#and then if you withdraw due to their callousness you need to work on yourself to be a better social slave for them...

[dfortrafalgar]

Withdrawal

Four days off your hormone birth control pill left you with one unexpected side effect.

Law x Fem Reader

Warnings: MATURE 18+, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS INTERACTING WITH THIS POST WILL BE BLOCKED, this is all smut like pureee smut, every generic smut tag needed is here, pinv sx, biting, dry humping, creampie, unprotected sex (dont), biting, wet and messy, etc etc bless

Also Posted on AO3

It had been a mere 4 days since you stopped taking a daily hormone pill to control your crippling period cramps.  After all, it was near impossible to get a hold of the same medicines aboard a submarine that spent ninety percent of its time hundreds of meters below the ocean’s surface.  As such, you exhausted the six-month supply of the tiny pills that you had brought with you when you joined the Heart Pirates, slowly counting down the days when you would inevitably run out.

You had discussed your waning pill count with Ikkaku on multiple occasions, and she relayed you with her own experiences in her teenage years.

“When I stopped taking hormone pills, my period lasted for, like, two weeks before it became regular again!” she had said, throwing her hands in the air in an exasperated display as she recounted her memories.  “It sucked.  My cramps were really bad, too, but they got a bit better overtime.”

You had assumed, due to very little knowledge otherwise, that your experience would be largely the same.  It made sense in the few biology books you had studied during your downtime spent on the floor in the crew library.  You would cease taking your daily pill, your hormones would fluctuate as your body adjusted to the lack of a steady balance, and eventually you would go back to living life as you did years before you began your regimen.  You read up on a few additional side effects along with heavier and longer bouts of bleeding and increased amounts of bloating and general discomfort.  Mostly changes in body mass and occasional reports of differing mental symptoms, which you had readied yourself for as your supply turned into a week's worth, and then down to a single pill, and then nothing at all.

You had Law, your sweet, awkward, broomstick of a boyfriend, to pull on his metaphorical physician’s coat and help you out when needed, as well.  He told you, based on his own research (that he didn’t start until after you told him you were down to only two months left of pills), that he could administer remedies if you had bad cramp flare ups or serious, debilitating bleeding.  He followed his reassurance with a tender kiss to your cheek as you smiled at him, thanking him for his generosity and understanding.

You swallowed your last pill 4 days ago.  So far, none of the symptoms you had prepared yourself for had made themselves known.  No bloating, no period (yet), no fluctuating mental state, no change in weight.

Instead, starting 24 hours after your first pill-less day, you were plagued with intense, irreparable horniness, which had now gone on for 3 entire days.

Three days.  72 hours of a persistent wetness between your thighs, a constant warmth fluttering deep within the recesses of your gut that had you clenching around nothing at all hours of the day.  You were able to perform your work just fine, but every time Law would pass by you in the hallway, his fleeting touches would leave electric sparks through your boiler suit, his metal-tinged smell lingering in your nostrils more than usual, his golden irises etching themselves into your eyelids.  You were acutely aware of the sensation of dampness increasing between your legs whenever he made contact with you, which was very, very often.

You and Law had fucked before.  You fucked as often as you could, which, given your respective roles aboard a pirate submarine, was only about once a week, twice if you were lucky (and this was already more often than Law could’ve ever anticipated).  You were no stranger to the primal want that made you salivate, endlessly craving the calloused touch of your boyfriend’s lanky fingers against your hips.

But this, the unabashed depravity that started after you stopped your hormone pills, was on a completely different level.  Each day seemed to get worse, more unbearable.  It was as if your body was screaming at you to pursue your lover and beg him to dick you as deep into his mattress as he possibly could.  The mere thought made your face flush with blood.  During the times where you were left alone in Law’s bed while he was out being a captain, you tried to tend to your needs with your fingers.  You managed once to make yourself cum three times in a row without feeling any sense of relief.  Post-orgasm euphoria would instantly be replaced with more intense lust and longing, leaving you frustrated and bewildered.

Had you told him about this?  No, of course not.  Had he asked you about your condition in the days following your cessation?  Yes, multiple times.  He was constantly pleased with your content, “I feel great!” responses, and didn’t press the issue further, knowing you would come to him if you started to feel discomfort.

But this was a ‘discomfort’ that made your pride as a pirate, as a strong, semi-independent woman, waver ever so slightly.  Simply because you weren’t really keen to beg like a pathetic animal in heat.  (That had only happened once in the bedroom between you and your stone-cold captain-turned-boyfriend, and not only had the words that left your mouth embarrass you to a previously unknown degree, but they left Law feeling unbelievably awkward.  The two of you ended up not having sex and instead simply falling asleep.)

Unbeknownst to you, however, your inner, wet, sweaty turmoil started to be noticed by the crew due to your wavering performance.  You were spacing out far more than usual, keeping your head bowed consistently, contrasting your former upbeat, hardworking, and friendly personality.  Multiple times, fingers had to be snapped in your face to grab your attention from the clutches of daydreams that had your eyes glazed over.

And what the crew picked up on, Law would pick up on, if he didn’t notice it first.

Four days.  Four days of this.

Your watch shift had ended for the day, allowing you to retreat to the captain’s quarters that you shared with Law, shedding your boiler suit for comfortable loungewear, excited to get off your feet and relax in bed with a book you had started in an attempt to distract your mind from your perverted thoughts.  You had just barely opened the page before the heavy steel door opened, revealing your boyfriend to you as he stepped into the room, closing and locking the hatch behind him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, plainly.  His face showed no expression, which was usual, but the aura he radiated sent a nervous chill down your spine.  It was somewhere along the tightrope between concerned and mildly frustrated.

“Yeah, why?” you responded, a fleeting attempt to match his energy.  You tucked your knees to your chest as the taller man approached the bed, flopping onto it and sitting cross-legged before you.

“It seems like you’ve been a lot more spacy these past few days.  Some of the crew told me it appeared that your work has been lacking, and I was wondering if it had something to do with your pill withdrawal.”

You bit the inside of your bottom lip, anxiously digging through your scrambled thoughts for a proper answer.  Before you had a chance to respond, however, Law continued speaking.

“If you’re feeling any signs of negative mental health, I want you to tell me right away.  I’m being serious, any signs of depression, anxiety, intense stress, nightmares–”

“I’m not depressed, Law, I promise,” you reassured.  This wasn’t a lie, you really weren’t depressed.  You were slightly anxious, yes, and definitely stressed due to the constant feeling of a throbbing pulse within your clit every single time you sat down, but you weren’t depressed.

“Something is clearly bothering you, though.  I’m here to help you.”

His affirmations once again made you falter.  Your eyes stayed glued to his, afraid to look anywhere else.

“I…” you began, voice low and wispy.  “I don’t really know how to say it…”

Your response made Law’s eyebrows cock in confusion.  “Say… what?”

You finally discarded your book to the side table, leaving your empty hands to fidget with each other.  “Uhm… what’s been bothering me.”

