#Thousands of Suicides --- that were NEVER Talked about

[mental-skillness]

"This is gonna be my last pack for sure. I'm gonna taper myself off," i say, three days before i get someone to buy me a second pack

[bemusedlybespectacled]

what's happening with James Somerton right now: a probably-incomplete primer

TW: suicide, including suicide as a threat and a manipulation tactic.

The short version:

James Somerton is a former Youtube essayist who focused entirely on queer history, queer media criticism, and queer issues in general. He is also a flagrant grifter who has made tens of thousands of dollars via fraud, both directly (lying about his finances to beg for money and getting donations for films he never even started making) and indirectly (stealing whole essays and articles and books, reading them out loud verbatim for his videos without indicating they were anything other than his own work, and then using the prestige he gained from using their work to get Patrons and sponsorships).

The story as told James and James apologists was that James attempted to apologize twice, was hounded mercilessly on the internet for weeks, and then, driven to the end of his rope, he posted a suicide note on Twitter, was MIA for several days, and from then on has been avoiding the internet.

The actual story, as revealed yesterday, was that James used two sockpuppet accounts to defend himself and parrot his talking points (again, while publicly claiming to be trying to take responsibility for his actions), using one to try to rebrand the con under a different name and another to deliberately stoke the panic caused by his suicide note. He was not only aware of the pain and anxiety he was causing people, but he encouraged it on one alt while hornyposting about his favorite movies on the other.

He is an unrepentant con artist who successfully used a suicide threat to prevent further interference with future cons. The only reason he was caught is because he is apparently incapable of going more than a couple of weeks without trying to get back in the internet spotlight, allowing people to tie his alts back to him. He lies for fun and profit and he should not be taken seriously, ever.

The long version:

In December 2023, Youtube essayist Hbomberguy (Harry Brewis) put out a four-hour-long video about plagiarism on the internet, and devoted two hours to addressing as much of JS's plagiarism as he could. I strongly recommend watching the entire thing, as the first two hours build on the concepts that he uses later in the video.

He also blew the whistle on James' fraud surrounding Telos, a studio James founded using thousands of dollars of IndieGoGo money that never actually produced any films despite him definitely working on them! Any day now they'll be released! Don't you worry!

A day later, Todd in the Shadows, a guy whose entire thing is music reviews, posted his own video debunking multiple outright lies that James had told about history, especially queer history. A few more days later, The Ace Couple, who run a podcast about asexuality, released an episode detailing how they'd lost $1.5k donating to Telos.

I have put the videos, Twitter threads, Patreon posts, and Reddit posts by other people discussing different aspects of James' fraud under the cut.

Every other time James was caught plagiarizing, prior to Harry's video, he would lie about it. Either he'd have some excuse (easily proven to be a lie) or he'd retreat to his favorite deflection: "I'm just being harassed because I'm gay."

This last lie was one he'd use not only to deflect accusations of plagiarism, but all criticism in general, no matter how trivial. Every time, the critic or someone associated with them would somehow dox him, or harass him, or send him death threats, or threaten to falsely accuse him of sexual assault.

This happened to The Ace Couple (who'd tried to correct him on something extremely acephobic in one of his videos), Jessie Gender (who'd tried to correct him when he claimed that there were no queer content creators on Nebula, given that she and a bunch of other queer creators were definitely on that platform), and the person who first blew the whistle on him stealing from Tinker Belles and Evil Queens by Sean Griffin (who was accused of being behind death threats he'd received, and hounded so harshly they had to leave Twitter).

It is important to note that every time James faced potentially damaging criticism, or even just a threat to his ego, suddenly he would claim to be harassed by people connected to the critic, including threats to his life. There has never been any proof of any threats being directed at him, nor evidence that, if the threats were real, that they are actually from people connected to the critic.

In the original video by Hbomberguy, Harry makes a compelling argument that James brought on a friend of his, Nick, as a co-writer specifically as a shield against accusations of plagiarism. "How dare you accuse me of plagiarism! Nick would NEVER do that!" This is even more apparent given subsequent developments which I will get into.

When evidence started dropping about different aspects of his fraud (not only Harry's video, but Todd in the Shadows' video debunking his misinfo, The Ace Couple's podcast about their experience donating to his fraudulent film studio, and Dan Olson's tweet thread about James' obvious lies about his finances), he went into hiding for two weeks, and then put out the first of two apologies. He then deleted that one and put out another one a few weeks later. And then he immediately deleted that one.

While his first apology was rambling, vague, and dramatic (lots of sniffing/crying), and his second was more measured, thought-out, and totally batshit (lots of hilariously and bizarrely implausible excuses for why he'd done what he'd done), they had roughly the same points:

Not ALL of his stuff was plagiarized! Actually, a lot of it wasn't! No specifics as to what, though!

Most of the stuff that was plagiarized was just a failure to properly cite sources, as he had no idea that putting someone's name in your end credits or video description (without specifying what parts are attributable to that person or disclosing that you are using their words verbatim) is not sufficient credit,

Also, he totally had permission, in some cases, to use their work verbatim prior to publishing the video (this is not true, and is disproven both in Harry's video and his own screenshots);

He definitely didn't commit fraud with Telos and would soon have a good explanation for where the money went! (he did not)

He was going to keep the videos up so that he could either donate the funds from any monetization to the fund Harry had set up for his victims or to "help Nick's portfolio" by showcasing his work;

He lost his best friend (i.e. Nick) over these allegations, who absolutely definitely wasn't a scapegoat, except Nick was also responsible for a lot of the stuff James was being criticized for;

He was going to keep the videos up so he could either donate the advertising proceeds to Harry's fund for his victims (first apology) or to "help Nick's portfolio" by showcasing the work he'd done; and

As a result of this entire ordeal, he had attempted either self-harm or suicide (he merely alluded to "doing something stupid").

Again, his response was to 1) downplay the severity of his actions or flat out ignore allegations against him, 2) come up with ridiculous excuses for his behavior, 3) throw Nick under the bus, and 4) claim to be in mortal danger. As far as I am aware, he has never taken any concrete action to make amends to any person, not even donating money to charity.

This was coupled with some kind of attempt to profit: monetizing his apology videos, closing and then reopening his Patreon right before the monthly charge cycle happened (totally to let people unfollow him, not at all as a grab for that money), creating a new Patreon under a different name, and changing his Twitter and Youtube handles to distance himself from the controversy while gathering new followers.

At one point (I forget if this was on Twitter or Instagram), he also said that someone had broken into his apartment due to the notoriety he'd received from Harry's video. I believe that was after his first apology, when people started to point out that he'd just changed the name of his Twitter and Youtube channel and had restarted a new Patreon under a pseudonym. (BTW, the pseudonym he used for his new Patreon was "The Gay Raconteur"; this will be important later).

It had what I think was the desired effect: any attempt at pointing out that he was rebranding his grift now came across as weirdly fixated on minor things he was doing, which certainly wasn't worth putting him in physical danger. (Again, he has never provided any proof of this happening, nor provided any evidence that these people allegedly threatening him were, in fact, in some way inspired by Hbomb).

So along comes March 5, 2024, and James posts a suicide note on his Twitter, saying that he is going to set up his videos to automatically publish (for Nick's portfolio), provide in some way for the ad revenue to go to a suicide prevention nonprofit, and then kill himself.

The immediate response from the internet was compassion and totally chilling any further criticism, since you might be callously criticizing a dead person. Harry and Kat worked for a couple of days to get a wellness check for him while a substantial section of the internet called them murderers.

On March 6, a day after the note was published, Nick tweeted that that he had cause to believe James was fine. Kat confirmed that James was safe on March 11. Due to the drama of the "suicide attempt," however, the chill on criticizing James stayed in place for months.

And then yesterday Lady Emily, one of the cowriters for Sarah Z., drops two more bombs:

James has not one but two alt accounts that he was using to rebrand and start over.

The first one was created between his first and second apologies, and originally was for "The Gay Raconteur" until he changed it to "Will"/"thatgayyouknow" and, later, "The Achillean Boy."

The second one was much older, under the pseudonym "Mikey JB," and used stolen pictures from Grindr instead of his own face. However, it is pretty obvious that it is, in fact, a sockpuppet account and not just some other person who happens to like James, as detailed below.

Both accounts, both between apologies and after his "suicide," talked about how criticism of James was unfair because the plagiarized stuff was "like a decade old" and repeating the same excuses that James had also made.

The "Mikey JB" account not only supported James, but actively threw Nick under the bus, saying that a criticized part of a video "reeks of his co-writer."

On March 6, the day after James' main Twitter posted the suicide note, The Achillean Boy account was hornyposting about Ryan Phillipe. James didn't even take a day or two off of Twitter. If he had been completely off Twitter for a couple of days, that could have been an indication that he really had hurt himself and was unable to access his phone, or at the very least unaware of the panic. But he wasn't. He was aware of it and did nothing. Actually, no! Worse than nothing!

On the same day (March 6), the Mikey JB account was actively contradicting Nick saying he was okay (they "haven't spoken in months" so there's no way Nick could know if he was alive) and saying that "people like you" i.e. his critics, "drove him to it." Not only did he ignore the panic he'd intentionally created, he actively drove it.

He saw people going emotionally through the wringer over the idea that they might have somehow caused his death, and intentionally made them keep thinking it. He say people calling his critics "murderers" for "driving him to his death," and he joined in.

Why am I explaining all of this? I want to make a couple of things extremely clear, and the context is necessary to my ultimate points, namely:

James Somerton didn't merely "credit people improperly;" he conned his followers out of more money than some people make in a year with the Telos con, while raking in thousands more per month on Patreon and buying expensive equipment, while claiming to be near insolvency and in desperate need of money.

James Somerton has never taken full responsibility for his actions or attempted to make amends. He has only ever tried to dodge responsibility, particularly by throwing Nick under the bus.

Every time he has ever been criticized, for any reason, he has lied about threats to his life to gain sympathy and quell criticism. This is a standard part of his MO. He has done this over and over and over again. At this point, I think if he says the sky is blue, someone should go out and check first before doing anything.

"But BB, what if he really is getting harassed/threatened or really is suicidal?"

So, okay: people who are attempting to manipulate you may use legitimate problems as a tool. It doesn't need to be fake to be effective - in fact, it might be more effective if it it's true. An abusive ex who says "if you leave me, I'll kill myself" and genuinely means it and actually attempts it (and possibly even succeeds!) is a lot harder to leave than someone who says the same thing but is clearly just bluffing, because the threat is real.

My rule of thumb in these cases is to treat the threat like it's real, without caving to the intended manipulation. Whether your ex is lying or telling the truth when they say, "I'll kill myself if you leave me," the appropriate response in both cases is to immediately call a mental health service or supportive family member. If it's fake, it's inconvenient for them; if it's real, you reacted appropriately. Your response needs to be the same regardless.

You don't get back together with them because it's a real threat (presumably you wouldn't do that if you knew it was fake and they were never in any danger), and you don't tell them that they're a piece of shit who should be dead (HOPEFULLY you wouldn't do that if you knew for a fact that they were telling the truth).

In this case, I am extremely confident in saying that he was coldbloodedly lying the entire time and was never once threatened, and certainly not to the degree he claimed to be. But even if he wasn't, that does not and should not change anyone's behavior in terms of holding him accountable.

And I mean actually holding him accountable: making sure he doesn't try to start a new con on new people, continuing to point out that he hasn't paid anyone back for his previous con (so long as it's still true), that sort of thing. It doesn't mean people should tell him he should go die for real or, I don't know, try to get him fired if he gets a job at Tim Horton's or Target or something else that's not fraud. That would be wrong regardless of whether he's actually in danger or not. The point is to avoid being cruel without negotiating with terrorists.

Video sources and links under the cut:

Links:

It's like Breaking Bad, but backwards: a brief history of how Somerton successfully screwed himself Dan Olson's Twitter thread about the financial fraud My Year With James: Todd's post explaining the backstory of his video (Patreon-locked) DJSO#: Dan Olson's breakdown of James' second apology (Patreon-locked) Lady Emily's Twitter threads revealing James' alt accounts, part 1 and part 2

[slytherin-pen]

Safe In His Arms

A/N: my first imagine, woo! i’ve known for awhile Cassian would be the first because he just gives me those mushy feels i need in x reader fics. this one is an emotional ride but i hope you love it nonetheless!

summary: You and Cassian found yourselves in a rare argument. Despite being mates, there were certain touchy subjects where you both held differing views. Cassian usually kept his composure around you, mindful of not scaring his beloved mate. But on this occasion, emotions ran high and Cassian's usual restraint slipped away. After going to the River House to allow you both space, Cassian returns to find you amid a panic attack. Determined to comfort you, he pulls out all the stops to show you just how cherished and secure you are in his arms.

pairing: Cassian x fem!reader

word count: 4.5k

banner credit to @cafekitsune

all ACOTAR credits belong to SJM

warnings: anxiety, ptsd, mentions of canon typical violence, mentions of parental abuse, very brief mention of suicidal thoughts, panic attacks, negative self-talk, swearing, brief mention of self-inflicted injuries (but not like that)

As the sun dipped behind the mountains in Velaris, it painted the House of Wind with hues of pink, purple, and blue. You were nestled into an armchair beside the crackling hearth, your legs and the skirt of your dress tucked under you, engrossed in one of the house's romance novels. The only other sound in the room was your ragged breaths and occasional sniffles. Although the spring air had begun to weave through the Night Court, the warmth of the fire provided a sense of comfort that no amount of blankets could replicate. Maybe it was the reminder of campfires in Illyria where you grew up. Or perhaps a certain Illyrian whose body heat was akin to the flames in the hearth.

You missed that body. Broad, muscular shoulders that were covered in his hard-earned Illyrian tattoos. Long black hair you could never resist running your fingers through. And his eyes, cauldron boil you, his eyes masterfully flecked with green and gold. It's as if the Mother herself took a paintbrush and carefully selected the perfect place for each color. You wished you could replace this chair with him and plant yourself in his loving arms. The only place you felt safe.

Snap out of it, you thought to yourself. You and Cassian argued this morning. You were supposed to be mad at him. He had gone to the River House in an attempt to give you both space to process what had been said, leaving the House of Wind to you. As if you could go anywhere else. You were an Illyrian with clipped wings. You couldn't fly and you couldn't winnow. You surely weren’t taking the ten thousand steps down the mountain.

It had been at least five hours since Cassian left, and for the mere fact he knows you can't leave without him, you hope he’ll come home soon. He knows how anxious you get when you feel trapped. Your anxiety was a contributing factor to why you and Cassian argued in the first place. It was also what sent you into a state of panic.

You two had been talking about future theoretical children when the concept of joining the Illyrian camps came up. You would never allow your children to experience the abuse you did growing up. Being close friends with the High Lord of the Night Court and living in Velaris, you couldn't fathom subjecting your children to the same horrors you endured when you were fortunate enough not to have to.

But, Cassian views it differently. The Illyrian mountains shaped him into the male he is today. He embraces his heritage, barring some of the less desirable aspects, and he would be honored to witness his children follow his legacy. Unlike you, Cassian was able to turn his past into something that motivated him. He always had something to prove. He always had a battle to win. You suppose you shouldn't expect anything different from the General. The Illyrians saw him as a bastard brute, and he would die before he accepted defeat in changing their minds. One day, he would show everyone he was more than a bastard, and Illyria was more than the culture of misogyny and violence it harbored.

Your past quite literally weighed you down in the form of wings dragging behind you. While the bat boys were raised in Windhaven, you grew up in Ironcrest. It had been as terrible as the gossip the mothers told around the fires in Windhaven. They felt lucky to have their lives as opposed to those in Ironcrest.

Your mother died when you were a child. You hadn't been home at the time, busy with your chores around the camp. When you came home, your father was sitting on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees and a glass of alcohol in one hand. He was drunk. Not that it was anything new. What was new were the scratch marks down his face and a bloody, still-healing stab wound in his right wing. You still don't believe the story he told that day. ‘Your mother lost it,’ he said. Your kind, gentle, nurturing mother who would never hurt anyone. Unless it was life or death, she had taught you that much. How to use your surroundings and the resources near you to defend yourself. Your mother knew it would happen one day. Your father had never laid a hand on you until she died, but you’d always known he had a temper and he frequently took it out on your mother. She would tell you to stay away and lock yourself in your room, and she would keep all of his attention on her until he left for the bar. But then she died, and suddenly, your nightmares became your reality. He didn’t even wait a week before he clipped your wings - after he had knocked you unconscious with his fists.

Your father had never been punished. In fact, he had been praised by his fellow warriors. You knew, if something happened to your children, no one would help them. You doubted you or Cassian could be there in time, every time. Something terrible would happen one day.

The whole conversation had stressed you out, sending you into a spiral of thoughts of doom, doom, doom. They were absurd, of course. Creating all these fake scenarios in your head as justification for your opinions about non-existent children. But Cassian had well and truly riled you up. He couldn’t help himself when his pride was hurt, he felt backed into a corner, and he couldn’t stop the harsh words from tumbling out of his mouth. You attacked his pride, so he hit you where it hurt right back.

You never told him everything about what happened to you, not just the kind of life you were escaping, but how you got away and why you were so hurt when you arrived in Windhaven. You told them that you were running from your father, he had clipped your wings and intended to sell you to a vile male. Not far from the truth considering marrying you off was definitely on his agenda at some point. But you explained away your injuries by claiming as a defenseless female running through camps alone, you got into some trouble along the way. Rhysand and Cassian believed you. Azriel being the Spymaster remained skeptical. Not of your intentions, but your injuries did not add up to a couple of scuffles. He let it go, though. He understood not being ready to share the full, brutal truth.

But because of Cassian’s ignorance of the situation, he never understood why you were so jumpy, scared of the dark, and constantly afraid of things you couldn’t explain. Why you had such crippling anxiety that caused you to leave parties early. Why you rarely joined the Inner Circle at Rita’s. Why you have panic attacks over the smallest things. Your biggest insecurity was how different you were from him. He was the big, brave, Lord of Bloodshed. He killed people regularly for cauldron's sake. And you, the damsel in distress who can’t even walk alone down the stairs at night. You were powerless, defenseless, and flightless. The complete opposite of him. You were supposed to be his equal, according to the Mother, but you couldn’t help but worry about whether she got it wrong. Whether she shackled him to the wrong female, for eternity.

Him calling you dramatic was an arrow to your heart. It hurt. He hadn’t meant for you to take it to heart like that, he was referring to the current situation. But you couldn’t help yourself in thinking it was a secret he’d kept, just waiting for him to lose a little restraint before it slipped through his lips. Here it is, you thought. The moment you’ve feared since you and Cassian began courting. He would realize how pathetic you were compared to him. How you were more like a skittish child than the equal to a warrior.

When he left, you spiraled further and further down until you couldn’t breathe.

He’s going to leave you.

He’s not coming back.

He will find a female more worthy of him and bed her.

You didn’t want to believe the lies your anxiety told you, but without Cassian there to ground you, you were bound to crash. The panic attack was sudden; like a thunderstorm in the summertime. You thrashed and wailed, clawing at your neck just so desperate for air. Unsurprisingly, that was all entirely unhelpful and you eventually tired out on the floor by the fire. When you woke from your brief nap, you crawled to the armchair and asked the House for a book. You were utterly numb, but at least you could read about other people’s feelings.

Just as you neared the end of the chapter you heard the front door open and heavy boots step through the foyer. Finally. Keeping your eyes open was becoming difficult, the soft crackle of the fire lulling you to sleep. It was important to you both that you always talked things out eventually, specifically before you went to sleep at night. ‘Never go to bed angry,’ had been your promise to each other. As he approached the library, you gathered ‘eventually’ was right now.

Cassian slowly pushed the door open, the House purposefully causing the door to creak as he did so. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at that. Once he was through the threshold, he could see you facing the fire, turned away from him slightly. His hair was tied into a bun and his wings were tucked in tightly behind him. He took slow, careful steps as he approached. In his mind, you may as well be an injured animal. He knew he fucked up and he would deserve every snarl and lash of claws you gave him. His fierce, resilient, compassionate mate. You were a force to be reckoned with when you wanted to be. Before he left the River House, he needed his brothers to give him the confidence to face you. Your sharp tongue could slice him into a thousand pieces if you will it. And he prayed to the cauldron you wouldn't, but if that's what you needed from him, he would stand there and take it.

But as he grew closer to you and took in the dried tear stains down your cheek, red puffy eyes, and your mess of hair falling out of its braid- he realized you were not on the attack as he had expected. You just stared at the closed book in your lap, tapping the cover rhythmically with the nails of your thumbs, jaw clenched shut. Fuck, you were anxious. Probably had been for hours now. He knew he shouldn’t have left you but he couldn’t let himself, or you, continue down the path of spitting insults at each other. Plenty of lovers in his past had preferred those methods during arguments, but the two of you had never been like that and he didn’t plan to start today.

Cassian knelt in front of you and a pained expression took over his face as he noticed the raised marks down your neck. With his large, shaking hands, he removed the book from your lap and placed it on the side table. “Sweetheart,” he whispered as he enclosed your hands in his.

You had tried to prepare yourself for this. You wanted to be brave, talk this through like mature adults, but now that he was here his words rang through your ears like temple bells.

‘You’re being dramatic.’ You knew he meant how seriously you were taking the theoretical future lives of your children and not you, but in the moment it had felt more like a dig. You were dramatic. You had your anxiety to thank for that. Hypothetical, hypothetical, hypothetical. Your mind was consumed with hypotheticals every day and he had given you the signal to run with it. Until it went too far and you practically had steam coming out of your ears while Cassian paced back and forth muttering curses to the cauldron. That’s when he decided to leave for a few hours, which quickly became six after asking Rhys for relationship advice turned into him, Rhys and Azriel finishing a bottle of wine together.

You released a shaking breath as you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. Your eyes immediately welled with tears at the hurt across his face. Hurt for you. Hurt for him. You both said things you shouldn’t have.

Cassian didn’t hesitate to lift you before sitting down in the chair and settling you across his lap at the sight of your tears. He knew he had a temper and the Mother knew he tried so hard to keep it under control for you. When you first met, he was acting as General accompanied by the High Lord and Shadowsinger. They had come into the healer's tent to interrogate you about where you came from and you had been utterly terrified. Too terrified to even speak. Rhysand had let it go long enough for you to be treated and calmed down. You looked harmless enough and had been severely injured. He doubted you were looking to pick a fight in that state.

When they returned, you had been healed, cleaned, and fed. Looking less like the almost-corpse a couple of warriors dragged in a few hours prior and more like the beautiful female he held today. The bond snapped for you both a couple of months later, but Cassian courted you like a proper gentleman. He understood that mating bond or not, he had to earn your trust and your love. You had been hurt before and you weren’t going to so easily allow yourself to be vulnerable again.

The mating ceremony happened a year ago but you both had so much love for each other it felt like it had been hundreds. Cassian was going to make sure you knew that hadn’t changed, remind you that he loved you more than the stars loved the night. “Sweetheart I’m so sorry. What I said, i-it was terrible. And I didn’t mean to make you feel like I thought you, overall, were dramatic. It was a poor choice of words and I’m sorry.”

You burrowed your head into the crook of his shoulder and tightened your arms around his neck, shielding your face from his assessing stare. He was doing a damage check. He's not surprised a fight between you would cause a panic attack. Surprising or not, you hated how you reacted when things got tense or stressful. You always wanted to be strong like Cass, or unwavering like Mor. But behind the ferocious mask you could put on when you felt vulnerable and defenseless, you were still a traumatized female. A female who is still afraid any mistake could cause you to be sent back to Ironcrest. Afraid that any angered male might still strike you, despite being proven wrong by the gentle, giant bats of the Inner Circle. You could feel the mask crumpling. It had started falling apart ever since you became aware of his presence. You could never hide yourself from him.

The pads of his fingers brushed the hair out of your face. “Look at me, baby.” His voice was hoarse, his throat constricting at the thought of how upset you must have been, and he had left you alone.

You slowly turned your head away from his shoulder and looked up at him. You took a ragged breath before you spoke. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “I’m sorry too.”

He guided your hand up to the collar of his shirt, a spot he knew you liked to hold onto when you were anxious. The fabric in your grip and the faint thumps of his nearby heartbeat grounded you. “What happened here,” he asked, tracing the angry skin on your neck with tender knuckles.

You wiggled to get up, but he only reinforced his hold on you. “I’m fine, Cass please-”

“Shhh.” He gently pushed your head back to his chest and kissed the crown of your head. “Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. We both know you aren't fine right now. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

You shook your head. Despite the heaving of your chest, and your body still sensing something wrong, you repeated; “I’m fine.”

“I can hear your heartbeat pounding like a drum. You know I’m here for you when it comes to these things. I’m your mate, this,”-he motioned to you in his lap- “is what I’m here for.” He started running his fingers through your hair, coaxing you to tilt your face towards him again. “Let me be here for you. Not just physically, but emotionally too. I know there… are things you haven’t told me about where you came from.”

