take care of you detka, which I love."

You allowed her to undress you further, then help you ease into the tub that radiated with a calming warmth. Wanda kissed your forehead, then met your pout with a simple smile as you didn't seem happy watching her leaving. "I'll be back soon, for now this is your time."

"I want it to be us time," you quietly sniffled, and the woman nearly gave into you. "Where's Natty at?"

Then she remembered the plan, reassured you that there would be time to cuddle after you'd spent some time just relaxing a bit, then she was out the door so that there was no room left for you to question her.

Eventually, the women had finished the luxury fort, but they never caught a glimpse of you. Natasha was the one to go check on you as Wanda plated up the rest of the themed snacks she'd made for movie night. When the redhead found you, with your lower body dressed, but your upper nude, and smushed into the mattress she found herself dynamically conflicted.

For starters, you looked too cute to wake up, and also, if you were this tired maybe she should leave you be. Then she realized that wasn't the correct response either, because you would be so upset to find out what was missed— food and cuddles, plus, you still thought that you had work tomorrow morning, but you didn't.

The redhead flipped your body over, and without lust in her eyes she admired your exposed torso. Her eyes fell to the inked reminders of your love, their lips that you'd etched into the skin of your hips. Staking their claim to you, for them, and never wavering in stance. Natasha and Wanda found the concept endearing, and in turn they followed suit, each getting lips stained into their skin; Natasha's were near her heart, on the side over her ribcage, a well kept secret that held purity, and Wanda's were on either wrist, covered by her gloves while on missions, but exposed to her whenever she needed the reminder that her loves are real; true.

After a moment she felt another set of eyes on her, and then there was pajamas snapped onto your body. "Can you carry her without waking her?" Natasha smiled as her partners idea was made obvious, so she nodded then scooped your now dressed form up and out.

Once they made it to the living room the witch held the covers open with tendrils of red while ensuring the front door and windows were locked before joining the both of you underneath the illuminated fabrics. You began to stir in Natasha's hold now that you were sat down on the unfamiliar air mattress, head leaned back against her cushioned chest, her scent strong. "Natty?"

The redhead ran her thumb over the apple of your cheek as she stared down the slope of your nose and chuckled softly as you woke up in an adorable daze. "Yes honey?" The amusement was spurred on as she felt you shiver, it wasn't cold but her voice was raspy.

"Where am I?" Wanda smiled, then leaned closer to whisper in your ear, "Open your eyes and find out."

With a soft wince you did as told, the lights were too bright, forcing you to blink rapidly, but after a moment of adjusting you noted they were actually dim in comparison to the norm. An array of blush pink and off white fairy lights, with clipped polaroids of you and your lovers were strung all around the wall of sheets.

There was an instant quiver to your lip, your body was at a perfect state of rest, yet you felt so overwhelmed. With love, admiration, gratitude and also reprieve. The photos took you down a silent memory lane, from the still of your first date, where Wanda had captured you dancing with Natasha beneath the stars, to the time when you were really sick with Covid, and Wanda was nursing you back to health with her soups and cuddles (even though you obviously protested her proximity).

Nothing could ever keep them away from you, and you knew that they were hurting as you forced them to. It was like a wave of clarity washed over you, and for the first time in so long you felt genuinely relieved. Which was lost on Natasha as you turned into her and cried.

Natasha looked at Wanda in worry, but the witches smile squashed her rising fears. The redhead firmly pulled you closer, and held you as you lightly sobbed into her chest. Wanda's hand gently slipped under your sleep shirt, running up and down your back, nails scratching at your skin as a way to comfort you too.

"It's okay malysh," Natasha whispered as she rocked you, "You are going to be just fine detka, let it all out."

Once your overdue sobs turned to hiccups you moved to sit up, and subsequently pulled from Natasha's grip. The redhead wanted to stop you, but she saw a little bit of determination in your eyes as you turned to face them both so she retracted her hands. "I'm sorry."

Wanda cupped your cheeks, wiped away your tears, then kissed your salty, shimmering lips to shush you.

"Apologies come when you've done something wrong detka," she scolded you softly, "and you haven't. If anyone needs to apologize it's us, you needed us and we weren't here, but I promise that's gonna change.”

You gulped, and your voice trembled, "Change?"

"For the better," Natasha clarified, smiling at you in a way that could only be interpreted as akin to a warm hug. "It's time that we take care of each other better detka, you shouldn't have been able to overwork."

"I-I need to work," you began to defend, but Wanda cut you off with a pained laugh, "You never have to work, because we have it all covered, whatever you need."

Truthfully, you didn't need to work, but you told them you'd hate not having your time filled whenever they are both away, or to leech off of their riches. They were against it at first, telling you that whatever they had was yours to have, but they didn't push the issue then.

Now though, after what they saw today they decided it was time to move forward with a lot of things. Wanda would retire her crown, and be home to tend to your every whim, you would quit your job just after the well earned, fully paid leave. If you persisted that you needed to work, you'd be Natasha's assistant as she would mostly be fielding missions out to others.

"I want to work though, make my own money," you further defended, "I can't buy you gifts with your own money, it wouldn't be right. I need to earn my own."

"Which is fine," Wanda relented with a smile, then Natasha jumped in, "but not for that stupid ass store."

You wanted to fight her on that, because you loved your coworkers but you didn't have it in you to negate the truth to her words. "That I can agree on."

"Good girl," Natasha teased, but Wanda's slap to her shoulder told you there was more important things left to discuss so you turned to her. "I'm retiring the crown detka, and Natty here is taking a massive step back."

Each of your lovers reached forward, grabbing one of your shaky hands and scooted forward to comfort you. They could see your self intrusive thoughts bubbling before Wanda could hear them. "We want to do this."

"I-is it because I'm worrying you into this?"

"No detka, you are seeing this in the wrong light, we want to do this because we hate being away from you. Natasha and I are miserable without you, and it's also time we start working towards the life we all want."

Because, if it was time for progression, then that would come with the overdue wedding bells, and babies cries. Natasha could still be an Avenger, sure, but she wants to be equally as present in your family as you both. It was a surprise to you all those years ago, when she was the one to tell you that was her dream; it wasn't time then, but you all know it is the right time now.

"Really?" Both women placed a kiss to your cheek, and nodded so that you felt their confirmation. Your heart had started flipping within your chest, and you raced out of the fort before either woman could stop you. It was cause for concern, but you were back before they could get up to capture you, with a radiant smile.

"I've been saving up for a long time," you blurted, "It had to be perfect, you know? You guys deserve that."

"Nothing has to be perfect at the expense of your wellbeing detka," Wanda admonished you, but the aura flipped to excitement as Natasha rushed out, "What has to be perfect?!" You giggled, and a surge of impatience pulsed throughout you, causing you to pull the ring box from behind your back and open it.

Inside were three rings, all similar in the fact that they were gold, but each with a uniqueness. On the left of the box sat Natasha's, the band was thicker than the average, crafted with style and missions in mind, but still thin enough to let the oval shaped diamond shine. On the right was Wanda's, the band was thinner, as it suited her preference, with a pear shaped emerald in the center, and tiny diamonds that lined the band.

You found it amusing that no words had to be said, no grand speech, they both just hastily grabbed their own rings to slide onto their finger. Each one whispered a soft yes as they kissed the other's ring cladded finger. You naturally went to slide the simple gold band you'd purchased for yourself, to match theirs, onto yours but Natasha stopped you with a firm grip on your wrist.

"Let us ask," she pleaded, you blinked back your shock, and dropped the band into Wanda's awaiting hand. Who then slipped it onto her chain, you frowned, but then she pulled a box from beneath a pile of snacks and you realized that you were never truly out of sync.

Natasha pulled you back into her lap, and rested her chin on your shoulder, craning her neck she placed a kiss on your warm cheek. "Y/N, you have made us the happiest we've ever been, this world hasn't been kind to us, you either, but somehow you're still so sweet. The darkness never had a grip on your soul like ours."

"Natty..."

"Hush," she chuckled, "I've come to terms with my past detka, as has Wanda, and that's all thanks to you."

Wanda nodded along to Natasha's words, the ring was held up between her fingers as she waited her turn.

"When I found Natasha, it was like I could stand on my own two feet, she taught me how to be a human again," Wanda sniffled, "and then we met you and it was like we could finally breathe—you saved us entirely Y/N."

Natasha helped to lift your frozen arm up from behind, and extended your hand out to Wanda who slid the ring onto your finger. It was still a simple band, but the inside was inscribed, "Y/N—Nash Dom (Our Home)"

The redhead linked your fingers and pulled your hand up to her lips next after Wanda had sealed the deal. You asked them what it said, as you felt the indents of the words against your skin and they both smiled. Natasha whispered the Russian with tenderness, then Wanda offered the translation when your eyes asked.

"I love you both," you declared the obvious, "with my entire heart I promise you that I will never give us up."

"We wouldn't dream of allowing it either," Wanda joked as she crawled forward and kissed your lips, and as she pulled away she sighed away her prior burdens. Natasha and her shared a soft kiss before the witch had returned to her prior pile of pillows, then the redhead turned you to face her and kissed you with a smile.

"We love you too," she whispered the words that didn't even need to be spoken, then she helped Wanda to get your plate prepared so you could all get settled down.

The rest of the night was spent watching movies, eating most of the witches delicious snacks and talking candidly about the dreams you'd all just reconfirmed. It was mostly just Wanda telling you and Natasha all about the wedding of the century, it appeared you two only had to show up—dressed properly and on time.

Wanda consequently fell asleep first, and you appreciated the chance to admire the peace she naturally radiated when she was unconscious.

"Detka," Natasha whispered softly, keen on not waking up the slumbering witch, who was holding onto you tightly from behind, softly snoring into your bare back.

"Yes Natty?" Your warm breath against her collarbone sent shivers down her spine as you turned back to face her, naturally nuzzling closer. "It's okay to rest now."

"I know," you sighed dreamily, "I just want to feel this safety for a bit longer, then I promise to close my eyes." The corner of Natasha's eyes crinkled, and you shared a sweet kiss with her, tempering her need to cry at your endearing words; the assassin with a heart of gold, you would always tease. "You're forever safe here detka..."

[diejager]

What are your thoughts on Stepdad!price (or Johnny) who intentionally get you pregnant

Cw: STEPCEST, DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, forced pregnancy, misogyny, forced breeding, breeding, creampie, mating press, doggy style, office sex, tell me if I missed any.

Price would act different with you than with your mother, something about him knowing what’s best for you because you’re younger and more naive than your mother. She didn’t need his guidance or help, unlike you, who was still so young and pretty, a beautiful gem that was corruptible if handled by the wrong men. So he took it into his own hands, teaching you who was in charge in this family.

He might tolerate your mother working and acting as her own being, he respected her for being the sole provider of her household for so long, caring for you and your younger brother who was still young and impressionable. You might have taken longer to accept him into your home, but your brother was in the phase of wanting - missing and needing - a father figure in his life, seeing him as the most dependable and powerful person in his world as his step-father and a Captain in the SAS. It was something your brother could brag about and feel proud, a turn of a new leaf in a life where he always told people he was fatherless.

Bot your mother and your brother took his sudden appearance so well, perhaps it was her aged exhaustion and your brother’s jovial and receptive mind, but you were still in your peak, beautiful and bright-minded. His only issue with your lifestyle was your brainwashing, mind filled with feminist and liberal thought that went against all the morals and values he grew up with. It was something he had to fix, something he didn’t want to leave alone and fester and rot your brightness.

Your mother worked so much, she flied offshore multiple times a month, leaving you to care for Ethan with the money she wired to you to look after yourselves. She worked and provided, and you watched the house and cared for Ethan’s schooling and life. You cooked, you cleaned the house, you watched your kid brother and you did everything a mother would for her child. You were left with such a big load without anyone to shoulder it with you, and that’s where he came in.

Your mother left him to his own devices, letting have free range of her home and her children, one third teen year old and another in her twenties. He cared for you when no one would, helping you ease the tent in and exhaustion off your shoulder, his hands wandering your body like he owned it, making it’s curves and grooves until he burned it into his mind.

You might fight and struggle, that pretty mouth of yours spewing delusions about not consenting to his advances, the age difference, the women’s rights and humanitarian rights that had his patience running thin. He truly hated what people put in your mind, the crazed and nonsensical ideas that went against familial values and would eventually break the family he envisioned building with you. Despite your thrashing and threats, he moved forward with his plan, splitting you apart on his girth, hips snapping and bottoming out until his tip kissed your gummy cervix.

He filled you up every moment he could, painting your walls with his thick, salty and viscous cum, listening to you mewl and cry, moaning out like a bitch until you milked him dry. He wrestled you in bed, bending you over his desk, paperwork left strewn across the room , then he’d fuck you in the living-room when Ethan was off to school, pressing you down to your knees and ploughing into you with reckless abandon, and he’d take you in your bed at night, folding you in half with your feet hanging off his shoulders and he slammed into your warm cunt. It was a perpetual cycle, a fill and refill schedule that would never tire him out and that would fuck your mind into the right space. He had to right the wrongs and that started with breeding you.

It really shouldn’t be that surprising that he knocked you up after a few months, a new life growing in your little womb that he drowned with cum.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts 

[sirenedeslily]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖 ‎𐦍 𝐦atthew 𝐬turniolo

❛too tired to move, too tired to leave.❜

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 a tormenting and bitter autumn fades into an even colder winter, unrelenting flurries shrouding two lovers in a painful veil of memories and grief. a girl, forever haunted by what was lost and what can only unfold beneath the snow, remains trapped in a ceaseless cycle of naive love and unyielding despair’s. she finds solace in the one soul who saw her, truly saw her and gazed lovingly upon her bare, scarred flesh.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, heavy themes of grief, loss, and death. extreme violence, graphic description of physical abuse. intense emotional turmoil, including scenes of blood, domestic abuse, and parental neglect. dives into suicidal ideation and mental health struggles. little use of religious imagery, just the worst most tragic angst (i hope)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭, 5k !