“Is it something that I can help you with, or is it something that you feel you have to manage on your own?”

Curse Law’s analytical prowess.  Sometimes you wished his rare moments of being a dorky airhead were more common, especially in situations like this.  Swallowing your pride, you replied, “The first one, I hope.”

“You hope?”

“Law…” you grumbled, dropping your head into your curled legs so that your forehead rested on your kneecaps.  It really shouldn’t have been a hard conversation, you knew Law would understand.  But the four consecutive days of nonstop horny fantasy and masturbation sessions that only left you more desperate had officially started to melt your neurons into mush.

“Can you please tell me?  At least so I know that you’re not in pain?”  Law kept his voice low and calm, but his face clearly gave away his profound concern for your sorry state.

You drew in a deep, shaky inhale.  Refusing to lift your head to meet his eyes, you finally swallowed your pride and revealed the truth.  “I’ve been hornier than I’ve ever been in my entire life for the past four days.”

Your confession was not at all what Law was anticipating, judging by his prolonged silence.  You slowly lifted your head, apprehensively searching for his eyes, which, when you found them, were slightly widened.  The tip of his straight nose was flushed a rosy pink color.

“Ohhh,” was all he said in response to your confession.

This didn’t instill much confidence in you.  With a dry chuckle, you quipped back, “That’s all you’re gonna say?”

Law rapidly backpedaled, shaking his head frantically.  “No, of course not.  Your behavior just makes… a lot more sense now.”

Uncomfortable silence filled the space around the two of you.  You could almost see the gears working in Law’s head as he struggled to figure out how exactly he could best help you with your situation, without outright saying it.  It didn’t matter how many times the two of you connected between his sheets, the simple word ‘sex’ left Law flustered and fidgeting like an innocent schoolboy.

“Is there…” he began, voice low.  “Anything you want me to do?”

“Do you want my honest answer?” you asked back.

The staring contest you were currently partaking in had both of your hearts beating a mile a minute.  He simply gave you a curt nod as a reply to your question.

You lowered your knees from your chest slightly, still keeping your arms wrapped around your legs.  “I want you to fuck me until I can’t stand anymore.”

“Damn.”

“You said you wanted my honest answer!” you cried out.  You loved your boyfriend more than anything in this world, but his awkward, stubborn demeanor would really get on your nerves in the wrong circumstances, such as this very moment.

“I know, I know,” he reassured.  He bowed his head away from yours, hiding his eyes under the brim of his hat.  “I just… didn’t expect that.”

“In my defense, I told you I’ve been painfully horny.”

Law pinched the bridge of his nose, once again repeating an exasperated, “I know.”

You lowered your legs further, keeping your hands on your kneecaps as you hunched your shoulders forward.  “Can you please help me?  Please?”  Your voice was low, airy, almost coming out as a whimper.  “It’s been four days, Law.  Everything I try to make myself feel better makes me more and more uncomfortable.”

Your tone really did sound desperate, and Law’s chest clenched at your demeanor.  He glanced back up at your face, your eyebrows scrunched in an odd agony.  He could almost feel the burning of your face from where he sat.  Out of all the withdrawal symptoms the two of you had discussed before your medication ran out, this was the last one that he would’ve expected, and clearly that was the same for you.

“I’ll see what I can do to help,” he uttered.

“You don’t need to ‘see’ anything, Law, I need your dick in me.  Right now.  You know I don’t like begging, you have no idea how embarrassed I feel, but I’m desperate, Law, I’m desperate!”  You were pleading with him now, officially losing your grip on yourself as you began to crawl towards him, placing your hand on his thigh and pushing yourself forward to bury your face in the junction between his neck and shoulder.  “I would rather be depressed.”

A dry chuckle from his throat broke the awkward, stifling atmosphere.  “Don’t say that, I don’t want you to be depressed.”  He rested his arm around your waist, gently pulling you closer to him.  It almost didn’t register how you were beginning to straddle his waist, your fluttering breaths ghosting over his jugular.  

You let out a pathetic whimper, both of your arms now dangled over his shoulders as your hips slotted against his, an uncomfortable position on the bed for both of you, but you were clearly out of your mind as you searched for any semblance of friction to satiate the red-hot need in your core.  Your muscles gyrated on their own, a weary moan leaving your lips, hoping to use the stiffness of his jeans to stimulate your clit from under your loungewear.

Law truly felt bad for your beaten state, and with your body pressed against his, he could feel just how flustered you really were.  With a tender kiss against the shell of your ear, he pushed you back onto the bed, swiftly removing your pajama bottoms and underwear.  A deep crimson blush spread across his tanned cheeks at the sight of you, a persistent, heavy, glistening moistness coating your labia.

“You weren’t kidding,” was all he muttered.

“You thought I’d make this up?!” you pleaded.

“No, of course not.”  He rubbed a calloused hand across your cheek, smiling sweetly as you turned your face to nestle into his touch.  “I’m just sorry it’s been so bad.”

“Apologize with your body.  Please.  Don’t make me keep begging, Law, I can’t take it anymore.”

Somewhere deep inside the stoic captain’s mind was a perverted beast that quite enjoyed the sight of you practically weeping and writhing under him as your body subconsciously demanded any stimulation as soon as possible.  A sadistic side of him wanted to keep you begging, wanted to break you until you sobbed into his chest, losing your humanity to your instinctual, hormonal urges.

But he loved you too much for that, at least in your current worked-up state.  He didn’t want to prolong your suffering.

Without wasting any more time as you lay completely vulnerable and demanding beneath him, he took his hand and trailed two fingers through your folds, stifling a sharp breath at just how wet you really were.  Sticky yet thin and fluid, your sweet, musky scent traveled to his nose and made his stomach clench.  He bit back any other witty comments that sat on his tongue and instead slipped his middle finger into your cunt, using his thumb to stimulate your clit simultaneously.  Your hands flew to cover your mouth, your eyes clenched shut as you involuntarily bucked into his hand, encouraging him to slip a second finger into you to increase the sensation.

“Law,” you moaned out.  One of your hands grabbed his wrist, stopping his movements.  He gazed at you, waiting for your next move.  “I’ve been doing that to myself and nothing’s worked.  I need you.”

The raven-haired man bit the inside of his cheek at your words.  He pulled his fingers out of your cunt, haphazardly wiping your fluids on his jeans as he reached for his fly and tugged on the zipper, the metal button following suit.  He slipped off the bed to let his pants and boxers fall to the floor before discarding his shirt.  You salivated at the sight of him (you felt truly helpless in your hormonal, sex-crazed state).  You tugged your own t-shirt over your head and threw it to the floor beneath the bed.  Law once again positioned himself above you, an inked hand idly stroking his half-hard penis as he surveyed your pitiful form below him, sprawled out, legs spread, mouth hung open as you took in shallow breaths.  He rubbed the head of his penis along your sopping pussy, rubbing your slick down his length with his hand.

“I’m gonna be honest,” he muttered, reveling in the scorching heat that traveled to his groin as his cock filled with blood.  “I didn’t think it was possible for a woman to be this wet.”