Your whole body stiffened at that. He hates you. He thinks you’re a liar. He’s going to leave you. “Hey, sweetheart, look at me,” his stern, concerned voice swam through the muffling of your thoughts. He gripped your chin and you realized while you were looking at him, you couldn’t see him. It was all so cloudy and distorted. Tears. You’re crying again, damnit. And you weren’t breathing. How long had you not been breathing? You could feel your face heat and the thump, thump, thump of your heart hammereing around in your skull.

“Deep breaths for me, baby. In and out,” Cassian’s voice sounded again. You attempted to gasp for air but all that did was release the wrack of sobs that you had been barely keeping contained. He squeezed your waist and rocked you back and forth. “It’s alright. Let it out. I’m here.” Your hand found his shirt again and you gripped it like your life depended on it. Tears fell onto his shoulders and before your other hand could scratch at your thigh, he took it and started to rub your knuckles with his thumb. He knew it would be bad, but he didn’t expect this bad. Guilt gnawed away at him. Some mate he was, leaving you alone in a time of need. You were having two panic attacks within hours of each other, no doubt draining your little body. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he choked out. “I won’t leave you again, I’m so sorry. So fucking sorry. I will stay here for as long as you need, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

Cassian knew, with a heavy heart, that he had discovered the magic words. Your wailing sobs turned to soft, shuddering breaths and he felt you finally hold his hand in return as you came back to reality. “You know I would never leave you right, sweet girl,” he asked with a strained voice.

The silence that followed was deafening. Cassian released a shaking breath of his own. “Alright,” he croaked. Now that you could see his face again, you noticed the silver lining his eyes. You did this to him. You hurt his feelings. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to be completely honest with me, baby. Can you do that for me?”

You gave him a small nod, the slight movement sent your head into another throbbing fit.

“Why would you think I’d leave you? Over one argument?”

Your eyes were still glazed over as you stared past him. “Because he’d always leave after. He was never sorry,” you whispered.

Cassian’s hold tightened around you on instinct. “Who?”

You took your bottom lip between your teeth before you spoke. “My dad. He used to hurt me, Cass, that’s- it’s why I’m like this,” you exasperated gesturing to yourself. You turned away from his glare to face the fire, stopping the scold right on his tongue. Fine. He could remind you not to talk about yourself like that later. “He killed my mom, I think. No one but him knows what happened that day, but I knew my mom. And I know him. I don't need Azriel to put the clues together for me. I was so young and scared when it happened I never questioned him to his face. But as I got older, I grew more defiant and he hated it. He’d say I was worse than my mother. But my mother would only let him when she had to protect me. I only had myself to protect, but it was useless. I couldn’t fly and I was so much smaller, so much weaker than him. I just- I just wanted it to end.”

Cassian swallowed thickly. “What do you mean you wanted it to end?”

“It was so stupid,” you huffed. “I thought, maybe if I pushed him far enough he just wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop unt- until I didn’t have to live with him anymore. But my self-preservation kicked in at some point. I hit him with one of the dining chairs, and then I just started throwing everything in my reach at him until he collapsed.” Tears trickled down your face but they were slower, calmer than the ones from earlier. “I didn’t pause to check if he was still alive. I just ran. I ran out the back door and I didn’t stop until I could feel my body shutting down. I would hide. Sleep. Then start running again before dawn. It took me two weeks to get to Windhaven. I didn’t know where I was. I thought I was dead when those males started dragging me through the camp.”

Cassian was crying now. War General be damned, his mate had been through Hell, and she kept it to herself all this time. “Why didn’t you tell me,” he croaked. “We asked you what happened that day and- and you said-“ His jaw snapped shut. He should’ve known. Cauldron, some part of him had known. He may not be the Spymaster but your injuries had been severe. He had so easily believed some cruel, passing Illyrians had done that to you but it all made so much more sense now. Not just what happened to you that day, but the fear that kept you in a chokehold day in and day out. The constant anxiety, looking over your shoulder around every corner, eyes constantly roaming the room for threats.

“I didn’t tell you because, well, originally I just wasn’t ready. Then we found out we were mates and I felt all this pressure to be your equal and I was scared if you found out I wasn’t-“

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Cassian’s commanding tone cut through. “You are my equal. Sweetheart, you don’t ever need to step on a battlefield or wield a sword to be my equal. In fact, I’d prefer it if you never did,” he said with a wink. “But you are strong. You are so strong. What you survived with your dad, and crossing Illyria alone, takes strength. Strength that even some of the warriors in my legion don’t have.”

You looked at him through your wet lashes and he took the chance to wipe away your tears with his thumb. “I never thought of it like that,” you whispered.

Cassian shot you a crooked grin. “That’s what I’m here for.” He gave your forehead a tender kiss and you let your eyelids close as you felt the warmth of his lips seep into your skin. “Have you eaten yet?”

The feral growl that erupted from your stomach was answer enough, causing you to blush. Cassian chuckled as he stood with you in his arms, careful of your drooping wings, and walked towards the dining room. “We need to fix that don’t we?”

You nodded sheepishly. “Time got away from me a little bit.”

“It’s alright, sweet girl. We’ll get you fed and then in bed. I’m sure you’re exhausted,” he suggested, earning a nod from you.

As he sat down at the table with you in his lap again, the House immediately provided a spread of small chocolates, fruits, and bread across the table. A second later a pot and two tea cups appeared in front of you and Cassian. “Thank you, House,” you giggled. You still weren’t used to just how sentient the house was. It knew you couldn’t eat a proper meal after the day you had, and instead opted for your favorite, comforting snacks.

Cassian poured tea into the cups and handed yours to you. “My lady,” he grinned. You hadn’t realized how thirsty you were until the sweetness of the honey started to soothe the scratchiness in your throat from all the crying, and you finished the cup instantly. You blushed even more as Cassian refilled your cup with a smile. “Good thing the house makes the pot bottomless.”

“I still don’t understand how all that works. I don’t have any magic so maybe I’m just stu-“ Cassian plopped a piece of chocolate into your mouth with a glare, hazel eyes blazing with determination.

“Do not,” the cold ferocity in his voice left no room for argument, “finish that sentence.” He clenched his jaw as his eyes bore into yours. He felt your body trembling slightly, cursed the cauldron internally, and cupped your cheek, brushing his thumb back and forth along your cheekbone. “You can’t talk about yourself like that, baby. You can’t. I love you. You understand? I love you, and it pains me to hear you say those things about yourself. I can’t even imagine what goes on in your head. I know it’s what you’re used to, it was all you had, and your damned father is to blame for it, but it’s not like that anymore. He can’t hurt you here, and I’ll kill the bastard myself if I ever see him, but you’re safe. You’re safe here with me, in our home, in my arms. You don’t have to go through this alone anymore, sweetheart. And I will spend the rest of our lifetime replacing every harsh word you say about yourself if that’s what it takes to prove you are worthy of my love and I will never leave you.”

You threw your arms around him and nuzzled into his neck. “I love you too, Cass. Thank you. I love you-“ your voice cracked as the raw emotion took over your chest. Cauldron, you loved him. How does he always know what you need to hear? He had learned a thing or two from the Spymaster, no doubt.

“Shhh. I got you,” he said as he tightened the arm around your waist and cradled your head with the other. “I love you so much.” He kissed the side of your head. “I’m so sorry about today. Let’s never fight again, agreed,” he asked with a chuckle.

You smiled as you inhaled his scent of snow, sandalwood, and burning fires. Safe. You were safe here, with your mate. In his arms where you always belonged. “Agreed.”

[ghsface]

It's okay to cry. It's okay to not be okay...

Bau team x bau!reader

Sumary: Sometimes I need to remind myself and others that survival doesn’t just mean being okay, it means learning to laugh at what scared us. And if I don’t do it, who else will?

Warnings: mentions of attempted suicide, lots of blood, some dark humor at the end, cuts on arms, bathtub full of blood, no use of t/n (if you don't feel good reading this please don't read it, I also tried to approach this topic with too much care and delicacy and respect, I hope not to offend anyone)

Author's note: September is suicide prevention month. "suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem" is something that you always hear people say.. and it's true.

speaking from my personal experience, it's something that was on my mind many months many years ago, and I was able to put those thoughts aside thanks to people who I thought were never going to help me, it was a long and very hard process but now I can tell you that I'm completely fine, once they told me if you have people to write a farewell letter to it's because at least someone cares about you, you may have heard this before but it's true, you will always have someone to support you even if you think you have no one, also once they told me if you ever have these thoughts again or even try again ask for help it doesn't matter who just ask for help, whatever way ask for help, those words marked me almost all of my adolescence tbh and it helped me, I hope that if you are going through this alone, you can talk to me, my messages will always be open for whatever it is help or just talking, feel free to do so, if you read this up to here I really appreciate that you did<333

The BAU team was uneasy. It wasn't often that someone on their team disappeared without a trace, much less you. Emily Prentiss had been the first to notice your absence, as you never missed work without notice. Days ago, you had requested a brief leave for personal matters, but you hadn't returned to the office or answered any calls or messages since. As the days passed, worry turned to fear.

JJ, Spencer, and Emily decided to go to your house, as they could no longer ignore the fact that something wasn't right. The atmosphere in the car was tense. JJ kept his hands tightly on the wheel, while Spencer stared out the window, his mind wandering through thousands of possibilities, each one worse than the last. Emily, in the backseat, checked her phone over and over again, hoping in vain to receive some news from you.

When they arrived at your house, the silence was deathly. The windows were closed, and the door seemed intact, but there was something in the air, something that made them hold their breath. Emily pulled out her gun, and after exchanging a worried look with JJ and Spencer, they decided to go inside.

“anyone home?” JJ shouted as she walked down the hallway to the entrance. There was no response.

Spencer’s heart was pounding as they made their way into the living room. Everything was in order, not a sign of a struggle, but something wasn’t right. Every step they took, every corner they inspected, increased the feeling that something terrible had happened.

It was Emily who first noticed the bathroom door ajar. She approached it slowly, holding her breath, as a dark foreboding took hold of her. Pushing open the door, the scene she found was enough to make her stomach turn.

There you were, in the bathtub, submerged in the red-tinged water. Your arms hung at your sides, covered in deep cuts, blood still slowly flowing from the wounds.

“Oh my God!” JJ exclaimed from the doorway, her voice cracking.

Spencer walked into the room behind her, and for a second, the world seemed to stop. She’d never felt such paralyzing fear, such sharp pain in her chest. The air became thick, almost impossible to breathe.

Emily was the first to react, rushing to you, her hands shaking as she tried to pull your unconscious body out of the water. “Call an ambulance, JJ!” she screamed, trying to stay calm, though her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

Spencer knelt beside you, her eyes flooding with tears. “You can’t do this... you can’t leave us like this,” she whispered, her voice thick with desperation.

JJ tried to call 911, but the desperation in his voice made the words catch in his throat. He finally managed to give the address, but the operator informed him that the ambulance would take a while to arrive due to an accident on the main road. Without wasting any more time, JJ made a decision. “We can’t wait, we have to take her ourselves!”

Without thinking twice, the three of them carried you out of the bathroom, wrapping you in towels to stop the bleeding. Spencer held you, his hands still stained with your blood, as they rushed you to the car.

The trip to the hospital was agony. Every second that passed, every breath you took, or stopped taking, was like a stab in the heart of each of them. Emily, driving at full speed, struggled not to lose concentration while JJ, from the backseat, pressed on your wounds, trying to keep you conscious. Spencer kept talking to you, murmuring words of encouragement, pleading with you not to leave, to stay with them.

Finally, they arrived at the hospital, and the doctors immediately took you into surgery. The BAU team, who had been alerted, arrived soon after. Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and Garcia joined Emily, JJ, and Spencer in the waiting room. The hours passed slowly, each minute a silent torture as they waited for news from you.

Spencer kept staring at his hands, your words echoing in his mind. He couldn’t shake the image of you, limp and lifeless in that bathtub. He felt helpless, riddled with guilt for not realizing what was happening to you. He loved you, more than he’d ever dared to admit, and the thought of losing you was too painful to bear.

Finally, the doctor emerged from the operating room, his expression grave. “She’s stable for now, but the blood loss was significant. We had to suture multiple wounds and are monitoring for possible nerve damage. It’s a miracle they brought her in on time.”

The relief was palpable, but so was the sadness. They knew that even though you had survived, the battle wasn’t over. They would have to face the reasons why you had gotten to that point, figure out what had happened, and most of all, be there for you, to help you heal.

Spencer walked up to the ICU door, looking at you through the glass. His eyes filled with tears, he rested a hand on the glass. “I’m sorry… I didn’t realize how bad you were,” he whispered, feeling the weight of guilt crushing him.

Emily and JJ accompanied him, each feeling a mix of relief and pain. They knew the road to your recovery would be long and difficult, but they were determined to be by your side every step of the way, no matter what it took.

When you were finally able to open your eyes days later, the first thing you saw were the tired but relieved faces of your teammates. You knew you had plunged into a darkness that seemed insurmountable, but seeing the people who loved you by your side, you knew you wouldn’t be alone on the road back to the light.

The dim glow of the hospital’s fluorescent lights welcomed you back into the conscious world. Your head hurt, and you felt the weight of the blankets on your body, but what caught your attention the most was the soft sound of someone breathing next to you. You slowly turned your head and met the tired, worried eyes of Spencer, who had been watching over you.

“Spencer…” your voice came out as a whisper, rough from lack of use and medication. You were surprised at how weak you felt, as if a large part of you had vanished.

He sat up instantly, his eyes filling with relief at seeing you awake. “You’re awake…” he said in a tone that reflected a mix of joy and pain. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry... If I had known… If I had noticed something…” The weight of his guilt hit you hard. Even though every fiber of your being was exhausted, you couldn’t let Spencer carry that pain. But before you could answer, the door to the room opened, and Emily and JJ rushed in, closely followed by Hotch and Rossi.

Emily approached you, tears in her eyes, but keeping her composure. “You scared the hell out of us,” she said softly, gently taking your hand. “You don’t have to go through this alone, understand? We’re here for you, always.” JJ sat on the other side of the bed, his blue eyes filled with concern. “Whatever you’re going through… you can tell us. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

The room was filled with a heavy silence, everyone waiting for you to say something, anything to help them understand what had brought you to this point. You knew they were worried, that they wanted to help you, but it wasn’t easy to put into words the storm that had been building inside you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice breaking, feeling tears build up in your eyes. “I didn’t want them to know… I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Spencer looked at you in pain, his hands shaking slightly as he took yours. “You would never be a burden to us. Never.”

Hotch, who had been watching silently, stepped forward. His voice was firm, but with a tinge of compassion that he rarely showed. “You don’t have to face this alone. Whatever you’re feeling, whatever led you to this, we’re going to be with you every step of the way.”

Hotch’s words, so simple and full of promise, were what finally broke the dam. The tears you’d been holding back for so long began to flow, and with them came a wave of emotions you’d been suppressing: the despair, the loneliness, the pain that had consumed you in silence.

Emily wrapped her arms around you, holding you with a strength that anchored you in the present. “It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to not be okay,” she whispered, her voice shaking with her own pent-up emotions.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you felt like you could breathe, if only barely. The lump in your chest didn’t go away entirely, but the presence of your peers, your friends, gave you the strength you needed to start talking, to share what you’d been keeping to yourself.

You told them about the pressure you’d felt, the feeling that you were failing, that you couldn’t live up to expectations. You told them how each day had gotten harder to bear, until one day you just couldn’t take it anymore. The words came out in fits and starts, mixed with sobs, but they listened to each one with patience and understanding.

There was no judgment, just support. And as you spoke, little by little, you began to feel the weight that had been weighing you down begin to lighten, if only a little.

When you finally finished, the silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Spencer was still holding your hand, and his gaze reflected both pain and resolve. “You’re not alone in this. You won’t be anymore,” he said firmly.

Hotch nodded. “We’ll have to work together to get through this, but we will. We’ll help you find the support you need, and we’ll be here for you, too.”

Rossi, who had been watching from the back, came over and gently patted you on the shoulder. “Remember, that’s what family is for, to be there in the worst times and the best too.”

At that moment, although you knew the road ahead would be long and difficult, you also knew that you wouldn’t walk it alone. The team weren't just your colleagues, they were your family, and with them by your side, you began to believe that, perhaps, you could find a way to heal.

And although the darkness still lurked, the light of hope, however small, began to shine again.

ONE YEAR LATER...

1 year into recovery brought with it a new version of you, a version that, while still scarred, both physically and emotionally, was fully committed to moving forward with humor and gratitude. You had rejoined the team fully and found a balance between work, your personal life, and your healing process. Your colleagues had learned to appreciate your new style of humor, even when you surprised them with your comments from time to time.

One afternoon, while you were in the office cafeteria with Emily, JJ, and Garcia, you decided to break the silence with a joke, something you had perfected over those past few months.

“Did you know I’ve developed a new skill?” you said, as you poured yourself a coffee. The three womens looked at you curiously. “Now I can say that I’m an expert in abstract art. I just need something sharp and a bad day.”

There was a moment of surprise, but then Emily was the first to laugh, shaking her head. “You know, no one handles dark humor like you.”

JJ nodded, smiling. “True, but at least now we know you do it with complete command of the situation. Although I will never stop being amazed by your ability to make jokes out of something so serious.”

“Well, my traumas, my jokes,” you said with a wink, and the group burst into laughter. They had learned to take your humor as a sign of your progress, a way to remind yourself and them that you were in control, that you wouldn’t let yourself be overcome by the darkness that once trapped you.

Garcia, who until now had been listening in silence, smiled and gave you a gentle nudge. “You know, I think you should consider writing a self-help book: ‘How to survive work and not go crazy. ’ It could be a best-seller.”

“Sure, with special chapters on how to choose something sharp and how not to use them when you have a bad day,” you joked, and everyone laughed again.

Towards the end of the day, as you were gathering your things to head home, you ran into Rossi in the hallway. He looked at you with his typical knowing expression, but with a spark of amusement in his eyes.

“You know, kid I love seeing you make those jokes. It’s a sign that you’re okay, but it’s also a reminder of how far you’ve come.”

You smiled at him, nodding. “Yeah, Dave, I know. Sometimes, I need to remind myself and others that surviving doesn’t just mean being okay, but learning to laugh at what scared us. And if I don’t do it, who else will?”

Rossi let out a soft laugh. “You know, you can always count on me to be your audience. I’m not as good an audience as Spencer, though.”

“Thanks, Dave. I’ll keep that in mind for my next show.”

As you left, you knew you were surrounded by people who understood you, who supported you, and who accepted every part of you, even the darkest ones. But most importantly, you knew you had found a way to move forward: with a smile on your face, a joke on your lips, and a team that, no matter what, would always be by your side.

And as you walked out the door, ready to face whatever came next, you couldn’t help but make one last comment to yourself. “Well, if I survived the bathtub, I’m ready for anything. I just hope there’s more wine and less blood next time.”

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly🫧

[if-loves]

etude op. 10 no. 4 (torrent)

// Yandere Dr Ratio

Sum: When the rain falls, so too does your tears.

wc: 3278

warnings: implied depression, suicidal thoughts, implied suicide attempt, ooc ratio probably

a/n: sorry for the disappearance LMAO uni was holding me by the neck and not in the way i enjoy

also this was a whole load of yapping ngl maybe i projected too much xd

also pls let me know if i missed any tags!! i’d hate to mistag/forget any cw tags

likes & reblogs are appreciated! asks are more than welcome ❤️

As a student with the honor of studying directly under the one and only Veritas Ratio, you’re more than used to the bluntness of his words and his marking. After all, he’s the Dr Veritas Ratio, arguably one of the most intelligent people, beings even, in the cosmos, and you’re just a mere academic. Sure, you’ve had your theories and whatnot, but compared to someone like Dr Ratio you’re basically a child.

Everyone tells you that you’re incredibly fortunate to be able to have someone as prestiged as him as your tutor, that you would take advantage of the opportunity and use it to further your own studies and knowledge, but you’re not quite sure if furthering your studies is truly what you desire. Coming to university was already an expectation from your parents, who in their right mind would reject them when they’ve already saved all that money exclusively for your studies?

You don’t think yourself to be especially smart or gifted in anything. To yourself, you are just a regular person who will go on to graduate, find a job, and maybe settle down if you were given the chance. You don’t expect much for and from yourself.

However, Dr Ratio clearly seems to think otherwise; or else why would he choose you of all people to be under his tutelage?

It has been almost twelve cycles of the moon, and you have yet to figure out why. The agreed period of mentoring is coming to its end, and he expects a full length thesis and three separate reports from you concerning your studies and experience under him, and you cannot for the life of you think of anything that could ever satisfy him. In the whole period of his guidance, he has never once scored you above a low thirties. The more it happened, the more you thought it was more of a him issue than yours - but that’s what people who can’t take criticism say, so perhaps you’ll refrain from thinking that thought.

The sun had long set, leaving your side of the planet at the mercy of the night. In front of you, a too-bright screen from your laptop glares at you with a blank page, as if demanding you finally do something instead of staring out of the window wistfully as if you were some widow lamenting the loss of her husband.

It takes you everything not to just give up and curl up in the warmth of your bed.

With the nth sigh of the day, you woefully start typing, frustration in the pits of your mind. What in the world could you even write about, anyway? The spinning of the sun? No, you’re sure there’s thousands of papers written about that, similarly for the moon; you’re not one for mathematics either, so that was out of the question. Science isn’t really your forte either, so your options for a paper that would gain Dr Ratio’s approval is about zero. Maybe you should just drop out.

When the world is asleep, you remain awake, and so too does something else.

~~~

There are still a few days left before your thesis and reports are to be submitted, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve written utter nonsense.

What in the world are you talking about? Even you didn’t know. Something about some mythicised substance known as Xuixzedlm, that’s apparently supposed to be what the deep oceans of your world is made of, but none have been able to explore said oceans due to their size, toxicity and the creatures lurking beneath its surface. In fact, almost 99% of the oceans have remained unexplored.

You kind of regret choosing such a substance to be the main part of your thesis, considering how little information there is of it. Sure, the main point of a thesis is to propose a theory to be proved, but for something like this where the research is extremely minimal, you’ve ended up circling back to your previous points due to the lack of ideas and, of course, proven research. Not that he’d care about your excuses.

Your days leading up to the submission date are spent typing, deleting, and referencing your paper. You’re a little less stressed about the report because it didn’t exactly require the same thinking as a thesis did, so you managed to finish those in a week. You’d still need to proofread them a few more times to ensure grammar and whatnot was perfect, but ultimately, its priority was far lower on your list.

However, something odd has happened recently.

One evening when you had finally arrived back home after spending most of the day at one of the university’s libraries, you found a silver key with lilac purple highlights and a strange symbol in the middle. You’d asked your parents, but they hadn’t a clue either, leading to some concern that your room may have been broken into. There were a few off parts about that theory, some being that none of your belongings were missing, there was no evidence of lock tampering on your windows, and most of all, why said person would leave an expensive and important looking key on your table.

The sudden and suspicious appearance of the key led to you keeping it on your person at all times, for a reason you’re not exactly quite sure of other than because it felt right. There’s an inexplicable familiarity to it, as if it belongs to you, but you can never seem to recall where you’ve seen it before, if you ever have in the first place.

Another weird thing has been happening ever since you found the key - you’ve been feeling a strange desire to enter the toxic ocean.

The sounds of the waves splashing against the shore invites you in your dreams, and you always take a step forward, one step after another until the water almost touches your toes. The sun is setting upon you, the breeze gently blowing; the sight in front of you is the picture of ethereal. Just as you take one more step, just as you fall into the abyss, someone pulls you back and you are jolted awake.

Scholars say dreams are the subconscious taking its turn, toying with fantasies and fears indiscriminately. Sometimes they mix, giving birth to hopes that only end in hopelessness, happiness that only ends in despair. If this is true, does your subconscious desire death?

~~~

Veritas Ratio has always thought himself as logical. Most have thought the same of him as well, the rest thinking him some sharp-tongued snake that will not hesitate to bite them should he see fit.

When it comes to you however, he feels an unexplainable feeling in his chest and head, a desire that has only grown since the moment he chose you to be under his guidance for a year. His harshness may not reflect it, but it is merely his way of showing he cares - by being extra critical of your work so that you know how to improve. Veritas Ratio truly wants nothing but the best for a student like you.

Lately, this feeling has grown much in size and desire, leaving him finding trouble in resisting it. It lingers like a persistent headache, and acts up when you are around, leaving him in a constant battle for retention of sanity. His mental fortitude currently leaves him with the upper hand, but who knows for how long.

For someone who prides themself on being logical, he sure feels illogical as he stares at your student ID photo.