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞, well !!! haha !!! lol !!! y’all wanted more of the “poison in the water” universe and i didn’t think the last one hurt enough so :p this is fully inspired by “hard times” by ethel cain aswell as jackieshauna from yellowjackets and also lilies + knuckle velvet by hayden again !!! i love our doomed in every universe lovebirds (,:

snowflakes drift from the sky, like tiny, crystallized secrets falling from a heaven that refuses to speak. they flutter around you, landing softly on your skin, kissing your cheeks like cold lips. you stare up at the grey sky, the winter clouds heavy with a weight they can’t hold, threatening to spill over. the air is biting, but the cold doesn’t bother you much anymore. your breath forms misty plumes that fade into the ether as soon as they appear—transient, like everything else in this world.

you turn your head slightly, and there he is—matt, smiling at you from just an arm’s length away. his face is serene, untouched by the frost gathering on his eyelashes. his eyes, usually half-lidded with that perpetual look of exhaustion, are now clear and focused on you. his lips part slightly, and he exhales a soft laugh, visible in the chilled air, and it almost makes you forget how cold you feel.

you both lie side by side, limbs sprawled like the delicate branches of the bare trees surrounding the both of you, creating a canopy over your makeshift resting place. for a moment, it feels like you’re both floating, suspended between the earth and the sky. you smile back, your lips trembling not from cold, but from something deeper—a desperate desire to hold onto this moment, this vision of matt that’s pure and unbroken.

“isn’t it beautiful?” he says, his voice soft as the snow.

“yes,” you whispers, though you’re not sure if you’re responding to him or the way the world seems to slow around you. your fingers twitch, aching to reach out and touch him, to feel the warmth you know won’t be there.

but then, something shifts. a shadow creeps over your consciousness, like dark water lapping at the edges of your mind. you blink, and suddenly, the snow is not so comforting. it’s biting into your skin, sharp and relentless. your hands are covered in something darker than frost—blood. your breath hitches, your chest seizes. matt’s eyes are closed now, his breathing shallow, and you remember—

it had all started with the letter.

the church was always cold, even in the summer, but that day it felt like ice. you stood at the back pew, your fingers trembling as you slipped the letter between the pages of an old, dog-eared bible. this was your spot, where you and matt would sit during the long sermons, half-listening and half-lost in your own world. you thought he'd come here, find it, and know everything you hadn’t been able to say out loud. you didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes when he read her words, but you needed him to understand.

you never noticed it, but you weren’t alone.

your father, the preacher, had come to the church earlier than usual that morning. maybe it was fate or bad luck, but he saw you. he saw the way your hand lingered on the bible, the way your eyes darted around as if you were afraid of being caught. later, when he found the letter and read the confessions hidden within, he didn’t need to guess whom it was for. rage twisted his features as he clenched the paper, the words like a poison seeping into his mind.

he didn’t confront you just yet. no, he waited. binding his time.

“stay with me,” you murmur, and you’re back in the snow again, your voice small, a thin thread against the wind. you reach out to matt, your fingers grazing his, and for a moment, he feels warm. his smile is still there, but there’s a tiredness to it, a heaviness that mirrors the snow pressing down on you.

“you know i’m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice steady and calm. his hand comes up to brush a stray snowflake from your brow, and his touch is so gentle, so tender, that you almost believe it’s real. “i can’t.”

but then you see it—a flicker in his eyes, a shadow that wasn’t there before. your heart clenches, and suddenly you’re falling again, tumbling back into the dark.

the dock had always been your sanctuary, a place where the rest of the world felt miles away. you both came here to escape, as you always did, wrapped up in each other, sharing whispers and stolen kisses. the lake stretched out like a silent witness to your secrets, its surface a broken mirror reflecting the twilight sky. you nestled into matt’s side, your head resting against his shoulder, feeling his steady breath against your hair. for a moment, it felt like the world was quiet—just the two of you and the water. but your heart was restless. you looked up at him, eyes searching his face as if you might find your future there.

“matt,” you began, your voice barely a whisper. “i’ve been thinking... thinking about leaving.”

his hand, which had been drawing lazy circles on your arm, stilled. “leaving?” he echoed, his voice neutral but his body suddenly tense.

“running away. far from this place,” you continued, your words gaining strength. “we could go somewhere new. somewhere no one knows us. you could write your stories, take it seriously, and icould run a little bookstore. just the two of us.”

you were smiling now, your eyes bright with the fantasy of it. you painted pictures with your words, of the city life and cozy apartments, of mornings spent writing and nights wrapped up in each other. you looked at him, waiting for him to smile back, to share in your vision.

but he didn’t. his face remained still, his eyes distant.

“no,” he muttered, almost too quietly to hear.

your smile faltered, but you pressed on. “we could make it work. i know we could. we just have to take that first step—”

“no,” he said again, louder this time.

you blink, your fantasy shattering like glass around you. “why not? why can’t we—”

“because i can’t just up and leave, yn!” he snapped, pulling away from you. his voice was sharp, tinged with an anger you hadn’t heard before. “i have a life here, a family. i can’t abandon them just because you want to run away from yours.”

your breath hitched, and you felt a burn behind your eyes. “they’d understand, matt. they’d want you to be happy—”

“happy?” he cut in, his voice rising. “you think this is about happiness? you think i can just throw everything away for some half-baked fantasy?”

“it’s not a fantasy!” you cried, your voice breaking. “it’s a chance—a chance for both of us to have something more!”

you were both standing now, facing each other on the dock. the wind whipped around you, and the lake seemed to swell with the tension between the both of you. tears spilled down your cheeks, but you didn’t care. you were desperate, pleading.

“please, matt,” you whispered, your voice raw and broken. “come with me. we can start over. together.”

he shook his head, his expression hardening. “no,” he said, his voice low but firm.

“why not?” you begged, stepping closer, your hands reaching for his. “why can’t you just—”

“because not everyone wants to run away from their problems, yn!” he shouted, his words like a slap. “not everyone wants to leave everything behind because their life is so fucking tragic and pathetic!”

you recoiled as if he’d struck you, your eyes widening in horror. he didn’t stop; the words kept pouring out, ugly and twisted with anger.

“you think i don’t know about your father?” he continued, his voice cold and sharp. “you think i haven’t seen the bruises? the way you flinch whenever someone raises their voice? i know, yn. i’ve always known.”

your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. you stared at him, your chest heaving, feeling like you might shatter into a thousand pieces. he knew. he had known all along.

“just because your life is miserable doesn’t mean you get to drag everyone else down with you,” he spat. “i’m not going to ruin my life because yours is a mess.”

there was a moment—a long, terrible moment—where neither of you spoke. the air between the both of you was thick with pain and anger, the silence louder than any scream. you looked at him, tears streaming down your face, your heart breaking in your chest.

you didn’t say another word. you just turned and walked away, leaving him standing on the dock, the cold wind biting at his skin.

“matty,” you whisper, back in the snow again. you don’t want to remember. you don’t want to see.

“stay with me. please.”

“i’m here,” he replies softly. his voice is steady, but there’s a fragile break beneath the surface, like thin ice over deep, dark water. and you want to stay here, forever, with the boy you love. even if you can’t truly feel him. even if you know you never will.

the snow falls thicker now, a suffocating veil that dims the world. it’s getting harder to see, harder to breathe. you can’t quite tell if his eyes are open or closed, but you know he’s there. you want to reach out, to touch him, to feel something other than the agonizing emptiness, the cold truth settling into your bones. this isn’t yours. it isn’t real. the edges of your vision blur, and the snow closes in like a shroud, heavy and relentless, burying you under its weight.

you want to stay here, in the not knowing, in the almost, but— you blink, and the world shifts again.

you’re back. back to the house that was never a home, back to the cold, accusing stares of your father—the man who looked at you like you were a blight on his very soul. your mind was a haze of pain and betrayal, and you moved like a ghost through the hallways, numb to everything but the weight in your chest. you didn’t notice your father watching you from the shadows, didn’t hear the way his breath quickened with rage as you passed by. you stumbled to your room, shutting the door behind you, and crumpled to the floor, your body wracked with sobs so violent they shook you to your core.

you didn’t know. couldn’t have known. not until he stormed into your room, his face twisted with something beyond rage. he’d been the devil that night. his eyes burned with a fanatic fire, a hatred that seemed born from somewhere far deeper than anger. “dirty, broken angel,” he hissed, his voice trembling with a fury that shook the walls. “do you think you can fool me with those innocent eyes? do you think I don’t see what you are?”

the words were venom, each syllable a lash. you tried to shrink away, tried to disappear into the walls themselves, but he was on you. his hands gripped your shoulders, shaking you so violently your teeth clacked together.

suddenly, the room dissolved, the walls melting away into a harsh, biting white. you were pulled back to that relentless winter, a chill that seeped into your bones, a cold you could never seem to escape. snow fell heavily around you, swirling like ash in a dying fire. matt stood before you, his face drawn and pale against the frozen backdrop. his eyes, usually warm, were unreadable, his expression soft yet distant.

he reached out, his hand gentle as he cupped your cheek, but you couldn’t feel it. his touch, meant to soothe, was nothing but a ghost against your skin. your lips trembled from the cold, a shiver running through you that wasn’t just from the chill. “i love you,” he cooed, his breath misting in the frozen air, words meant to anchor you, but they felt hollow, distant.

he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, but even then—nothing. his kiss was as cold as the winter wind that cut through you, no warmth, no comfort. your eyes stayed wide, filled with fear and confusion, searching his face for something real, something to hold onto. but his face remained serene, his eyes boring into yours like he was trying to see something buried deep within.

then he whispered, his voice low and intimate, but the words were not his. they were familiar, dripping with venom, heavy with the weight of years past.

“this is your mother’s fault,” he murmured, and the world seemed to tilt, your breath catching in your throat. his voice, his tone, had shifted, morphed, becoming something more sinister. it wasn’t matt anymore; it was your father, the words twisted into something cruel. “your cursed existence is the reason she’s gone. a punishment. a living testament to sin.”

the snow, the cold, it all shattered like fragile glass around you, and you were back—back in your room, the air thick with dread. your father loomed above you, eyes wild and feverish, his face a grotesque mask of hatred and righteous fury. his words were still echoing, each one a branding iron against your skin.

“a punishment. a living testament to sin.” the mantra pounded in your head, searing into your very soul.

you were there again, your cheek stinging from his strike, but the pain was drowned beneath the roar of blood rushing in your ears. you scrambled to your feet, breath ragged and desperate, only to find yourself cornered against the wall. the splintered wood dug into your spine, cold and unyielding, a cruel reminder that there was nowhere left to go.

he loomed over you, his face a grotesque mask of hatred and righteousness. the stench of whiskey on his breath was sickly sweet, mingling with the cold sweat that ran down your face. his hands trembled, but his eyes—they were steady. they were locked onto you with a feverish intensity, the kind that burrowed under your skin and settled in your bones.

“you think you can be saved?” he spat, voice low and venomous, each word a curse. “you think there’s redemption for someone like you?”

his voice dripped with contempt, each word sinking into your skin like a brand. you could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, crushing your ribs, making it impossible to breathe. and there, pinned between the wall and his hatred, you felt it—the cold realization that nothing you could say or do would ever be enough to erase the stain he saw in you.

you didn’t know what to say. you couldn’t speak; your throat felt like it was closing in on itself. you tried to slide along the wall, to find a way out, but he slammed his hand next to your head, trapping you.

“no,” he continued, his voice rising. “you’re beyond saving. you and that boy, both tainted.”

tears blurred your vision, but you looked up, your eyes red and swollen , yet you could still see the rage in his eyes, the way his lips curled into a snarl. his hand, still clutching the letter, the paper crumpled and torn. trembling with fury. his mouth foaming with scripture twisted into madness.

“please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “i didn’t—”

“shut up!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls. the letter fluttered to the ground, and his hands grabbed your shoulders, his grip like iron. “you ungrateful little whore,” he spat, shaking you. “you think you can defy me? disgrace me?”

his fist connected with your stomach, driving the air from your lungs. you doubled over, gasping for breath, your body folding in on itself. you felt his hand in your hair, yanking your head up, forcing you to look at him.

“i will not have a daughter who defiles this house,” he said, his voice trembling with a twisted kind of conviction. “you will repent, or you will suffer.”

his words were like ice in your veins, and you knew in that moment that there was no reasoning with him, no escaping the hell he intended to put you through. you had to get out. you had to run. he continued, his words a twisted sermon, each syllable a lash against your soul. you tried to fight back, but he was too strong, his grip like iron. the room blurred around you, and you felt yourself slipping away, drowning in the darkness.

the snow falls heavier now, each flake sharper, the cold seeping deeper into your skin, into your bones. you're back again, lying beside matt on the snow. his face is still there, just inches from yours, but it’s fading, the world around you closing in, shadows creeping in at the edges of your vision. you reach out, your hand trembling, desperate, and touch his cheek. His skin is cold—too cold, lifeless under your fingers.

“matty,” you murmur, your voice fracturing like ice under pressure. “i’m so sorry.”

he doesn’t answer. his eyes are closed now, his chest barely moving. the silence is a vast, hollow thing, swallowing you whole. panic coils in your throat, sharp and jagged, a desperate, choking fear that clutches at your lungs.

“please,” you whisper, your voice a thin, ragged thread unraveling in the cold. “don’t leave me. not you.”

but he’s slipping away, dissolving into the snow like a ghost, like something that was never real to begin with. you try to hold on, to keep him there, but your grip is weak, your fingers numb and useless. the snow piles higher around you, burying you both, burying everything you tried to hold on to, leaving you with nothing but the relentless, empty cold.

and then you’re back there, in the backyard, crumpled on the cold, dead lawn. the grass feels like shards of glass under your bruised skin, the world around you spinning in a dizzying blur. the preacher’s foot slams into your side, and you’re thrown like a ragdoll, your breath torn from your lungs in a choked, desperate cry.