“How do you think I feel?” you quipped back, your mouth curling into a meager grin.  “I’ve been constantly wondering if I pissed my pants without realizing.”

Your words made a bark of laughter exit Law’s mouth, which eased your stress and made your own chest feel lighter.  He continued stroking your fluid over his dick as he responded, “This isn’t going to help you, I don’t think.”

You reached a hand forward and trailed it along his shoulder, tracing his tattoo in the process.  “I can’t even care anymore, really.”

Law supported himself above you with one hand, dipping down to plant a sweet kiss against your lips.  You pushed yourself up on your elbows to deepen the exchange, parting your mouth and brushing your tongue along his lower lip.  Instead of opening for you, he pulled back with a mischievous grin.

“You’re already begging for this, you’re gonna have to wait for whatever sloppy kisses you want.”

“You’re an asshole,” you retorted, but shuddered out a sigh at the feeling of Law’s dick parting your labia and slipping into your opening little by little.  The excess wetness produced by your own body made the ordeal much easier, which also made it much easier for Law to tease you in his own, stubborn way, finally looking past the awkwardness of your hormone-driven desperation.  He removed the tip of his cock from your entrance, making you grumble under your breath.  “You said before you would do anything to make sure I’m okay!”

“Well, you’re not in pain,” he responded, voice low and rough.  The sound made your hair stand on end.  “Since you’re not in pain, I feel a bit better…” he interrupted his sentence with another tease of his tip at your warm pussy, “driving you mad.”

You groaned.  “What do I have to do to convince you to just rail me already?”

Your man smirked above you.  “You’re getting bold with your language, sweetheart.”

Your shaking hands gripped his shoulder blades as you scooted yourself down the mattress in a feeble attempt to get his cock inside you on your own.  Law merely chuckled, dipping his head into the crevice of your neck, leaving sweet kisses over your soft skin before using his hand to aid his dick in entering you completely, biting down on your skin at the same time.  The doubled sensations made you wail involuntarily, one of your own hands slapping over your mouth to muffle your desperate noises as your eyes squeezed shut.  Law sucked on the bite he made, gyrating his hips at just the right spot where his public hair brushed against your aching clit.  The hand that wasn’t covering your mouth raked down his back, making him shudder above you, detaching from your neck and licking his lips devilishly.  

“Feel better?” he asked, voice completely casual as if he wasn’t balls deep inside you.

“I’d feel a lot better if you just–”  He cut you off with a sharp thrust, the sound of wet skin slapping making hot embarrassment rush to your face.

“Just what?”

“What happened to, ‘I’ll see what I can do?’  Or, ‘I’m sorry it’s been so bad?’” you asked with a quivering voice.  “No more sympathy for your suffering girlfriend?”

“Of course I have sympathy for you, dear,” he replied, trailing the hand he had used to gather your slick on his fingers to rub down your cheek and neck, leaving a cold sensation behind.  “But when you use words like ‘rail me’ and ‘fuck me until I can’t stand anymore’ it gets kinda hard to not torture you a little bit.  Makes it more fun that way.”

You couldn’t fight the grin that crawled across your lips.  “You’re a sick, sick man.”

“And you’re a desperate, relentless woman.”

Your conversation finally halted with another deep kiss from Law as his hips began a steady pace, stroking into your cunt with deep, powerful thrusts that were as slow yet impactful and left your toes curling.  Law, despite all his uncoordinated emotions, was very good on the backstroke.  You didn’t quite know if it was simply the way his cock was shaped, or his physique, or perhaps his unintentional movements, but each thrust sent shivers down your spine and caused your back to arch into the growing flames brewing in the pit of your stomach.  His lanky arms allowed him to support himself while angling his thrusts to also brush along your clit, aiding in your euphoria.  The mixture of the head of his penis constantly brushing against your upper wall and his coarse pubic hair and firm torso stimulating your clit was addictive and made your legs quiver.  (If you ever told Law that he was, in your eyes, a ‘Sex God,’ however, he’d avoid making eye contact with you for at least a week out of sheer humiliation.  You had to keep some things to your deranged imagination.)

Amidst Law’s movements above you, you angled your hips upwards and wrapped your legs around his waist, keeping his thrusts deep and deliberate.  Your attempts to keep your sounds to a minimum were futile when Law hooked his hands around the backs of your knees, removing your legs from his body and holding them up in the air.  Your body curled for him and he kneeled above you, still fully inserted.  The new angle was deeper than before and had your eyes glued shut, mouth hung open and lewd sounds escaping your lungs with every shuddering breath.  You held your legs in the air while one of Law’s inked hands traveled downward to your clit, resuming ministrations on your swollen nub that this new position didn’t quite provide.

Law wouldn’t admit it, but the absolutely depraved sounds of your wet pussy sucking in his dick with every thrust had him painfully erect inside of you.  He was sure you could feel the way his cock twitched every now and then with the way your face would contort in immeasurable pleasure.  Half of him was concerned that the soggy noises could be heard from outside the bedroom, either through the heavy steel hatch door or through the walls, but the other half of him was too focused on the electric shocks that sparked through his dick that craved for him to keep chasing his release.

Your own climax was rapidly approaching, Law’s thrusts growing slightly unsteady as his own impending release slowly creeped up on him.  His calloused thumb rubbing counter-clockwise circles against your clit was the perfect stimulation you needed along with his perfect cock, and before you had time to suck in another deep gulp of oxygen, your body was convulsing around him, hips gyrating around him as you desperately moaned, still trying to stifle your noises.  The squelching sound that emanated from between your bodies only seemed to increase after your orgasm, more fluid from your seemingly endless arousal making Law’s dick slip easier and easier through your tight folds.  The feeling of your cunt clenching around him made his throat clench, swallowing tightly as a building pressure formed at the base of his dick.  He felt it as deep as his vertebrae.  

His calculated thumb never ceased its motions against your clit, staying consistent throughout your orgasm.  Your fingers clenched the bed sheets beneath you as you pleaded with the man above you to slow down, that the pleasure from your clit was so good it was almost painful, but right as you began to release another moaning plead, a second orgasm washed over you, causing your muscles to rapidly convulse as your hips shook against his body.

“Fuck,” Law groaned out, his own bubble growing closer and closer to bursting with each of your gyrations.

“Law…” you heaved.  “Please come inside me.  Please, please.  I need you to come inside of me.”

Law swallowed thickly, eyeing your trembling form beneath him.  “Are you sure?”  The implications were slightly more concerning considering this had all started after you stopped a controlled hormone pill.  Getting you pregnant wouldn’t be ideal on a submarine, and there would definitely be a lot of discussion should that consequence happen, but at the same time…

He groaned.  The feeling of your pussy keeping him glued to your body was too addicting to say no to.  Law bit back his inhibitions and nodded his head.  He could already tell his own orgasm was going to be one for the ages, your desperate horniness seeming to affect him as well.  His hips were starting to stutter in their pace as his climax creeped up his spine and through his pelvis.