It’s one of your least flattering pictures he’s sure, but he finds himself staring at it all the same. The nuisance in his head keeps telling him frankly worrisome thoughts, but he feels no desire to act upon them… at least, the sane part of him doesn’t.

He knows there’s something special about you, and some selfish part of him doesn’t want this mentorship to end, to let you go. There’s no way of being able to guarantee ever seeing you again, so what if…

No. Irrationality has no place in his ideals, let alone in his life.

~~~

You’ve submitted your thesis and reports to him, and now you sit in front of him with your heart pounding in your chest. Is there anything scarier than the judgment of your teacher?

Your hands are laid on your lap, the key in your pocket. The coldness of it transcends the fabric of your pants, a constant reminder of the mystery it holds, and the thoughts it brings. Even now, you find your heart yearning for the sea.

You’re afraid to look at him. You’re afraid of what his expression could tell you, of the disapproval you’re expecting. You’re afraid of disappointing him once again, afraid of his rejection and the harsh words that will inevitably leave his lips. He will berate you once more, and you will be left to silently take it because truthfully, you know he’s right.

The silence continues, and you feel a sudden dizziness and the urge to throw up. You wish the sea would swallow you whole.

“I do not have enough time to finish reviewing everything today, so proper feedback will be given one week from now in person. As for the next few days, they shall continue as normal, as you are still under my tutelage. Do not forget, you still have readings to finish before tomorrow’s class.” He shuts his laptop and takes his alabaster head with him, once again leaving you to drown in the torrent of self-deprecation.

The sea embraces all, doesn’t it? It will lap up all those who dare to offer it their lives, no matter what achievements the person has made in their life, no matter if they are even a person at all. The sea… welcomes all.

(It’ll welcome you, right?)

~~~

After you left the university, you found yourself on the train to the beach. Night is upon the city, but the ocean doesn’t sleep.

People filter out of the trains one by one, until only you are left in the carriage. Announcement after announcement of stops and the sound of the train’s wheels scraping the tracks below it are the only disturbances in the otherwise peaceful silence. Despite the quietness, you cannot hear yourself. The key in your pocket feels like it is burning itself into your skin, but it is also the only thing keeping you awake, a reminder that you are still alive.

You wonder if the ocean too will eat the key, or if it will sink into its depths. Will you sink to the depths?

The train stops at its end, and your legs automatically move. You walk until you hear the sound of waves crashing onto the shore, until you are stopped by a barrier. In an act of madness (or is it desire?), you scale the wall until there is no more to scale, until you see the other side.

There is a certain beauty about the ocean that you can’t quite describe to anyone, that pictures cannot replicate. It brings you a sense of peace, like all will be right in the world. If you could just…

The jump down from the barrier is no easy task. It is a long way down, and the sand can only soften the drop so much; yet, you jump.

Something hurts, but you’re enamored by the sparkling surface of the water. It beckons you, inviting you to a new world beneath its surface, a place to be free of all worries and pains. A place to sleep peacefully, no nightmares or dreams to plague you. It offers you everything the world cannot.

You feel your bag drop off your shoulders, like a weight lifted. A hand takes the key out, holding it tightly as you walk towards the promise of a home. What mysteries will be answered by this new world?

You’d like to apologize to your parents for the disappointment that you are. You had neither the mental fortitude nor the drive to be a success, and you’d like to apologize to Dr Ratio for wasting a year’s worth of his time on an incompetent student like you. His time would have been better spent on honor students, not a mundane, average student like you. You are destined to be just another cog in the wheel, and once you rust, you will be thrown out just like everyone else has and will be.

You find yourself a step away from the water, just like in your dream. You think you see a door. The key in your hand burns hotter. The world pauses. You take a step.

The feeling of the liquid never comes, but being pulled does.

“Just what in the universe are you thinking?!” This voice… is familiar. This voice… Who is it? It can’t be Dr Ratio, no…

But those amber eyes, so familiar, it has to be…

But why? Why?

“I…” Words fail you, just like they always have. What could you possibly say to him? He must think you mad, unfit to graduate, unfit to live perhaps.

“Do you wish to be swallowed by the gaping abyss? For what? To prove the existence of Xuixzedlm? Do you think your life so worthless that you think sacrificing it for nothing is what will make it meaningful?!” He is… angry. You’ve never seen him like this. Dr Ratio doesn’t get angry. “So? Say something, anything, that could possibly help me understand why you’d attempt such an act of foolishness!”

“Why does it matter to you?!” You shout, wringing your arm free from his tight grip. He has pulled you far enough from the gentle ocean, far away from the door. You look back at it, and it remains floating above the water. The key is still in your hand.

“Are you so dull that you need to ask such a useless question?” He scoffs. He moves to grab your arm again, but you instinctively bring the hand holding the key to your chest, afraid that he would take it from you. His eyes, shades of intense amber, follow your hand and lock on to the key you hold. He frowns.

“Yes! Yes, I am! I am so utterly stupid that teaching me is a waste of time, that you should leave me alone! If… if I wasn’t here, then there’d be one less stupid person in the universe! Isn’t that what you want?” Are tears running down your face, or is the sky weeping on your behalf?

He stares at you, and his lips do not move. It goes on like this, until you are both drenched in the rain, clothes wet and only the tempting sound of the ocean, and the pitter-patter of raindrops blending into the dark waters. Moonlight briefly shines upon the both of you, and you see his face clear - there is no anger, only contemplation.

“If you have nothing more to say, then leave me alone.” You turn around and set your sights upon the floating door once more, the key still held to your heart. With a resolved mind, you once more walk towards the beckoning arms of the abyss, the promise of no tomorrow.

Dr Ratio doesn’t stop you until you are one foot in the water. There is a searing pain, but you are one step closer to the door, to a stagnancy that life could never offer you. You are one foot in the water when a familiar symbol appears on the door, like an eye staring at you. You are one foot out of the water when you realize what it is.

“You have lost your mind.” He says, pointedly. You struggle in his grip, but he doesn’t falter. If anything, his hold only tightens. The pain from the water is nothing compared to the pain of losing freedom.

“Let- me- GO!” You desperately push against his chest, legs swinging. Why couldn’t he just let you go? Why did he care so much? What value do you bring to him, other than more evidence that he is far more blessed than the rest of the universe ever could be?

“Struggling will do you no good. Stay still, and I would not have to restrain you like this.” He glares at you from the corner of his eye as he brings you further away from your salvation, and the final straw is when he wrestles the key out of your hand. You’re inconsolable as he takes you past the barrier, brings you to his vehicle, and takes you to the place you can only assume is his apartment.

You let him guide you to the bath and clean your injured foot with a gentleness that is unbecoming of him, and he runs you a bath all while you grieve. Both of you say nothing as he treats you like a child, and you let him bind you to the bedpost without any struggle. To struggle is to fight, to fight is to have a desire to spread your wings; you lost that the moment he took you away.

Dr Ratio, or rather Veritas as he insists you call him, has shown you such a different side of him that you don’t know what to make of it. He holds you at night like you’re lovers, kisses you like he means it. He dutifully takes care of you, and you do not respond in kind. Despite this, he treats you all the same, with no trace of the Dr Ratio you’ve known for the last year, and only of the Veritas that you’ve met ever since that night.