“daddy, please,” you gasp, the words breaking like glass in your throat, sharp and jagged. “i’m your daughter… i’m supposed to be your little girl—”

but he doesn’t hear you. his eyes are vacant, unseeing, lips moving in some silent prayer as if trying to exorcize you like a demon. another kick lands, and you hear the sickening snap of a rib, a sound that splits the night like a gunshot.

matt is pacing his room, the silence unbearable. your face haunts him—the way your eyes widened, pools of betrayal and hurt, the way your lips trembled as you tried to hold yourself together. his words, venomous and cruel, play on repeat in his mind, an echo that builds into a deafening roar. he has to see you, to make it right, to take it all back. he grabs his coat, the cold biting at his skin, and starts toward your house.

when he arrives, the front door hangs slightly ajar, the dim light inside flickering like a dying flame. his heart pounds, a sickening dread coiling in his gut. he steps inside, calling your name, his voice breaking in the stillness, but only silence answers.

then he hears it—a low, broken cry, barely a whisper, from the backyard. he runs, panic surging through him. and there, beneath the skeletal trees, he sees your father dragging your limp, bloodied body. time slows; his breath catches in his throat.

“let her go!” matt’s voice tears through the night, raw with terror and rage.

your father turns, eyes wild and unfocused. “you,” he snarls, his voice thick with malice. “this is all your fault.”

matt doesn’t think—he just charges, fists flying, his body a blur of desperation and fury. he has to get to you, has to save you. they grapple, slipping and sliding in the mud and blood, until somehow, he manages to pull you free. you collapse against him, your body broken, your eyes wide and glazed with terror. he can see the fear in them, the plea. he can’t fail you.

your father isn’t finished. he comes again, a knife gleaming in his hand like a shard of moonlight. matt braces himself, his heart pounding like a war drum. the blade slices through the air, and white-hot pain sears his side. he grits his teeth, using the pain as fuel, and throws himself at your father, knocking him to the ground. they tumble, crashing through the underbrush, the world a chaos of limbs and fury.

“take it out on me instead,” matt shouts, his voice trembling. “if you need to hurt someone, hurt me. i can take it.”

and your father does. the knife comes down again and again, each strike a white-hot burst of agony. you scream, a sound that tears through the night like a wounded animal, but he doesn’t stop. not until matt is a crumpled heap, his face unrecognizable, his breath ragged and uneven.

“Matt,” you whisper, your voice breaking on his name. You’re a few feet away in the snow, struggling to move toward him. his blood is staining the snow around him, and your heart pounds with every agonizing inch you crawl closer.“matt,” you whisper, your voice breaking on his name. you’re there in the snow,

“stay with me,” you plead, your voice cracking, barely more than a breath. “please, stay.”

his eyes flutter open, just for a moment, and there’s something there—something soft and forgiving, something that breaks your heart all over again. his lips part, but no sound comes out. you can see him slipping away, fading into the cold night.

the knife clatters to the ground, a dull, final sound, and your father staggers back, his face a twisted mask of rage and relief. the snow around you is stained with blood, an obscene, violent canvas beneath the indifferent stars.

your body is a symphony of pain, but you force yourself to move, to crawl toward matt. every breath is a struggle, every inch a battle against the screaming agony in your bones. “matthew!” you cry, your voice ragged, desperate. “matt, please!”

the wind howls around you, carrying your cries away into the night. you drag yourself closer, your hands slipping in the blood-slick snow. the world narrows to this moment, to him.

when you finally reach him, you collapse beside him, your hands trembling as you press them against his wounds. you can barely recognize him through the blood and bruises. his breaths are shallow, each one a fragile, fading whisper. your fingers tangle themselves in his blood-matted hair, tears freezing on your cheeks. his blood is warm, soaking through his shirt and into your skin, and you press your hands to his wounds, trying to keep him here, trying to keep him with you.

you press your hands firmly against his wounds, trying to stem the flow of blood, your tears mingling with the crimson on his face. “stay with me, matthew,” you plead, your voice cracking with desperation. “please, don’t go. we can make it through this. just hold on.”

but his eyes are distant, his breaths more erratic, slipping away like sand through your fingers. “my fawn,” he whispers, his voice a ghost of itself. “i’m sorry.. i would’ve loved to run away with you—”

“no, no, no!” you scream, your voice shattering in the cold. “don’t talk like that. you’re not going to die. you can’t. please, just stay with me. i need you. i need you.”

your sobs tear from you, raw and broken, echoing through the empty woods. you hold him tighter, pressing your forehead against his, but his skin is growing colder, his breaths fading until, finally, they stop. the light in his eyes dims to nothing, leaving you alone, utterly alone, in the dark, cold night.

the agony of his death seized you in its jaws, tearing at your insides with a cruelty so profound it almost felt unreal. your screams became the wind, your cries the haunting echo that would reverberate in these woods long after you were gone. blood, warm and dark, seeped into the snow, turning it a shade of sorrow, and the night seemed to grow colder, sharper, like shards of glass piercing your skin.

time twisted around you. seconds stretched into eons. you sank into the snow, cradling matt’s broken body, your hands trembling against his cooling skin. his eyes stared past you, vacant and unfocused, his lips parted in a silent goodbye. you pressed your forehead to his, desperate to breathe him back to life, to share your warmth and will him into staying. but his soul had already slipped away, leaving nothing but this empty vessel that had once held everything you loved.

the world dimmed around you, edges blurring into a haze. somewhere in that numb, drifting fog, you saw him again—not as he was now, but as he had been: smiling, his eyes soft and full of mischief, his hair catching the sunlight just right, as if touched by gold. he was running through a field, hands outstretched, laughter dancing on the breeze like a melody only you could hear. you reached for him, a breathless plea escaping your lips, but he remained out of reach, a ghost haunting the periphery of your fading consciousness.

the snow began to fall heavier, thick flakes descending like feathers, almost gentle, almost kind in their relentless descent. you were so cold. you could feel your own life ebbing away, the blood slipping sluggishly through your veins. the forest around you seemed to shift and sway, a cruel dance of shadows and snow. your limbs grew heavier, the weight of grief and exhaustion pulling you down into the earth. your breaths came shallow, and you could taste the iron on your tongue, the salt of your tears freezing on your lips.

“matt,” you rasped again, his name a prayer, a curse, a lamentation. you were collapsing inward, folding into the pain, the emptiness where he used to be. you pressed your lips to his temple, feeling the chill seep into your bones. “please don’t leave me here alone.”

and then, in your delirium, there was a flicker—a vision, perhaps, or a cruel trick of the mind. you saw him standing before you, whole again, untouched by death’s cruel hand. his eyes met yours, and they were filled with such love, such deep, abiding love. he reached out, his fingers brushing yours, and for a moment, you felt warmth. real, solid, impossible warmth. it seeped into your skin, a desperate gasp of air after drowning.

reality snapped back with a vicious bite, and you were left grasping at nothing. his body was cold and still beneath you, the snow swallowing you both inch by inch. you could feel the blood pooling around you, freezing in the night air, a red halo that bound you together in death.

the cold became everything. it seeped into your veins, slowed your heart to a staggered, final beat. you lay there, cheek pressed to his, your breaths shallow and ragged until they too were gone. the last thing you felt was the brush of his hand in your mind’s eye, the ghost of a touch, pulling you gently into that endless dark.

and then, silence.

the numbness seeped deeper, and you were too tired to resist its pull. the pain tethered you, wrapped you in chains you were too exhausted to break. a thousand whispered thoughts blurred in your mind like snowflakes in a storm, i’m tired of you, forever tied to me. bleeding whenever you want. each word was a throb, a pulse that faded, that grew quieter with every breath you let slip away.

you wanted to move, to leave, to rip yourself from the bone-deep ache of him. but your body betrayed you, too heavy, too hollowed out. the cold kissed your skin, numbed the raw edges of your grief, but the weight of him remained. always him. always this.

your eyelids fluttered, closing against the snow that stung like a thousand tiny needles. darkness edged closer, a heavy curtain drawn around the last flicker of your consciousness. you wanted to slip beneath it, to surrender to that deep, inviting sleep. i just wanna sleep. the words were a prayer now, mouthed against his frozen cheek.

each moment stretched longer, like the last taut thread of a fraying rope. your body trembled, but your spirit was drained, emptied of all fight. you wanted to sleep, to let go of the agony that bound you to him. please, can i sleep, can i sleep? the plea filled the hollow of your chest, a soft, desperate echo.

you were tired of the way his death clung to you, the way his absence seeped into every breath, every beat of your failing heart. you were too tired to cry, too tired to feel the tears that had already frozen on your cheeks.

your breaths came slower, shallower, until there were no more breaths at all—only the silence, the snow, and the darkness that cradled you. the cold was absolute now, and you could no longer tell where you ended and he began.

you were tired, he was all you had left, the only tether in a world that had gone dark. and so you clung to him in those last moments, not out of hope, but out of sheer exhaustion, out of a weariness so deep that it became a final, bitter kind of love.

too tired to move, too tired to leave.

and at last, in that unbearable stillness, you drifted into the long sleep you had begged for, the snow falling over you both like a curtain drawing shut.

the snow descended steadily, indifferent to the agony it buried. it covered you both in a pristine shroud, erasing the violence, the blood, the suffering. alas, the world went on. the woods stood tall and quiet, a witness to the horrors of love, what it would hold onto long after you were nothing but particles and forgotten memories.

in the end, there was only the snow—soft, unfeeling, eternal. it fell and fell, a cold, white blanket that erased the past, the present, and any promise of a future. it covered you and matt, sealing you away from the world that had betrayed you both, keeping you together in a final, frozen embrace.

and there, beneath that silent, bitter veil, you found peace in the way the living never could.

ᨳུ⠀𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ! @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @l34n @sturniolossss @eternaldecisions @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 @mattslolita @mattssgf @le4hsblog @brvtall @chratts-left-ball @fiowerbeds @fratbrochrisgf

my inbox is always open !!! pls feed it some content ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰ likes, comments & reblogs are highly appreciated. xoxo

© SIRENEDESLILY 2024

[bloodylullaby]

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Word Count: 2114

Author's Note: Enjoy all the fluff

Life has been relentlessly knocking you down again. It seems like every corner you turn, there's a new challenge waiting to trip you up. Whether it’s the daily grind of dealing with difficult people who test your patience and resilience or the frustratingly mundane obstacles like hitting every red light on your commute, it feels like the universe conspires against you with a vengeance. These constant setbacks, big and small, accumulate, weighing heavily on your spirit and making each day a battle to stay optimistic and keep pushing forward. Despite your efforts to maintain a positive outlook, the persistent barrage of annoyances and hardships leaves you feeling worn out and defeated, as if you’re fighting a losing battle against an unseen force determined to test your limits.

These long, exhausting days have left you severely burned out. By the end of my workday, you find yourself sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the wall. Later, you’ll lie in the dark, gazing up at the ceiling, feeling overwhelming dread. This cycle perpetuates itself, leading to even more disappointment and disillusionment. The activities that you used to enjoy in your free time no longer bring you joy. Your creativity has ground to a halt, replaced by a paralyzing self-doubt that makes you question whether anything you create is good enough. The burnout has drained your energy and eroded your confidence and sense of purpose, leaving you feeling disconnected from the things that once brought you happiness.

Your isolation starts to intensify. Even though you’ve never been outgoing and preferred a night in over a night out, it keeps worsening. You haven't talked to friends or family in weeks, leading to the gnawing thoughts that you don’t matter. This isolation exacerbates your struggle to keep taking your medication—the very thing that helps you function like a normal human being. It helps your body produce the right chemicals so you can function and enjoy life. But what’s the point of enjoying life if everything you do only leads to more exhaustion? The loneliness, coupled with a lack of communication with loved ones, deepens your sense of despair, making it increasingly difficult to find any motivation or reason to continue.

Today has been no different for you. With a day off from work, you’ve been wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, mindlessly playing on your Switch. Your phone has been blowing up with messages from Noah, but you’ve been ignoring him, too drained to respond. You read his texts but don’t reply, and it’s starting to get to him. He’s used to your occasional isolation spells, but it’s gnawing at him now. Typically, you get back to his texts by the end of the day or the next day when you’re going through a rough patch. But this time, you haven’t answered him for a week. The guilt of leaving him in the dark only adds to your overwhelming sense of dread and exhaustion.

There was a knock on the door that made you freeze. You hadn’t invited anyone over, so the thought of someone knocking was nerve-wracking. Slowly, you get up, making as little noise as possible, and avoid all the windows to stay undetected. Looking through the peephole, you see that it’s Noah. With a confused look, you open the door and are greeted by his smiling face.

"Hey," he says softly, holding up a bag. "I brought some things for us to do today."

With a soft smile, you step aside to welcome him in. He heads to the living room coffee table and sets the bag down. Sitting on the couch, he pats the seat next to him and waits for you to join him before pulling items out of the bag. The first thing that he pulls out is two spa headbands. One is black goat horns, and the other is white kitten ears. Next, he pulls out face masks, nail polish, and a manicure set. He turns and gives you a broad smile. 

With a soft smile, you step aside to welcome him in. He heads to the living room coffee table and sets the bag down. Sitting on the couch, he pats the seat next to him and waits for you to join him before pulling items out of the bag. The first things he pulls out are two spa headbands—one with black goat horns and the other with white kitten ears. Next, he reveals face masks, nail polish, and a manicure set. He turns and gives you a broad smile.

“I thought we could have ourselves a little indoor spa day today,” he says.

The gesture touches your heart deeply. What did you do for life to grant you such a kind and wonderful human being in your life? Noah has always been the light at the end of the tunnel for you, but today, he is shining extra brightly. He puts the cat ears spa headband on you and the other on himself. When it comes time to put the face masks on, you watch him struggle to apply them evenly, spreading them all over his face and dropping a glob or two on his shirt. You smile to yourself as you put yours on.