You covered your mouth as a sob left your throat, climaxing for a third time on the motions against your clit and G-spot.  The involuntary gyrations of your hips finally did Law in.  His hips snapped forward, dropping your legs to the bed and placing his hands on your lower stomach, pressing downward as he desperately rammed into you, moaning your name among a string of breathless curses as he released his cum inside your drenched pussy.  You were in complete bliss, never having heard such noises leave Law’s mouth during any of your other intimate sessions.  You didn’t think you’d be able to get off without his deep, gruff moans anymore.

Law finally stilled both his hand and his hips, leaving you twitching and completely fucked out below him.  His aching cock slipped out of you as soon as he pulled away, leaving you both feeling cold and very aware of the crazy mess the two of you had made on his bed sheets.  

“Shit…” Law groaned as he flopped backwards.  His feet were up by your waist, while yours were still draped across his hips, both pairs of legs parted.  The smell of sex permeated the air and you were positive you’d be able to smell it in the hallway if the door was opened.

You didn’t respond for a while, only heavy breaths entering and exiting your chest as you fought to catch up on air that had been violently forced out of you.

“Are you okay?” Law finally asked, barely having energy to pick up his head to gaze at you.

“Yeah… I’m fine.  You?”

“Completely spent.”

You shared a breathless laugh that lingered in the air, a soft pink cloud above you.

“I feel disgusting now,” you finally said after some more moments of comfortable silence.

“Good disgusting or bad disgusting?” Law asked back.

“Good, I think,” you replied.  “I don’t think I’ll be able to fuck for at least a month now, though.”

“You and me both.”  Law finally mustered up the energy to sit himself up on his elbows.  You did the same, though your arms were much more shaky than his.  “Have I ever made you come three times before?”

“Never.”

Law pondered your response for a few seconds before flashing a roguish grin.  “Damn, I’m good.”

“You can be prideful after you clean me up,” you groaned.

You wearily held your arm into the air, letting your hand flop back and forth as you waved.  Law chuckled, tiredly swinging his legs off of the bed.  He ignored your arm, instead choosing to scoop you up by your knees and shoulders, holding you close to his chest.  Your head plopped onto his shoulder, eyes closed and breaths finally steady.  Law gazed at the substantial wet patch that now tainted his white bed sheets, but kept his mouth shut.  Maybe six months ago he would’ve been disgusted at the mess you two had made, but with you fucked out and blissful in his arms and his own body tingling with a hot pink sensation that he couldn’t get enough of, he didn’t think it was very important.

With a hushed whisper, a blue glow enveloped the two of you and a swift hand motion teleported you to the bathroom.  Where, despite your fatigue, your sex only continued in the shower.

[humanoidmindbox]

Dying in a Hole

8.5.20 - 8.11.20

I often yearn to be unseen, unheard, and unknown. Sometimes I feel as if I cannot have a deeper connection with anyone because my head is too full of angry spirits and trash blowing in the wind. I have come to the painful realization that no one understands me due to the past trauma in my life and mental illness I have had to endure. By 2016, my disabilities won the battle against my will, and I had to be removed from society. I ended up on Social Security Disability Insurance (SSDI) and unable to work or go to school. This happened because I was incapable of basic functioning and unable to meet the daily goals that everyone else easily mastered. I was deemed incapable, disabled, and forgotten. I was swept under the rug to suffer in a house of horrors. 

Frequently I feel empty, numb, and disconnected from others and my surroundings. You will likely catch me staring deeply into nothing with a concerned look on my face; withdrawing from a routine conversation or task. In those moments I am being sucked into a cycle of destructive thinking. I am often in a daze, aimlessly wandering around the abandoned wasteland of my mind. It is here where my obsessions consume my thoughts and put cigarettes out on what's left of my self-control. 

I have realized that others can never relate to me about what I have gone through and what goes on inside of my head. Others don’t understand me on a deeper level. A part of me is grateful for that because it means that they have not suffered in the ways that I have. But they cannot understand the real me because I am not like them. Sometimes the lack of mental connection is maddening. Sometimes it is isolating. I am not like them because the doctors tell me that I am very ill. They have me take eight different medications. I take them twice a day to force me to be more “normal,” more “socially acceptable,” more conformist- more like you.

I am lucky enough to have many people who love me and have helped me put the pieces of my shattered life back together. They make up the strong pillars of my support system. I am grateful to be out of the mental hospital, on medications, to have a nurturing home, and to be receiving additional mental health care. But these people and services do not kill all of the bloodthirsty monsters that live inside of my head. 

Long, sleepless nights have led me to a sad realization: I love everyone in my life less now. I have no choice. A part of my heart was destroyed over a year ago (winter 2019). After those series of events, I was left broken. I shattered into a million pieces and now there is nothing left inside of me except for an eerie, echoing, emptiness where my soul used to be.

After what happened during that time, a large piece of my soul got ripped from my chest and set ablaze in front of my eyes. A piece of my heart withered away and died. Because of this, I feel like I have less of a capacity to love than I did before. That being said, sometimes I wonder if I love people as much as they love me. I have become more hollow and numb since everything happened. I love my supports with all of my heart, but since a large piece of my heart has been stolen from me, it is only logical to conclude that I must love them less now. This realization is extremely hard to process and I will never get over the guilt and shame that it brings.

Sometimes I believe that my ideal life would be to crawl into a dark hole deep within a cavernous forest and stay there. I would make it my home for all of eternity and it would always be autumn. I could watch the vibrant colored red, yellow, and orange leaves flutter down and kiss the earth just outside of my newfound home. I would be completely secluded from others and somehow always have everything that I would need.  

In this hole, I would have unlimited access to every type of mood-altering substance on the planet and there would be a limitless supply of them. I would never have to be judged, or medicated by doctors, or ostracized ever again. I would never be sick because no one would be around to label me as such. My life would be quiet and peaceful. I would never be lonely because I would have a close bond with Mother Nature. I would explore the thick greenery and gaze upon the beautiful creeks and valleys of the land. I would stare at the moon and watch shooting stars go by in the clear night sky.

I would take a never ending “mind vacation,” where instead of physically going somewhere for a vacation, I would get high enough to go to an entirely new dimension in my mind. I would let my mind take me on a journey to an altered reality, where nothing is as it seems. In this existence, I could let go of all of my past trauma and let the different sensations soothe my anxiety. I could drift away to another place. I could close my eyes and imagine that I am on a sunny beach or on top of a snowy mountain. The main difference in these two kinds of vacations is that my unrelenting, sick thoughts finally wash away and give me a couple hours of freedom and happiness, whereas the geographical vacation does not offer such a relief. 

The thoughts that plague my existence are relentless and sharp like a razor’s edge. They produce the type of despair that will lead a person to do unimaginable things in order to escape the constant misery of an internal hell.