You never see the key again.

~~~

One day, he has packed up everything. You briefly wonder if this meant that he’d be leaving you behind, but to your disappointment, he brings you along. He has cuffed you to himself, a reminder of the rights you have lost when you let him have his way with you.

“Veritas,” his name tastes like poison. “Where are we going?”

“The IPC has assigned me to Penacony, the land of dreams.” He responds without hesitation, turning to face you. “Naturally, you’ll be coming with me.”

You want to say no. You want him to leave you here, to give you back your key, to bring you back to the sea. The scar on your foot is a reminder of what could’ve been, what he has taken from you, and you haven’t - or rather, will never - forgive him. He will never deserve your forgiveness.

“Have… have you told my family?” You whisper, your throat as dry as the sand on the beach. Your hands fidget, and you find yourself unable to look at him; but truthfully, you don’t need to. He has ensured that every part of him has been engraved into the depths of your brain, and carved into your heart.

“…There is no point dwelling on the past. I am your family now. Clinging to such bygones will only serve to erode your mind, and limit your ability to live life.” He is firm, sounding more like the Dr Ratio you knew. He holds the hand that he has chained to his own and brings it to lips, the band of silver gleaming in the sunlight. It is a reminder. A firm, cruel, reminder of who he really is.

Veritas Ratio is nothing more than an illogical, selfish, arrogant, cruel and lovesick beast who allowed his heart (if you could even call it that) to take the reins.

Veritas Ratio is nothing more than a liar.

[ornii]

|| My Kind of Crazy ||

Harley Quinn X Male Reader

So after Binge Watching Barbie, rewatching Suicide Squad, Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn), don’t forget that part, and The Suicide Squad, my appreciation For Morgot Robbie has increased more than it already has. Adore her. So, here’s part one of ?

(Any Tags I forgot please let me know.)

The Stench of rotting carpet, old wood and the tinge of blood was in the air. But this was all a part of the plan. Inside that old decrepit apartment you had your pistol Aimed at a man standing before you, Batman. Yes, The, Batman. A series of choices lead to this moment, but it wasn’t always like this. You were his Robin, his Boy wonder. Now you’re the shadow hiding within Gotham. Your foot was placed on the chest of another man, who’s cold and chilling laugher echoes though the room, Joker. It was on this same day, that you were Abducted; tortured, and subsequently Killed by the Very man. A Trip in the Lazuras pit changed you for the worst. But to your surprise after your revival, Joker was still alive, and Batman hadn’t sunk revenge for your murder, and all you could ask was…

“Why?” You as under your Helmet.. “Why him?” You said, Batman was stoic, silent.

“Who are you..?” He grumbles, his voice modulated to avoid detection, “You don’t know? I’m hurt.” You say with much sarcasm, you grip your helmet and tear it off, showing your face to Batman, even with the small J scar under your eye, it’s obvious who you were. Out of all the people he thought, he never expected his old Sidekick..

To be under the Red Hood.

Jokers eyes lock with the scar and he laughs much harder.

“Wow, now THAT, is funny!” He has his grilled toothy grin, and you placed your foot higher right on his throat. The wheezing laughter continues slowly.

“You don’t get to talk.” You growl at him, and then turnt your attention back to Batman.

“You know, I forgive you for not saving me, you can’t save everyone. But why, why is HE still alive?!” You scream, the rage and trauma building up in you finally. “After everything he’s done, he’s crippled, broken, murdered people! Why, why is he still here?!”

“You don’t understand… you never understood.” He said to you, and you scoff.

“What? That you can’t do it? That you don’t have the spine to! It’s too hard isn’t it?” You ask, Bruce shakes his head.

“No, I know it’s easy, he deserves to die a thousand times over, but if I killed him, i wouldn’t stop myself… I’d justify it, then I’d justify killing someone else, and it’ll keep going.. and I’ll sink further, and further into the dark.” Bruce said, you shook your head.

“You can’t control yourself… I’m not talking about Dent, or Penguin, Even Harley!” You toss the gun, Bruce instinctively catches it but, obviously isn’t capable of holding a gun.

“Do it, shoot him. Kill one, and save millions of lives… you’re the Batman right! You save people, don’t you? So save them! And kill him!” You demand, Bruce stares at you, both of you unwavering in your convictions. But he simply dropped the gun.

“No��� I’m sorry, (Y/n).” He said in a solemn whisper.

“Fine!” You yell, revealing one last trick up your sleeve. an explosive set in the entire apartment block, revealing the dead man’s switch in your other hand. Joker laughs as he looks around it all beeping. He turns to Batman, and just smiles

“You, you found a way to win! But to lose everything! AHAHAHAHAHA—“ he laughs, reveling in the chaos as you let go of the switch, Batman made a choice, and now all three of you had to live with it, and in a flash, an explosion, it all faded to black for you.

You’ve been playing that in your mind for the past year you’ve been in Belle Reeve. Sitting in your orange room, captive. The 4x4 room kept you isolated, only for a bang at the door.

“Inmate. You’ve got a visitor! Stand up, face the wall.” He yells, you weren’t keen to listen to others. You stood up, facing the door, cracking your neck.

“Any of your men step in, I’m sending ten of them to the ICU.” You said, very calmly, the door opens and they rush in, training with the Batman made fighting multiple enemies a breeze, punches, kicks and knees flew all though the room as you delivered counters, combos and ruthless tactics. But all fun even came at an end as you were apprehended and locked into a chair. Struggling like a dog you strained to get out, you were wheels around Belle Reeve as you see eleven stretchers head to your cell.

“Told you..” you mutter, struggling in the binds. Being wheeled into an interrogation room, you kept your lips purse until you saw your visitor, she wore a women’s suit and skirt, her eyes deep brown like mud drowning you in muck. Amanda Waller. You looked around and saw that the room was being monitored by a single camera. She gave one officer the nod and he presses a button, the red light on the camera fades off.

“You’re not as scary as I expected.” She said, holding a file she sat down across from you. You knew about Waller, working with the Batman gave you some intel on contacts. And she was the nastiest one of all.

“Waller?” You ask.

“In the flesh.” She responded and opened your file, reading it off.

“(Y/n) Todd, Father was a factory worker, died due to Gang related activity. Mother was an addict, died years ago, leaving you alone, but you see.. that’s where it ends, as if you faded off the planet of the earth. Until you resurface a year later.” She said, all of that was true.

“What’s your point?” You ask. And she reads off another page.

“Peak Physical fitness, durability, speed, Agility, Strenght. Master Of Arms and a Genius level intellect… you are a dangerous and powerful individual, so I’m offering you a chance to cut your sentence down..” she offers

“You’re bluffing..” you struggle in the binds more, but Waller keeps her dead stare.

“Do I look like I’m bluffing?” She said, you stop and she looks you in the eye. “you complete your task, you get years off your sentence, you fail.. you die. Fairly simple.” She said, a million thoughts raced though your mind, but one did.

“Get out, Find Joker.. Kill, Joker.”

“…Im in.” You said, Waller takes her file and closes it. “Good, get his bomb in and relay with the others.” She says, your attitude shifts pretty quickly, “bomb?” You ask, “What do you mean bomb?!” You yell, but nobody said anything, being wheeled away you were held down by officers and a needle injected right into the base of your skull. Granted it wasn’t the worse thing that’s been done to you, still hurt. Finally reaching the breaking point you were wheeled outside, the sun finally hitting your skin and you found yourself surrounded by soldiers, many wounded, others preparing for what seems to be a war.

You turn your head left to spot someone you know too well, Deadshot. Seems he was also canned to Belle Reeve, and to your left was a woman you knew too well, Harley Quinn, also a prisoner. Your blood began to boil even more than before and you were ready to throttle her, but with all these soldiers here, you doubt you’d be able to do it without getting filled with lead. So you bid your time as any Hunter would. A Soldier approached them, and looked them up and down.

“Unlock 'em.” He orders, the soldiers obliged and your restraints are removed, you sit up from yoyr bindings and look further down your line. You even spot Killer Croc, in all his, Lizardy goodness. Harley Stretches and keeps her off putting smile. Closest to Harley was a man adorned with Tattoos, ElDiablo was his name, you heard a few reports about him from Batman.

“Mmm! Hi, boys! Harley Quinn. How do you do?” She said, obviously no one said anything. It was dead silence until she looks around. “Huh? What was that? I should kill everyone and escape? Sorry. It's the voices…” she said, but laughs, “I'm kidding! Jeez!…That's not what they really said.”

The soldiers aren’t done assembling their Squad, more soldiers drag over a sack that’s fighting pretty furiously.

“What do we got here? Twelve pounds of shit in a 10-pound sack. Welcome to the party, Captain Boomerang.” He watches them cut it open, Captain immediately swings on the first person he sees. The Soldiers pin him to a wall.

“Hey, what's going on, man? Hey, one minute I'm playing Mahjong with me nanna, then this red streak hits me outta nowhere.” Boomerang pleads.

“Shut up! You were caught robbing a diamond exchange.”

“I was not!”

He Totally Was.

There was one last member, Slipknot, the man who could climb anything, which was an odd ability set, it nonetheless he was here. The man before them all was Colonel Rick Flag.

“Listen up! In your necks, injection you got, it's a nanite explosive. It's the size of a rice grain, but it's powerful as a hand grenade. You disobey me, you die. You try to escape, you die. You otherwise irritate or vex me, and guess what? You die.” He says, which throws a wrench in your plans to escape, Harley obnoxiously puts her hand up.

“I'm known to be quite vexing. I'm just forewarning you.”

“Lady, shut up!” Flag yells, and then composed himself, “This is the deal. You're going somewhere very bad, to do something that'll get you killed. But until that happens, - you're my problem.” He explains, Deadshot looks him up and down.

“Mmm. So was that like a, uh, pep talk?” He asks.

“Yeah. That was a pep talk. There's your shit. Grab what you need for a fight. We're wheels up in 10.” He said, crates of gear was brought in for you and your “Teammates.”

“You might wanna work on your team motivation thing. You heard of Phil Jackson? He's like the gold standard, okay? Triangle, bitch. Study.” Deadshot, with those very inspiring words to flag suits up with everyone. You open your crate to see the old gear you had, still in damn good condition, and you suit up, Your body armor and jacket lined with shuriken, explosives and throwing knives, a combat knife strapped to your leg. Twin M1911 Dual Handguns, mint condition. And your helmet, still holding one scar on it, you take the helmet out of its case and stare at it. Your eyes waver for a moment to your other teammates, everyone seems to have some dumb gimmick, but your eyes dressed down Harley, not by your choice of course, you’ve been cramped in a hole for nearly a year, and the first woman you see was stripping down in front of you. An urge came over you and you knew exactly what it was, she finally gets her shirt on and sees almost every guy staring.

“What?” She said, they all quickly go back to doing what they were supposed to do, you as well, pushing those feelings down. You keep looking at your mask, Deadshot does the same thing with his.

“What? Won't fit anymore? Too much junk in the trunk?” Harley said to him.

“Nah. Every time I put this on, somebody dies.” He tried to shake it off, but couldn’t that.. this wouldn’t be a normal contracts

“And?” Harley said.

“I like putting it on.” He admits, she smirks and grabs her mallet, “Goody. Somethin' tells me a whole lotta people are about to die!” She sounds so giddy.

“Yeah. It's us. We're being led to our deaths.” Diablo said.

“I don’t plan on it.” You said, looking down the barrels of one of your 1911’s.

“You know something we don’t Mate?” Boomerang asks, “No.” You reply. “I just don’t plan on dying again.” You mutter.

“What you a zombie or something?” Deadshot looks unimpressed. “Something like that… point is; Been dead, done that… I plan on getting out of here..” you say, and turn to Harley.

“I’ve got business to take care of.” You made your claim pretty obvious but it didn’t matter to you, escape is the only plan, and getting this explosive disabled. “You don’t seem to giddy like these guys..” you ask El Diablo, “I’m not here to hurt anyone man.” He said. Deadshot was the first to let them all know.

“Y'all might wanna leave old boy alone. He could torch this whole joint. Ain't that right, ese?” He looks at Diablo, who calmly shows his hands, flames emitting from them, but low ones:

“Ain't got nothing to worry about from me. I'm cool, homie.” He says, Flag returns to them, holding a tablet with Amanda on screen.

“Behold the voice of God.” He said, and she gives them the rundown. “For those of you who don't know me officially, my name is Amanda Waller. There's an active terrorist event in Midway City. I want you to enter the city, rescue HVT-1, and get them to safety.” She orders.

“I'm sorry. Uh... For those of us who don't speak good guy, what is HVT-1?” Deadshot asks.

“HVT.. High Value Target.” You say, “It’s like a bounty, Basically a rescue mission.” You explain, Deadshot nods, admitting you made it sound much less cool. “The only person that matters in the city, the one person you can't kill. Complete the mission, you get time off your prison sentence. Fail the mission, you die. Anything happens to Colonel Flag, I'll kill every single one of you. Remember, I'm watching. I see everything.” Waller ends the communication and Flag turns to Deadshot

There's your pep talk.”

“Compared to your shit, she killed it. So that's it? What, we some kind of Suicide Squad?” He asks, Flag ignores his question and leaves.

“I'll notify your next of kin. Alpha, Bravo team. Mount up!” He orders, you look around to the team you’ll be forced to work with. All of them, criminals in their own right, but for now they’re the thing between success, or all of you dying painful deaths. You put on your helmet and the detective mode still works, turning it off. You load your guns and walk to the helicopter.

Task Force X, has been activated.

[mustainegf]

This idea has been clanging around in my brain for months, so I figured why not write it (after MANY rough drafts) and give it to you guys!!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Angst, mention of drugs, mention of pregnancy, slight fluff, mentions of suicide, panic attack

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: She wakes to find her husband, Dave, shattered emotionally in the bathroom. Dave's problem with addiction intensifies, fueled by fear of relapse as they contemplate starting a family.

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄 ¹⁹⁹²

I jolted awake to the sound of shattering porcelain, the echo of it slicing through the silence of our bedroom. My heart lurched in my chest, fear snatching at my throat. Dave wasn't beside me. Panic gripped me like a vice as I threw the covers off, my mind racing through a dozen worst-case scenarios in an instant.

I scrambled out of bed, my feet hitting the cold floor with a shock. The urgency of the situation propelled me forward, each step echoing the pounding of my heart. My mind conjured images of accidents, injuries, or worse. Dave had been acting strange lately, distant and withdrawn, but I never imagined it would lead to this.

The bathroom door was ajar, and a thin ribbon of light spilled out into the dim hallway. I hesitated for just a moment, a flicker of apprehension coursing through me. But I couldn't afford to hesitate, not when Dave might be in trouble.

Pushing the door open, I was met with a sight that froze me in my tracks. Dave stood in front of the shattered mirror, his reflection fragmented into a thousand fractured pieces. His shoulders were tense, his back rigid, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. But it was his face that caught my attention, twisted in a mask of raw anguish. Tears streaked down his cheeks, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Dave, honey, tell me what’s wrong," My voice wavered, barely more than a whisper. I took a step forward, rubbing his arm as I glanced down at the dripping blood on his knuckles.

He didn't respond, didn't even acknowledge my presence. His gaze remained fixed on the broken mirror, as if it held the answers to all the questions tormenting him.

"Dave, talk to me," I pleaded, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. His eyes flashed with a mix of anger and despair.

"Can't you see?" he spat, his words laced with bitterness. "I'm a mess, a fucking disaster."

My heart sank at his words, the weight of his pain pressing down on me like a physical force. I continued to rub his arm in support, but he recoiled as if my touch burned.

"Don't," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't need your pity."

"I'm not here to pity you, Dave," I said, my voice soft but firm. "I'm here because I care about you. Because I love you."

He scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. The sound cut me to the core, a sharp reminder of the darkness that lurked within him, threatening to consume us both. But I refused to let it win. I refused to let him slip away without a fight.

"What’s all of this about, Dave?" | pressed gently, my voice laced with concern as I looked into his tortured eyes.

"It's about me being weak," he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with self loathing.

My heart clenched at his words, at the weight of his darkness. "You're not weak, Dave," | insisted, my voice trembling with emotion. "You're human. Anybody would say you’re the opposite of weak."

Dave's words poured out in a torrent of anger and despair, each syllable heavy with the weight of his self-loathing. "I'm pathetic," he spat, his voice trembling with emotion. "I'm a failure, a goddamn waste of space. I've been clean for months, but what does it matter? I'll just end up going back to using, like I always do."

My heart ached at his words, at the depth of his torment.

"I'm afraid," he confessed, his voice raw with emotion. "Afraid of going back to heroin, to valiums, to cocaine. Afraid of losing myself again, of never finding my way back.” He poured his emotions onto the bathroom floor, hot anger and ice cold sadness hanging in the air.

“But deep down, I know it's inevitable. I'm weak, too weak to resist it."

I tried to speak, to offer anything I could, but he wasn’t finished yet.

But he shook his head, his whole body trembling with the force of his emotion. "You don't understand," he insisted, his voice rising to a shout. "I'm a lost cause. I'm going to end up destroying everything I love, just like always."

Tears welled in my eyes as I watched him unravel before me, the weight of his pain crushing him beneath its relentless weight. "Dave, listen to me," I urged, my voice steady despite the feeling in my heart. "You are not defined by the drugs. You have the strength to get over this."

But he shook his head, his eyes filled with anguish. "I don't think I can," he whispered, his voice barely more than a broken whisper.

“I-I can't do this anymore," he choked out between sobs, his whole body trembling with the force of his despair. "I'm so tired, so...so fucked." He spat out. “I just wish I would be put out of my fucking misery. Kill myself or something.”

My heart was shattering at his words, the pain in his voice like a knife twisting in my chest. I quickly reached out and gripped the sides of his face, pulling his gaze to meet mine. "Look at me, Dave," I said, my voice soft but insistent. "Breathe."

He obeyed, his eyes meeting mine, and I could see the turmoil churning within him, the storm of emotions threatening to take him entirely.

"Promise me, Dave," I said, my voice trembling with emotion. "Promise me that you'll never talk about killing yourself again. I-I couldn't bear to lose you."

For a moment, he was silent, his breathing slow and steady as he stared into my eyes, as if searching for something within them. And then, finally, he nodded, a single tear slipping down his cheek.

"I promise," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. But he continued.

"How will I even be a good father?" he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't want my future child to have a junkie for a dad."

And then, in an instant, everything clicked into place.

Me and Dave had been trying for a baby for the last month, and I realized that it played a big part in this. It wasn't just the drugs, but Dave was afraid of relapsing and not being there for our baby.

I softly brushed his cheek, Doing whatever I could to comfort him. "Dave, listen to me," I said. "You are going to be an amazing father. You’ve been clean for almost 2 years now, this is just your anxiety."

I gently wiped away his tears with my thumbs, feeling the wetness beneath my touch as I tried to offer him some solace in the midst of his pain. "You need to sleep, Dave," I whispered softly. "We'll deal with the mirror in the morning. Right now, all that matters is that you rest."

I carefully wiped and cleaned his bloodied and cut knuckles, dabbing a warm wet cloth on his wounds. I wrapped his hand and gently held him close as I brought him back to bed.

As we made our way back to bed, I whispered sweet words of reassurance. "I'm right here," I murmured, wrapping my arms around him as we settled beneath the covers. "Just breathe, Dave. Everything's going to be okay."

He nodded against my chest, his breathing slowly evening out as sleep began to claim him. "I know, I know," he whispered, his voice barely more than a sleepy murmur.

I held him close, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my own, and for a moment, everything else went away. In that moment, there was only us.

And as I pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, I knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, we would face them together, hand in hand.

[vixen-academia]

Today is the 60th anniversary of the Military Coup that occurred here in Brazil (with a little help from USA, may I remind you)

The military killed and tortured thousands of people. They killed mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, daughters, sons, friends… they tortured children. They faked suicides. They targeted trans people, specially trans woman. They massacred indigenous.

Always good to remember the face of those who were assassinated by the dictatorship fighting for our freedom. Remember their names. Remember their faces. Don’t let their death be in vain.

Telma Regina Cordeiro Correa: a geography student from my university. Now the academic directory (it’s like the college version of a student council in Brazil) of Geography has her name.

Stuart and Zuzu Angel: Stuart was an activist fighting for the end of the dictatorship. He went missing and his mother. The stylist Zuzu Angel started to talk about the dictatorship with foreign media. She was killed by a car “accident”.

Edson Luís: a highschooler killed by the militaries during a protest against the high prices of the school’s restaurant.

Alfeu de Alcântara Monteiro: A military from the Aeronautical He was killed by their own colleagues for standing up for democracy, being considered the first victim of the dictatorship.

And there are many, MANY more. Some of them were actively fighting against the militaries (sometimes literally, with guns and etc). Others were just mistaken. Some were just “wrong place, wrong time” situations. Others helped someone who was fighting. But their lives ended unfairly. Some families couldn’t even bury their loved ones. And that’s why we need to remember.

“Ódio e nojo à Ditadura! Para que não se esqueça, para que nunca mais aconteça: DITADURA NUNCA MAIS!” (EN, loosely translated: Spite and pish towards dictatorship! So we never forget, so it never happens again: DICTATORSHIP NEVER MORE!)

[myeuphoricmindset]

The Afterlife - Eddie x Fem!reader

PART ONE:

Summary | You've been surviving in The Upside Down with Eddie for months and you had one last night with him knowing you both were going to die. But did you? (This story is a part two to my story called: As the world burns. You can find my master list on my page.)

Warnings/Tags | 18+ Unprotected sex, talk about death and world ending, mention of thinking life would be better if reader were dead (not suicide), Comfort Eddie, This one-shot is not about the smut, even though there is a small scene it’s not focused on it so please set your expectations accordingly.

Please let me know if I missed a warning.

Word count | 2.7k

Unfamiliar voices filled the room and you focused on Eddie's voice to feel safe. You’ve never seen Eddie so happy before, his smile is brighter and his laugh is louder.

After Dustin and the young girl with the short hair turned away to give you both privacy to put on clothes Eddie wasted no time hugging them and asking a thousand questions. A group of people busts through the door once El mentions that it’s clear.

“El did it! She killed Vecna and destroyed The Upside down.” Dustin shouts with excitement in his voice as Eddie hugs him for the second time. “We came back because I just had to make sure you weren’t gone. I had to.” Eddie squeezes Dustin harder and you notice tears in Eddie’s eyes before he wipes them away so no one notices.

You look away, giving them a moment. El smiles at you from across the room. She notices your timid stance behind Eddie and she steps closer to you, talking softly. “Hi, I’m El.”

You smile and introduce yourself. Eleven welcomes you and introduces you to the rest of the group as Eddie joins your side and holds your hand. Everyone seems so nice, but the amount of people in the room is overwhelming when you’ve only been around one person for the past few months and before Eddie came along you were completely alone for two months prior. The lack of human contact does something to a person, and it must be showing because everyone looks at you with pity in their eyes.

“I think we need a moment,” Eddie says softly to everyone in the room after glancing at you.

A girl with shoulder-length brown hair looks at you as she stands next to a guy with better-looking hair. She says, “Alright guys, let’s give them a breather.”

“Thanks, Robin,” Eddie says.

“We have food when you both are ready,” A boy says sweetly. He has kind eyes with a hint of sadness and that relaxes you a bit. Eddie says something to him and mentions his name. Will. You say his name in your head as you try to memorize everyone's name.

The bedroom door closes, leaving you and Eddie alone. He pulls you into a hug immediately and you inhale his comforting scent to remind yourself that it’s okay.

“We made it. We are okay. We are alive.” Eddie says in your ear as he squeezes you tighter. You aren’t sure if he’s telling you that or trying to convince himself that this is real. But you’re thankful for it because you need some convincing yourself.

Your eyes scan the room as you stand in Eddie’s arms. It’s the same bedroom, but no blue hue or spores filling the air. It’s not cold or eerie. There is no screeching from the Demobats circling the cabin. The room looks the same, but it’s warm and inviting. The atmosphere is what you remember from life before The Upside. A life that you accepted you’d never see again.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, cupping your face. Your mouth is dry as you try to form words. Eddie's thumb brushes your cheek as he tries to comfort you. “It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?” You nod and bury your face in his chest. He strokes your hair and kisses your head. “I’m here. We will get through this.” He whispers.

Loud voices and movement from outside the room have you pulling back to look at Eddie. You want to ask him to take you home, but you have no home. The only person you had in the real world was your sister and she died during the boat accident in Lover’s Lake. An accident you think of daily, because if you didn’t follow her into that water and accidentally end up in the open gate then you might have a normal life right now. But this is your life and you have nowhere to go. Eddie has friends and you’re sure he has family and a home to return to. The realization of it all hits you and you try blinking back the tears.

“What now?” You ask faintly.

“We go home.”

“I-I don’t have a home.” You choke out.

You think for a split second that maybe it would have been better to die instead of live because at least you had a potential future with Eddie in the afterlife. But this reality is full of uncertainty. Eddie has a life to return to and you’ve never felt more alone than you do right now.

Eddie wipes your tears and lifts your chin so you meet his gaze. “What is mine is yours. Do you think I’m going to go on living without you? Fuck that. I chose you in death and I’m choosing you in life too. Okay?”

The heavy weight on your chest lifts and you let out a soft sob. “Okay.” You cry. Why did I doubt him? You think to yourself. Eddie leans down and kisses you softly. His lips are soft and so sweet. Your tears run down your face causing the kiss to have a subtle trace of salt in Eddie’s sweet reassurance.

“I can’t wait to show you a life with me without fear. This is the version of me that you always deserved.” Eddie says brushing your hair back from your face.

You shake your head, “I want every version of you. Don’t say that.”

He smiles and nods, trying to believe your words. You think about the time when Eddie told you about his life before The Upside Down and how you would have liked him more if you'd met him back then. You want to laugh or scream because he is everything to you, every version in every parallel universe. He is who he was before and who he is now, and you think he must not realize that he can be both. He’s deserving of love before and after his trauma.

Something you need to remind yourself too…

Eddie breaks your thoughts by kissing you again and then guiding you out of the room. He walks before you as if he’s your shield against a world that you no longer find familiar. You think to yourself that as long as you’re with him then you can overcome anything.

His friends greet you with smiles and welcoming hands as you and Eddie join them in the living room. A hot pizza on the counter almost sends you to your knees since you’ve lived off chips and beef jerky for months.

Maybe living isn’t as bad as you think.

_

“Holy shit it feels good to be home,” Eddie says as he walks around his trailer —his home. A home that he thought was destroyed. He doesn’t know how it’s still standing, but El told him to not ask questions and he didn’t. He has a huge smile on his face as he tells you about his home and about his Uncle Wayne, who Eddie thinks is not here because of work.

Eddie's friends dropped you both off ten minutes ago knowing it’s time for you both to rest before meeting up again tomorrow. You really like his friends and it’s nice to think that eventually, they will be your friends too. Your life here is already starting to slowly rebuild.

You watch Eddie’s fingers run over the fabric of a jacket hanging over the back of the couch. His smile is softer and his eyes are blinking back tears. “I thought I’d never see him again.” He says quietly while looking at Wayne’s jacket.

You come up behind him and hug him. “Welcome home.”

He spins to face you and pulls you into him. “Welcome home to you too.”

Your chest warms at the thought of a place to call home. “What do you think Wayne will think of this?”

“He will probably think you’re my girlfriend that I ran off with for months and he will be pissed.” He smiles at that. “I don’t know honestly. I haven’t figured out what I’m going to tell him, but I think at the end of the day it won’t matter. He will be happy I’m home and he will welcome you without hesitation because that’s what he does.”

You smile at that and rest your head on Eddie’s chest. You notice a huge wall filled with coffee mugs. “So, is that his or your collection?” You point to the shelves and giggle.

Eddie laughs, “Uncle Wayne and those damn mugs.” His brows furrowed as he looked closer. “Wow, he’s added more since I’ve been gone.” That makes Eddie laugh harder. “Jesus H. Christ.” And you both laugh.

“Come on, let’s go rest,” Eddie says.

“Do you think we could shower first?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide with excitement. “A hot shower! Oh, hell yeah.” He grabs your hand and rushes to the bathroom.

For months you and Eddie bathed in pools and ponds. Showers were nonexistent in The Upside Down since there was no running water, so knowing you now have access to showers again feels like a gift from the gods.

You step into the shower with Eddie’s help, his hand outstretched. It’s not unusual to be this close to Eddie. You have been doing everything with him for months and this is normal. Showering with him feels more right than without him. Maybe trauma bonding was a thing?

A moan rolls off Eddie’s lips as the water runs down his back. You smile at the sound and the flutter that fills your stomach. He guides you under the water, making sure you get more coverage than he does.

“Oh my god,” you say as you close your eyes. The warm water spills over your body and it’s the most wonderful feeling. You wonder how you ever lived without a hot shower.