Once everything is cleaned up, Noah sets up the manicure kit with the different colors of nail polish neatly lined up in a row. He takes your left hand and tends to your nails as you gently rest your head on his shoulder. You sigh in contentment, feeling a wave of relaxation wash over you as you listen to him hum and watch him tenderly take care of you. Each stroke of the polish brush feels like a small act of love, reinforcing your bond and reminding you of how lucky you are to have Noah in your life. Time seems to stand still in this moment of intimacy and care as you bask in the warmth of his presence and the simple pleasure of being pampered by someone who means the world to you.

As he switches to your right hand, he gently kisses the inside of your wrist before tending to your nails. You tenderly kiss his temple in response, prompting him to look up and smile at you. A slight giggle escapes you as you see him wearing his face mask and headband. Returning his focus to pampering you, you can't resist the urge to capture this precious moment. Grabbing your phone, you snap a picture, immortalizing the scene of love and care. With a smile playing on your lips, you set the photo as the background on your phone, cherishing the memory forever.

Once he finishes tending to your hands, he looks at you with pleading puppy-dog eyes, begging you to reciprocate the gesture and pamper him in return. With a soft smile playing on your lips, you reach out for his left hand, your fingers tracing delicate patterns across his skin as you begin attending to his cuticles. There's a tender rhythm to your movements, a dance of intimacy and trust as you gently push back the cuticles, ensuring every detail is tended to with precision and care. When needed, you delicately trim them, your touch feather-light yet purposeful.

Moving on, you take up the file, the soft sound filling the air as you expertly shape his nails. Each stroke of the file is deliberate, sculpting his nails with finesse as you bring out their natural shine. With a gentle touch, you then proceed to buff them, smoothing out any imperfections and leaving them gleaming with a healthy sheen. You paint each nail meticulously, ensuring every stroke is flawless and every curve is accentuated. After completing your task, you step back to allow him a moment to admire your handiwork. Impressed by the results, he leans in to plant a grateful kiss on your forehead, expressing his thanks.

He gently reaches out, his fingers tracing a tender path along your cheek before brushing against his own. "I think it's time to wash these off," he declares softly, his voice hinting of playfulness. You nod in agreement, and together, you go to the bathroom.

Once inside, he wraps his arms around you from behind, enveloping you in a warm embrace. With a mischievous twinkle, he reaches for his phone and captures the moment. You effortlessly remove your mask, but Noah struggles, getting some of it in his eye. You gently assist him, ensuring his comfort as you help him wash away the residue. Once his face is clean and dried, he gestures toward the bathtub.

"Wanna take a bubble bath together?" he asks softly, his voice carrying a hint of anticipation. You nod in agreement, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you watch him start the bath. With a sense of purpose, he moves to your sink, retrieving a container of Epsom salt. With careful measure, he pours it into the steaming water, the scent of relaxation filling the air as the salts dissolve, ready to soothe away the day's tensions. 

Once everything is prepared, you both begin to undress, shedding the layers of the day's weariness. Noah eases himself into the warm embrace of the tub, settling comfortably into the soothing water. You follow suit, slipping into the bath and settling between his legs. He starts to massage your shoulders. 

“You know I love and care about you, right?" Noah asked softly. You hummed in response, feeling lost in his touch. "Just remember, I'm here to catch you when you fall," he continued gently, kissing your shoulder. His words touched you deeply, and you felt a swell of emotion, tears forming in your eyes.

"Then maybe Hell ain’t so bad after all," you sang quietly with a small smile. He responded by wrapping his arms around your shoulders, gently pulling you back to lean against his chest. He kissed tenderly on the top of your head, his affection palpable. You both lingered in the bath for a while, basking in the warmth and comfort of each other's presence, letting the world outside fade away.

Noah helped you out of the bath as the water began to cool and gently dried you off. Taking your hand, he led you to the bedroom and seated you on the bed. He then rummaged through your dresser, selecting some comfortable lounging clothes for you. After you finished getting dressed, Noah positioned you between his legs and began to brush your hair. His touch was incredibly gentle, and he checked in with you over the slightest of tugs, ensuring your comfort and showing his deep affection and care.

Noah's gentle attention with the hairbrush gradually calms you, each stroke soothing and reassuring. After a few moments, he sets the brush aside and wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Do you feel better?" he asks softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. You nod, leaning back into his embrace, feeling a profound sense of peace. The room is filled with a comforting silence, only broken by the gentle sound of your breaths.

"How about we watch a movie?" he suggests, his tone light and warm.

You agree, and he quickly sets up a cozy spot on the bed with blankets and pillows. As he puts on one of your favorite movies, you both snuggle under the covers, your head resting against his chest. Throughout the movie, Noah's gentle touches continue, his hands occasionally brushing your arm, back, or hair, ensuring you are still comfortable and feeling okay. His constant, tender reassurances make you feel cherished and safe, enhancing the moment's warmth.

As the movie progresses, you both become more relaxed, sinking deeper into the cozy atmosphere. The comfort of his touch and the familiarity of your favorite movie create a serene ambiance. After the movie ends, Noah turns off the TV, and the room becomes tranquil. He looks down at you with a soft smile, his eyes reflecting the affection he feels.

"Ready for bed?" he asks gently.

You nod, feeling a peaceful drowsiness settle over you. Noah shifts slightly, helping you get under the covers properly before he joins you. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close so you’re nestled against his chest. With the lights dimmed, the room is enveloped in a soothing darkness. The rhythmic sound of his heartbeat and the warmth of his body lull you into a state of complete relaxation.

"Goodnight," he whispers, kissing the top of your head.

"Goodnight," you reply softly, feeling safe and content in his embrace. Slowly, you drift off to sleep, surrounded by his love and the comforting sense of being together.

[callmedaleelah]

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— said “i’m fine” but it wasn’t the truth ; when people said when we’re mad and frustrated we can just break stuff, punch walls, smash chairs, or destroy whatever. but why do we always end up just staying quiet and decided destroying our mental health instead?

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, semi alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

Winter classes were supposed to be a chance to get ahead, but instead, they felt like a relentless race you were barely managing to keep up with. The class wasn’t crowded, maybe a dozen students, but each one of them seemed like a walking encyclopedia, filled with confidence and an unwavering hunger for knowledge. They’d arrive at class an hour early, occupying the front rows with books spread out in front of them, and their hands perpetually raised, ready to challenge or add to whatever the professor was saying. It made you feel small, like you hadn’t studied enough, like you didn’t belong.

Each night, you’d prepare as much as you could for the next day’s lecture, even though your heart wasn’t entirely in it. Your mind wandered constantly—flitting between how much you just wanted to curl up in your dorm bed with a warm blanket, and how the pressure to perform was slowly grinding you down. Your mom’s incessant texts about what you should eat, reminding you to take your vitamins and ginseng tonic, felt like a constant pressure to maintain an unrealistic level of perfection.

You tried to get some rest, but your brain wouldn’t turn off. Sleep was the only escape, and yet, even when you did sleep, it wasn’t restful. Every time you stirred, you’d hear the familiar blare of your alarm reminding you to take another supplement, or the ping of your phone with another message from your mom telling you that your meal delivery was arriving soon. It all became so routine that you found yourself on autopilot—studying, sleeping, eating whatever your mom sent, and wondering if it was all worth it.

Sometimes, the thought of skipping class altogether seemed tempting. Why couldn’t you just enjoy your break like other students? The thought of cozying up in your room, watching movies, and getting some real rest before the next semester felt like a distant dream. But deep down, you knew you couldn’t let yourself fall behind. Not with the way things were going.

It was during one of these dreary cycles—struggling through the monotony of your winter class—that you ran into Yamaguchi. He had just returned from a winter volleyball camp in Okinawa, looking worn out but content, with a large backpack slung over his shoulder as he entered the dormitory. You had just received another food delivery from your mom and were balancing the boxes awkwardly in your arms when you saw him.

“Back from camp?” you asked, trying to sound casual even though you felt a wave of envy wash over you. He had been training in the sun, while you had been holed up in your dorm, trapped between study sessions and forced naps.

Yamaguchi flashed you a tired smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, just got back. Okinawa was nice, but the camp was brutal.”

“I bet,” you replied. “Must be exhausting.”

“It is,” he agreed. “But, hey, there’s a game coming up this weekend. A lot of students will be there—it’s kind of a big deal. You should come. You could use a break.”

You hesitated, balancing the food boxes in your arms. You weren’t sure you could afford to take a break, but the idea of escaping the monotony—even just for an afternoon—was enticing.

“Yeah, maybe I will,” you said. “I could use a distraction.”

Yamaguchi grinned. “Great! You won’t regret it.” and then he disappeared heading to his own room.

You find yourself sitting in your room, staring at the clock as it ticks toward the start of your winter class. Normally, you would have packed up your things by now, grabbing your notebook and meticulously prepared materials, ready to attend. But today, the heavy feeling in your chest has been particularly suffocating. Your classmates—so driven, so sure of themselves—are already filing into the classroom, likely throwing questions at the professor before the lecture even begins. Meanwhile, you sit paralyzed with dread, the thought of being surrounded by such ambition making you want to curl up under your blankets and disappear.

Lately, you’ve been thinking about skipping class more often than you care to admit. The demands of the course have been relentless. It’s winter break, and yet here you are, working yourself into exhaustion while others seem to thrive in the chaos. Your mind drifts to how good it would feel to stay in bed, tucked into the warmth of your comforter, resting and doing nothing. It’s hard not to resent how your days are filled with either studying or sleeping, with alarms going off to remind you to take your vitamins or respond to your mom’s texts about food deliveries she insists on managing.

But then, Yamaguchi’s invitation to his game pops back into your mind. Skipping class seemed like an impossible risk. But the more you thought about it, the more you realized how desperately you needed a break from the monotony.

Now, you stand at a crossroads: attend another draining class or take a chance and watch the game. You swallow hard, your nerves bubbling up as you reach for your phone. Quickly, you tap into your settings and turn off your location. Your mom would kill you if she found out you were ditching class.

You can already imagine her voice, stern and disappointed, demanding to know why you weren’t where you were supposed to be. The thought sends a jolt of panic through you, but the excitement of going to Yamaguchi’s game is just strong enough to overpower it. You toss your phone into your bag, slip on your coat, and head out the door before you can second-guess yourself.

When you arrive at the gymnasium, the noise hits you first—a vibrant, buzzing energy that feels almost overwhelming after the quiet of your dorm room. You pull your jacket tighter around yourself, heart racing as you navigate through the crowd of students. Everyone seems to be moving in the same direction, excited and chattering about the game ahead.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. It’s Yamaguchi. He’s texted you the seat location: front-row, right near the stands where the volleyball team would be sitting.

That realization makes your stomach flip. You had thought you’d be watching from a distance, blending in with the rest of the crowd, but now…you’d be sitting right where they could see you. And more importantly, where Tsukishima could see you.

The thought of being so close to him, to them, makes you nervous all over again. What if they think you’re a total fraud for skipping class just to be here? What if your classmates see you and realize you’ve abandoned your studies for a game? And worst of all—what if your mom somehow finds out?

You push those worries aside and head toward the front of the gym. You can feel the heat of the stadium lights on your face as you scan for the empty seat Yamaguchi had promised. Your stomach twists when you see it—a perfect spot, right next to where the players are already gathering.

You take a deep breath and sit down, trying to calm your racing heart. Yamaguchi waves at you from the court, his usual friendly smile plastered across his face. You wave back awkwardly, feeling a little out of place but also secretly excited. You can’t remember the last time you did something spontaneous like this, and as the game is about to start, you can feel the excitement building in the air around you. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

The gym grows louder, students chanting and clapping, their energy infectious. As the game progresses, you find yourself fully immersed in it. The players move across the court with a fluidity and grace that you can’t help but admire, and every time Yamaguchi’s name is called, you cheer louder than you expected.

But every time your eyes wander across the court, they keep finding him—Tsukishima. You don’t even mean to look at him, but it feels impossible not to. He’s just there, always in the corner of your vision, his sharp focus making him seem untouchable. His tall figure commands attention, the way he’s so utterly concentrated on the game almost mesmerizing.

At one point, during a timeout, you catch him glancing toward the stands—toward you. For a split second, your eyes meet, and your heart skips a beat. It’s so brief, you’re not sure if it even really happened. Maybe you’re just imagining things, but the feeling stays with you.

You try to shake it off and return your focus to the game, but it’s hard to keep your eyes from drifting back to him. You find yourself watching his movements, the way he adjusts his glasses with a flick of his hand, the focused way his brows knit together when he’s strategizing. There’s something magnetic about him—something that makes your heart flutter despite your attempts to stay calm.

Then, when the game is heating up, he calls out to his teammates, his voice firm and commanding. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you realize you’ve been holding your breath. You quickly exhale, shaking your head at yourself. It’s just Tsukishima. You’ve been around him before, so why is he making you so nervous now?

As the game continues, your eyes keep darting to him—almost unconsciously—as if you’re searching for some sort of acknowledgment. And when his team makes a crucial block, you can’t help but cheer for him too. You clap along with the crowd, but the butterflies in your stomach are there for an entirely different reason.

As the game nears its end and the score tightens, the tension in the gym grows. You grip the edge of your seat, your focus divided between the game and Tsukishima, who’s still laser-focused on the court. Every now and then, he glances at the stands again, and though he never lets his gaze linger on you for long, each fleeting look sends your heart racing.

And then, in one final, climactic play, the ball soars over the net, and Tsukishima jumps—higher than you’ve ever seen him—his hand slamming down in perfect sync with his team’s attack. The gym explodes in cheers as the point is won, sealing the victory. You’re on your feet, clapping and cheering along with everyone else, but all you can think about is how incredible he looked in that moment—so strong, so confident. Your pulse is pounding, and you can’t tell if it’s from the excitement of the game or something else entirely.