This is what brought me to become fearless when it comes to drugs and alcohol. I needed a way to run away from reality and all of the pain that it brought. I needed to flee the evil that lurked in the shadowy corners of my very own mind. This led me down a path where I would snort all of the lines. I would drink all of the shots. I would mix every drug with each other before carelessly dumping the dangerous concoction into my system.

I think that I feel this way because winter 2019 permanently changed me. I have never been quite okay since. Every day is full of obsession, paranoia, and anxiety. My mind is a raging wildfire. 

I don’t trust anyone or anything as much as I trust drugs. When I am getting high, I am allowed to have hope for the future because I know that I will not be let down. The chemical makeup of each drug is the same and it has the same effect on my neurotransmitters each time that I use it. I can predict my own future by knowing how it will affect me when it kicks in. I have finally created something that I had given up for so many years- control. 

Also,drugs force you into an altered state of being. A state where pain is left behind. They pull you out of reality and push you into a different state of existence.

Please let me be at peace in my dark and obscure hole. I will make it as warm and cozy as I can. I will make it my home.It's the perfect place to hide away from the rest of the world. I want to run away from the judgmental stares. I want the concerned “are you okay’s?” and the sympathetic “I know how you feel’s” to stop. I want to flee from others, always monitoring and worrying about me; always wondering what catastrophic event will occur next.

When the grim reaper decides that it is time to take my soul, I will go without a whimper or a strike. I have lived out the rest of my life in bliss, freedom, and indulgence. I have flown with the birds and swam with the fish. I have walked up to heaven's gates and danced with demons at the foot of hell. I know what it's like to have everything that I have worked for ripped from my calloused hands. I know what it's like to fear everything until you snap, then emerge from the ashes fearing nothing but yourself. 

Society rejected me so now it is my turn to reject it. When my body finally turns into a  lifeless, cold corpse, I will die with a smile on my face because I have carried out the rest of my days swimming in euphoria, dancing with the stars. 

[gallickingun]

neko x  kuroo || gallickingun matchups

@why-am-i-here-please-help-me​ : Matchup please? Thank you very much!! I'm looking for a Haikyuu!! matchup. I like the color red, purple, and blue, not together, just generally. Mostly red, I like to draw, write, and craft if I have materials that needs to be recycled or some decor I wanted. I'm very easy going and open minded. My general aesthetic is dark academia and also soft girl?? I can't decide lol. I'm enrolled in a Gifted and Talented program and a health careers centre school.  I'm pretty smart? I'm an a honor roll student, so i would like someone who can keep up with me academically and just being overall a dork with science jokes and stuff. My ideal first date would be an amusement park and then a nice stroll through downtown. I live in a pretty big city so downtown is full of people at all times and there's so many things to do. And due to the city being a major city, we have two theme parks open year-round. I'ma cis female, she/her, I'm bi but lending towards males. something that just ticks my tocks is when a s/o doesn't get what I'm saying or isn't well verse in topics that I like. I need someone that can hold a deep and open conversation or debate on current events in the healthcare world. I'm extremely passionate in becoming an emergency medicine doctor. I also need someone who is willing to be there for me, I have some abandonment issues, so my emotions are dependent on someone. 🛵

Neko, thank you so much for sending in a request and for following me, I really appreciate you! 💕

― Kuroo is one intelligent guy. And if he doesn’t know enough about a topic, he’ll do research. He’s very perceptive and willing to listen, and I think this would be perfect for the two of you! He’d be able to keep up with your intelligence. ― The both of you are easy going, which would be perfect! You’d balance one another out in issues where one of you is more strict or unwavering on a topic, the other would bend and compromise. ― Be there for you? Oh, Kuroo would absolutely love to be your rock. He’s a stable guy, and you’d always have him to lean on when things get tough.

❁ Kuroo actually asks you questions about medical-related things only to prove that he’s shown an interest in your lifelong dreams. He researches during his down time and breaks at work, and when you’re gone to conventions and public events, he spends time reading up on what the topics are for the speakers and if he ever has a medical question, you’re his first call. He wants you to know that he finds your interests interesting, and that he’ll always be intrigued by anything you have to say. He’ll never cut you off, even if it feels like you’re rambling. You might apologize for going on too long, but he’ll squeeze your hand and tell you, “No, no, I like hearing you get excited about this. Tell me more, love.”

❁ He’s always down to do things - amusement parks, walking around downtown, stopping in random shops, or maybe sitting at a park and enjoying the afternoon sunshine. In doing so, he’ll get you out of the house or away from work, distracting your busy, bogged down mind with anything fun he can think of.

❁ Kuroo can tell when you’re withdrawing from him, and instead of giving you too much space, he does little things to remind you that he’s there for you. He’ll be physically closer - cuddling on the couch while watching television, standing behind or beside you in public, and random kisses and squeezes throughout the day. Eventually he’ll just blurt, “You know I’m always going to be here, right?” and he’ll hug you, a quick kiss pressed to your forehead. He knows your past, knows how you fear everyone possibly leaving you in the end, and he wants you to know that he’ll never leave.

❁ He’d be so proud of all of your accomplishments! He’d brag about you to all of his friends and co-workers, talking about his “amazing girlfriend” and how “smart and talented” you are. His close circle eventually has to just accept that you’re his main priority and he can’t get enough of you, and won’t stop talking about you. When he repeats stories about you, a few of them just let him run his mouth, but others will give him a look, and he’ll throw his hands up and remind them that he just thinks you’re wonderful, and you are the main thing on his mind, so it’s hard not to just blather at the mouth about you.

❁ Together, you guys would work on crafting things. Kuroo has calloused hands, but they’re long and nimble, which allows him to work with things with refined motor skills, putting those years of volleyball drills to good use as he works with a hot glue gun or pipe cleaners. He’ll even accompany you to crafting stores, thrift stores, or anywhere else you head out to find your materials. There are some times that he suggests it, if you guys are spending a weekend in the house, he’ll mention to you that you’ve been wanting to test out some painting method or some sort of resin-related idea, and he’ll tell you to load up in the car so you two can run to a shop to get the related stuff to finish your project.

“Is everything alright, sweetheart?”

Your heart freezes within your chest, and the heated threat of tears sits heavy behind your eyes. You rub at your face and try to fight the emotions bubbling up in your chest, “Listen, Kuroo, I just-”

“I’m here,” his voice is quiet and hoarse, his steps echoing in the hallway as he walks closer to you. A slender set of digits slips around your wrist, the other hand cupping your cheek. Kuroo’s smile is genuine, a smirk that anyone else would think were patronizing, but you know better. Your heart rumbles within your chest and you look up to him, eyes watering and glittering in the low light of your living room.

Kuroo chuckles, shaking his head, “I know it will take time, but I need you to know that I am right here with you, every step of the way.” He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, nose nudging your hairline, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The first tears drip down over your cheeks and you hurtle yourself into his chest, wrapping your arms around his middle. You feel your heart turn over in your throat, thudding harshly as your heartbeat skyrockets. You fist his shirt, crying against the fabric covering his torso. Kuroo supports your head with a hand woven into your tresses, cradling you gently, tucking you underneath his chin as he rests his head atop your own.