“Feels so fucking good, right?” Eddie says with a laugh.

“So good. Better than sex.”

Eddie lifts a brow, “Better than sex, huh?”

You laugh, “Isn’t that what people say?”

Eddie laughs with you, his wet hair plastered to his face. His hair is longer with the curls stretched in the water. God, he was beautiful. You touch his face and he relaxes, his smile softening. The water runs over your bodies as you stare at each other. Eddie's hands grab your waist and pull you close.

“I love you,” he says quickly. “I should have said that before when I thought it was all ending. I’m upset that I didn’t. But I really believe that it wasn’t over. I was going to find you after, you know…in the afterlife or whatever is after this. I knew it wasn’t the end for us. I thought that if I held onto those words it was a promise that I’d find you and deliver them in our next life. And, well…shit, here we are. I guess this is our after, so yeah. I love you. I loved you before death and now. Whatever this is.”

Your heart bursts under the weight of his words. You can’t tell if you’re crying or if it’s the water running down your face, but all you can focus on is the warmth swelling within your chest.

“I love you so much.” You say. It’s pathetic. Five words that don’t even carry the weight of what you feel. You crash your lips onto his. You wrap your arms around him, needing him as close as possible. Fuck, you want to crawl into his chest and make a damn home. You want to bath in those words, have them embedded into your skin. You’ve never felt this way before. It’s a craving and a need that can’t be met. You love him so much that it hurts to breathe and once you can catch a breath all you want is to inhale him.

Eddie’s fingers dig into your skin, almost a reflection of the need burning within you. His kiss is desperate and hungry. He pressed you against the shower wall and you let out a gasp that he cut off with his mouth on yours. He’s hard against you and your body aches in answer. There is no foreplay besides his love confession. It’s only a hungry desire for one another and the need to be as close as possible in every way.

Eddie lifts you by the hips and you tighten your grip around his neck. You’re both out of breath from the kiss and the urgency of it all. You let out a whimper as he lowers you down on him. He fills you so perfectly.

“Fuck,” Eddie moans.

The water spills over you both as you move together. You are pinned between the shower wall and Eddie’s body, exactly where you want to be.

Eddie kisses your neck as he thrusts into you. “Are you sure it’s better than sex?”

You laugh, which ends in a moan as Eddie pushes deeper into you. “Maybe I was wrong.”

His hand moves up and grabs your breast, massaging it softly as he sucks on your neck. He’s everywhere, all you can feel and taste. After everything you’ve been through, he feels like your prize. You know that you’d go through it all a million times if you ended up being exactly where you are now.

After some time of moving together in perfect bliss, Eddie slams his hand on the shower wall above your head as his body starts to shake. He drops his head back as his breath quickens. You feel the warm wave build within your body and you grab Eddie’s face in your hands. He meets your gaze as he barely hangs on.

“Together,” you say, repeating his words from before.

You both reach your climax, clinging onto each other and trying to stay upright as the water washes away the desire that burned inside you both. You smile and laugh softly as you help each other regain stability.

Eddie plants a kiss on your bare shoulder before running his fingers through your soapy hair. There is something symbolic about Eddie washing your hair as if he is washing away every bad thing that ever happened in the past months. It feels right that he is the one doing it because even though you were dirty on the outside he made you feel brand new on the inside before the world burned, well…the world that brought you two together.

He massages your scalp before gently guiding you under the water. You close your eyes and focus on his fingers running through your hair as he washes away the soap. This must be what Heaven feels like, not the washing of your hair, but the touch of Eddie Munson.

After helping Eddie wash his hair and both of you washing your bodies, you find yourself wearing Eddie’s pajamas and crawling into his bed.

“Your room is exactly what I pictured.” You say as you rest your head on the pillow. A real pillow, one that’s not covered in dust. It’s the little things that make you happy now.

“Oh really?” Eddie smirks as he walks around his room, taking it all in. He stops and looks up to where a guitar is hanging. His smile grows and brushes his fingers over the strings. “Sorry I’m late, sweetheart.” He whispered.

The sound of the strings fills the room and you lay in bed admiring him in his space. It’s comforting to be surrounded by all things Eddie. There is no fear here, only him.

Eddie turns off the lamp and crawls into bed. He lets out a sigh of relief that he’s probably been holding since he left his life. It doesn’t take long for your eyes to adjust to the darkness and find his face. He silently smiles at you saying he sees you too.

“Come here,” he says. You scoot closer to him and he pulls you into him, closing the space between you both. You both lay in each other's arms and everything feels right. The silence grows and it’s comfortable, something that came easy to you both from the start.

“What if this is a dream?” You ask quietly.

Eddie kisses your nose and rests his forehead against yours. His brown eyes still shine in the darkness and pierce your soul. Forever leaving a mark.

He smiles before saying, “Then I’m happy to know that through every life, every parallel universe and even in our dreams we are together.”

Together.

You repeat his words in your mind as you slowly drift to sleep with a smile on your face and the promise of tomorrow.

**

Taglist:

@eddiemunson4life420 @gabrielsgoldengrace @boxofsmittens @harrys-tittie @briasnow-blog @all-time-otaku @enam31 @steveoswhore @mvnsonsblunt @theghees-blog @sweet-villain @sivt4five @sweetmarihs2 (I hope I did this right. I’ve never done a taglist.)

[imagine-darksiders]

Okay, so, sad girl hours right now.

Y/N has been a lot quieter than usual, and when asked “what’s wrong?” they immediately break down crying because they were having a shit day where EVERYTHING was going wrong, but didn’t want to bother anyone with their stupid human problems (there’s far greater things to worry about in the heat of the apocalypse), so they kept it bottled up only for that one simple question to shatter the dam holding them together. The four horsemen + my comfort giant ™ Ulthane.

Also if you’re having a bad day like me: one bad day doesn’t equal a bad life. You’ve made it this far; surely you can make it to wherever you want to go next! You are loved and you are valid. Don’t give up just yet. ❤️

Hey, I'm really sorry, I know you requested the Horsemen too but I got way too carried away with Ulthane, and wrote an 8000 word response to this ask lmao, and by then I thought it might be getting too long.

Content warning: This gets quite existential. Allusions to suicidal thoughts, talks about death and the inevitability of death. Depression. The end of the world. The Apocalypse, nihilism. Crying, smoking, cigarettes, emotional outbursts. Ulthane is trying his best to raise this tree full of sad, unpredictable kids.

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

This was always bound to happen…

Ulthane’s chest swells and sags in the wake of a mammoth sigh, like a wave kissing the shoreline before it retreats back into the tumultuous sea.

A tall, arched hollow carved out of the trunk of the Maker Tree allows him a limited glimpse of the city beyond this inner sanctum. Through the fragmented shadows of a thousand, whispering leaves, the night sky peeks back in at him, a vast, endless beast of shimmering obsidian, crushed velvet strewn above the Earth.

It’s dark out there, immeasurably so without the lights and sounds of a population that had once been two million strong.

He would have liked to have seen it….

From his usual post at the anvil nestled deep inside the cavity of the great tree, Ulthane’s gaze calmly trails after a tiny, tiptoeing shape that hugs the wooden walls, a dark silhouette creeping through the hollow and out onto the plateau overlooking Haven City.

Again, the brawny maker exhales a long, gentle breath as he lowers his hammer to the anvil and drapes a burly forearm across the cool, flat surface, ears tipped towards the ground in unhappy contemplation.

He recognises the silhouette.

It can only be one human.

You. Your stature, your gait. Not to mention that this is the third time in as many days that he’s spotted you leaving the safety of the sleeping nook to venture outside and into the wild, chilly night.

The first time, he’d merely turned you right back around at the entrance, giving you a gentle nudge with his fingertips and a disgruntled reprimand about not leaving the tree after dark… Or at all for that matter.

Your face was tilted down then - he assumed in embarrassment – as you slumped your way back up to the nook, never letting him catch a glimpse of your expression, and never speaking a word to the huge, hovering maker.

That alone had stirred a modicum of unrest in the back of his mind.

Typically, he’d had very little trouble getting a conversation out of you. But that night, he brushed your unusual silence aside, chalking it up to fatigue, or perhaps that strange habit some humans have of walking around in their sleep.

They even have a sleepwalker in their midst… Damn near gave Ulthane a heart attack when he turned around one night to find the little blighter standing motionlessly just behind his boots, their mouth slightly ajar and their eyes lidded full of sleep, staring past him at nothing.

The phenomenon is yet another curious facet of human biology he wishes he could share with an old friend of his.

Alas…

Ulthane had elected to keep a closer eye on you during the nights, even warned Elanya and Yarin that they might have another walking sleeper on their hands.

He’d hoped, perhaps naively, that it might have just been a one-time occurrence.

His hopes were dashed when it happened again.

Ulthane had never had his own younglings. Never really gave it much thought beyond his brother’s teasing.

‘You sure you don’t plan on havin’ yer own?’ Thane guffawed unhelpfully as he watched his disgruntled brother fish a tiny, spluttering Karn out of the aqueduct that runs adjacent to Muria’s garden. ‘You’d make a good sire.’

‘Not until you have some first,’ Ulthane groused back as a way to escape answering, settling the boy on his knee with a fist clenched around his overall straps, like scruffing a pup. Ulthane had made a mental note then and there to teach Karn how to swim the very next morning. Preferably in the Fjord, and not in their sacred waterways.

Helping Eideard raise Alya and Valus was preoccupying enough, and then Karn was born a few centuries after the twins hit their adolescence. The boy lost his dam, and thus it fell to the other makers in Tri Stone to keep their littlest tyke out of danger as best they could.

In hindsight, Ulthane is grateful that he had any experience with younglings at all, because sometimes, taking care of a tree-full of humans feels a bit like wrangling toddlers who won’t do as they’re damn well told. Oh, they used to, back when they first met the giant and were utterly petrified of him. He didn’t like that much, but at least when they feared repercussions, they actually listened if he told them not to go outside, not to talk to the demon lurking on the plateau, not to climb the upper branches, not to drink the rubbing alcohol, not to sleep in their bedrolls with their boots on, and…

Ulthane wrinkles his nose and groans as he scrubs a rough hand down his face. Stone be damned, maybe he would have made a good sire after all.

The second night, you’d managed to slip past the vigilant maker without detection. He only realised something was amiss when, from the corner of an eye, he’d caught a tiny, orange glow blooming to life in the pitch-black dark beyond the hollow.

Immediately alert, he’d lifted his head from his work at the anvil to look properly, and found his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. There was a soft glow, small and round hovering in the darkness outside, several feet above the ground.

He squinted at it, watched it flare brightly for a moment before it receded to a softer burn once more.

….

“I’m just having a smoke,” you’d uttered tonelessly as he tromped through the hollow to find you leaning on the wooden ridge that separates you from a nasty, two-hundred-foot plummet to the city square below.

You didn’t turn around as you spoke. You didn’t need to. You could have heard the giant coming from a mile away.

Stealth isn’t something makers usually bother with…

Ulthane almost thought he should be angry. You’re a smart human. You should have known better than to leave the safety of the tree. But all he found when he loomed close enough to actually peer down and sideways at your face was something that took his great, thumping heart in a fist and wrung it dry.

Sad… is too gentle a word for it.

What he saw in your face at that moment, peering out over the city, shrouded by night’s enigmatic hue, was far more alarming to the burly maker than he’d ever admit to you aloud.

Oh, there was sadness there, certainly. But it was also so much worse than that.

With humans, it’s all in the eyes, he’s found. Humans have such astoundingly expressive eyes.

Dark pupils that expand and contract. Sclera that turns red from fatigue or anguish. Lashes that glisten like jewels when tears escape the confines of their eyelids.

Ulthane might be reduced to a soft-hearted fool whenever one of his – the - humans cries, yet he can’t stop himself from finding the act ethereally beautiful, in a way.

Tears are rare in other species, even among the younglings. In his own village, the river that brings them water is referred to colloquially as the Tears of the Mountain, a name steeped in reverence, life-bringing water.

There were tears on your lashes that night, he recalls.

They sparkled in the gentle glow cast by a thin, white stick that dangled loosely between your parted lips.

As the maker stared down at you, trying to decide whether he should be relieved you hadn’t ventured any further than that, or livid that you were out there at all, you raised your hand to your mouth and held the stick steady between two fingers, drawing in a slow, uneven breath. Ulthane watched on, captivated by the end of the stick burning even hotter in the deep, blue twilight.

Plucking it from your mouth entirely, you’d exhaled, and he was even more amazed to see you breathing out smoke, like dragon-fire. Ulthane could do little else but gawk down at the elegant cloud of white as it billowed through your lips and drifted up towards the sky. It’d been a long time since he’d seen a dragon… Looking at you then, he couldn’t shake the image of a poor, lonely beast gazing forlornly over a home it would never get back.

Ulthane had seen such looks before, on the faces of his fellow makers when their home fell prey to Corruption. The foul plague drove them further into the outer reaches of their own realm, trapping and isolating them, stealing their bodies and using their own people as puppets against the survivors.

One by one, the makers fell, those who were brave or foolish enough to try and fight back.

He’d watched the younglings lose their hope, their wonder at an infinite Universe. With each maker felled by the vile darkness spreading its tendrils across their land, the resolve of those that were left started to waver.

There was a pattern, Ulthane noticed, in those who were closest to death. They stopped being scared. They stopped being outraged and desperate to save their homes and themselves. Resignation became an entirely new plague, killing off the once bustling village of Tri Stone until only he and a few others remained. Apathy grew like a tumorous thing, deadening the eyes of all but the stoutest hearts and minds.

That’s what you looked like, he’d realised with the lurching, ominous chill of dread creeping up his stomach walls.

Resigned.

Hardly alive, just existing. Existing until the inevitable, as if you were already hand in hand with Death just waiting for the nod.

This was always bound to happen…

“Thought I told you to stop sneakin’ out here,” he’d eventually rumbled, his tone gruff and guarded, but his intentions couldn’t be softer.

You didn’t react to the maker’s words, merely continued to gaze out at the skyscrapers reaching up towards the stars. “Didn’t want to smoke inside,” you said quietly, “The others shouldn’t have to breathe this shit.”

All that did was set alarm bells blaring in Ulthane’s skull.

Pale, blue eyes turned to glare sharply at the innocuous stick poking through your teeth.

“And, er… Should you be breathin’ it?” His loaded question held a merit of danger to it, like the hammer of a gun, cocked and ready to fall at a moment’s notice if he doesn’t hear what he wants to.

Which made it all the more surprising that you didn’t immediately try to ease the maker’s nerves as you usually would. Instead, you raised your shoulders in a lazy shrug and hummed, “Either the demons kill me, or this cig will. Doesn’t really matter at this point, does it? Who gives a shit?”

Another odd, human colloquialism, but he got the gist.

Ulthane still isn’t particularly proud of what he did then.

Maybe it was the blasé reference to your own mortality or the blunt ultimatum, or even the suggestion that your life isn’t cared about. Something struck a nerve, and Ulthane wasted no time in reaching down and using the very tips of his thumb and forefinger to pinch the burning end of the ‘cig’ and pluck it out from between your teeth, unaffected by the tiny fire singing his calloused skin.

And then came the most egregious act.

He tossed it, flicked the tiny thing from his fingers and sent it sailing over the wooden ledge where it fell, down, down and further down until its glowing ember disappeared in the darkness dozens of feet below, extinguished by the rush of wind hitting its stub.

Ulthane fully expected some sort of retaliation. He even hoped for it. Anger, indignation, frustration. Hell, he half wanted you to round on him, all fire and brimstone and spewing venom, demanding that he go down there and retrieve your stolen treasure.

Anything. Anything at all that would have returned a little life to your lustreless eyes.

What he got instead was a deathly-quiet voice that cracked at the end of its sentence. “That was the only one I had left…”

Ulthane thought it might have hurt less if Yarin slugged him in the gut.

Looking back on it now, as he stands at his anvil watching you traipse aimlessly into the dark for the third time, Ulthane finds he can hardly blame you for resenting him.

You and the other humans… You don’t have much left anymore. And what little you do have is cherished with fierce devotion. Even the most mundane things. He can still recall the ghoulish howl one of the women emitted after her bracelet’s string snapped, spilling colourful beads across the floor of the tree, her desperation as she clawed after them, wailing. You were among the first to drop down and search with her. “We’ll get them all back, Sam,” you soothed as she clutched the broken elastic to her breast with one hand, knuckles bone-white, “We’ll find them, it’s alright. You’ll be alright.”

It was never just a bracelet.

And that tiny, little stick you called a ‘cig’ probably meant more to you than the old maker could ever comprehend.

A low, resonant hum starts up deep in the base of Ulthane’s throat as he tracks your silhouette across the hollow until you vanish out onto the gloomy plateau. Perhaps he should leave you be tonight…

With a grunt, the maker focuses back on the little talisman sitting on his anvil – a gift for the Horsman, whose efforts to recover more survivors from the crumbling city haven’t gone unnoticed.

Readjusting his grip on the hammer, he taps it half-heartedly on the metal casing, ears pinned back as he tries to quell the nagging thoughts scurrying about in his skull.

Suppose you fell off the plateau… Suppose you were spotted by a dusk-wing flying by overhead…

Ulthane manages to restrain himself for all of five minutes before he frustratedly tosses his hammer down onto the anvil’s surface with a resounding ‘clang,’ and shoves himself away from the workstation, stomping off towards the tree’s hollow, his brother’s laughter ringing in his ears.

In his haste not to hurry, he fails miserably, and at last comes bursting out onto the wooden plateau, eyes zeroing in on the small shape ahead of him.

It’s more of a relief than he’ll ever admit to find you leaning on the ridge, just as you had the previous two instances, arms draped across the top, shoulders hunched, your head ducked into the collar of a light, grey jacket.

Holding a breath in his lungs until he’s confident he can let it go quietly, Ulthane draws closer.

As he does, a sudden white cloud billows from your mouth, and the maker almost thinks you’ve managed to scrounge up another of those ‘cigs.’ But when he comes to a slow, heavy halt beside you and glances down, he can’t spot anything of its likeness hanging between your lips.

Belatedly, he finally realises what’s wrong.

It’s cold out here. At least it must be for a human with parchment-thin skin.

You barely acknowledge his presence as he reaches for the blue, well-worn cowl wrapped around his neck. Ulthane makes sure to grumble aloud as he pulls it over his head. “Hmph…catch yer damn death…” he mutters grumpily, pretending that the mere act of draping it over your shoulders and using the pads of his fingers to wrap swathes of warm fabric around you is a terrible inconvenience. He also tries hard not to fixate on the way his cowl spills down your back to pool at your feet.

Maker’s bones… You’re so tiny.

Sluggishly, you roll your head sideways to peer at the makeshift blanket, giving Ulthane a proper glimpse of your flat, unreadable expression lit by the luminous moon hanging overhead in a star-spattered sky.

Something ancient and primitive inside him is immensely pleased when you don’t reject the offer of warmth. It settles him, leaves his restless soul satisfied, though only by a small margin. You’re still out of the safe confines of the tree, in the dark, after all.

Everything else about the maker’s nature still urges him to get you out of the open.

But Ulthane has been around long enough to recognise a pattern when he sees it.

This is the third time he’s found you out here, alone.

Twice was a coincidence. But three times?

Deliberate.

He needs to get to the bottom of this now.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he mutters, withdrawing his hands but lowering his hefty bulk onto one knee to be closer to your height. It’s only after he says it out loud that he realises, he’s right. You have been quiet lately. Moreso than usual.

For several, long moments, you remain inert, blankly staring down at the fabric cocoon you’ve found yourself in. “Have I?” you ask in a whisper, brows twitching as if they want to furrow but can’t muster up the energy to.

Humming pensively, the maker raises his head, keeping you in the corner of his watchful eye. “Been missin’ you at the anvil…” he admits, shrugging a massive shoulder to try and retain a modicum of indifference. If you only knew how much he looks forward to your company, he’d never be able to look you in the eye.

“In fact,” he adds, adjusting his weight, “Only time I seem to catch you nowadays s’when I find you out here. Where you aren’t s’posed to be.”

There might have once been a time when merely adding a stern inflection to his voice would send you cowering away from him. Some of the humans who are newer to the tree still do it. But you, over time, had stopped, realising that Ulthane was as likely to hurt you as he was to fly to the moon.

But it wasn’t often that he had to add those inflections. And if ever he did, it was usually because you or one of the others was doing something you really shouldn’t have been doing. Even then, you may not have cowered, but you’d certainly have the decency to look admonished, apologetic even. You’d offer the maker a quick, sheepish smile that worked wonders to appease him and earned him hours of teasing from Elanya and Yarin.

Now, however, he gets nothing. Not a flinch, nor a quibble. No sheepish yet disarming smile that puts a youthful quiver back into his heart. What he gets instead is a weary sigh, followed by a decidedly bitter, “Maybe I just want to be left alone, huh?”

A disconcerting pang hits him right in the pit of his stomach… Something is definitely wrong.

Perhaps it’s narcissistic of him to presume, but that one, barbed request from you is enough to set off a needling voice at the back of his mind, one that callously plants the seed that all of this - your behaviour, your apathy, your twilight excursions – somehow, it’s all his fault. Casting his brain about, he tries to think of something in particular he’d done that would cause you to seek distance from him, all the while pretending it doesn’t bother him nearly as much as it does. Aside from tossing your last ‘cig,’ he doesn’t land on anything that sticks out. But you’d fallen quiet and withdrawn long before that incident occurred.

Then again, he is still trying to wrap his head around all the complexities of the human social structure… As he considers it, he realises with a sinking feeling that it’s highly likely he’s committed some sort of faux-pas and never even noticed…

Shit.

Scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he untucks his braid from the confines of his tunic and exhales roughly, nostrils flared in agitation.

“Look…” he sighs, roving his gaze out to look at the silhouettes of a dozen, towering skyscrapers, “M’not… V’e always been more for brawn than brain, mm?” Pausing, he raps at his skull with a solid knuckle. “So… If I… said somethin’ I shouldn’t have… and it… changed the way you see me-…”

Again, his voice trails off, and he returns his eyes to you, finding you tilting your face up towards him with the tiniest crease sitting between your eyebrows.

Are you angry at him? Confused?

It’s so hard to tell sometimes. A human’s face can tell a thousand little stories with one twitch of the muscles, fluid in a way makers and other species could never hope to be.

Ulthane’s chest gives a rumble, like something massive and subterranean passing far beneath the Earth’s crust. He truly hopes you aren’t angry at him.

“Just…” A pair of immense shoulders sag dejectedly as the maker squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself before he pries them open again, peering down at you from underneath his crumpled brow. “Just tell me what I said,” he finally croaks, “And I’ll never say it again.” He never intended for it to sound so much like a wounded plea, wants to weld his mouth shut when his voice breaks unexpectedly.

Son of a bitch. These humans must be starting to rub off on him.

Deafening silence chases the end of his sentence, and for a time, he’s stuck observing your face fall gradually from a nearly imperceptible frown to a solemn, sympathetic wince.

“Ulthane… It… Hhh.” A rush of air bursts out of your parted lips, harder than a sigh. You’ve been doing that a lot lately, he realises. Dragging your eyes over towards the distant city, you gaze out at it for a second before returning them to the underside of Ulthane’s chin, your lips tilted down at the ground. “Listen. I’m not trying to be a dick, a-and I mean this in the best possible way… but it isn’t about you, I promise… You haven’t done anything wrong.” It’s the firmest voice you’ve used yet.

Glancing down, you blink miserably at the toes of your shoes poking out from under his oversized cowl. “I’m sorry,” you add, this time in a far gentler, wobbly lilt, “I’m sorry I told you I wanted to be left alone. It isn’t your fault.”

Oh… that’s… actually a lot more relieving than he’d care to admit out loud.

The speck of lightness that lifts his chest doesn’t last for long, however.

There still begs another question, one he’s hardly qualified to be asking… If your issue isn’t with something he’s said or done… then…

The notion suddenly occurs to him that you might be getting grief from someone else. One of your fellow humans, perhaps?

Before he can wrestle it down, a hot burst of protective indignation flares up in his chest. He’d have noticed, surely. Wouldn’t he? He’d know if one of his charges was being upset by someone while under his roof… Right?

Griping unhappily, Ulthane reminds himself that he’s nothing if not a persistent old bastard. And when he’d made his quiet, private oath to protect what remains of a species he inadvertently helped to eradicate, he didn’t just pledge his protection to their physical wellbeing.

The tremendous breath he exhales through his nostrils is strong enough to disturb the hairs on top of your head, a fleeting reminder of how even the smallest gesture from a man his size can affect you in some way…

“Right then,” he rumbles with a deliberate edge to his tone that sets your shoulders tensing under the soft weight of his cowl, “But there is somethin’ botherin’ you, aye?”

He sees you stiffen, watches the flicker of something raw and frantic pass over your dainty face. Then, he sees that mask of apathy fall back into place, hiding yourself away from him once more.

“Nothing’s bothering me, really,” you deflect, shrugging one shoulder as nonchalance might throw him off the scent.

Ulthane’s bushy eyebrows dip at the centre of his forehead. ‘Not having that...’

The sound of creaking leather and clanking metal fills the air as Ulthane adjusts himself onto two knees at your side, resting back on his hindquarters.

You actively jump at the sensation of a colossal palm cupping around your back, almost leaping away entirely before you realise what it is and force yourself to go still again, allowing the maker behind you to push warmth and sincerity into your windchilled bones.

As he covers your fragile spine with his hand, Ulthane’s instincts lay their rearing heads back down, appeased to have a physical wall of muscle and flesh standing between you and the outside world.

“Reckon I’d know if somethin’ was wrong with my favourite human,” he says, only half-joking, regarding you closely to gauge your reaction.

“Favourite?” you scoff wetly, “Now you’re just trying to butter me up.”

Giving a chuckle, he replies, “Maybe…” A heavy pause, then… “S’it workin’?”

Instead of a response, you suck down a lungful of cold air, letting it all go again in a slow, shaky breath. “You should go inside, Big Guy,” you whisper, turning to lean your weight against the wooden ridge again, “I’ll be fine in a minute. Just need a little more fresh air.”

Would it be hypocritical of him to call you a liar?

Shifting his weight, he hums - a tectonic, mellow sound coming from deep in the cavern of his chest. “Nah,” he decides quietly, “Reckon I’d rather stay out here with you till you tell me what’s wrong…”

He doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t feel he needs to.

“Oh…” Your breath hitches. Already, you’ve started to tremble beneath his palm, and he’s fairly confident you can’t accredit it to the cold.

Persistent as he is, the Old One is also a patient maker. And while he doesn’t especially like the idea of letting you stay out here all night, if it gets him to the bottom of this silent state of mind you’re in, then it’s a bullet he’s happy to bite. Besides, he’s quick to remind himself that he’s here with you.

The other humans are safe inside, carefully watched over by the ever-attentive Yarin and a devoted Elanya. The pair have taken to guarding the upper nook where their charges slumber at night.

Which leaves Ulthane free to guard this wayward soul. He’s glad to. Outwardly, he wouldn’t usually even allude to keeping favourites. After all, it’s a badly kept secret that he has a soft spot for all the humans he’s brought here, even the elusive and ungovernable Jones who leaves the tree so frequently, Ulthane is convinced the man is trying to send him to an early grave.

But you… The soft spot he has for you is especially tender.

There in the darkness, he waits, silent and still, an unmoving sentry at your back.

Minutes pass, and only the hushed whispering of ten million leaves breaks the spell of quiet settled around you.

And then, an entirely different sound disturbs the peace. One that’s much closer to home.

That first wet, convulsing sob tugs the maker’s ears down a fraction, but he lets out a sigh, giving your back the gentlest of pats, encouraging another bleat of misery to jump out of you before you can stuff it back down your throat.

There you go…

Once the first few cries are shaken are loose, there’s no damming the flow.

Hands fly up to crush against your mouth as you lurch forwards into another sob, burying your face inside the relative privacy of your palms.

Before Ulthane can adjust his hand to catch you, your legs promptly buckle and give way under you, sending you crashing to your knees in front of the ridge and collapsing against it, turning sideways away from him, shoulder pressed to the wood.

All the while, his hand remains adhered to you.

Your back jumps up and down beneath his palm, broken sounds squeak out through the miniscule gaps between your fingers, and a confusing jumble of guilt and relief mingles together in the maker’s chest.

Crying isn’t something exclusive to humans, but they’re by far the most prone to it.

Ulthane tries not to dwell on the fact that he’s pushed you to this, like some, tenacious bully. His old soul yearns to extinguish any source of distress you might face. You’ve had enough anguish to last you a lifetime, after all. But the guilt he feels is buried well beneath a much more potent relief.

This had to happen.