When the match ends and the crowd begins to disperse, you feel a mix of relief and lingering anticipation. You made it through the game without being caught, and for the first time in a while, you let yourself have fun without worrying about school or your mom’s expectations.

As you start to gather your things, you feel a presence next to you. You glance up and there he is—Tsukishima. He’s standing close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, his tall frame casting a slight shadow over you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and calm, but there’s a subtle edge to it that makes your heart jump again.

“Hey,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

His gaze flickers toward the crowd, and then back to you. “You’re still here,” he says, as if he hadn’t expected you to stay until the end.

“Of course,” you say, feeling a little flustered. “Yamaguchi invited me.”

Tsukishima nods, his expression unreadable as always. “You didn’t have class?”

Your stomach twists, the lie you’ve been trying to avoid suddenly hanging between you. “Uh… no. I mean, yes. But I skipped it,” you admit, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of something like amusement crossing his features. “You skipped class to watch volleyball?”

“Yamaguchi invited me,” you repeat defensively, but even you can hear how weak the excuse sounds.

Tsukishima huffs out a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

You feel your face heat up even more, but there’s a strange thrill in his teasing. It’s not cruel, like it sometimes feels when he scolds you in class. This time, it feels almost… warm.

Before you can respond, Yamaguchi jogs over, grinning widely. “Hey! Thanks for coming!” he says, his eyes bright with excitement. “I’m so glad you got to see the game.”

You smile back, grateful for the distraction. “It was great! You guys were amazing. Good game,” you said awkwardly, not sure what else to say.

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Thanks.”

Yamaguchi chuckled. “Look at him, trying to act all cool. He’s just happy to see you. Tsukki always plays better when someone important is watching,” Yamaguchi teased beside you, his tone playful.

Tsukishima shot Yamaguchi a look but didn’t deny it. Instead, he turned back to you, adjusting his glasses. “I’m glad you came.”

The simple statement sent a flutter through your chest, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of ease. Maybe things weren’t perfect—maybe you were still struggling with your classes and the pressures that weighed on you—but in this moment, standing here with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, you realized that you didn’t have to face it all alone. Small moments like this, small escapes from the overwhelming routine, were what made it all bearable.

The rest of the day is a blur, but you carry the memory of the game—and those fleeting moments with Tsukishima—long after you leave the gym. His teasing words, the way his eyes lingered on you for just a second longer than necessary—it all leaves you feeling strangely giddy, like something has shifted between you. You don’t know what it means yet, but the thought of it makes your heart beat just a little faster.

The excitement from the game lingers with you as you walk back to your dormitory. You should feel relieved, maybe even a little triumphant for sneaking out of winter class without getting caught. But as you step through the threshold of your room, that familiar heaviness settles back over your chest. The contrast between the energy of the gym and the quiet stillness of your dorm is jarring, almost suffocating.

You close the door behind you and drop your bag on the floor, collapsing onto your bed with a heavy sigh. The reality of what you’ve done sinks in—you’ve skipped class. Skipped winter class. The one your mom keeps reminding you about, the one she’s certain will help you "catch up" with your more advanced classmates. You’re supposed to be there, making up for all the time you’ve "wasted," proving you can handle the challenge.

Instead, you spent the afternoon at a volleyball game.

You glance at your phone, half-expecting an angry message from your mom, berating you for skipping class, but there’s nothing. You turned off your location, after all, so she can’t possibly know. But that doesn’t stop the guilt from gnawing at your insides, twisting and turning in your stomach until you feel almost sick.

Your phone pings with a new notification. It’s from your class group chat—students exchanging notes and summaries of the lecture you missed. You scan through the messages, but every word feels like a weight pressing down on your chest. All your classmates seem so prepared, so eager to prove themselves. Some of them were in the lecture hall an hour before class even started, peppering the professor with questions as if they were experts themselves. Meanwhile, you’ve barely had the energy to keep up with the material, even though you’ve been reviewing it diligently every night.

You should be like them, you think. You should be more proactive, more engaged. Instead, you’ve been struggling just to stay awake, constantly exhausted, your mind barely able to process anything outside of the textbooks in front of you. It’s as if your body is stuck in a cycle—study until you can’t anymore, collapse into bed, and wake up only when your alarm blares to remind you to take your vitamins and ginseng tonic. Your mom’s incessant control over your meals only adds to the stress, with daily reminders that she’s still keeping tabs on your health, convinced you’re not doing enough to take care of yourself.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe you’re not doing enough. But the truth is, you’re just so tired—tired of constantly running on this treadmill, never feeling like you’re getting anywhere. You feel stuck in place, your efforts swallowed up by the endless grind of study, sleep, repeat.

A text comes through from your mom, just as you feared: “Don’t forget to eat the chicken soup I sent over. It should be there by now. And make sure you drink the herbal tonic after—there’s no sugar in it, just like you asked.”

You groan inwardly. Even when you’re not thinking about school, your mom’s constant reminders feel like another layer of pressure. It’s like she doesn’t trust you to manage your own life, and as much as you appreciate her concern, it’s starting to suffocate you. You look over at the brown bag by the door—the delivery she’s had sent to your dorm—and you realize you’ve lost your appetite completely.

You collapse back into bed, letting your body sink into the mattress. You want to sleep. More than anything, you want to shut out the world and just… rest. But your mind won’t let you. It keeps spinning, the guilt of skipping class, the fear of falling behind, and the constant pressure from your mom all swirling around in your head until you can hardly breathe.

And then there’s Tsukishima.

The game flashes in your mind again—his quick glances during the match, the way he teased you afterward, the tension between you when he stood so close. You feel your heart flutter, even as you try to push the thoughts away. You can’t afford to be distracted by him, not when you’re already struggling to keep up with your coursework. But no matter how hard you try to focus, his image keeps creeping back in—his sharp gaze, his calm, steady voice. It’s maddening.

Another buzz from your phone pulls you from your thoughts, but this time it’s not from your mom or your classmates.

It’s Tsukishima.

Your heart skips a beat as you stare at the notification.

Did you make it back to your dorm?

You blink at the screen. It's a simple text, nothing special, but the fact that he’s checking in on you sends a warm feeling spreading through your chest. You feel your fingers twitch, hesitating for a moment before you type out a response.

Yeah, just got back. You?

There’s a long pause. You watch the three little dots as he types and deletes a few times, and you start to wonder if maybe you’ve said something wrong. But then his message finally comes through.

Still at the gym. Going to grab something to eat.

You smile, picturing him somewhere near the gym, maybe wiping off sweat or grabbing his things, looking as serious and unruffled as ever. Before you can overthink it, you send another message.

Don’t forget to eat your veggies —you joke, hoping it will lighten the mood.

You wait for a response, and when it comes, it’s as dry as you expect.

Noted.

A small laugh escapes you. You can almost hear the sarcasm in his voice, the subtle amusement lurking beneath his stoic exterior. You set your phone down, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

But even with Tsukishima’s brief distraction, the reality of your situation remains. You still have winter class tomorrow, and the fear of falling behind looms large over you. The holiday break that should have been a time of relaxation has become nothing but stress, pressure, and endless responsibilities. You’ve been trying so hard to keep up, but it’s clear you’re just not moving at the same pace as your classmates. They’re racing ahead while you feel like you’re stuck in quicksand, every step forward dragging you deeper into the struggle.

And then there’s the question you’ve been avoiding: what if you’re not cut out for this? What if no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be able to catch up? The idea terrifies you, but you can’t shake it. The doubt clings to you like a shadow, darkening every corner of your mind.

As the hours tick by, you find yourself caught between two worlds—the world of responsibility and expectation, and the world of escape, where Tsukishima’s texts linger in your thoughts, a small, comforting reminder that not everything in your life is about pressure and stress.

You rolled over in bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin. All you wanted was to sleep. To shut out the world and forget about winter class, forget about your mom, forget about everything except the warmth of your bed and the lingering memory of Tsukishima’s text.

But your mind wouldn’t let you rest. It kept spinning, the weight of your responsibilities pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. You couldn’t afford to be distracted, not by Tsukishima, not by the game, not by anything.

Yet, despite your best efforts, his face kept creeping back into your thoughts. The way he’d glanced at you during the game, the teasing smirk he’d given you afterward. It was enough to make your heart race, enough to make you question why you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Your phone buzzed again, and for a moment, you panicked, thinking it was your mom. But when you glanced at the screen, you saw it was another message from Tsukishima.

Get some rest. You look exhausted.

Your breath caught in your throat. You stared at the message, your mind racing. He’d noticed. He’d actually noticed how tired you were, how worn out you felt. It wasn’t much—just a simple observation—but it meant more to you than you wanted to admit.

You typed out a quick response, your fingers trembling slightly.

I will. You too.

His reply came almost immediately.

Sure.

You smiled to yourself, the tension in your chest easing just a little. For a brief moment, everything felt… okay. The stress of winter class, the pressure from your mom, the fear of falling behind—it all seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the warmth of Tsukishima’s words.

And for now, this moment is enough.

tagslist (free to mention) ; @theweirdfloatything @snowthatareblack @ilovemymomscooking @nayiiryun @knightofmidnight @kozumesphone @scxrcherr

[meldingintheunderdark]

Halsin's ending is not a beautiful, pain free dream

I don't know if this opinion is unpopular because my return to tumblr is so recent, but hear me out. I will not speak about Tavs since I don't ever play them. My post will be solely focused on Halsin solo romanced by the Dark Urge, i.e. Sszazar who fought tooth and nail for redemption.

Rationally, I understand that some players are satisfied with his ending, yet I find it soul crushing all the same. It's the perfect example, nay, the quintessence of Halsin's problems. A messy knot of unaddressed traumas, of questionable decisions, the embodiment of his perpetual fuite en avant (rushing ahead to avoid something, to repeat actions that led to a first crisis).

His project is a clear attempt to fulfill needs forever denied: to have a family of his own, a community where he's at long last free from the shackles of leadership, or even to follow his own path as a druid, away from the suffocating traditions of the Emerald Enclave. A commendable project, but too ambitious for one man.

Indeed, Halsin's plan is his and his alone. Although he spoke of his desire to have a family or to help the unfortunate children, the PC is not directly involved in preparing the commune. They are kept in the dark until Halsin is ready to leave without them.

Halsin single-handedly shoulders the planning and the responsabilities that the future settlement entails. Needless to say, for centuries now, he has favored a paradoxical approach of avoidance and obsessive behavior combined with extreme guilt trip to deal with his own troubles, even distorting traumas to make them palatable. In my opinion, his solitary preparation is the expression of said approach.

They won. Faerûn is saved. The shadow curse is no more. It could be the ideal time to slow down, to assess the extent of damage after such a nerve-racking adventure. Yet Halsin is already rushing into another long lasting project involving countless settlers, among them nine whole wagons of children. He's restless. Instead of turning inward to acknowledge his shortcomings, to simply heal, he barrels along at full speed, continuing his never-ending cycle of avoidance. What about his failings as the archdruid of the Emerald Grove? A group of haggard tieflings and his absence were sufficient to let hate and cruelty fester amongst his druids. How did he fail to notice the rampant corruption? Were the Shadow Druids manipulating his people under his nose? Why did he welcome the refugees, exhausted and traumatized, only to abandon them because Aradin was going to the shattered sanctum?

Halsin must do everything alone. He welcomes the tieflings. He leaves with Aradin because he must deal with the shadow curse. Survivor guilt. If it's about himself, his most vulnerable side, then Halsin oft deals in absolutes.

Ironically, he cannot save Thaniel and his realm on his own. Although far-fetched, I personally interpret Halsin's personal questline as his reflection.

Halsin's questline is his reflection

He's obsessed with the shadow curse, without a true confident for a good century, and neglects his druids and the tieflings he decided to shelter. Out of the blue, he chooses mercenaries to support him in his irrepressible, compulsive endeavor. Unfortunately, wrong team, they fail. He is then caged like a rabid animal, at the mercy of goblins who don't communicate with him at all. There is nobody to listen to him, to his worries, to his needs. He's once again alone, like he had been with the drow captors.

The PC gives him his freedom back when no one else would, thus he faces his main fixation obsessively with this newfound support. And yet... Who listens to him? Who finds Art Cullagh? Who finds the lute? Who finds Oliver? Who kills Ketheric? The PC.

He goes to the Shadowfell to find Thaniel, alone, protected by his allies. He wants that light, that friendship, that support. (The portal with a warm, comforting glow attacked by shadows, the fact he can die if the portal is destroyed while he's seeking Thaniel… The portal could be a representation of Halsin, of the positive changes he yearns for, but he cannot progress as he's attacked by doubts, old pains, traumas.) He comes back with Thaniel, split in half. Thaniel and Oliver are reunited by the PC who, if the right options are selected, encourages Halsin to soothe Oliver.

During the last push to chase the shadows, if he's in the team to vanquish Ketheric, he's supported and led by the PC.

I know my interpretation is highly disputable, nevertheless, his questline is so him. That positive side, Thaniel, hollow. The darkness, Oliver, deeply lost and lonely, surrounded with shades that are his pseudo friends. Thaniel and Oliver are stronger together, however the curse is still overwhelming. The PC carries Halsin all the way till the shadow curse is lifted.

And the very last cutscene is all about Halsin and the PC watching nature blooming once again. Hope for a better, brighter future.

Halsin: I don't deserve you, my friend.

Halsin needs support. Don't get me wrong, he's a capable adult. He can take care of himself. Yet the glaive (though it was in EA) ended in a lone, secluded vault. Out of sight, out of mind. Halsin has been alone for so many years that he craves the support of his trusted equal to progress. It doesn't make him weaker or less of an adult. It's merely a lot less wearing to be helped by someone who reciprocates care happily and willingly.