“I love you, you know,” his voice is against the shell of your ear, warm breath sending a shiver down your spine, “and I won’t leave. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

Matchups Original Post | Ko-Fi | Patreon | Commissions | AO3 | Writing Tag

Please check HERE to see if I’ve done your matchup already. Remember, I will post your matchup with the tag: “#emoji-matchup”, using your emoji in place of the word, so if you can remember your emoji, you can search my blog for that tag to see if I have completed it already! 

[goddesslyfics]

White Knight (Asra x MC)

Prompt: Someone breaking into player’s shop and Asra arriving in time to save the day.

Requested by @comradethegoose! Thank you again!

You had been nodding off over an old tome that held more dust than it did direction in the latest work you’d been bidden to complete by the Countess. The sound, more of a slam, is ushered to the edge of your consciousness in a sudden snap, that you have to doubt if you heard anything in the first place.

Your disbelief is soon suspended by a shout, coming from the back room of your shop. You nearly fall from your stool, rushing over your own feet and getting ensnared in the beaded curtain leading to the hall. You grab a candle as you rush towards the backroom. It’s been burning all evening, causing the excess of wax to gush over your palm with the movement, a startle of heat eclipsed by the hot thrum of your heart against the walls of your chest.

When you reach the back room, it’s it’s a blur of movement from all angles. The echo of the door you pushed open slamming against the back wall reaches your ears as there’s a break in the stir, and a pair of violent eyes meet your own.

“Asra?” You gasp, half the picture coming together at once. Your master, not due to return for another several days, on the floor of your shopwrestling with a shadow, something, someone, you correct yourself, squinting in the dim light to distinguish any detail you’re able. The cursorial figure, cloaked in black, tears away from Asra when his focus is broken, and dives through the door leading to the alleyway that wraps around the shop. The door heaves shut with a slam, disrupting the shards of colored glass littered across the floorboards.

Shaking off the clumps of dried wax from your forearm, you tiptoe through the mess and haul Asra to his feet, questions tumbling fast from your lips as your racing thoughts seek an outlet that’s working at half the speed as your racing heart. He has much less to say than you do to ask, however, as struck by the situation that he only seems to have an answer to a single of your queries.

“Why did you come back? You said you’d be gone a week, at the least.”

“I wanted-” He coughs, disrupting some dust that had settled in his hair. “I wanted to surprise you.” He withdraws a parcel from his satchel and drops it onto the counter, an oblong thing wrapped in the parchment paper of the baker in the market place. The scent of it rises in the air; pumpkin bread. Your favorite.

“I thought I felt a shadow today.” Asra continues, dusting off his tunic sleeves, his lip twisted in a sneer as he examines the smears of dirt, although you’re just thankful he’s better suited to a broom than bandages. “Yet, every time I looked over my shoulder, there was nothing. The feeling only stopped when I had begun to walk home, until I saw someone dart around the back of the shop just as I’d reached the front. I don’t think they made away with anything, but we should still take stock. I could tell from they way they moved that they knew what they wanted, they just hadn’t found it yet.”

“Do you think they were looking for this?” With shaking hands you withdraw the tarot cards bound in a purple silk wrap from your pocket. Asra’s deck.

His eyes narrow in thought and he begins to pace, mindful of the glass. “I’ve put enough locks on this shop to keep out the common man, and enough sigils for the uncommon one. My deck alone doesn’t warrant such efforts, it’s a simple set.” His eyes break from their revine and dart around you face, as if examining for injury.

“Asra, you know I’m fine-”

“You.” He breathes, halting in his waltz. “They came here for you.”

You jolt, feeling the color drain from your face. A shudder passes through you, and the room feels much colder, then. Empty as it is when you’re alone and waiting wistless for your magician to return.

“A shop is just a shop.” Asra continues, stepping over a pile of glass shards to stand across from you. “Herbs and stones can be replaced. You, however,” He remarks, raising a hand to ghost a calloused thumb over the arch of your cheekbone. “You are a comet that passes but once in one’s life and if I turn my head too quickly I’ll have missed you entirely, having only caught a glimpse of your true brightness. Someone is seeking that brightness for themselves.” The shadow of something dark crosses his features, a flicker of crimson over violet eyes. For a second, he looks dangerous, and he never has before.

Color returns to your face in a blush, you feel it in a wave that makes you dizzy. It isn’t like Asra to speak in such declarations. Had the burglar shaken him that deeply? “You are being unsettlingly forthcoming, Asra. I’m used to hearing you speak in riddles.” He only shrugs, the worry in his brow uncreasing.

“Hey, look at me. I’m okay.” You whisper. You raise your hands to cup his face, bidding he raise his eyes to meet yours. “You made sure of that.”

“I feel there is so little I can do for you that you aren’t overwhelmingly capable of doing yourself.” His thumbs draw circles around your elbows as he holds you to him, speaking softly to the pocket of shadows you stand in, acutely aware of only the other.

“Silly magician.” You tut playfully. “I do not need to search for reasons to keep you around. Having you here is quite enough for me. Lets me worry about you where I can see you.” You lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek, pleased to see the blush that your lips draw from his skin.

“I-” His words seem to catch in his throat. “I’m just relieved to see you’re not gone from me yet, before I’ve made up the nerve to tell you how esteemed I am of you. You truly are the brightest thing I’ve ever known.” He’s close enough that his lips brush yours as he speaks, and with a tilt of your head you silence his murmurings, drawing your mouth align to his.

Asra’s lips are slow moving against yours, drawing out the shape and feel of you. With each shift you feel the warmth of his breath meet yours, reminding you in waves that this is real, you aren’t dreaming and the glittering shards of glass that crinkle beneath your foot when you step closer to him reminds you why this dream even started. Feeling daring, maybe a bit invincible after all that’s occurred, you swipe your tongue across his lower lip, joining seamlessly to his own. It’s a combative waltz, of winding around each other until you’re connected at every point, every curve.

“Have you any truths for me? As I have been so … forthcoming, I believe is the word you used.” He whispers huskily against your neck, passing up and down the column of your neck with quick, tugging kisses.

“The truth? I, oh, do that again, please. Well, I don’t stop thinking about you from the moment you depart until the moment your reappear. I can’t daydream when you’re gone, you’re all I see.” You confess, tightening your fingers wound in his hair as you tilt your neck to side to grant him further access. He hums encouragingly, adding more force to the sweep of his lips. “Your habit of bringing home trinkets and fleeting little fascinations from your travels is … nice, and they’re treasures to me, truly. Yet, having you with me here is the most I can ask for, hope for and dream. I love my shop, but you make it mine, being ours. You are everything I want paths leading home to lead to.”

You hadn’t realized his lips had stilled over your skin, frozen in the pout of a kiss when your words had chilled his nerves, attuned them all to the breath falling from your swollen lips. He raises his head slowly, something unreadable, though nonetheless smouldering, behind his eyes. “These are your true feelings?”