‘This is good,’ he tells himself staunchly, trying in vain to steel his ancient heart against your soul-crushing cries, ‘This is better than the emotionless vacuum you were floating in before.’

Your body jerks viciously with each, strangled sob, teeth pressed against the skin of your palms to muffle each sound you emit.

You’re trying your best to be quiet. Subdued and secretive in your unravelling.

He knows he’s the one who wanted this to happen, but that doesn’t make it any less jarring to see you cry.

A century ago, if anyone were to ask Ulthane if he’d describe himself as a comforting maker, he’d have laughed himself hoarse. A bruiser like him? Comforting? He supposes it’s still laughable today.

Sometimes, he catches himself wishing he knew where Azrael had disappeared off to after the seals were broken. The angel would know what to say to you, no doubt. Daft bird is even more of a sap than Ulthane where humans are concerned, and ferociously intelligent to boot, even among Heaven’s scribes and scholars.

Why the White City’s brightest mage had decided that Ulthane was a maker to befriend, is a mystery that would have any sage scratching their heads and offering a helpless shrug.

‘Still,’ he muses, frowning gently down at the human quivering beneath his fingers, ‘You haven’t pulled away entirely yet.’

So perhaps, despite all of his clumsy, heavy-handedness, he might not be doing as terribly as he thinks he is…

Absently, Ulthane smooths his calloused thumb up and down your back, hyper-aware of the notches in your delicate spine. He’s glad he opted not to don his thick, leather gloves this evening. He feels gentler without them…

The cowl, however, has begun to slip off your shoulders, dislodged a little further with every breath you choke on.

Just as Ulthane withdraws his hand from your back and pinches the fabric to readjust it, his ears register a broken whisper drifting through the air.

“It’s all gone, Ulthane,” you squeeze out at last, hands cupped pitiably over your mouth so you can drag in a shuddering breath, “Everything’s gone. God – fuck!”

All at once, the cowl slips from his fingers and falls around you once more as the maker goes very still, his gigantic hand hovering stiffly above you. Slowly, a pair of pointed ears pin themselves against the sides of his skull, and a cold splash of realisation douses his chest in ice.

If he weren’t worried about startling you, he’d smack a palm over his forehead as comprehension ploughs into him like a runaway stone rolling down a hillside.

Of course…

How could he be so blind? Oh, he’s such a fool!

The most obvious reason is literally sitting in plain sight all around him, yet somehow, he didn’t see the woods for the bloody great tree slapped bang in the centre. He assumed your troubles were smaller, simpler. It feels like an insult to you, deducing that your despair was due to something so trivial as an untoward comment.

Hanging his head, Ulthane’s face twists up in shame.

Trembling like the leaves overhead, you clutch desperately to your own shoulders, fingertips bunching into the blue fabric draped over them. “What the Hell are we even doing?” you blurt out, ripping your hands away from your face and wringing them in front of you, “The world just fucking ended! It’s over, a-and we’re just sitting up here like… like fucking rats in a sinking ship!”

By now, you’re almost shouting, losing control of your own voice without any residual strength left to keep the emotions you’ve buried so deep from rising to the surface and bursting like pustules on your tongue.

It must hurt you to bare yourself like this, it is hurting you. The sudden change in your demeanour freezes Ulthane solid for a few, uncertain seconds, though he doesn’t stay motionless for long.

When you rush to swallow another breath, he stretches out an arm and envelopes you in his hand once more as if the weight of it might keep you from springing to your feet and fleeing at the slightest provocation.

You buckle under the appendage, leaning forwards to gulp in another lungful of air that collapses into a heart-wrenching sob. “I-I just-!” But you stuff your lips together to trap the rest of the words.

Ulthane latches onto your reluctance with a discontented hum. “Come on now,” he utters, wrapping large but cautious fingertips around your shoulder and trying to coax you into turning to face him, “Won’t do you no good keepin’ it all in now, eh?”

Your only response is to give your head a rapid shake, digging your fingernails into the cowl as you resist the giant’s gentle tugging. “I can’t,” you croak, voice hoarse.

“Yes,” the maker argues, “You can.”

It’s so matter of fact, you almost believe him.

For several, unpleasant moments, your breath continues to catch in your chest as your shoulders hitch up and down, and still you refuse to turn around and face the giant looming behind you.

Then all at once, like a flipped switch, the tension in your body disappears and you deflate like a ruptured lung, sagging in on yourself so abruptly, Ulthane jerks forwards, assuming you’ve passed out on him.

Before he can scoop you into his hand however, you shift, using your shoulder to shove away from the ridge and arduously manoeuvring yourself around until you’re leaning back against the solid wood. Reluctantly, Ulthane allows his hand to slide off your spine and it flops dejectedly into his lap.

You still won’t meet his gaze.

At least he can see your face though.

He always thought he had a heart of steel before he came to Earth, even liked to think that millennia of experience and trials would have left him immoveable and stoic like the maker heroes in Eideard’s stories.

It’s remarkably humbling to gaze down into the face of a human and realise he doesn’t know himself nearly as well as he likes to think he does. Because one glimpse of the wetness shining off your cheeks and the rivulets cutting glistening tracks down to your chin has Ulthane Blackhammer fighting back the urge to press a hand over his lurching heart.

He draws back a little with a soft intake of breath, gathering his thoughts before he presses his lips together into a resolute frown and leans towards you once more, his monstrous fingers shuddering with the effort of moving slowly and carefully enough to brush the pad of his thumb across your cheek.

That’s when you finally look at him.

Dazzling eyes shine with tears as they venture up to meet his own.

Your mouth opens, and in reverent anticipation, Ulthane pulls his hand away from your face, ears tipped forwards to listen.

“I just want it to be over,” you utter, so softly that he has to strain to hear you, “I can’t stand it… I can’t stand just waiting around to die…”

Ulthane’s jaw clenches firmly shut.

“Who says you’re dyin’?” he retorts, perhaps a bit more sharply than he intended, “Yer not goin’ to die.”

This time, your shoulders jump with humourless laugh instead of a sob.

“Look around you, Ulthane,” you hiccough, gesturing a floppy hand at the city to your back, “Every day could be the day those demons decide to climb up here and finish what they started. We all know it’s bound to happen. I wish they’d just… get it over with!”

The maker opens his mouth to argue, to gruffly retort that he’d never let the bastards get within a metre of you without having to go through him first, but you’re already carrying on.

“We’re all just living on borrowed time! And I can’t-!”

One again, your voice falters and fades, dying in your throat.

Swallowing audibly, you let your head fall forwards until your chin almost rests on your chest.

Ulthane works his clenched jaws apart, watching from beneath heavily furrowed brows as you lift your hands up in front of your face and stare down at your palms as if there’s an answer in them somewhere, if only you could see it.

“I just can’t keep doing this…” you finally murmur, letting your arms fall into your lap.

Apprehensive, Ulthane prompts, “Doing what?”

You don’t reply right away, and his heart is steadily making its way up into his throat by the time you pose a question, disregarding his own. “You ever think… it might be better to just… like… get it over with?” you ask, eyes pinched in tormented thought, “Instead of waiting for something even worse to happen?”

Suddenly, Ulthane hates the idea of you being so close to that two-hundred-foot drop.

The hand he’s braced on the ground to keep himself steady curls into a fist until his knuckles dig achingly into the wood underneath him. “No,” he all but growls in response, curling his lips back at an unseen threat, “It wouldn’t be better.”

“God…” Your head tips back, the base of your skull clunking against the ridge behind you as you squint tearfully up at the maker. If he looks closely, he almost imagines he can see the full moon reflected in your eyes. “There’s no future for us… We have nothing left. Everything humanity has ever worked for… millions of years of history… it’s gone, Ulthane. It’s just gone.” Another couple of tears slip past your lashes and dribble down your cheeks. Your bottom lip quivers. “There’s no coming back from this… is there? So why are we still bothering?”

Suddenly, the maker hauls himself to his boots – and he’ll be damned if he acknowledges the spike of real, unfamiliar fear that jabs him through the ribs. “Stop it,” he warns… Begs…

For a moment longer, you just look at him with that tired, beaten frown, then you lower your eyes and the moonlight disappears from them, leaving them dark and shadowed by your eyelashes.

“Yeah,” you sniff, “That’s why I’ve been quiet lately…”

Ulthane’s blood rushes through his ears and he’s struck with the urge to start pacing up and down along the tree’s outer path. Later, he’ll recognise it as adrenaline.

“Stone’s breath…” he huffs mindlessly, scrubbing a hand down over his beard. He’s bristling against an enemy he can’t put his fist through, and it wars with the maker’s reflex.

This is… this is so much bigger than he is… and that’s saying something.

He thought he’d be prepared for this if it happened. But all he’s been doing is burying his head in the sand, hoping that optimism and a steady, day to day routine of survival would keep the humans from losing their last dregs of hope.

The surrender in your voice, your eyes, your words… It’s like you’re there already.

What if he says the wrong thing? What if he can’t pull your toes back off the ledge?

What would Azrael say? What would Eideard say?

Something poignant, no doubt. About how hope is never lost so long as you’re still alive to fight for it.

But Ulthane is a defender, not a sage. His priority is your safety.

In a moment of clarity, he clings to that one fact, pushing for reassurance above all else.

Rattled, though not quite ready to face why, the Old one levels a finger at you, pointing it determinedly down at your face. “Now, you listen to me,” he starts, “I won’t hear no talk about how you’re not comin’ back from this. Moment you start thinkin’ like that, it’s really over. And I’ll certainly not be lettin’ you think those demon’s’ll be the end of you. Alright? You’re livin’ to the end of a long, safe life, so help me Stonefather.”

At the end of his reprimand, you try to smile up at him, a pitying thing that tells him everything he needs to know.

You don’t believe him.

“You have a future,” he continues, steadfast, “I’ll give you a future. I’ll make one for you, carve it out with my bare hands if I have to.”

He’d drag you kicking and screaming to the life you deserve if it comes down to it.

Eyes drooping heavily, you start to look down again.

“M’not lettin’ you lose hope,” Ulthane growls in response, and this time, he can’t stop himself from reaching down and curling a fist around you, gathering you up into his palm until you sit small and vulnerable at its centre.

You look a little surprised by the motion, blinking wetly into the old smith’s scowl as he raises you to his face and levels you with a look so full of conviction, you recoil from it, as if pushed by his sheer force of will. “You’re makin’ it through this,” he tells you unwaveringly, warm breath brushing against your collarbones. “You have to see how it turns out.”

“Even if it hurts?” you ask in a wobbly voice.

He stops just short of saying that he wouldn’t let anything hurt you. But that isn’t what you need to hear. He’ll prove it to you through action.

“Even then,” he relents instead.

Resignation settles across your face then, but it isn’t the same as it was before. It’s a kind of acceptance of the inevitable, but the inevitable isn’t death.

It’s Ulthane Blackhammer.

“But…” Still, you protest. “But I’m so fucking tired, Ulthane.”

Without hesitation, he shrugs a shoulder and says, “I’ll carry you.”

“That’s not what I-“

“- I know what you meant,” the maker cuts you off, fixing you with a sharp eye, “F’you’re tired. I’ll carry you. I’m a fair bit strong, case you hadn’t noticed. But don’t go forgettin’; you’re a fighter.”

You try to shake your head with a weak laugh, but he catches your chin with a crooked forefinger and tilts your face back towards him. “You are,” he insists, meeting your owlish gaze, “Been fightin’ to keep goin’ since day one. I… can see that now.”

He really can. He’s just sorry he never told you he noticed before.

“You think you can’t come back from this? You’re wrong. You won’t know unless you try. N’those other humans in there-“ He jerks his head backwards towards the tree. “-They’re gonna need all the help they can get to rebuild. You think Jones’d remember to feed himself without you remindin’ him?

There! At last, the minutest wobble of your lips as they twitch upwards at their corners.

Chest swelling with a modest injection of triumph, Ulthane cocks his own grin at you whilst you wipe your eyes on the sleeve of your jacket.

“Now, you just let ol’ Ulthane worry about those demons,” he announces, “You worry about gettin’ some proper shuteye. Can’t teach Elanya to play cards if you’re noddin’ off every five minutes, ey?”

A laugh this time. It’s a soft, warped thing with too much moisture, but it’s still a laugh. He counts that as a win.

There’s still the same, bone-deep languor clinging to your face, yet even that is a vast improvement to the indifference you’ve been displaying of late. Quirking your head to one side, you regard the maker ponderously for a minute, brows knitting across your forehead.

Then, “You really care about us, don’t you?”

Caught off guard, Ulthane’s ears tip down, and he instinctively glances over his shoulder at the hollow to check that nobody is lurking there before returning his attention to you, lifting one shoulder in a bashful shrug.

“Well… I, erm…” Clearing his throat, he lowers his voice and shoots you a gruff look. “Don’t you go spreadin’ that around…”

As if it wasn’t as plain as the nose on his face.

Eager to change the subject, though not so eager to be rid of that fond, sombre look he's receiving, the maker twists his head around and bobs it towards the tree's entrance. "Ready to head back in?" he broaches, "You can sleep down by the anvil on my cowl, if you want." One of the beds would be better for you, but... selfishly perhaps, he wants you close tonight.

You seem to agree, offering the maker a shy nod in return.

"Yeah," you acquiesce, leaning back into the pads of his fingers that curve up behind you, providing support when your jaws part with a wide yawn.

Trying not to smile fondly at the sight, Ulthane begins tromping steadily back inside the tree, his nerves settling down as he carries you nearer to the light and warmth.

"Ulthane?"

"Mm?" he rumbles in response.

"Thanks... for caring, I mean. I owe you one."

His footsteps falter just for a second. Abaddon's face springs unbidden into his mind's eye. A golden sword and a promise that all would be well...

Swallowing hard, Ulthane wafts the memories away like a bad smell and offers his dour response.

"You don't owe me a thing."

[baddestbittyontheblock]

march fic recs

✦ dividers by @gigittamic, @cafekitsune, @plutism ✦

ᓭི༏ᓯྀ hi everyone!! i've read so many great fics this month, so i hope you all enjoy my faves of march!! ᓭི༏ᓯྀ

༒ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each incredible writer!! ༒

ᓭི༏ᓯྀ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ᓭི༏ᓯྀ

༒ if you’d like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ༒

call of duty

simon riley

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 embrace by @the-froschamethyst4 husband!ghost x wife!reader | fluff, language, kissing, married couple, children, more use of simon than ghost, protective simon, a worried and caring mother

-y/n and simon’s daughter luna is having a hard time being able to see, in school her teacher notices a few signs and has a talk with the parents to discuss about possible glasses for the child

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 love is not enough by @cntloup simon riley x fem!reader | angst, smut, sex against the wall 18+ MDNI

-“simon, dinner is ready.” you call out, voice flat and emotionless, knowing full well that the food is going to get cold and possibly thrown away.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 simon headcannons by @gaysindistress simone riley x reader

-things that I feel like would happen when you’re in a relationship with simon riley.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 simon fic by @peppermint-toads simone riley x reader | smut

-simon had finally, finally left you the fuck alone.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 simone mini fic by @oceantornadoo protective ex-husband!simon x reader | implied violence/break-in

-your apartment door was open, a menacing sliver of darkness awaiting you.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 ex-husband simon by @shotmrmiller simon riley x reader | 18+ (implication of breeding kink or something and simon's a jealous boy)

-simon who signed the divorce papers without a fight. it'd stung, you're not gonna lie, but it needed to be done and the fact that he didn't make a big fuss about it made things easier for you physically. (emotionally you were in shambles because did he not even want to try and fight for you?)

f1

carlos sainz

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 i would love you either way by @sunny44 carlos sainz x girlfriend!reader | pregnancy talk, infertility etc…

-carlos notices that you’ve been acting weird and he decides to ask you why.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 lolita by @cherry-leclerc carlos sainz x reader | age gap (10 years), porn with plot, affairs, forbidden romance, angst, mentions of suicide, mentions of drugs, tragedy, erotic literature, 18+... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, riding, size kink, oral sex (f and m receiving), semi - public sex, deepthroating, praise, fingering, handjobs, lots of dirty foreplay, slapping (like once AH), a bit of edging, overstimulation, a bit of crying, sucking on fingers, squirting

-you were young, alluring, floating through a disastrous life with the touch of a thousand angels. carlos was successful, irresistible and someone who often kept a distance from catastrophe. never in a million years did he think he would have a complete moment of weakness…especially the week of his wedding. 

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 overprotective dad by @ccsainzleclerc5516 carlos sainz x reader

-girl dad carlos series continues

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 two different kinds of love by ^ carlos sainz x reader | girl dad! carlos

-bea series (girl dad carlos)

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 carlos sainz being a simp for you by @itaipava carlos sainz x reader

-he always puts his arm over your shoulder without saying anything or takes his hand out of his pockets to hold yours when you approach him.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 carlos sainz falling in love with you by ^ carlos sainz x reader

-carlos always thought you were beautiful, but he truly fell in love with the beauty inside you

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 soft moments with carlos sainz by ^ carlos sainz x reader

-doing skincare and taking care of yourselves on a free day

oscar piastri

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 let's have a baby, baby by @norrizzandpia oscar piastri x reader | sexual conversations, language, oscar has no filter at all, an extremely graphic and sexual conversation that has zak traumatized (pray for him), tooth rotting fluff

-there is nothing oscar wants more than for y/n to get pregnant with his kid, and everyone knows it.

harry styles

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 breastfeeding in public by @hazslover harry styles x reader | breasting mention, fluff

-‘honey.. she needs feeding’ you scratch the back of his neck to grab his attention. he turns to look at you.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 inside y/n l/n’s bag | vogue by @lovecanyon dad!harry styles x reader | fluff, mom!reader

-“hi vogue i am y/n l/n and this is what’s in my bag.”

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 squishy little marshmallow by @finelinevogue harry styles x reader

-pure lover vibes

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 the one where harry goes on a hike with his kids by @alittletaste dad! harry styles x reader

-harry looked like a proper dad. his cheeks had a few days old stubble on them, his eyes were clouded with sleep but you could see the absolute adoration in them and he was also supporting some eye bags from the lack of sleep.

dune

paul atreides

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 the death of a star by @nonpoppin paul atreides x reader | cheating! not the sexual kind but the emotional kind! toxic marriage, sorta dark paul, almost sexual cheating, talks of bastards, child birth, violence, arranged marriage, pussy eating, fingering, pinv sex, creaming, use of the voice. talks of baby making and brief pregnancy mention.

-paul thought he could never love you but when a star starts to die, it sucks everything in and in your death, your rebirth, he learns he can.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 little cakes by ^ paul atreides x reader | this is a SMUT! 18+ only, please!! Nothing too bad outside of that though. Oral (f.receiving), mentions(?) of voyeurism, heavy petting and Paul being a simp

-you panic as your wedding date draws near and a trip to a famous sex planet doesn't help with these growing emotions. thankfully, Paul is there to distract you.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 big mistakes by ^ paul atreides x reader | THIS IS SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!! male masterbation, oral (f.receiving), thigh job, outer course (?), overstimulation, squirting, Paul is his own warning;little menace, 7k

-society is so mean to girls who want the same things as boys. a whole lot of catching up on missed time and paul putting his foot in his mouth.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 do you believe in us? by @murdrdocs paul atreides x reader | STEPCEST, SMUT MDNI 18+, fem!reader, oral (f receiving), childhood best friends to stepsiblings, instigator paul, appearances by lady jessica, duke leto, and duncan idaho, sparring, sneaking around, 5.3k+

-from a young age, you and PAUL ATREIDES believe you belonged to the other, and foolishly thought you could one day marry. not even an unlikely marriage between your parents will diminish those beliefs.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 when paul has a bad vision by @dropitpunk paul atreides x reader | hurt/comfort kinda, kissing, sweet and short

-distraught mumbling in your right ear woke you from your slumber. paul was shaking beside you again, whispering senseless words into the air.

marvel

natasha romanoff

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 her idiot by @marvelfilth natasha romanoff x f!reader

-your night out with thor and valkyrie leaves natasha worried unimpressed.

wanda maximoff

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 another new addition by @five-bi-five-mind wanda maximoff x fem!reader | fluff, smut, 5.6k+, lots of pregnancy talk; pregnancy sex I guess? bathtub sex, clit play, nipple play, top!Wanda but she's topping from the bottom lol, bottom!r, strap-on (r receiving); enchanted strap, cum-filled strap, strap riding, thigh riding, aftercare

-it finally happened, you were pregnant and growing your family that you now shared with wanda. however, pregnancy was a little rough on you. wanting to take care of you, and also absolutely adoring the way you were glowing from being pregnant with her child, wanda had a plan. she was going to pamper you all night long.

miguel o'hara

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 aftercare by @luveline miguel o'hara x fem!reader | suggestive content mdni, 1k

-“you’re doing that thing,”

woso

alexia putellas

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 the view between villages by @samkerrworshipper alexia putellas x reader | horrificically brain numbing angst

-all alexia can focus on his the sound of the indicator of the van that she’s in.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 embarassing by @wosoreading alexia putellas x reader

-you and alexia take advantage of the opportunity to be typical embarrassing moms.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 sisters and crushes by @sunnyaelia alexia putellas x reader | no angst in here just pure fluff and Alexia being a bit jealous

-alexia has been crushing on you from the first moment on - she refuses to ask you out though, not wanting to mess with the team dynamic. to get things going her sister alba decides to flirt with you, eliciting the exact response from alexia that she had expected

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 love or game by ^ alexia putellas x reader | small mention of blood and wounds, nothing horrible though 

-you get hurt right before an important game of alexia’s and decide not to tell her - she’s really unhappy with you when she finds out 

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 hickey's and concealer by ^ alexia putellas x reader | quite suggestive at one point and alexia lowkey being toxic

-“if you keep covering those marks up i’m gonna have to add something more obvious” 

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 hip thrusts by ^ alexia putellas x reader | fluff, very suggestive

-alexia doing hip thrusts with you as the weight to show you that you’re definitely not too heavy to sit on her lap because you’re a bit insecure about it and then it gets dirty

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 i love you by @ale-wosofan alexia putellas x reader

-reader realizes she’s in love with her girlfriend

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 miscommunications + conversations by @girlgenius1111 alexia putellas x reader | angst, fluff

-alexia has practically stopped speaking in the wake of her second surgery. it's stressing you out, but you don't quite know how to tell her. she gets it out of you anyway.

ingrid egen, mapi leon

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 targeted by @mapiforpresident ingrid egen x mapi leon x reader | mentions of ankle injury

-tackle after tackle was aimed at you throughout the game. the other team clearly targeting you.

leah williamson x reader

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 just as bad as each other by @inuyashaluver leah williamson x reader | swearing, mentions of arguing and injury

-in which you and your best friend are just as bad as each other, from your stubbornness, all the way to your infatuation for one another

alessia russo

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 you're beautiful by @inuyashaluver alessia russo x reader | elf loathing, insecurity, tears, slightly angsty?

-in which your girlfriend wishes you could see yourself the way she does

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 savior by ^ alessia russo x reader | swearing

-in which your girlfriend forgets everything, good thing you’re at home due to injury and being able to read her mind

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 newlyweds by @p0orbaby alessia russo x reader | SMUT 18+, public setting, fingering (r receiving), dom!alessia?

-better add getting married to the list of aphrodisiacs

bridgeton

anthony bridgerton

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 my miracle by @ladysharmaa anthony bridgerton x reader | mentions of death

-anthony’s wife is in labor and it’s not looking good

marauders era

sirius black

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 september fifth, nineteen seventy-eight. by @quackitingg. sirius black x gryffindor!reader | angst, hurt/no comfort, happy end???

-on the fifth of september, nineteen hundred and eight, sirius black receives news that his girlfriend had been one of the victims of the death eaters. however, a few years later, while he was fighting for his godson's safety, when he crossed the veil, he finally managed to find her again and, finally, live by her side.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 blurb by @moonstruckme sirius black x fem!reader | fluff

-straddled in a playfully agressive manner by sirius black

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 meanbf!sirius by @sleyu sirius black x reader | smut

-meanbf!sirius <3 visits you at work only to fuck you in the staff bathroom <3 speaks to you in french while you fuck because he knows you won’t understand what he’s saying and it makes you teary eyed.

james potter

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 daylight by @pretty-little-mind33 james potter x fem!reader | SMUT, oral sex (m & f receiving/giving), teasing, cursing, mature themes, fingering, talk of sex and orgasms

-when your boyfriend finds out he didn't make you come, his anger quickly turns into lust.

wolfstar

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 cute fic pt:1 by @ellecdc  poly!wolfstar x potter!sister!reader | touch starved reader who also happens to be James' sister, it's a secret relationship

-you didn’t even have a right to feel this way right now; this had been your idea.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 cute fic pt:2 by ^ poly!wolfstar x potter!sister!reader

-you & the boys tell james

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 mistake pt:2 by ^ poly!wolfstar x fem!reader | angst, hurt and COMFORT

-remus felt like he’d just been slapped. in fact, he was sure that if he looked in a mirror, he would see a red welt in the shape of your hand across his cheek. read part one here

tom riddle

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 voicemail by @anawritez-posts tom riddle x reader | 18+ only. minors dni, contains dark themes and sexual language so minors pls dni

-y/n tries to escape her controlling obsessed husband, he leaves a disturbing voicemail while she tries to find a way to leave him.

bts

jk

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 12:00 am by @joonberriess jungkook x reader | smut blurb

-best friend!jk hour

peaky blinders

tommy shelby

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 is that how you remember it by @runnning-outof-time tommy shelby x reader | tooth-rotting fluff and one (1) bad word, 2.6k+

-(y/n) finds some discrepancies in the story of how they first met that tommy tells their children…so she decides to give her own rendition of the story.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 to keep you safe by ^ tommy shelby x reader | season 4 spoilers (like right from the jump), language, 1.0k+

-(y/n) and tommy discuss the decision to have her go into hiding while the war with the changrettas rages on.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 little you-s and I-s by @multific tommy shelby x reader | pregnancy mention

-you and tommy deal with the changes that come with your pregnancy.

ྐ𖥨᩠ׄ݁ ˖ ݁ 𓈒 tommy shelby fic by @little-diable tommy shelby x fem!reader | just nudity, full on fluff and fun

-tommy will always do what his wife asks of him, especially when he needs a few calm moments himself.

[starlemonbunki]

In the mood for some angst? Here's some bsd men x terminally ill reader🩷

Dazai:

• Atsushi notices that everyday, Dazai leaves work early to go...somewhere. it's not like the guy is the type to follow a schedule so he can't tell where exactly he's been going lately. When he asks he just plays it off as a joke, tho he does notice how his gaze seems to be so distant lately.

• turns out, everyday these past few weeks Dazai has been visiting you in the hospital. He always comes with a sweet little gift, nothing extravagant, maybe a flower he knows you like or a cup of coffee from a place you used to frequent.

• he would spend hours with you, just the two of you in that sterilized little hospital room, talking about anything and everything. His demeanor is nonchalant, yet more soft and sensitive to you. He's always had a soft spot for you after all.

• when he learned of your condition he didn't try to "cure" it or "fix" it. He decided that he will love you and stay with you and make you feel like nothing has changed as much as he can. He keeps up with the jokes, the gifts, and tries to make you feel as normal as you used to feel.

• you notice how he stares at you more often, how he looks deeper into your eyes when you talk. As if he's trying to memorize every feature before it all goes away.

• he's decided that once you're gone, is when he will go too. He doesn't want to live without you. He laughs to himself a little bit, a soft, gentle chuckle, at the thought. "It's not the way I would have wanted, but now I finally get to die with you."

• he thinks he's so good at keeping this plan from you. That he's hiding it completely out of your line of sight. But you know Dazai. You know him better than anyone. You know how much he loves you. And the day you part ways your last wish to him is that he continues to live, to move on, to be with his friends and do what he wants to do. And once you're gone, he never thinks of suicide again.

Chuuya:

• at first, he does everything he can to find a cure. He spends thousands on doctors and doctors all specializing in your condition. But they all say the same thing. It can't be cured.