The consequences for the commune and the orphans

All that scarcely credible yapping about his questline to say that Halsin tends to shoulder responsabilities alone, too many, far too many, with little to no self-empathy. That, without proper support, he tends to fail and hurt himself, to repeat situations which have already wounded him in the past (cf. my post about the drow twins). So, what does it mean for the commune?

I assume he will fail to nurture an environment without a vertical organizational structure at first. The hierarchy won't be similar to the Grove's, however he will become the de facto leader because he cannot for the life of him acknowledge his deepest, most painful shortcomings. Case in point:

Halsin: All these months, and I haven't been away from what we built together. There's a whole community out in Thaniel's realm that has never known a day without our presence. Halsin: Being away from it... I cannot help but worry how they will fare in our absence.

He will surround himself with like-minded people, nevertheless, we must not ignore the fact he's an archdruid, a 350 years old elf as he loves to repeat, and one of the saviors of Baldur's Gate. His experience, his fame and his tendency to burden himself are a recipe for disaster. Six months after the Elder Brain's defeat, the commune depends heavily on him. He fled leadership, only to become a leader again.

Halsin: At last count, there were nine whole wagons of children in tow. They are my duty now. 'Daddy Halsin', they call me. Who am I to tell them otherwise?

The Daddy Halsin has been "memed" to death. From my point of view, it's jarring. When Halsin reveals his plan, he barely mentions adults and doesn't associate them with the kids. His statement is crystal clear. The nine wagons of children are his duty. He's their caregiver, their new father figure. Not one parent, or one guardian among many, but the one they call Daddy. From his point of view, the concept of family seems to be eminently traditional.

Halsin: I just hope the children get by without me there for their bedtime stories...

Ultimately, the orphans will be neglected temporarily because Halsin cannot provide the necessary parenting, the emotional support nor the individual time any child deserves on his own. Furthermore, these children are extremely vulnerable. Abandoned, parents and siblings killed by the Absolute forces, who knows? It may last a week, but Halsin needs to realize first that he cannot be their only Daddy, otherwise he will hurt them. Not out of malice, not on purpose, just because he's deeply entrenched in his views and his longings.

The Dark Urge

Halsin is overly positive about the refugees wishing "to praise the savior of Baldur's Gate", adding that "quite a few little fans will be overjoyed to make your acquaintance". I won't ever believe that every single settler will be in awe of The Dark Urge, a war criminal, a murderer and a former Bhaalspawn. I can't imagine no one would demand revenge, swift and brutal justice, that nobody would directly conflate Sszazar and the destruction of their home, the death of their friends, their lovers, their families. That everyone will be levelheaded, willing to forgive and forget, or downright clueless about his identity. Not everybody will be magnanimous like Alfira. Would Halsin choose to lie by omission or be truthful about his lover's bloody past? A commune built on such a massive lie won't withstand the revelation of this ugly secret.

Henceforth, people who suffered because of the cult will be exposed, day after day, to the sole surviving Absolute mastermind. The cause of their plight is their next-door neighbor. At first, it will surely go beyond petty disagreements. Some may leave and never return. Halsin's reputation may be tarnished since he loves and shelters a war criminal. He sold them his dream without the Dark Urge because he was persuaded to be unworthy of commitment and love.

All in all, I don't think his dream will crash and burn, but I believe the canon scenario forces the happy ending devoid of nuances upon the player. Truth be told, I imagine the commune will go through a rough patch, especially if the Dark Urge is present. I won't even talk about the logistical side of the commune. Tending the crops, buying tools, managing resources, so many details... With luck, Thaniel is a real powerhouse and can heal his realm in the blink of an eye. I doubt it.

Halsin's ending is, as depicted in game, a beautiful nightmare.

[09/15/24 - edited for clarity, grammar and to highlight that I hc Halsin's failures as temporary]

[val-cansalute]

summary: You’ve been in Jackson for three months; you’ve been stuck in a perpetual cycle of guilt and ravenous grief, trying desperately to recover from what went down between you and your brother before you left home and came here. Needless to say, you’re fitting in like a lego block in an 1000 piece puzzle, and you realise you’re better off going back to the old house, where you can succumb to the thoughts that plague you. Maria tries to help here and there, shoving you into patrol with people she prays you’ll get along with, namely Ellie Williams. Rather than that, you expectedly remain strong in your stance, both of you as closed off as each other. You come to appreciate the mutual understanding you’ve reached, giving each other space, only ever making slightly critical remarks, to the point where you think you see cracks start to form in your iron shell. But iron is iron, after all.

ch. 1 -

You’re not getting better, definitely worse. Patrol is the only force beckoning you to leave your den of misery, patrol with Ellie. Not much luck there either, you return with an injured ankle and an Ellie who is slightly less awkward and icy, similar to you. Though, when you’re alone with your thoughts again, you are utterly helpless.

ch. 2 -

Progress is dwindling, regress is massive; you’ve been inside for a fucking long time, with your only motivation for getting outside off the table. The numbness is overwhelming, so the knocking goes unanswered as you merge with your mattress. You told yourself you’d leave Jackson once you can walk again. Then, Ellie breaks the door down, with a very important food delivery. She profusely apologises, but the blizzard raging outside captures your focus. She can’t get home now. Sleepover?

ch. 3 -

This chapter contains smut.

The tension is high after last night’s events. Ellie’s on her way soon after, and the consequences of her busting through your door fully set in when the woman from the infirmary manages to get inside to check if your ankle is healing well. Good news: it is. So, you can set off soon. Ellie returns, to your surprise, and she comes bearing gifts. You learn something new everyday, e.g. weed makes you and Ellie horny.

ch. 4 -

Ellie’s departure was a gentle slaughter of your heart, leaving you dazed and empty. It’s time to go. One last meeting with the people of Jackson at the party Ellie left you to help with, and you’re off, leaving nothing but a note and a confused Ellie to read it behind.

ch. 5 -

She’s searching for you, she’s desperate, and hungry, and exhausted, but she’s been worse. There’s no way she won’t find you.

ch. 6 -

This chapter contains smut.

Recovery is a slow process, but Ellie is someone you’ve historically found comfort in. Each day, she expands the bounds of that comfort, and each day, you’re sure you want to live to see another.

playlist:

[silverbirching]

So as some of you may know, I am... let's say an armchair-level amateur scholar of classical studies. @qqueenofhades can tell you how often she has to talk me down off the ledge of enrolling in an MFA program.

Like some of you, I was an insufferable twelve-year-old when Disney's Hercules came out, and all of my critiques of that film were down to "it doesn't do the mythology right".

Well, I've reached the point where I don't care about that shit anymore. Go nuts. Have fun with it. There are, however, some... History Tik-tok tumblr Bad Takes about Greek mythology that I have very little patience for. #Girlboss Persephone, for instance, or basically anything that insists on treating the Greek gods like people, whose behavior can be judged as more or less Problematic, rather than... symbols, archetypes, divinities.

I am happy to say that Kaos, while it obviously plays fast and loose with basically every element, captures the vibes of Olympus. The feels. Jeff Goldblum's intense, eccentric and fucking terrifying performance as Zeus, the flawless Janet McTeer as Hera, Cliff Curtis as Middle-Aged Jaded Slutty Maori Fuckboy Poseidon, David Thewlis' exhausted, depressive turn as Hades... all of it is GOLD. It has instantly become one of my new favorite adaptations. Like all good adaptations, it captures the flavor, the vibes, the FEEL of the original works.

Here's some of my other faves!

Gods Behaving Badly, by Marie Phillips - a goofy, fun little romp about the past-it and aging Gods of Olympus living together in a shitty house in London. A comedy, but it very accurately captures the essence of the vain, fickle, and usually stupid Greek Gods.

Circe, by Madeline Miller - I mean, I hope to God everyone has already read this one, Jesus Christ. Told from the first-person perspective of the Goddess-witch Circe, this book is an amazing re-imagining of one of the most maligned and studied characters in the Odyssey.

Hades 1 & 2. by Supergiant Games - I could write several thousand words about how much I love these games, which both revolve around the challenges of an immortal family that you literally cannot get away from -- and the way cycles of violence perpetuate themselves, even if the people involved CAN'T DIE. The depths of the scholarship on display there are frankly staggering, and they go DEEP into the esoterica -- Zagreus teasing Orpheus that he and Dionysus are the same person (which they almost certainly are, don't get me started on Orphism) springs to mind. Hell, the second game's protagonist is literally Melinoe. Also, Scylla is a boss fight and is the lead singer of a bratty girl group and sings a diss track about how your hair is a disaster. What's not to love.

... I do wish they hadn't made Kronos the God of Time. That shit drives me nuts. The words are cognate but not--he was an agricultural--ANYWAY.

Kaos is intense as hell, but it's fucking GREAT. And literally every frame is filled with Gays and people with different bodies and body types and various flavors of gender fuckery. It's great. Watch it.

[visenyaism]

me literally every single time i discover yet another lana del rey song about just acquiescing to being trapped in a relationship with a perpetually miserable alcoholic who does not really give a fuck about your emotional well being and just wants to possess you in the brief moments he storms into your life because you are too exhausted to even consider that there is another option besides the strung out cycle of leaving and being left

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

In Love and War (8)

Summary: The aftermath of all her family secrets might be more chaotic than Reader bargained for when her powers suddenly start to flare. Good thing her Warlord has more than a few ideas how to help navigate it ;)

Content Warnings: Depressive thoughts, Reader mentions wanting to die; Suggestiveness, Slight SMUT; Canon Typical Violence

Author's Note: To make up for the last chapter being so short, please enjoy that flirty little bastard being a menace! ;)

Chapter 7/Masterlist

---------------

I don’t sleep at all that night. I lay there, Rhysand sleeping soundly beside me, exhausted from the events of the last couple of days. He’d barely kept his eyes open long enough to eat. I’d barely managed to choke down a few bites myself. The guilt has my stomach in a perpetual knot. I’ve dedicated so much of my life to hating this male, only to be wrong about all of it, and now I’m in too deep to even do anything about it.  I can’t go home. There is no home to go back to. My family slaughtered an innocent mother and daughter. Rhys received their heads in boxes like some sort of twisted gift. They were supposed to be allies and my father betrayed them in the worst possible way. He paid for it with his life, with my mother’s life; it should have been the end of it. Tamlin was given a mercy and he should have taken it. He should have abandoned my father’s teachings and become a better lord, a better man. Instead, he perpetuated the cycle of abuse and suffering. He encouraged me to hate these people, to covet everything they had as if they were undeserving of it. All these years I loathed our miserable existence thinking the Mother hated us and was being unjust in giving these people all these things that we were never allowed. But we deserved it! We were the bad guys all along.

I roll over onto my side to look at him. He still sleeps in his armor, knife still strapped to his thigh, sword resting against the tent pole only a foot away. He’s ready to be up and fighting in a moment's notice. Our father’s were so similar, and yet, he turned out to be merciful and kind and somehow, so startlingly gentle that I often forget he’s still capable of intense prowess. He is the only male I’ve ever truly felt comfortable with, because that gentleness came as a response to the violence he’d seen, not because that violence was never there. He’d felt the cold sting of it, and chose to be something gentle instead of returning it.

And here I am, with all that righteous anger that had kept me warm on my coldest days, choosing to return all the violence that had been inflicted on me onto others. Just as Tamlin did. Just as my father did. 

And looking at it I don’t want to be him. He ruined my mother! He took something good and kind and locked it away and used her for his own ends! I don’t even know if he ever really loved her. Why would you keep the things you love in a cage?

I sit up abruptly. Maybe he was as scared of being alone as I am. 

I can’t sit in this tent anymore! I can’t-

Rhysand jolts awake as soon as I move, hand twitching for his knife, shadows swirling off his body in response to what his sleep muddled mind thinks is a threat. “What’s wrong?”

I put a hand on his chest, spinning onto my knees so I can kiss his forehead. “Nothing, I just need to relieve myself.”

He lets me push him down onto the mat, body relaxing and pliant beneath my touch. “You sure?”

“Positive.” If he tried to follow me out now I think I really might explode. My stomach feels like it's ripping itself apart. My bones ache, my skin feels like it's stretched too tight over them. There is too much nervous energy bound inside my body. I just need to get out and stretch my legs; get some fresh air and clear my head. I will be fine if I can clear my head.

“Take your knife,” he says, eyes already drifting shut again. 

I strap it to my thigh as I slip from the tent, gulping down lungfuls of crisp, mountain air as I go. I just need to clear my head. Is finding a way to survive this fucked up world really me acting like my father? I’ve never killed innocent people. I’ve never withheld necessities or lorded my power over people. I’m just not being honest about my intentions. It’s shitty. I’m using a mating bond I’m still not wholly sure is real as a means to getting food and shelter and, hopefully, a decent helping of mind blowing sex.

Cauldron that sounds really, really fucked up.

But how am I supposed to tell him? Hey, I know that you really don’t like my family and they’ve done nothing but screw you over but I also accepted your offer to try and ruin your life and take all of your land and kinda only just changed my mind about it yesterday. And it would be really super cool if you just let that slide because I have nowhere else to go.

That would go over soooooo well. He’d be totally fine with it! 

I ground my palms into my eyes as I walk behind a couple trees to at least make it look like I really did need to go pee. There are men on guard duty, no doubt someone is going to see me wandering around camp.

My brain feels like it’s being squeezed by my skull. There has to be a way to go about this that doesn’t get me tossed out into the coming snow, while also not lying so deeply about it. I do care about him. It was a lie at first but now…

I put my back against the tree and slide down until I’m sitting on the rocky ground, head still in my hands. I don’t know if he’s my mate. There’s something there, I feel it pulling at me, even now, but I can’t give it a name. And I want to be here. Not just because of the story he’d told yesterday. When Lucien tried to get me to leave, I really didn’t want to go back with him. But how am I supposed to live with the truth? How am I supposed to look at him and see that he wants this so much more than I do, despite everything?