You smile, a bubble of laughter rising in your throat. You lean forward and brush your lips against his, dizzy once more in the difference of a second. “Have I done nothing else with conviction?”

“I could always use some more convincing.” He murmurs hoarsely. You bring your lips to his once more, lingering this time. You twine your arms around his neck, curling into him. Asra’s hands roam over your back, bunching in the fabric of your tunic with restless hands, impatient with the layers that continue to separate you.

“You should stay,” You gasp once you break for air, arching into him with each hallowing breath. “In case they come back, I mean.”

His snowy eyelashes brush your cheeks when he lowers his gaze, and you feel his chest shake with silent laughter sprung in an excess of relief.  “Funny, I was just about to suggest the same thing.”

“And help me clean up this mess.”

“Certainly, darling.”

[ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade]

I meant to have this chapter up last night, but there was so much I wanted to include and not quite enough narrative time to let it all unfold the way I’d intended for it to, so I got a little hung up stringing together all the details.

I have two more planned chapters of this fic left to wade through (the final one being the sin wagon you’ve all be waiting for) before I resume fulfilling my headcanon and art requests; it might be pertinent to mention that an invasion of visitors will be descending upon my house next week just in time for the annual San Diego Comic Con festivities, so this blog may go dark for a few days due to that. Never fear, though—I’m itching to get back to the drawing board my tablet and stylus, and look forward to firing up my picarto.tv stream again in the near future!

(SFW; Click on the link above or the cut below for the full text of Chapter 3.)

Ophelia doesn’t even ask for permission to accompany him on his walk home this time; she’d scrubbed down the kitchen and taken final inventory while Ignis had stood around twiddling his thumbs as Cid slurped down the last of his darkshells, and she’s already waiting for him at the back alley entrance of the bazaar when he finishes shutting the lights off and locking up the restaurant.

“How long have you known Mr. Sophiar?” she asks, trailing beside him as he steps off onto his usual path back toward his apartment.

He tries not to let his annoyance show, despite wanting nothing more than to be alone and nurse his misgivings in silence. “Over ten years now.”

“So you knew him before the nights grew long?”

“I did.”

“Was he always this cantankerous? I know there’s a certain precedent set for crabby old men, but he seems to have a particularly large chip on his shoulder compared to most.”

“Approximately. Although I do believe he harbors a considerable measure of guilt pertaining to a falling out he had with a close friend some years ago. We all have our daemons in the closet, I suppose.”

“And what, might I inquire, are your daemons?”

Her teasing cadence matches the playful elbow she nudges him with; the strategist clamps down on his jaw and wills his irritation away. “Crustaceans.”

A laugh. “Crustaceans?”

“Indeed. Dreaded creatures—their pointed pincers terrorize me in my dreams. A Karlabos murdered my mother, as it so happens.”

Her giggles ring out through the alleyway, and the sound of musicians hocking their final numbers before packing their instruments for the night drifts in the strategist’s ears. His fingers graze a nearby wall as they round the corner—the one he recalls having been graffitied with Dis Town Iz 2 Hot 4 U many years prior—and Ophelia’s laughs fade on the evening wind.

“Speaking of jokes,” she says, as they near the front steps leading up to his apartment, “I hope you know I was kidding earlier.”

He reaches for the keys in his pocket and frowns. “About?”

“About not being married. It is rather curious to think someone hasn’t snapped you up by now.”

His frown deepens as he struggles to find his keys. “I’m hardly a piece of fish bait.”

“Sorry—I only meant that there’s quite a bit to your appeal. I’m surprised a handsome man like yourself doesn’t have a harem of beautiful women waiting outside the doors of the restaurant hoping for an autograph.”

“I’m not sure I would categorize myself as handsome. At least, not anymore.”

The strategist can already sense the question hovering on the tip of her tongue. “At the risk of dancing around the obvious,” she says carefully, “I was wondering if I might ask you about your sight.”

The hackles on his neck are up again, but he forces an indifferent air. “There’s not much to say, really. I can’t see anything at all.”

“Then why do you wear that visor of yours?”

“Ah.” He finally manages to withdraw his keys and inserts them into the door. “I suppose ‘anything’ is a fairly broad generalization. My right eye is somewhat sensitive to light, and the visor helps to keep the glare of the sun from irritating it too much.”

“So why do you wear it indoors? I’ve never seen you take it off, not even on rainy days.”

He can no longer conceal the exasperation in his tone, and he turns to face her. “Because I don’t like distressing Mr. Tostwell’s customers. There’s a reason why the lenses are frosted—it saves other people from the bulk of the view.”

If he had expected to frighten her and send her scampering off down the alleyway, he is sorely disappointed. “Don’t be absurd,” she replies, her voice gentle. “Your face isn’t distressing in the least.”

In hindsight, the strategist surmises, Ophelia likely wasn’t aiming to remove his visor against his will, and was only intending to run a few fingers tenderly across his cheek. Even still, she ought to have known better than to reach for a blind man’s face with a hand he couldn’t see coming; he raises his own the instant he feels soft fingertips gliding along his chin, deflecting her wrist as he flinches away.

“Sorry,” she says quickly. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“It’s fine.” He gropes for his visor and readjusts it back across the bridge of his nose. “Although for future reference, I’m not particularly the touchy-feely sort.”

He can hear her dismay as her feet shift on the steps beneath them. “Did I do something wrong?”

Other than invade my personal space without my consent? Not at all. The strategist searches for anything to say that might disentangle himself from this delicate predicament without completely deflating her ego; when nothing immediately comes to mind and he’s left grasping at straws, he heaves a sigh and falls back on the oldest excuse in the book. “It’s not you, truly—it’s me.”

His ears then pick up on the sound of her footsteps slowly moving away from the landing. “You know, Ignis,” she says quietly, “you could’ve just told me you weren’t interested, rather than insulting my intelligence. I may not be the cleverest woman in Lucis, but I’m certainly not stupid.”

Walked right into that one, he thinks. “Ophelia, I—”

“Really, it’s all right. I’m a grown woman—I can handle a bit of rejection.”

He props a frustrated hand on his hip, rubbing at his throbbing temple with the other. “Might I persuade you to grab a cup of coffee with me? I think there’s a stand still open near the Coernix Station.”

Her suspicion is obvious even without the use of his eyes. “I thought you just got through patronizing my company.”

“As friends—perhaps get to know each other a little better.” He withdraws his keys from the door and pockets them once again. “Maybe even take a moment to address those pesky closet daemons.”

She remains silent for several heartbeats, until he hears the sound of her footfalls angling away from the steps. “Lead the way.”

His memory of the path leading to the 24-hour convenience store is a little hazier than the one he took to work every morning, but he sets off in a vaguely southwest direction with Ophelia trailing closely behind him. She resumes her morose silence, tiptoeing quietly along the cobblestone sidewalk and never crossing the plane of his forward motion, until the echo of the back alleys gives way to an open pavilion and his occluded eye slowly begins to register the bright lights of the gas station’s neon sign.