• you notice how much this is eating him up, how he's been more cranky, more irritable, he's never resting. He barely even gives time to visit you at the hospital as he's always on the search for a new doctor who will finally tell him what he wants. That there's a way out of this, a way for you to continue being in his life. But to no avail.

• your request is final, it's the last thing you ask him for. You want him to rest, to give up, and to just enjoy the time you have left. At first he's speechless. His eyes are smaller and wider than you've ever seen them. It feels as though his heart had stopped beating, his blood stopped pumping, and the world just went quiet for a second.

• then there comes the anger. The frustration. How can you just ask him that? To let you go? To just stand by as this stupid illness takes you away? Don't you know how much you mean to him? Don't you care?

• Chuuya doesn't visit you for a while after that. He spends time alone. Not even drinking the wine he loves so much, the bottles he had been saving for a special occasion, the ones with you in it. He stares blankly at nothing, thinking of nothing. The world could end right there and then but he would still be in this state. At least we'd go together, he thinks.

• meanwhile, you remain at the hospital, in the same bed, in the same room. A part of you is happy, because now Chuuya can move on. He can forget about you and finally be happy, happier than he'll ever be with you. You smile at the thought. You used to think that this time would be full of tears. But you were never one to cry. Neither was Chuuya.

• it's sunset. The end of the last month your doctor said you had left. Your body has weakened, you can't even get out of bed. At this point they've stopped trying, stopped filling you with meds and serums and shots. Stopped plugging you into machines and machines and machines. There are no more pipes around your body. No more wires. No more tubes. They've decided to let you go peacefully, and make you feel as if you were sleeping in your own bed, in your own home.

• on the last day, Chuuya is there.

• he stands at the doorway, calm and collected. He enters the room without a word. All he does is sit next to you, and take your hand in his. You look at him and smile.

• "I'm here, doll." He says.

• he wants to apologize. To atone for leaving you alone for so long. For forcing you in this room by yourself. But he knows you hate apologies. He just wants to spend the last remaining moments he has with you, with you.

• as he's sitting on that little chair next to you, watching your breathing get slower and slower, softer and softer, your life force fading away, he examines your face. Your eyes, your nose, your lips. He examines how your hair is fixed into the way you always did it, as if nothing has changed.

• he wants to say something, the last thing you will ever hear.

"I won't forget you,",

"I'll never leave you,"

Something like that. But he doesn't.

Instead he sits and watches you, in complete silence. He only realizes now that you two have been so loud and noisy the whole time you've known each other. Simple conversations are said in such loud voices, but you both loved it that way. But this time, you both decided it would be quiet. Peaceful. A contrast to the unusually loud and vulgar lives you both have lived. An end to a chapter.

Fyodor:

• Like Chuuya, Fyodor isn't one to give up so easily. He goes beyond doctors, or medicine, or anything so ordinary.

• he goes for the Book.

• the one thing that can change anything. All of this. He can give you a better life, one without all the dirt and bloodshed he had associated you with. One where you're happy, living in the house of your dreams, with all the things you've ever wanted, happier than ever.

• a life without him.

• Fyodor loved you too much to watch you get tainted by his own filth. He always thought it was too late for him, but not for you. But now you don't have all that time. Now he has to erase everything. Erase every part of you that was dirtied by him. With a new life free of him, you would finally, truly, be happy.

• He's off on dangerous missions. Making all sorts of enemies. All to do the last thing he could to make you happy.

• "Fedya," you called, your voice as sweet and soft as it always was. He snaps out of his trance, not realizing his gaze was so far away. "Yes, dear?" He answers, hard, sharp eyes softening upon seeing you. "Come here," you ask.

• he stands up from the chair he was sitting on across the room from you, and walks to your bedside. He puts a hand on your pillow, careful not to touch you. He knows very well that your unique condition is not one that is contagious. Even if it was that wouldn't be the reason he isn't touching you. It's all symbolic, he doesn't want to dirty you any more than he already has. He wants to keep this valuable, albeit cracked little porcelain doll in this state, before it slowly disappears.

• "Hold my hand, Fedya." You tell him. Breaking from his symbolic gestures, he takes your hand in his, caressing you with his thumb as he does so.

• "I want you to do something for me," you ask, not meeting his gaze. "Of course, dear." He answers almost immediately. He knows you never ask him for anything unless it was really important.

• "I want you to stop looking for that book." You say. Fyodor's eyes widen a little, a frown almost forming on his face. But he's smart enough to not need a reason. And he knows you well enough to know you don't want a sappy little conversation between the two of you filled with tears and cries.

• It takes a moment, but he smiles and nods. "Okay," he says. "Anything for you, myshka."

• your final moments are spent with him telling you a story, reading from a book you used to love. It was in Russian, and he would read it to you as a pastime before going to bed together. Even after you're gone, he keeps reading. All the way until he finishes the book. He closes it and looks at you. Your eyes are closed, your mouth is slightly open, as if you were just asleep. He gets up and kisses you on the forehead, and doesn't leave until the doctors come in.

Ok that's all! And sorry but usually when I say "bsd men" I mean these three idiots who I love with my whole heart and my whole pussy🤗 also sorry if some were kinda out of character, especially fyodor, I haven't seen him much in the anime yet since I haven't gotten to s5😅

[taeyongdoyoung]

summary: things between you and your mom escalate and you make the impulsive decision to move in with your online friend who saves your life and shines like the brightest star... pairing: seonghwa x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut; online friends to roommates+lovers warnings: swearing, mommy issues, suicidal thoughts, insecurities, crying, pet names, eating out, blowjob, protected sex, praise kink, mommy kink, one (1) bad star wars joke, the nbhd references, subspace (kinda?), lowkey possessive hwa, one bed trope (but there is a couch, they just ignore it) author's note: this is incredibly personal and i felt so vulnerable while writing it but i better post it real quick before i chicken out 🙃 the title is inspired by the neighbourhood's daddy issues (remix) even though reader has mommy issues lol word count: 4.3k

You are cooped up in your room, physically shaking. You have no tears left to cry so you are laughing hysterically at the absurdity of it all. You were so tired of it. You love your mom, you really do. You would never do anything to harm her. But you are absolutely sick of the way she was treating you. Always belittling your interests, not letting you go out past a certain hour even though you were old enough to do so, yelling at you for the smallest mistakes, suffocating you with her unrealistic expectations, saying you were stupid and would never amount to anything if it hadn't been for her strict parenting style, even though you had practically sacrificed your mental health and social life to get high grades. And whenever you brought up all the ways in which she'd hurt you, she would try to gaslight you and pull shit like: "I never said that." "You're being overdramatic." "You're so ungrateful." All your friends said you deserved better. They tried their best to support you emotionally. But words could only do so much. You need out. If you stayed another moment in this toxic environment, you felt like you would do something terrible to yourself. Something there was no coming back from.

The only person you feel like talking to right now was your online friend Seonghwa. You'd met him on a Star Wars forum eight months ago and you'd been talking to each other pretty much every free minute. He was your light in the darkness and brought you so much happiness you couldn't remember what your life before him had been like. He always knew just what to say and comforted you like nobody else could. And when you didn't feel like talking, he distracted you successfully by organizing streaming sessions for the two of you. He is, for lack of a better word, perfect. There is only one downside. He lives thousands of kilometres away from you.

You: Talk to me. About anything. Please? Starshine98: What happened??? You: I don't wanna talk about it. I don't even wanna think about it. Starshine98: Got it. Your mom, right? You: Is my tragic existence so transparent? Starshine98: Whatever she said, you know it's not your fault. You: I know. But Hwa…it hurts so much I feel like dying. I can't do this anymore. Starshine98: Don't say that. You are so important to me. And to your friends. And to your mom, as well, even if she has a messed up way of showing it. You: Still….I need to get out of here as soon as possible but I can't do that without getting a stable job first. And it's so hard to find one. Starshine98: What if you came to live with me? My apartment has enough space for two… You: You live across the world? I can't even afford a plane ticket. Starshine98: Don't worry about money, I'll send you an E-ticket. You: I can't ask you to do that… Starshine98: You're not asking, I'm offering. You're going through something traumatic and you obviously need a change of scenery. I'm not asking you to stay with me forever, just for as long as you need to take care of your mental health. Just say the word and I'll buy the ticket. You: This is far too generous of you. Starshine98: I'm not as selfless as you think. I'm so worried about your well-being that keeping an eye on you myself would help me sleep better at night. You: Sweet. Starshine98: So? What do you say? You: Fuck it. Let's do this.

A couple of minutes later you receive a digital plane ticket from Seonghwa. The feeling of staring at it is so surreal you feel like you might pass out. You quickly pack only the bare essentials into a bag and scribble a letter to your parents. You know your mom will be furious and your dad will be worried sick but still, you want to leave the apartment while she's still asleep to avoid the confrontation. This is the best decision you could have possibly made in this situation. And for the first time in forever, you are finally doing something impulsive, something crazy without asking for permission. And damn, does it make you feel alive.

As you get off the plane, your eyes scan the airport for Seonghwa. You debate turning on your phone but then you would be faced with missed calls from your parents and right now, you are not ready to face the reality of what you've done. Luckily enough, you quickly spot a large sign with your name on it. It's him! You rush through the crowd and directly into his arms. He drops the sign in disbelief and gives you the tightest hug possible. This is insane. You can't believe you're actually here.

"Hi, sweet girl," Seonghwa says and his voice sound even lovelier than during the video chats you've had with him.

"Hi, starshine," you chuckle nervously.

"How was your flight?" he asks.

"Couldn't wait for it to be over," you admit.

"Yeah? You wanted to see me that bad?" Hwa teases you.

"More like couldn't wait to visit Seoul," you joke. "Go sightseeing."

"Sorry to disappoint but I'm taking you home first."

Home. You liked the sound of that.

"This is my room, this is the living room, this is the kitchen and this is the bathroom. Any questions?" Seonghwa inquires after he's done showing you around his apartment.

"Um, not to sound ungrateful but…where will I…you know, sleep?" you ask.

"My room, obviously. I'll take the couch in the living room," Hwa shrugs.

"What? No, Hwa, I can't…this is your apartment. I would feel so guilty I wouldn't fall asleep at all."

"Do you have another suggestion?"

"Duh! I will sleep on the couch!"

Seonghwa shakes his head, visibly distressed by the idea.

"It's pretty cold in the living room. You'll be more comfortable in my room."

"Well…we could share the bed, then? You do have a king size. If…that's okay with you."

"Are you sure?" Hwa wants to know.

You nod without thinking too much into it.

"You're my best friend and I just moved across the world. Sharing a bed with you does not worry me."

"Alright. Let me know if you need anything, I'll try to get it for you."

"Right now I just need a hug."

Seonghwa abides by your wishes and soon enough, the two of you find yourselves cuddling under the warm blanket. Minutes later you are crying and spilling the beans about your latest fight with your mom. When you tell him the whole story, he feels like throwing up.

"H-how could she say that to her own d-daughter?" Hwa stammers in disbelief.

You notice tears falling down his beautiful cheeks and trace a finger against his skin.

"Honestly? I'm kinda used to it. But it was so bad I couldn't take it anymore."

"You're not supposed to. You're a literal angel, I don't understand her behaviour at all."

You give him a sad smile.

"I'm not a saint, either. I mean, I've kept secrets from her and stuff. I just wish things could get resolved by communicating but she always refuses to hear my side of the story."

"The only reason why you've kept secrets was to protect your sanity. She's being unreasonable for not letting you follow your passions. What kind of a parent would say such harmful things?"

"Right?" you laugh bitterly. "You get me like no one else."

Seonghwa strokes your hair lovingly and kisses your forehead.

"My darling girl. You deserve so much better."

"Sometimes I wish you were my mom," in a moment of intense vulnerability, you murmur without thinking but the words are already out of your mouth and it's too late to take them back.

"W-what?" Hwa appears taken aback.

"S-sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me," you cover your face with your hands.

"Say it again. Please."

You take a peek nervously. His reaction is not one of disgust as you feared but rather…curiosity?

"I wish you were my mom," you repeat, your cheeks flushed with color.

"Do you know what I'd do if I were your mom?" Seonghwa asks.

You shake your head, desperately needing to hear what he's thinking.

"If you were my little girl, I'd do whatever I could do to keep you safe and protect you, make sure no one could hurt you, least of all me. I'd let you follow your passions. If you went out at night, I'd be worried sick, of course, but I'd be happy you're having fun with your friends. I'd tell you I'm proud of you no matter what grades you got. If you kept secrets from me, I wouldn't yell at you, but I'd ask myself what I did wrong. You know why? Because I trust you. And I care about you so deeply that I'd like to win your trust, too."

Your vision is blurry with tears. You feel like Hwa just fixed something he didn't break. Whatever he has to offer, you want all of it.

"I'd like that very much."

"You'd let me take care of you? Call you mine?" Seonghwa needs to know.

"Yes, please."

"My precious girl," he purrs in your ear.

"Hwa…just to be clear, what does that make us?" you ask, confused about the line between friendship and…whatever this is.

"What do you want us to be? Girlfriend and boyfriend? Daughter and…mom? Friends with benefits?"

You chuckle at the variety of labels he suggests.

"I think I'd like to be your girlfriend. If you'll have me," you blink, suddenly feeling insecure. You don't have much to offer. But whatever little you have, you're willing to give to him.

"I will. And I'd be honoured to be your boyfriend."

You bury your head into his chest, overwhelmed with positive feelings and excitement for the future that awaits the two of you.

"Let me take you out on a date tomorrow. But first, you need sleep."

"Okay, mom," you laugh wholeheartedly. "Will you sing me a lullaby?"

"Anything for my best girl," Seonghwa promises.

The following day he takes you to a really lovely date at a local restaurant and treats you so well, like no one else before in your life. You feel so blessed and lucky to have met him that there are not enough words to describe how grateful you are to him. Not just for letting you move in with him without expecting anything in return (though that was an immensely generous gesture on his side). The reason you are grateful the most is that he accepts you with all your flaws and scarred past, he shows you such understanding and care you have only dreamed about. He is truly your shining star guiding your path through the dark and into the light.

In the evening, you finally muster up the courage to turn on your phone. You call your dad and with tears in your eyes, explain the circumstances around your latest fight with your mom and why you decided to move in with Seonghwa. Your dad is worried, of course, but he says he gets why you did it, as he has witnessed some encounters when your mom has said hurtful things to you. Though he has not explicitly stood up for you, in your private conversations, he has shown you support and eagerly awaited the day you were independent from her. He tells you your mom was furious at first but now she is just…sad. You promise you will talk to her when you feel ready but for the time being, you need some space. Your dad respects your decision and you hang up.

"You did well," Seonghwa praises you, enveloping you in a warm hug.

"Thanks," you whisper sadly.

"Shall we go to bed?" he asks.

"Aw, man, I was in such a hurry to pack that I forgot my favourite frog plushie!" you exclaim in annoyance. "I can't sleep without it."

"Last night you had no trouble falling asleep, though?" Seonghwa gently reminds you.

"You're right!" you cry out in amazement.

"I'll get you a million plushies tomorrow but for now you'll have to settle for me."

"You know what? You're more than enough. You're my favourite plushie from now on!" you smile, wrapping your arms around his waist.

You've had the happiest week of your life. Seonghwa shows you around the city, taking you to adorable cafés, sightseeing and eating ramen by the Han river. The two of you take tons of pictures together and spend a lot of quality time. He even introduces you to his friend San and convinces him to let you work at his bookshop, which is honestly a dream job.

One morning, you wake up feeling uncharacteristically hot. Something hard is pressed against your ass. Could that be…You freeze at the realization. You wonder whether to rush out of bed. But then you risk Seonghwa waking up and you don't want him feeling embarrassed over something completely natural. You could pretend you're still asleep? But your breathing is too irregular and your skin is practically on fire. What should you do? Before you can make up your mind, you feel Seonghwa shifting behind you and the space has never felt emptier.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles sleepily.

"What are you sorry for?" you ask even though the answer is quite apparent.

"For…you know, getting hard."

"It's fine, it's a normal human reaction."

"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or objectified. I mean…you are hot and I've obviously thought about you before in impure ways but…I like you so much I don't want you to feel pressured or anything. You're incredibly special to me, baby."

You finally turn around to face him.

"You are the most precious person in my life, Seonghwa," you whisper. "And like, if you want me, I'm all yours. No pressure."

"But…wouldn't you want to wait longer?" he asks cautiously.

"Whenever you want, my star," you smile eagerly, hoping he takes the bait.

"Fuck it," Hwa mutters under his breath and crashes his lips into yours.

You kiss him back impatiently and bury your fingers into his soft hair. He pulls you closer to him by the waist, digging his fingers into your lower back.

"If you want to stop at any moment, just let me know, okay?" Seonghwa breaks the kiss to reassure you.

You are so touched by his words that tears are already welled up in your eyes.

"Okay. Same goes for you."

"Trust me, darling, I wouldn't want to stop," Hwa promises and buries his head into your neck, inhaling the scent of you.

He spends a long time pressing kisses everywhere he could think of: your neck, your cheeks, your hair, your nose, your collarbones, your tummy, your ears, your thighs until finally, he reaches your pussy. Guiding your legs apart with a gentle but firm hand, you are afraid of melting right there. He eats you out hungrily, his ridiculously long tongue doing wonders to your senses. Needing something to hold on to, you tug on his hair, hopeful that you are not hurting him. He starts making circular motions, increasing the pleasure. It does not take you long to finish, completely falling apart.

"I think I just died a little," you admit, laughing.

"Well, the French did call it la petite mort," Seonghwa shrugs.

"Ah, yes. The little death," you smile, fondly recalling your French classes. "I wouldn't be a good guest if I didn't return the favour, no?"

You wrap your lips around the head of his cock, looking up at him to see if you're doing a good job.

"You're not a guest. I want you to feel at home," Seonghwa says and you try to take him deeper into your mouth. "You don't have to- Oh!"

You smirk as you swirl your tongue against his cock, doing your best to bring him closer to the edge.

"Such a good girl. My girl, yes?" he murmurs.

You can't verbablly respond so you nod your head frantically. Your hand is wrapped around the part of him you can't physically fit in and you blink the tears away, attempting to focus on breathing through your nose. You move your head and up down, desperately staring into his eyes to make sure he's enjoying every second of it. Soon enough, he reaches his high, sending ropes of cum down your throat. You try to swallow, not waste any drop of it.

Seonghwa strokes your cheek with his hand.

"You did so great for me," he praises you and you feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"T-thank you," you stutter nervously.

"You don't have to thank me," Seonghwa chuckles in confusion and flips you around so that you are lying on your back. He leans down and kisses you again even more sensually than before but with as much tenderness. "You wanna stop?"

"No, please, don't stop," you are not too proud for begging.

"M'kay, lemme just grab protection real quick and I'll be back," he grins.

"Oh, I feel quite protected with you by my side, but I get what you mean," you tease him, excited to take the next step in your relationship.

True to his promise, Hwa returns moments later, flexing a condom in his hand.

"Protection," he repeats in a cute voice, while he puts it on.

"And here I thought you were gonna show me your lightsaber," you joke.

Seonghwa dramatically places a hand on his heart, feigning offense.

"I already did," he plays along and you can't stop yourself from bursting into laughter.

God, he really is the best guy in the universe. Your thoughts are further confirmed when he slowly teases your entrance with just the tip, making sure you are okay.

"You good? Should I go deeper?"

"Hwa, my angel, you can do anything to me and chances are I'd like it," you reassure him confidently.

"Careful what you wish for," Seonghwa smirks and slides in, making you feel so full and complete.

"Ngh," your sweet little cries are enough to give him the needed push to not hold himself back any longer. He fucks into you with so much vigour and passion you are on the verge of disintegrating.

"My gorgeous girl. You like that?"

"Yes, mommy," the words slip out of your mouth before you could think twice about it. His movements come to a sudden halt, causing you to realize what you've just said. Out loud. Ugh, you feel equally mortified and turned on.

"Mommy, huh?" he chuckles lightly.

"S-sorry," you hide your face behind your palms.

"It's okay, I can be your mommy," Seonghwa grabs your wrists and pushes your hands above your head. "I'll take good care of you, yeah? Wish you could see yourself, my most precious girl."

"Hwa, please, I mean…mommy, need you so badly," you stumble through your words weakly.

"I'm right here, my sweet baby, I'll give you what you need," he plays along. "Does mommy's cock feel good inside you?"

"S-so g-good, mommy, thank you, thank you so much," it hasn't even been that long and you already feel fucked out, utterly and irreversibly at his mercy.

"Don't thank me, dearest, I'm just treating you the way you deserve," Seonghwa vows and before you know it, you are clenching around his cock, while he is spilling inside the condom.

You can't think, can't speak, can't do anything. Nothing exists in your mind anymore. Just him. The universe is completely blank save for that one shining star. You fail to register him leaving the room to dispose of the plastic and don't notice when he returns.

"Honey?" he says softly but his voice feels so distant. Kilometres away. You can't bring yourself to form a verbal response. "Are you okay?"

Seonghwa places gentle kisses on your cheeks in an attempt to bring you back to reality.

"Come back to me, darling, please, talk to me, I'm scared," he mumbles in between kisses.

"Hwa?" are your first words. Like a newborn baby looking for the comfort that only a true mother figure could provide.

"You're safe with me," Seonghwa tells you. "No one can hurt you here."

"I don't deserve you," you are suddenly crying, overwhelmed by how cared for and loved he's making you feel.

"Don't say that ever again, you hear me?" he speaks firmly but kindly, nonetheless. "You deserve to be happy. Am I making you happy?"

"So happy, you have no idea how much," you try your best to convince him for your sincerity.

"That's all I need to know," he nods. "Let me draw a bath for you and-"

You summon all the strength you have left and grip his hand as tightly as you physically can't.

"Don't leave me."

"I'm not leaving you," Seonghwa picks you up with ease and carries you all the way to the bathroom.

Once inside the warm bath, you are more capable to form full sentences and communicate what just happened with a clearer head.

"I'm sorry for springing up the whole mommy thing without discussing it in advance," you tell him.

"I don't mind, honestly. In fact, I think I'm perfect for the role."

You smile fondly and nudge his shoulder.

"Still. From now on, I'll try my best to talk about introducing anything new beforehand. It's only fair."

"Whatever makes you feel comfortable," he kisses your forehead as he rubs shampoo into your scalp. "But just so you know, I could never be mad at you."

"What if I want you to get mad every once in a while? You know…spank me for being a bad girl?" you suggest teasingly.

"Then, I'd be happy to oblige," Seonghwa replies enthusiastically and starts tickling you in a playful manner.

It is true that time heals all wounds and distance makes the heart grow fonder. A while later, you feel ready to talk to your mom again (somewhat influenced by your dad's pleading and Seonghwa's reassurance).

"Hi, mom," you greet her calmly over the phone.

"Hi, sweetie. I've missed you," she admits.

"Me too," and it's true. Even though she hurt you, you still love her.

"Have you been eating well?"

"Yeah, don't worry about that."

"Listen…I'm sorry for saying hurtful things and being so hard on you. I only do that because I think you're so smart and have the potential to do great things."

"Well you have a funny way of showing it," you chuckle dryly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…you never praise me for anything. I spent so many years trying to get your approval that I didn't stop for a second to think whether I was doing what I truly loved."

"I understand," your mom says. "I know it might be too late but I'll try to do better. If you'll let me."

"It's not too late. But I'm not coming back to live with you. I've got a boyfriend and a job here. And I'm…actually happy."

"I'm glad to hear that, sweetheart. You will visit eventually, right?"

"I will in the summer. I want us to work on our relationship," you explain patiently.

"Until then…we can Skype or something?" your mom suggests.

"Yeah, mom, we can do that," you laugh. "If you figure how to turn the computer on!"

"Hey!" your mom argues but her tone is amused "I'm not that old!"

"I know, I know," you keep laughing.

"I love you," she says seriously. And this time, you are willing to believe her.

"Love you too, mom," you answer truthfully and hang up the phone.

You look at Seonghwa who was quietly cutting vegetables. His mere presence in the room was giving you strength and moral support.

"I did it," you announce the obvious. "I talked to my mom."

"You did so well. I'm really proud of you, angel," he wraps you into the world's most comforting hug.

"Things won't get magically fixed but…it's a start."

"You did the right thing."

"I couldn't have done it without you, Hwa," you admit truthfully. "You light up my whole dark existence, my precious star."

"Oh, baby," Seonghwa holds your hands. "Stars can't shine without darkness."

Bonus:

You are so happy to have cooked spaghetti carbonara for your boyfriend, your darling, your starshine, your marvellous Hwa. You really hope he likes it because you've worked so hard on it and it's his birthday so you wanted to do something special for him. He has given you so much care and affection so this is the least you could do to express how grateful you are.

"Happy birthday, my love," you kiss him gently, presenting the meal in front of him. "I have other gifts, as well, but food first before it gets cold!"

"Aw, baby, you didn't have to do all that," Seonghwa smiles, touched by your efforts.

"Come on, try it!" you are practically bouncing with excitement to see his reaction.

"It's really delicious, my angel! You did a wonderful job!" he praises you, sincerity clear in his voice.

You can't take it and you burst into tears.

"Why are you crying? Did I say something wrong?" Seonghwa puts the fork down, immediately worried about your well-being.

"No, it's just…the first time anyone's praised my cooking. It feels incredibly special coming from you, considering you are so brilliant in the kitchen."

"The kitchen is not the only place where I'm incredible," he winks, looking at the bedroom.

"Eat, eat! We'll unwrap the gifts later in that other place," you wipe your tears and encourage him to enjoy his meal.

"Oh, sunshine, you are the only gift I could ask for," Seonghwa promises and goes back to the carbonara. And perhaps, this is what having a home feels like.

The End

[boneappleteethsplural]

serious post again, CW: brief mentions of suicide and death threats

i saw a post that stated "bullying alone can not cause USDD/OSDD" i dont remember the exact words but that was the jist of it.

kids are fucking brutal. story time! when we were in grade 10 (freshman year, i believe) we got our head slammed in a locker door. we got a concussion from that. we have permanent double vision, we had one surgery, and we have another lined up because it will not go away. we had to do a full year of eye therapy and exercises in an attempt to fix it that did not work. that same kid has been verbally tormenting us since before kindergarten. that kid has gotten multiple of our classmats to berate us and bring us down. that kid has genuinely caused us to consider suicide. he turned everyone against us, spread rumours, the works. we had NO friends from school. we never had anyone over for birthdays except cousins who were obligated to come. we never got invited to anyone elses birthday, because no one liked us. we were the 'weird kid' (undiagnosed autism, undiagnosed adhd, undiagnosed other disorders that fuck with our mind and make dayto day life more impossible than it is) no one ever wanted to be our friend we were isolated and neglected and! bullied! HARSHLY! PHYSICALLY HARMED by classmates. we are 20 years of age bodily, we have a few issues (that i will not name) that makes our mental age be the equivalent of 15-16. we will always be a few years behind our physical age. our mom says that once we turn 24, 25 that itll be easier to pretend we're the right age mentally. all of this shit got us bullied to the point where this other kid deemed it acceptable to screw up our fucking vision by smalling our head in a locker door when we bent down to pick up a binder and make our parents shell out fifty thousand+ dollars to try and fix it. you wanna know what they did to make sure we didnt get bullied again? took us out of the same classes and moved our locker. he didnt get suspended or expelled or even punished. the bullying stopped after we dropped out due to suicidal thoughts and self harming tendencies. we have not gone back, and we legally cant go back as we're legal adults now.

when our aunts went to school, they received threats such as "im going to bring my dads b*tch*r kn*fe to school and ch*p your head off". do you know how fucking upsetting that is to a child? do you know how terrified our aunts were when they got told things like that DAILY? they could not go to the teachers, because the teachers would step in, talk to the bully, and then the bully would call them tattletales and bully them harder.

we got hit with a motercycle by our brother and then got blamed for it. it wasnt our fault. we were on a bicycle, driving on the right side of the road, pretty much in the ditch. and he hit us and lied about it to our parents so he wasnt in trouble and they believed him and yelled at us and took our bike away. even lying like that can be horribly horriby damaging to a small child.