Actually, why does he want this, despite everything? He’d asked me why I stayed. I never asked him why he brought me here. There’s certainly enough bad blood between our families to make even a mate hesitate to bring me in.

I lean back against the tree, the rough scrape of the bark against my aching skin a relief. My body feels so strange, being around Rhysand’s magic has made it feel like there’s something beneath my skin.

Tomorrow, in the morning, I will ask him why he still brought me back. Then I will decide what to do. 

------

He certainly doesn’t make asking him easy. Rhys wakes me up with his lips on my throat, along the fading marks he’d left a couple days before,  trailing them down as his hands hike up my sweater. The heat of him against the early morning chill has my resolve slipping, all my plans slipping through my fingers as he runs his tongue over my peaked nipples.

I can’t think past the roaring in my ears; the ache in my body for more, more, more. There is nothing and no one but him as he trails lower, each kiss more forceful than the last as he heads for the waistband of my pants.

“Rhys,” I moan, voice still thick with sleep, even as my body arches under him. I want him everywhere. I need him everywhere. The stirring feeling beneath my skin is worse today, only quelled by the trail of his hands on my body. For once, my racing thoughts are quiet. If only we could stay like this. 

“Hmmm,” he hums into my stomach, just beneath my navel. There’s a bit of stubble along his jaw, the scrape of it against my oversensitive skin makes my eyes roll back into my head. “Did you want something, mate?”

“You,” I groan, hand reaching out to tangle in his hair to try and move him where I need him. 

He grins, I can feel the upturn of his lips against my stomach, but he refuses to budge. Just nips at the skin visible above my waistline. “You have me.”

Bastard! My whole body trembles beneath him. I can’t get a breath down fast enough. I need him everywhere all at once. “Need you inside me,” I bite out.

He simply hums again, hands tugging at my waistband with an inhumane slowness that makes me feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin. I use the hand not in his hair to grip the mat, trying to ground myself, trying to find some semblance of control again. I’m gripping so tight my bones ache, fingers feeling like they’re breaking. There’s a tearing sound, a pricking sensation in my palm and then a gush of something wet across my hand. 

Even he looks up at that, and when I turn to look, I’m more than a little surprised to find that I’ve grown claws, and I’ve just tore them right through my hand!

“Shit!” He’s gone from between my legs in an instant, all the heat in my body leaving with him. 

I can’t unfurl my hand. Can’t retract the claws, they’re stuck through my palm with my fist closed around it. I’ve only ever grown them in anger, how the hell had I done it now?

Rhysand comes back with a towel as I manage to sit up. “I thought you smelled different this morning,” he muses.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I hiss.

“Our magic can be protective. It can hide itself if it doesn’t feel safe. I don’t think you were born with too little, I think you were born with too much.” His fingers massage my wrist, trying to find the right pressure points to help me unclench my fist. “I think that it buried itself inside you to keep you safe. And I think, now that you’re here, it’s manifesting, and like the wards, it has its own scent.”

Fan-fucking-tastic!

“Well I’d like it to un-manifest,” I hiss. “I was doing just fine without it!” There’s blood dripping through the towel, if anything it feels like my claws are burrowing deeper into my palm. I can practically feel them trying to tear right through the back of my hand.

He can’t seem to find the right spot and trying to pry my fingers out of my palm is a no go. He frowns, lifting the towel for a better look. “I’m gonna try something.”

I’m prepared for a blow from his own magic, some form of glittering starlight or shadowy darkness, I am not prepared for him to kiss me again. The sound I make in surprise is somewhere between a growl and a gasp because what the hell is he doing? But even though my head is struggling to catch up, my body is not. On instinct, I lean back to allow him better access, his tongue slipping behind my teeth. The rolling feeling beneath my skin lessens, the tightness in my palm slowly releasing. I thread my functioning hand through his hair as my body gives what I can only describe as a sigh of relief. A moment later, the claws retract and I can finally unfurl my fist.

“Flair ups can be heavily tied to your emotions,” he says, lips barely off mine. “Probably wasn’t the best idea to tease you in the middle of one.” 

It takes him all of thirty seconds to find some rags and tie up my hand, even though the blood flow is already lessening. All I can do is stare at it while he does it. This is certainly a new and unwelcome development to this whole mess.

“Is that going to keep happening?”

Azriel pops his head into our tent, unannounced as usual. “Are you two done in here or what? I, personally, cannot live with Cassian if he beats us around the mountain.”

“We’ll be right there,” Rhysand huffs.

“I’m seeing a trend with him,” I mutter. 

He smirks, “It’s one of Azriel’s many charms.” 

He helps me to my feet, holding onto me like he thinks something else might just burst out of my skin. Truth be told, I can still feel something shifting around, a prowling animal begging to be released from its cage. I’d thought it was my unease this whole time, but maybe it’s worse than that. 

“We don’t know how deep your power well is,” Rhysand says. “And if it’s never fully manifested…” He blows out a breath. “When mine first started manifesting, I shredded a whole section of camp with starlight. There was a whole twenty-four hour period where my shadows blocked out the sun. And you’re my equal so, yes I think that will keep happening.”

Cauldron boil me!

“As long as you remain calm, it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“I should think you would know better than to tell a female to be calm, Rhysand.”

He grins, “Well you can also spend the day making out with me, since that seems to be such a lovely little distraction with you.”

I go to hiss an insult at him but the only thing that comes out is an actual, animal-like growl. I clamp a hand over my mouth in embarrassment while he bursts out laughing. 

“This is going to be fun!” He declares.

I am not at all inclined to agree.

----

I only manage to ride with him for an hour or two before the pull of his magic makes my skin start to itch. He was right about magic having a scent. Half way through the hour I suddenly become very aware of the jasmine scent of him. It’s everywhere. In every breath. Every brush of his chest against my back, every movement of his hands along the reins. My body is hyper aware of every place we do and don’t touch.

“Getting all worked up again, aren’t we?” He purrs in my ear.

My jaw feels like it’s snapping as a set of fangs tear through my gums, spurting blood into my mouth. Somehow his magic is the catalyst for my transformation and the balm all in one. I can’t be near him and I can’t be away from him, as I soon learn. When I jump off the horse and declare I’m going to walk beside him, my claws return, in both hands this time. At least they shoot out my nail beds and not my knuckles like Tamlin’s.

The thought of him makes another growl rumble through my chest and something that feels suspiciously like fur sprouts from the back of my neck.

“Wouldn’t recommend,” Rhysand warns.

The itchiness of my skin is even worse on the ground. I feel the wards tugging at me like I’ve been tied to the glittering magic that builds them with a string.  The jasmine and overripe fruit scent of them is enough to make my nose crinkle. Apparently the transformation heightens my senses as well.

“I’m gonna tear off my skin,” I snarl, fidgeting with my collar. Why is it so itchy? Is it supposed to be like this?

He slows his mount to keep pace with me and I do not miss the grumbled complaints of the males behind us. My ears twitch every time one of them speaks, the sound sometimes like a shout and others like a far off echo.

“Breathe,” he says gently. “The more worked up you get, the worse it will be until we can find a way to safely expel it.”

I draw a shaky breath, then another. 

“Good girl.”

A shiver works its way up my spine at that.

“Now come here,” he leans so far out of the saddle he’s only holding on with his thighs, and my first thought is how we can get this little caravan to pause so I can be the one beneath him. He gets an arm around my waist and hauls me back up onto the horse and damn if that’s not the hottest thing I’ve ever seen a male do!

“Let’s get these wards up-” I’m hyper-aware how every word rumbles through his chest, the way his body shifts on the horse. “-And we’ll find a place to camp soon enough, then you and I can work on this.”

“Make it stop,” I gently beg. “I don’t want it!” The itch beneath my skin is becoming unbearable! My claws scratch up my arms, tearing up my sweater. 

His free hand covers mine, intertwining our fingers, even as the horse begins to move. “Focus on me.”

I focus my attention on the way his body molds against mine. The way the leather of his glove slides over the back of my hand. I let my eyes drift shut, focusing on the brush of his chest against mine, the swaying motion of his hips as the horse moves over the rocky terrain. It’s not enough. Not like the feel of his lips on mine had been this morning. As if he knows it, he drops his head against my shoulder, nose brushing over the exposed skin of my throat. 

“I’m right here,” he continues. “Focus on me, just like you did this morning.”

This morning there had been a lot less clothes between us. 

“Breathe for me.”

It is a physical effort to draw a deep enough breath in; another to pull my claws away from my itching skin. He settles our joined hands against my stomach. 

“Again.”

I manage to do what I am told, just barely. 

“Good. Just like that.” His voice makes a shiver run down my spine as my mind spins with all the other things I want him to talk me through. I think I could do just about anything if he explained it to me in that rich, husky voice he was using in my ear. “Part of learning to control it is finding your center. Find a safe mental space to retreat to.”

“Like what?” There are few places in the world I have ever felt safe. Thinking about how I used to sit in the rocking chair with my mother and listen to her stories only fills me with pain now. Or perhaps a couple weeks ago I might have thought about all those summers I spent at the creek with Lucien, but now it only makes the thing beneath my skin rumble and shake like there’s some sort of animal that lives caged beneath my ribs and is trying desperately to break free. What makes me feel safe?

“A good memory, a happy time,” he lists. 

I have nothing. My eyes start to water and my throat starts to close, talons growing longer and sharper at my fingertips. I feel the give of my leather chest-piece beneath them. Everything good in my life has been a lie! Everyone that was supposed to protect me only ever hurt me in the end. None of it was ever real.

And this, this thing that could be something, that could be real, I had ruined it. I have to lie to keep it. I have to pretend that I had every right to hurt him, when it was really the other way around. The only person who had ever told me the truth, who could see me for what I was, and I had ruined any chance of it being real before it had even had the chance to start.

A sob slips out of me and with it, the tree we pass erupts in a flurry of leaves and twisting, screaming bark that makes the horse rear. The earth rumbles, random cracks splitting in the rock face, gnarled vines crawling out of them like tentacled monsters. The itching in my skin won’t stop! The more I try to trap it the more the world around us screams in protest. 

“Breathe, Y/N,” Rhysand orders in my ear. “You have to breathe.”

“I can’t!” I choke out. 

He slides his hand out of mine and brings it up against the side of my temple. It feels like a shadow unfurling from his fingertips, but the brush of it is not against my face, but inside my skull. Darkness clouds my vision from the inside out. It feels as if my brain is being emptied, piece by piece with shadows until there is nothing inside my mind but him. 

“Breathe,” he commands, the voice of a Warlord. “Now.”

I choke on each breath. 

“You are safe, Y/N,” he says, gentler. There is nothing in the world but the two of us in this dark little bubble. Nothing but the press of night chilled jasmine and calming, all consuming night. From somewhere far off, I hear music on the wind, the swell of stringed instruments pulling my attention away from the itch running beneath my skin.

“Why is this happening?” My body feels so impossibly small, yet like it’s being stretched beyond its capacity, my bones trying to tear through the confines of my skin all the same.

“Our powers can very easily get tangled with our emotions,” he explains, the hand on my temple drawing shapes into my skin. Somehow, after looking at the stitches in the tent walls, I know he’s spelling something out in Illyrian, but I’ll never know what. “The last twenty-four hours have been a lot for you, I’m sure.”

There is no room to think about it in this headspace, no twisted memories to plague me, only the music and the faint twinkle of stars for company. I let myself fall into it, let it swallow me and fill me until I feel disconnected from the pulling of my skin.

“I don’t want this power,” I whisper into the darkness.

The darkness caresses me, wraps itself around me as surely as his arm around my waist. “I know, but we don’t get a say in what we’re given, only what we do with it.”

When have I ever truly had a say in anything?

“What if I hurt somebody?” What if I am just as bad as my father in both intentions and power? If I am capable of plotting to ruin someone’s life based on a lie, how much more capable am I of turning these claws on someone else? Maybe power is passed from my mother, but that will never change the fact that I now carry the same weapons that were used to scar me, and Rhys, and probably his mother and sister. 

“You won’t,” he assures. “I’ll be right here to teach you. You can control it.”

He has far more faith in me than he should.

----

Once we’ve stopped for the night and camp is set up, Rhysand takes me by the hand and leads me out into the empty, grassy plains beneath the mountain. The knee-high yellow blades are brittle this time of year, cracking under our boots as we walk until only the smoke from the campfires pinpoints where we left the others. We’re far enough away that I won’t hurt anyone if I lose control again.

Shame flushes my cheeks. I’ve always prided myself on being the calm one of the family; always able to keep my emotions shoved deep down beneath the surface to keep them from getting the better of me. I thought I was good at it. I was wrong. It’s only been the constant brush of Rhysand’s shadows against my mind all afternoon that have kept me from tearing everything I touch to shreds. Even now, my hands ache from often my new claws have sprung and retracted from my fingertips.

I must feel about as awful as Rhysand looks. The circles under his eyes have not lessened in the slightest, and every once in a while I’ll see him start to sway, like it’s an effort to stay on his feet. The scent of his magic has lessened, the night blooming jasmine fading behind the citrus and salty scent of him. He shouldn’t be out here with me, he should be resting, recharging his own magic so he can be prepared for more warding tomorrow. According to Azriel and the scouts’ reports, we should meet up with Cassian and Mor’s group by this time tomorrow and Rhysand will need all his energy to ensure both ends of the wards are fully meshed together. 

We stop once we’re cushioned between two large hills, nothing but the chirp of crickets and the stars to keep us company. The Mountain looms dark and shadowy beneath the small sliver of the moon. 

“This looks like a good place,” he says as he finally releases my hand.

I keep my lower lip between my teeth, hands shaking at my sides. I don’t want to do this! Entertaining the idea that I have powers to train and use is foolish. I don’t need to learn to use them; I need to learn to shove them back down into the darkest parts of me where they can’t hurt anybody. 

“Let’s start with something simple,” he suggests. “Tell me where you feel your power the most.”

My hand comes up to poke between my rib cage, where the stirring and itchy feeling is the most concentrated. “Feels like something is trying to break out of my skin,” I say softly.

“The claws and the fangs could be a beast form,” he muses. “Or it could just be some shape-shifting powers you inherited from your father?”

The mention of that bastard makes the stirring in my chest feel like a tidal wave, raw energy crackling so hard and fast through my veins that I feel it crest out my fingertips. The grass around me withers and dies, the ground beneath it crackling and rumbling with what feels like the early stages of an earthquake. I can’t have powers like my fathers!

There is no shortage of pity in those violet eyes and I press my palms into my eyes with a groan. I can’t do this! It needs to stop! I need to bury it now before it runs away with me; while I still have some control over it. Because if it goes any further than this…

Maybe Tamlin was right to send me away. Maybe he did know about my powers and that was why he got rid of me. I couldn’t hurt anybody if I was alone in the woods.

Rhysands shadows drift along the floor until they can slither up my calves, rubbing affectionately against me in a way that reminds me of a cat. “It’s ok,” he soothes.

Tears stream down my cheeks. “Make it stop!” I beg. “Show me how to bury it again.”

His shadows trail higher, winding over my hips and waist, even as he steps closer, leaving barely a breath between us. “Y/N…” he shakes his head, trying to find the right words and I feel a strange pang beneath the movement in my chest.

“Please,” I whimper. “I’ll do anything! Just make it stop.”

He cups my cheek and I give myself the briefest moment to fall into the warmth of his touch.  “I know it’s scary, and that it hurts, but this is good. It has to be released. You will die if you don’t.”

Then let me. The words freeze on my tongue when a tendril of his power flicks over his shoulder, down his wrist, to brush against my cheek, but that doesn’t stop the spiraling of my thoughts. Let me be free of this pain. Let me go out before I become a monster like my father. Let that awful bastard be right; let me be useless and worthless and incapable of doing anything he could be proud of. 

As if spurred on by my thoughts, the grass around me continues to wither, until there’s a whole circle of dead earth surrounding me. The harder I try to draw it in, the wider the circle becomes. Power sizzle through my nerve endings, a fire that digs itself into my veins and when I curl my hands into fists to try and stop it, I pull weeds through the cracks in the earth, the gnarled, leafy branches reaching up like skeletal hands that wrap around my, and Rhysand’s ankles.

“Focus on that spot,” his free hand taps gently against my ribs. “Focus until it feels like you’re holding it.”

I try to imagine the power like a bowl filled with sloshing, dark liquid. I imagine myself reaching for the lip of the bowl, the cracked edges and rough wood a mirror to the one that used to sit on our kitchen table, full of apples I’d sneak when no one was looking. If I make it familiar, it feels easier to focus on. I imagine every crack in the bowl, every worn edge, focusing until I get a mental hold around the edges. Now all I need to do is tip the bowl over. If I spill out its contents, there will be nothing left inside me to unleash… right?

“Once you can hold it, focus on containing it. Imagine it like a bottle, get all that energy into the bottle, and put a lid on the top,” Rhys says like he can hear my plans.

The liquid inside the bowl bubbles and hisses as my conflicted feelings run circles through my head. He hasn’t been wrong this far, I should do as he says, but I can’t help but feel like indulging this is a mistake. I can hear my father’s voice inside my head, telling me that this is not how females are supposed to behave. 

I can feel the weeds I’d summoned dying around me. Can feel every blade of grass as if it was somehow attached to my skin. The longer I hold that imaginary bowl, the more aware of this power I become, but it doesn’t feel like control. It just feels like more things pulling at me, trying to move me in directions I’ve never decided I want to go in. 

The ground rumbles beneath my boots again as my mental grip slips, and when I open my eyes the weeds, dead as they are now, have slithered all the way up my chest, reaching for my throat like some decrypt hand. 

The air leaves my lungs in a rush and with it, the dead vegetation crumbles and turns to dust on the wind.

Rhysand should be looking at me like I’m a monster. He should be stepping away, shadows swirling, that giant sword in hand. We are supposed to be enemies and he should be looking at me like I am one. But he’s not. He reaches out and brushes some of the ruined plant off my shoulder instead.

“It’s ok,” he assures. “No one gets it on their first try. Not even me.”

That compassion and understanding makes my chest ache worse than any restless power ever has. I don’t deserve it. I wish he would treat me like the horrible creature I am. He would be better off if he tossed me out into the woods like Tam.

He stiffens and I can’t help but wonder if I accidentally said that out loud because his eyes darken as he closes the gap between us and takes my face in his hands. “Maybe I’m taking the wrong approach.” His voice is clipped, husky. 

Good, maybe he can finally see me for what I really am.

I am wholly unprepared for him to crash his lips against mine. My brain short circuits, the agitation I feel morphing into that desperate, needy thing I had felt this morning. Just as I tilt my head back, lips parting to let him in, he pulls back. 

“Let’s play a game.”

The power in my chest feels like it’s going to rip out of my skin again. 

“Match what I do and you’ll get a reward,” he explains. “If you can’t…” He takes a step back and it is an effort not to chase after him, but the message is clear enough: Matching his efforts means his hands, his lips, his body is on me again, fail to do so, and he puts space between us. It shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t make me want to try, but I do. Gods I do! 

“Ok,” my voice shakes a little. In the back of my mind I still think it’s a bad idea. Maybe I will regret it in the end, but this thing between us is the only thing that makes sense. There is nothing between us when his lips are on mine. I need that distraction tonight.

He holds out a hand and a ball of shadows emerge, the tendrils of darkness crawling out from beneath his skin to form the swirling shape. “Find that spot in your chest and push it into your hand. It’s a part of you, it answers to you. Make it answer to you.”

I hold out my hand, matching his position and then close my eyes, reaching for that bowl of darkness again. Hesitantly, I tip it sideways, sloshing some of the dark liquid over the edge and imagine pulling it through my limbs. It makes my muscles spasm, my claws shooting out of my nail beds in defense.

“Breathe through it, you’ll pass out if you hold your breath.” 

Selfishly, I want to impress him. Want to show him I can. I want the reward of his lips on mine again. Want to not have to think about whether I should be doing this or that, the only thought in my head him and how good he feels. I do as he says, drawing in a breath as I keep pushing that bit of darkness in the direction I want it. It makes my head hurt, trying to focus so intently, but I’m nothing if not persistent. 

I feel the rumble of movement beneath my palm, and just when I’m starting to think that maybe I’m more capable than I thought, the tiniest, most wilted looking dandelion grows from my palm. And then immediately turns to ash. It’s the saddest excuse for power I’ve ever seen and I growl out a complaint like a literal beast as even the thing in my chest shows its disappointment.

Rhysand snorts out a laugh too, which makes it worse.

So much for powerful. 

He clears his throat as he steps back into my space. “It was a good attempt.”

“Don’t patronize me,” I hiss. “That was embarrassing.” 

He wraps his hand around my wrist and places his lips against my palm anyway, never mind that my claws are still out and drifting over his temple as he kisses right where my powers flared. “You still tried.”

I shiver at the contact of his plush lips against my skin, his breath warm against my palm. My senses are still incredibly heightened and even that bit of contact makes my skin buzz with excitement. 

He quirks a dark brow as he looks at me from where my hand is still pressed against his lips. “Try again for me?”

I nod, not trusting my voice when he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me. His pupils are blown wide, barely a ring of violet left to see. He keeps his lower lip between his perfect teeth as he watches me with an intensity that makes my thighs clench. 

Just like before, I imagine myself holding that bowl, this time, I draw a breath and tip it over, letting more of that strange darkness spill into the abyss that is my soul. It is strange to see it like this, to have some parts of it so clear and yet the rest of it is shrouded in fathomless depths. There might be anything living within the confines of my skin. I’d never bothered to look until now. 

I push it towards my fingertips, just as before. The same spasm in my muscles returns, a knot forming in my bicep that I do my best to ignore as I keep pushing my power towards my hand. I remind myself to breathe when it flares in my wrist, making my claws retract and pop back out. 

“Just like that,” Rhysand coaxes.

Cauldron his voice makes my insides feel like jelly. 

Crawling vines emerge one by one from beneath my palms, twining around my fingertips like tiny snakes. In the center sprouts another dandelion, a little taller than the last. I manage to hold it for all of five seconds before the knot in my bicep and wrist become too much and the vines and flower die together. My bones ache. How does he do this so easily?

“Better,” Rhysand praises as he places the next kiss on the inside of my wrist, his fingers massaging the knot forming there. 

“Is it supposed to hurt?” I grumble.

“It’s a process,” he murmurs into my skin, lips trailing higher, causing a shiver to run down my spine. “Think of it like building a muscle. The first couple days of using that muscle will hurt. You’ll be sore. But the more you build it, the stronger it becomes, and the less it hurts. Eventually, you’ll be able to perform bigger and bigger feats with less and less discomfort.” 

That sounds exhausting! 

I’m going to have to do this for the rest of my life? The thought sours my mood, once again turning my thoughts away from this lovely little distraction he’s been offering and back into the darkness that’s been threatening to overtake me all afternoon. 

I swear he can hear the thoughts spinning through my head as he suddenly nips at the tender flesh of the inside of my wrist. “You think you can give me one more?”

I have a headache just thinking about doing it again, but he keeps looking at me through those long lashes, the intensity in his gaze making all rational thought fly out the window. 

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he promises, lips trailing higher. He’s so warm and intoxicating, I think he might be capable of making me do anything, as long as his lips remain on my skin.

I focus on that spot, paying extra attention to breathe as I reach for that imaginary bowl a third time. Maybe if I let myself relax, lean a little heavier into the warmth of his touch, and stop trying so hard to hold on so tight, it won't hurt so bad. It has been like fighting a tide all this time; if I relax, go with the wave, will that make it easier?

I imagine that darkness spilling from the bowl like water instead, letting it flow like a river. The path from my chest to my fingertips is kind of like a stream, right? The water bubbling and rushing through me. There must be something to that thought process, because, when I open my eyes, there are more vines twining around my fingers and wrist, but this time, tiny yellow and pink flowers bloom from them. There is nothing dead or angry crawling out from beneath my skin, but something beautiful and alive. My claws retract as the vines spin around my fingers.

I can’t help but grin as I look to Rhys for his approval. “I did it!”

He grins right back, the sight so dazzling I think I might just stand here for hours summoning flower after flower to see it again. “That’s my girl!”

Instinctively, spurred by the excitement rushing through my veins, I stretch up on my toes and place a quick kiss on his lips. “You’re a good teacher,” and I mean it. Whatever this is between us, I am grateful for him, even if this is all we have. “Thank you.”

He slides a hand in my hair and kisses me back. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

I don’t know what it is I feel about it. It still feels wrong, or maybe it just feels different. Everything feels different these days, I’d rather not think too long about it. “Feels like I can breathe a little easier.” 

“Good.” He kisses me again. “We’ll practice some more tomorrow.”

I slide my hand into the silky strands of his hair, nails scraping lightly over his scalp as he rests his forehead on mine. I won’t let myself think about tomorrow, or about these new powers. There can only be this moment.

“Just promise me,” he continues, “that you’ll keep trying?”

“I might need some convincing,” I return, clinging to this distraction with every last bit of willpower I possess.

He grins at the challenge. This is the best I can give him today; the closest to the truth I can admit without laying everything bare. 

“I can be very persuasive,” he purrs and the next thing I know I am on my back in what’s left of the grass, the solid weight of him on top of me. “Maybe we should work on some self-defense while we’re at it. That was alarmingly easy.”

“The words every girl wants to hear when she’s beneath a man,” I retort.

“I just want you to be safe, is all,” he says as he kisses the tip of my nose. 

I reach up a hand and brush some of the hair that’s falling over his forehead into his eyes out of the way. He is breathtakingly beautiful under the moonlight. I wish I could paint or sketch, immortalize every glorious sharp edge of him in ink and paper. “I’m with you, how can I not be safe?”

Cauldron boil me, I mean that too.

It’s not until later that night, long after I’d fallen apart on his tongue in that field and then tumbled back into camp, nearly asleep on my feet to nestle down against his warm body that I remembered I’d meant to ask him this morning why he’d still let me in after everything between us. By now I’m too exhausted to care; maybe I’ll find the courage to ask in the morning.

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[groovybeachgurl]

for anyone who thinks that adhd is some fun little thing where you just forget things sometimes and are hyper, here is what completing a household task (let’s say, for example, this task is to wash my laundry) looks like in my brain:

*sees laundry hamper overflowing* ok, i should probably wash my clothes, but first i have to…

take my laundry out of the hamper

transfer it to a basket

pick up the dirty clothes that spilled onto the floor

transfer those to the basket as well

pick up the basket

walk down the stairs

walk to the laundry room with the basket, past the kitchen

oh no! there are dishes in the sink, i better get to those now so i don’t forget *puts down laundry basket* let’s see, i have to…

open the dishwasher

see if there are clean dishes inside (usually there are)

take clean dishes out

put each dish away one by one

rinse each dish in the sink, then put it in the dishwasher

put dishwasher detergent pod into dishwasher

put rinse aid into dishwasher

close dishwasher

choose wash settings

start the dishwasher

wow! that took a lot of time, now i’m kind of hungry *forgets about the laundry basket’s existence and walks right past it*

HOURS LATER

*in bed* i feel like i’m forgetting something… oh well, must not be important!

thus, the cycle restarts.

doesn’t that sound exhausting? having to map out an entire list of steps just to complete one task? now imagine that your brain just does this automatically, it’s not even a conscious decision!

the mental toll is excruciating and we can’t even stop it from happening.

so, no, adhd is not just “sometimes forgetting things” or “being hyper” - adhd is a perpetual state of being unable to functionally execute and complete tasks without significant mental planning and labor.