when youre a small child and dont have a big concept of 'things could be worse!' and stuff like that, bullying is a massive deal and it can, and has, driven people to suicide, kids recieve literal death threats and then dont tell people because they will get bullied harder. other kids will lie about big things and then you get blamed for something very serious that is not your fault. kids get physically harmed, and the teachers do nothing about it and the child learns early on that they are on their own. traumatizing, right? people also seem to forget that parents are the bullies sometimes. parents who bully their kids also count as bullying. bullying is bullying no matter who it is.

obviously our trauma and OSDD wasnt caused solely by bullying. we have a rough home life, our parents are actively preventing us from getting a job and moving out, but thats a story for another time or maybe even never. i dont mind sharing those three stories as they happened a long long time ago, we have come to terms with it and accepted that they happened. we cant do anything about it anymore.

dont share your trauma online unless you know for a fact you wont be bothered if someone attempts to harass you or use it against you, this was to prove a point and let people know how fucking awful and traumatizing bullying can be from anyone.

DISASSOCIATIVE IDENTITY DISORDERS CAN BE CAUSED BY BULLYING.

-Lumi/Etho

[kvetchlandia]

Henry Miller and Anaïs Nin, Paris Uncredited and Undated Photograph

August 14, 1932

Anais:

Don’t expect me to be sane anymore. Don’t let’s be sensible. It was a marriage at Louveciennes—you can’t dispute it. I came away with pieces of you sticking to me; I am walking about, swimming, in an ocean of blood, your Andalusian blood, distilled and poisonous. Everything I do and say and think relates back to the marriage...

Here I am back and still smouldering with passion, like wine smoking. Not a passion any longer for flesh, but a complete hunger for you, a devouring hunger. I read the paper about suicides and murders and I understand it all thoroughly. I feel murderous, suicidal. I feel somehow that it is a disgrace to do nothing, to just bide one’s time, to take it philosophically, to be sensible. Where has gone the time when men fought, killed, died for a glove, a glance, etc? (A victrola is playing that terrible aria from Madama Butterfly—"Some day he’ll come!“)

I still hear you singing in the kitchen—a sort of inharmonic, monotonous Cuban wail. I know you’re happy in the kitchen and the meal you’re cooking is the best meal we ever ate together. I know you would scald yourself and not complain. I feel the greatest peace and joy sitting in the dining room listening to you rustling about, your dress like the goddess Indra studded with a thousand eyes.

Anais, I only thought I loved you before; it was nothing like this certainty that’s in me now. Was all this so wonderful only because it was brief and stolen? Were we acting for each other, to each other? Was I less I, or more I, and you less or more you? Is it madness to believe that this could go on? When and where would the drab moments begin? I study you so much to discover the possible flaws, the weak points, the danger zones. I don’t find them—not any. That means I am in love, blind, blind. To be blind forever! (Now they’re singing "Heaven and Ocean” from La Gioconda.)

I picture you playing the records over and over—Hugo’s records. “Parlez moi d amour.” The double life, double taste, double joy and misery. How you must be furrowed and ploughed by it. I know all that, but I can’t do anything to prevent it. I wish indeed it were me who had to endure it. I know now your eyes are wide open. Certain things you will never believe anymore, certain gestures you will never repeat, certain sorrows, misgivings, you will never again experience. A kind of white criminal fervor in your tenderness and cruelty. Neither remorse nor vengeance, neither sorrow nor guilt. A living it out, with nothing to save you from the abysm but a high hope, a faith, a joy that you tasted, that you can repeat when you will.

All morning I was at my notes, ferreting through my life records, wondering where to begin, how to make a start, seeing not just another book before me but a life of books. But I don’t begin. The walls are completely bare—I had taken everything down before going to meet you. It is as though I had made ready to leave for good. The spots on the walls stand out—where our heads rested. While it thunders and lightnings I lie on the bed and go through wild dreams. We’re in Seville and then in Fez and then in Capri and then in Havana. We’re journeying constantly, but there is always a machine and books, and your body is always close to me and the look in your eyes never changes. People are saying we will be miserable, we will regret, but we are happy, we are laughing always, we are singing. We are talking Spanish and French and Arabic and Turkish. We are admitted everywhere and they strew our path with flowers.

I say this is a wild dream—but it is this dream I want to realize. Life and literature combined, love the dynamo, you with your chameleon’s soul giving me a thousand loves, being anchored always in no matter what storm, home wherever we are. In the mornings, continuing where we left off. Resurrection after resurrection. You asserting yourself, getting the rich varied life you desire; and the more you assert yourself the more you want me, need me. Your voice getting hoarser, deeper, your eyes blacker, your blood thicker, your body fuller. A voluptuous servility and tyrannical necessity. More cruel now than before—consciously, wilfully cruel. The insatiable delight of experience.

HVM

--

Everyone else seems to have the brakes on… I never feel the brakes. I overflow. And when I feel your excitement about life flaring, next to mine, then it makes me dizzy. - Anaïs Nin to Henry Miller, 1932

[chaoticbardlady99]

Darling, Never Stop Haunting Me

Spawn! Astarion x F! Ghost Reader

Chapter One: Music, Regrets, and Party Tricks

 Synopsis: (3 months post Netherbrain) You ask Astarion to take you to see a violinist in a park and end up having a heart to heart. You begin to have very peopley feelings towards Astarion. Someone from Astarion's past makes an unwelcome fourth appearance and you help Astarion get revenge.

CW: Mentions of SA (Astarion), violence, revenge, brief mentions of suicidal ideation, a tad bit fluffy

Note: The first couple chapters will have time skips because it is meant to set up the main plot- more chaos is on it's way!

Disclaimer- I put together the picture for the banner, but I do not own any of the pictures. Birdie is a stock image. I will not describe the readers body in detail- she is just merely on the banner for ✨drama✨. I believe the picture of Astarion is from @cheekylittlepupp . And then the symbol of Orcus in the back is a free image off the internet.

Prologue : Chapter Two: AO3

You wait anxiously by the door as Astarion takes his sweet time bathing in the other room. You have both been staying in a room in Elfsong Tavern since the Netherbrain was defeated about 3 months ago.

  You and Astarion usually spend your days in Szarr palace looking for any information on Sunwalking. You’ve found lots of promising leads, but they are all very very far away- the first lead is in some mountain in Amn and you’re excited to see more of the world.

 Tonight is your last night in Baldur’s Gate for a while and you had overheard some tavern goers talking about a Violinist playing in the park tonight. You had felt your entire body perk up at the idea. 

 The only obstacle was getting Astarion to take you. 

  The man pretty much abandons you at nighttime- leaving you alone and lonely. He used to pet you to sleep every night, talk with you and laugh with his companions, and then he lost his ability to walk in the sun. 

 Recently Astarion has been falling into some habits that haven’t been great for his mental health. He’s usually picking you up for a hug after some terrible tryst he had and pretends to joke about the whole thing like it was just a bad fuck, but you knew better.

 You could see the regret in his eyes and the worthless feeling in his soul. It broke your heart to see him go from being on top of the world to rock bottom again. The one time you tried to talk about it with him- he disappeared for a day and you were sure he had abandoned you. 

  Astarion eventually came back and he had actually spent the entire day with you. It was in silence and with many tears, but eventually he told you that he had been pressured into having sex and he felt pathetic. You reassured him a thousand times he’s not and he began bringing them to your room instead so if they are a problem- you would be the solution. You have sent many people screaming out the door with claw marks across their scalps- you even lost a claw in someone’s head! 

 “I can defend myself, Darling,” Astarion said as he cleaned up the mess your broken claw left on your paw, “you don’t need to be my Cat in Shining Armor.” 

 “I know, but isn’t this just so much more entertaining for both of us?”

 Astarion smiled widely, “that is a very good point.” 

  He began spending more time with you at night, but there are still days where he falls into his old habits and is sucked in by his despair. 

 You are really hoping today isn’t one of those days because you really want to go listen to the Violinist. 

 You jolt to life when the door creaks open and Astarion walks out without a shirt while toweling off his hair. He freezes instantly when he sees you sitting there with wide eyes and limbs ready to pounce. 

 “Uh oh, what did I do now?” 

 “It’s about what you are going to do.” 

  Astarion raises an eyebrow at you and you jump up onto the empty desk next to the door so you feel slightly more equal and powerful in the situation.

 “I want to go to the park tonight,” you say, “there is going to be a violinist playing and I want to hear them.” 

 “Oh, so you just need me to leave the window open tonight?” 

  You blink a few times and try to fight the hurt that flits in your chest. Yes, you could go alone and just do that, but you were kind of hoping you could go together as friends and have a normal time together again like you used to. 

 “I was actually hoping you might come with me?” 

   Astarion looks at you like you’ve grown a third head.

 “It’s our last night in Baldur’s Gate and you want me to go with you to listen to a violinist in the park?” 

  His voice is on the border of amusement and irritation. Your heart cracks ever so slightly more. 

 “Yes,” you squeak.

  “That’s ridiculous, Darling,” Astarion says with a dismissive wave, “I would much rather spend my last night in Baldur’s Gate indulging in sinful activities- not some violin concert.” 

 You don’t know why you even try to push it.

 “It shouldn’t be all night,” you say quickly, “you could easil-“

 “No offense,” he interrupts you, “but I would rather spend my night with a person and not my cat.” 

  That shatters something so deep within you that you don’t even know what to do with yourself. You are possessing a cat, but you are still a person and your feelings matter to you. 

  You’ve been nothing but respectful of Astarion and his feelings. You’ve been there for him because that’s what friends do. Obviously- you aren’t his friend, you are just ‘his cat’.

 You aren’t his cat though. You would be able to survive just fine on your own- you will go back to gardening and befowling Donella’s home.

 “I am NOT YOUR CAT!” You scream at the top of your lungs- Astarion takes a step back in surprise, “I am a person! A person with feelings! I am a person first, ghost second, and then cat third! 

“And you know what!? Enjoy your sins and your adventure to find some stupid solution for the sun- I’m done!” 

 You bound out the window in two quick leaps and you can hear Astarion calling from the dark of the room. The fading sunlight warms your fur and is an unwelcome reminder of the wretched form you threw yourself into. You’ve really come to feel terrible for cats- everyone thinks they can just pick you up Willy Nilly or disrespect you as they please. A few children have learned the hard way that you are not to be fucked with.

  Your trek to the park is easy and you get there just in time. Couples stroll around the park and the violinist is tuning up his violin. The moment is so peaceful, but the excitement you had felt previously had disappeared. 

  A couple laughs and another gives each other a lingering kiss. Others are laughing with each other and holding hands. They all look ridiculously in love and so happy- it makes your body hurt and your stomach turn.

  You never had the opportunity to have a partner (which is a sore spot for you) and the moment the violinist strikes the first note of one of your favorite love songs- you find yourself miserably wandering to the only place you could think of, the Rothwell Crypt. 

 You slide through the grates with ease and you jump up onto your mother’s coffin with your head on your paws. Tears fall out of your eyes- a new quirk you didn’t know you could do. 

 You sniff the air tepidly and a choked sob escapes your mouth. Not a single trace of her perfume is around- not that you expected it to be, but you had so hoped. 

  She would have gone with you- cat, person, or ghost. She used to love taking you to see violinists in the park as a child and she would tell you grand love stories that you hoped to one day experience. 

 The worst part? Your mother is long gone. You are no longer the happy-go-lucky 10 year old with the spontaneous, enthusiastic mother who had a sense of adventure. She will never cheer you on at a street corner ever again and you will never smile brightly at her when she put a gold piece in your case- it always made others feel like they should do it too. Your life was happy and warm.

 Now? You are a ghost doomed to be trapped in this form until it dies and then what? Will you even be able to move on? You couldn’t last time so why would it be any different now? It all makes you so angry you could tear your fur out.

 You will never see a violinist with her again. You will never know what it means to truly love someone and to be loved in return. You will never be able to play the Violin again all because Donella thought you were ‘promising’.

  If you hadn’t died, would you have been one of those violinists in the park? Would your parents be there cheering you on? Would you have had full blooded siblings? Gotten married? Become famous? 

 The thoughts cause you to cry harder and you decide you are going to take control of your own fate for once- you will lay here until you eventually starve to death. That seems like a full proof solution. 

  You hear the gate to the crypt open, but you don’t bother to look. Whoever it is better put you out of your misery sooner rather than later. 

 “Gods below, you are much faster than I thought you were,” Astarion exclaims as he practically clammers down the stairs, “come on- that violinist of yours is still playing and - what’s wrong?” 

 “Go away,” you say weakly.

 “But your violinis-“

 “I don’t care anymore.” 

   You expect him to yell at you and to be angry, but instead he walks over and kneels down until he’s at eye level with you.

 “I’m sorry, Darling,” Astarion pleads, “you’re right- you are a per-“ 

 “No,” you choke, “I don’t want your apology. You’re right. I’m just a cat now. So please, leave me alone.” 

 “No.” 

  You finally take the opportunity to look at him and your own misery fades a little when you see his own tear stained face. You both just stare at each other like you so frequently do when you are at a verbal crossroads. 

  Astarion gets up and you expect him to leave, but instead, you are being swung up into his arms and marched out of the crypt. 

  You don’t bother to protest- what does it matter? You’re a lower class citizen in this social situation. Quite literally too- no one will open a bank account for a cat. You and Astarion tried one time and the banker looked like she was going to call the City Watch to detain a lunatic. 

  The last place you expected Astarion to take you was the park. He finds a bench as close to the violinist as he can and puts your defeated form down on the bench. Astarion begins to hesitantly pet you and you can’t help but lean in a bit- your sadness still a weight in your heart. 

 Astarion comments on the music and asks if you have ever played it before. At first your answers are plain and generic, but he somehow pulls the old part of you out from deep within your soul.

  You chatter about what you would do differently, why certain songs aren’t frequently played, etc, etc. and it actually seemed like Astarion was enjoying himself for once.

    The music floats through the air and your heart soars as you hear another song you were extremely familiar with- ‘Meleth’. It’s a slightly darker love song and not one that is popularly played in places where there are a multitude of settled down couples.

  The song itself is about the pining a man has for a woman who is out of his reach at every turn. She isn’t trying to elude him, but the circumstances are just never right. Then, one day, he gets the courage to tell her and she’s been in love with him the entire time as well. It ends with the two of them together- the notes brighter as they flit through the night air. 

  “I always liked that song,” Astarion says absentmindedly. 

 “It’s a pretty one,” you agree, “I wouldn’t personally play this song for the environment, but no one seems too perturbed.” 

  Astarion looks around and notices the couples all enjoying each other���s company. 

 “I guess I didn’t notice.”

 “Really?” You say in surprise, “it’s the first thing I noticed.” 

 “Is that why you didn’t stay?” 

  You freeze and you know for a fact your heart stopped momentarily.

  It’s a fair question to ask, but you try to avoid talking about… you. You will tell him you were just so disgusted by all the love in the air- a lie is better than the truth and he doesn’t need to worry about this. 

 Except, when you finally make eye contact with him, his eyes are soft and inviting. Astarion seems genuinely invested in what you have to say. The look is sweet and it causes a warm feeling to glow in your chest. Maybe it would be safe to divulge this information. 

 “It was,” you say with a sigh, “I dedicated basically my entire life to the violin. It’s insane- looking back on it now. 

“I died never knowing what it felt like to have my hand held or to be kissed. I didn’t even have the chance to fall in love because I didn’t bother to think about it! I was rarely pursued by anyone because I had my head in my music sheets and never made the time to talk to anyone outside of my parents. 

“All of that hard work was gone in less than two minutes and the last thing I remember thinking about was how devastated I was to lose my first consistent gig- as if that was the most important thing I was losing at the time. It’s- it’s dumb that I lost my future because Donella thought I was ‘promising’ and had some sick idea in her head that she would mentor me. Her and her ego- she just had to try to create a fucking vampire spawn with little to no knowledge on the topic. 

“She wanted to mentor young women and try to prove to the higher ups that women were just as capable as men- which is something I strongly believed in! I was all for destroying the patriarchy! Hells- I would have been happy to just have her as a mentor, she was very well known for being a woman of poise, but no! Turns out, Donella was a gods damn Vampire Lord. She wanted a spawn and instead she damned me to a horribly lonely and sad existence in that fucking PALACE! 

“I wish I had been a cat while she was still alive. I would absolutely piss on her head and destroy her curtains. I wonder if pee is considered running water- that would have been very entertaining.” 

 You leer at the tower standing tall in the distance. At least you can destroy the curtains and piss on her grave. Astarion is laughing at your last sentence, but his eyes also tell a different story. He looks sad for you- heartbroken even. 

  Neither one of you speaks for the rest of the violinist’s concert. You’ve watched Astarion’s gears crank away in his head for at least a good hour now and they are still going as the two of you head back to Elfsong Tavern. There is practically smoke pouring out of his ears by the time he sets you down on the bed and lays in his usual spot on the bed. 

  You want to ask him what he is thinking about, but you are also afraid to ask and have it be something dismissive so instead you curl up in your usual spot at the top right of the bed, up against the wall like you so adore. Your fluffy pillow is still waiting for you like it had been before you stomped off and you definitely note the closed windows. 

 “I’m sorry,” he finally says.

 “For?” 

 “For forgetting that you were also very much a prisoner there,” Astarion says quietly, “and for not treating you like my equal. I haven’t been a very good companion lately and I’ve…. Admittedly been trying to push you away. I suppose I didn’t realize how much I didn’t want that until you leaped out of the window- which by the way- you could have died so please just ask me to open the door if you intend on storming off next time, Darling.”

 You roll your eyes.

 “I landed on my paws!”

 “You seem to forget the several thousand other times where you have belly flopped into those rose bushes or onto the cobblestone,” Astarion says through narrowed eyes and pouty lips, “you were terrible to live with when your ribs were broken- you sounded like you were about to keel over at a moments notice.”

 “You seem awful hyperfixated on me dying,” you say slowly, “I’ve died before- it’s not like it’s that scary. Well it is, but I would be fine. I would just be… quieter!” 

  Astarion looks at you and his mouth drops into a frown while he shakes his head.

 “I need you,” Astarion says quietly, “more than I care to admit. I enjoy your company- you make me happy and I would even say you are my friend. I don’t want you to ‘just be in the background’ of my life ever again.”

  You’re stunned by his words and he is actively avoiding eye contact with you. He must have fed recently because a nice rosy blush crawls up his neck and paints his cheeks. 

  You’re grateful cats can’t blush because you would be a sputtering mess- you would get red as a tomato when you were embarrassed. 

 You’re his friend! You are really his friend! 

 “I need you too,” you say brightly, “I’m very little, terrible at hunting, and prone to injury, but I also very much enjoy your company too. I share the same sentiment, if that helps. I prefer being on the forefront of your life.” 

 Astarion looks both relieved and elated at the same time. He picks you up into a hug that you gladly sink into. This feels like three months ago and you silently curse your cat body for purring in delight.

  That warm feeling in your chest is back again and you can’t help but feel intoxicated by the way he smells, how beautiful he is, and how complex his mind is. You really do lov-

 Oh no. Those thoughts need to be put away- not that you would know anyway. Love? Naw. That’s impossible. Your heart can’t possibly be so stupid as to fall in love with a man who will only ever see you as his friend trapped in a cat. Your situation doesn’t necessarily scream romance.

  Except it does make sense because it does break your heart to know he’s off with other people and you will never be able to be one of those people. 

 Well, you’d prefer to be a lot more to him than those people, but that’s not in the cards for you. Being a cat is okay- you get all the love in the world from him, even if it’s not the love you would prefer. 

  You push the thought away and reground yourself by listening to the phantom heartbeat that rings through his chest. He must have fed very recently. 

   You remain there for a while until a loud knock on the door gets both of your attention. 

 “Astarion? Are you in there?” A woman with a high pitched, sickly sweet voice calls out, “are we still going to have a drink together?”

  You and Astarion both look at each other then back to the door. She knocks again and calls out louder. You blink at him a few times and he very awkwardly puts you down before giving you a, “Gods, help me please” face, motions for you to hide, and he opens the door. You turn invisible instead- you may need to commit some major inconveniences and you enjoy using the little bits of magic that are accessible to you. Being a cat with ghost powers is pretty freaking phenomenal if you do say so yourself. 

 “Astarion!” 

  The Tiefling woman is very very pretty, but something is off about her and you don’t like it. She smells wrong and from the way Astarion’s posture changes- it’s obvious that your suspicions are correct and something is off. 

“I apologize, um,” Astarion pauses. 

  By the Gods he doesn’t even remember her name. 

 “Morgana,” she says with a slightly annoyed tone,” it’s okay though, you can make it up to me by buying me a drink.” 

  Astarion agrees to this nonsense and follows her down to the bar. It makes you bristle- something really isn’t right so that must be why the door is cracked ever so slightly. 

  You quietly squeeze through the door and stay close to the wall as you watch Astarion and the mysterious woman walk down the steps. You catch Astarion looking behind him at the door with worry. Your heart once again catches in your chest and is filled with that stupid, unfair glow. 

FOCUS BIRDIE!

 You shake your head and rake your own paw over your ear as if to chastise yourself. You put your adorable pink nose in the air and take a big whiff- the putrid odor from the woman is coming from a room down the hall and the closer you get to it, the worse it becomes. The scent has an underlying metallic smell so you are almost positive something is wrong with her blood. 

  You peek under the doorway and use Misty Steps to enter the room- you immediately throw up upon entering. 

  The room is scattered with papers and it looks borderline manic. There is a dead woman laying out on the bed and all of her blood is completely drained. It’s the same woman that Astarion had left with except she smells normal enough. 

  You reluctantly hop up on the bed- finding, to your horror, that the woman has multiple stab wounds in the chest and her eyes are wide in horror. It takes every last bit of your strength to swallow the nausea that threatens to consume you as you cast Speak with the Dead. She regards you, but she’s not nearly as lifeless as you thought she would be. 

  In fact, she screams, “ARAJ NO!” the moment she reanimates which causes you to leap at least 10 feet in the air with your tail puffed up. You clench your teeth and take a deep breath through your mouth before talking- you don’t want to begin cussing the corpse out. That is not a good way to start an interrogation. 

  “Why did you say, ‘Araj, no’?” You ask sheepishly.

   You know Araj- she’s the person you lost a claw to. She had come to your room in the middle of the day and demanded he bite her. She would not stop asking and wouldn’t take no for an answer until you forced her to accept it. 

  “Araj… paralyze… force herself… Astarion.” 

  Oh that woman is dead.

  “Why!?” 

 “Anything… to be… bitten.” 

  You are sprinting towards the door and smack into it from going too fast. You pop back up, your head now throbbing, and use misty steps once again to exit the room. Turning the corner, you see Tavern goers begin to aww at you, but you hiss loudly and scare them off.

  This feels even worse than Cazador for some reason. At least you knew the bastard was a sadistic, evil man, but Araj just seemed like a minor inconvenience. Now she’s a really big inconvenience. 

  You spot them quickly in a secluded corner of the bar and weave through the tavern goers. You can sense Astarion’s anxiety, but you hear him talking as if he has not a single care in the world. She flirts with him, but he deflects it which seems to upset her- you’d be upset too if your piss poor plan was going to the grave. 

  Adrenaline fills your body as you get closer and see the little paralytic bottle peeking out of her pocket. You race forward and skid to a halt underneath the table. Neither one of them has seemed to notice your appearance so you go straight for the bottle in question. 

 “Has anyone ever told you how incredibly handsome you are?” Araj says, “you look like you have walked out of a poem.” 

  Disgusting.

  “I have heard that before, yes.”

 HA! Take that lady! He could not be more interested and her plan really won’t work if he isn’t interested and her bottle of paralytic disappears.

  You put your teeth around the neck of the bottle and slowly pull it out of her pocket. Your teeth are able to get a solid grip in the cork, but it definitely has some residual paralysis potion on it because your body begins to tingle painfully. However, you continue with your mission and you are able to get the bottle out of her pocket; Only for it to crash to the floor when you drop like a dead weight. One thing is for sure- that’s a hell of a paralytic. 

  The sound gets both Araj’s and Astarion’s attention- Astarion is quickly picking you up off the ground.

 “What’s happening?” He asks you in his panic, “are you hurt? Are you dying? What-“ 

  You see how panicked Araj is as she looks from you to the broken bottle on the floor. Astarion is so distracted with you that he doesn’t see her frantic mind trying to piece together a reason for this to be happening. At least she’s smart enough to realize saying, “I made that paralytic to roofie you so I could force you to drink my blood and it looks like your cat ruined my plan” would not end well for her.

 “Oh your poor kitty must have found someone’s bottle of paralytic,” Araj says while feigning innocence, “I have an antidote I can give her- do you want to continue this upstairs.”

  Astarion nods, but mostly because he just wants you to be okay. You are infuriated right now- this woman is taking advantage of the fact that you can’t talk and you doubt she has an antidote. She’s probably going to poison you and then attempt to assault Astarion. 

  She parts ways with you both so that she can grab the antidote. You want to scream- Astarion needs to follow her and see the nightmare that has been created. However, he brings you into your shared room and begins digging through his pack. A sigh of relief leaves his mouth when he finds an antidote bottle. 

 “I don’t trust that woman,” he grumbles, “and I have a feeling you found a lot in your investigation.” 

  You gladly drink the entire bottle as fast as possible before popping up and looking Astarion dead in the eyes with your tail puffy and tall.

 “Thatsarajandsheisgoingtotrytoforceherselfonyou,” you shout all too fast. 

  Astarion looks positively perplexed, “I’m sorry Darling, but I think I may have misheard you- Araj is a Drow woman and this woman is a tiefling.”

 “YES but she killed her friend or assistant- the details are fuzzy, but I cast Speak with the Dead and Araj was going to give you the paralytic so she could force you to bite her,” you pause for a moment, “which now that I think about it- probably isn’t possible for her to do.”

   Astarion appears to go through the five stages of grief almost instantaneously while he thinks. You wonder what’s going on in that beautiful head of his. Is he sad that she isn’t really the person she was pretending to be? Your heart hurts at the thought and you once again bat yourself over the ear- earning a weird look from Astarion before he goes back to contemplating.

  The shit eating grin that threatens to break his face throws out your non-feline and non-ghost thoughts.

 “It appears we have a problem on our hands,” Astarion says with a mischievous grin, “whatever should we do? We don’t want such filth contaminating our space!”

You nod in agreement, flicking your tail back and forth. You think hard and long about the best course of action. There has to be at least a billion things you could- WAIT!

                    *************************************

  You and Astarion snicker as he sets up Godey’s destroyed bones next to Araj who he had put in the cuffs hanging from the wall. She’s fast asleep- Astarion had asked her to go on a walk with him and then casted sleep on her when he was just outside Szarr palace. You served as the distraction so she couldn’t counter it by popping out of the corner and scaring the woman out of her illusion. The look on Araj’s face was priceless when she realized Astarion knew exactly who she was prior to the big reveal. 

  The last part of your masterful plan wasn’t your idea, but Astarion insisted. He dragged Cazador’s disgusting, rotting corpse up from the dungeons and sat it up in a coffin. He had opened the man’s eyes (how they are still intact is beyond you) and maneuvered him so that it looks like Cazador is staring at Araj. 

  A stirring from behind you causes Astarion to pick you up before casting invisibility. You are going to do a quick body jump- as much as it horrifies you. 

  Possessing a dead, rotting person is absolutely disgusting- you think you’ll stick to being a cat until you can find another solution. However, Astarion promised you that he would take you to the beach when you reach Amn and let you teach him how to read music in return for your discomfort. 

  Cazador’s rotting limbs move uncomfortably and Araj begins to scream in terror as you descend upon her. 

 She did say she would do anything to be bitten.

*********************************************************

Author note: Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated! Please let me know if you would like to be on the tag list! I am using the Ghostwalk campaign for NPCs, locations, etc. It is a 3e Campaign and doesn’t mirror 5e Ghosts. I have tweaked some of the ghost powers and such for the sake of the story, but if you would like more information on Ghostwalk and the City of Manifest, there is a PDF online that is free to download :)

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