The coffee kiosk was actually situated a fair bit away from the Coernix Station, nearer to the wide concrete balcony overlooking the northern end of Taelpar Crag, but close enough to the minimart to capitalize on weary travelers in need of a quick caffeine fix. The strategist generally preferred to brew his own Ebony at home, for reasons that become more apparent as the two approach the stand; he can smell the aroma of underroasted Arabica beans wafting in his nostrils, and his nose wrinkles at the thought of actually having to pay good gil for what amounted to watered-down cat urine.

But it gives him something to keep his hands occupied with, rather than shoving them awkwardly in his pockets while he endures his companion’s loaded silence, and soon they are retrieving their warm paper cups from the kiosk clerk and settling in on a nearby bench.

“You’ve been asking me a lot of questions about myself this evening,” he says, turning his blind gaze in the direction of the valley’s gaping abyss. “Thought maybe you’d consider fielding a few of my own.”

The sound of Ophelia blowing softly on her hot beverage mingles with the stirring of the breeze. “A fair compromise.”

“I’m a little curious to know what exactly happened to your parents, if that’s not too personal an inquiry.”

He then hears her take a slow, deliberate sip of her drink, as if contemplating his words carefully. “Without coming across as calloused,” she says finally, “my father already had one foot in the grave.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’d been fighting an infection for quite some time. Not a starscourge infection, mind you—we probably would’ve been immediately banished from Lestallum if that were the case—but he’d had a history of long illnesses, and it was only getting worse toward the end.”

“Was your mother ill as well?”

“She was not. But she’d heard of an elderly apothecary living in the back hills of Malmalam Thicket who might be able to help him when the doctors here no longer could.” Another sip, another moment of contemplation. “I told her leaving the city posed too great of a risk to their safety, what with all the daemons running about, but she wouldn’t listen. Looking back, I suppose she just couldn’t bear the thought of living life without him. As it turned out, she didn’t have to for very long.”

He grips at the sides of his cup and furrows his brow. “I’m terribly sorry. I imagine that must have left quite the hole in your heart.”

She shifts on the bench beside him, but she doesn’t appear to grow despondent; if anything, the strategist picks up on the slight uptick in her voice. “You would think so, but you’d be surprised. My parents and I never ended a phone call without telling each other we loved one another, and it was the last thing I said to them before they left. At the very least, I haven’t tortured myself into madness by dwelling on sentiments left unspoken.”

Her words cut through him like a dagger between his ribs, and the weight of the skull pendant around his neck suddenly feels as heavy as a boulder. “That’s… very admirable of you.”

“I spent my fair share of time cursing the Six, just as anyone would. But I’ve learned it’s a wasted effort to be ladened down with such remorse, and it’s hardly reasonable of me to cry foul when so many others have lost as much and more.” She then prods him jovially in the shoulder. “I’ve certainly had questionable men leave me with bigger regrets.”

It’s her unbridled earnestness, Ignis realizes, that sets her apart from his former protégé; there was no mystery surrounding Ophelia, no great onus of responsibility that required the complete tempering of all human emotions, and the fact that she was able to remain even remotely positive in the face of such adversity slices through the strategist’s melancholy like a sliver of light through a storm cloud.

“I apologize for my abrasiveness earlier,” he says, swirling his untouched coffee around in his cup. “It seems I’m still nursing a few regrets of my own.”

Rather than acknowledging his admission with a verbal response, Ignis feels her hand reach over and gently squeeze his forearm. His own hands are still wrapped around his cup in a vice grip, and he picks at a rough spot on the waxy rim as a quiet lull descends over the bench.

Then: “What was she like?”

He looks up from his beverage and stares at her for a long moment, although his eyes see nothing but darkness in return. “It’s a funny thing,” he whispers. “I can scarcely remember the sound of her voice, but I’ll never forget the way she used to look at me.”

But it wasn’t only the emerald orbs that had peered past his spectacles and directly into his soul that the strategist recalls to mind, nor was it the fiery red hair that had smelled like lust and restraint and all the delightful things that made her exactly who she was that visits him in his dreams every night; it was her smile he remembers most of all, the one she forfeited when he touched her just where he knew she liked it, when they were behind closed doors after a long day of maintaining rigid facades and could both finally let their guards down, and it was only a small kindness that his precious memories of her had not been purged right along with his sight.

“Was it you who put a stop to things?” Ophelia asks. “Or was she the one who ended the relationship?”

“The latter, more or less.”

“How did she do it?”

“She died.” His voice falters slightly, but he bites down on the inside of his cheek and ignores the painful wincing in his chest. “At least, I presume she did. She was working at the palace when Insomnia fell.”

Ophelia’s side of the bench falls silent for a moment, until he hears the sound of her hair shaking softly against her shoulders. “Was there no evidence of her whereabouts after the invasion? I personally saw hundreds of people fleeing the city before they garrisoned the bridge—is it possible she could’ve escaped in the confusion, somehow?”

“I tried searching for anything that might’ve revealed to me what ultimately happened to her, but the Citadel’s records were all either lost or scattered.” His fingers have resorted to bending the edges of the cup’s rim absentmindedly as he scours his mind for memories he’d long since locked away. “Even Cor Leonis couldn’t tell me very much, and he was her superior officer. Only that she’d been on patrol duty during the peace talks, which was the last time he saw her alive.”

“Did she have any family? Perhaps they might have some leads, if they still walked among the living.”

“Her parents resided in the north, according to her work documents I had access to when I was employed as a royal retainer. She also had a sister living here in Lestallum, although it was unclear whether she had any contact with the family.”

“A sister?”

He nods. “She’d evidently eloped with an Altissian merchant some years back. I could never bring myself to seek her out, though.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because”—he’s gripping the cup so hard now he can feel the paper walls begin to fold in on themselves—“because I never wanted to ask, since I never quite wanted to know the truth of it. She either perished in the fall, or she went out of her way never to look for me.”

Ophelia’s fingers release his forearm, and she runs a hand across his shoulder. “I’m sure if she knew how much you loved her, she would have.”

But her gentle touch isn’t enough to soothe the aching beast inside him, and the tears he’d hoped to stem begin to pool in his one open eye. “It’s hard to say, because I never actually told her so. I thought there’d be time enough later to settle our feelings, when the life we wanted wasn’t quite so at odds with the vows we made to the crown. And now I fear she died never knowing how dearly I loved her.”

“You couldn’t have predicted what was going to happen. Nobody could have.”

It wasn’t so much the lack of foreknowledge, the strategist concedes to himself, that haunted him the most; it was the awful reality of knowing she had almost assuredly been pregnant even before she herself did, because of course he knew, because it had been his job to notice the little things, because he hadn’t believed for even a millisecond that the nausea and indigestion she’d experienced the last few nights they were together had anything to do with the stress surrounding the peace accord. He’d left for Altissia silently fretting about how to properly handle the situation, hoping only that Noct would eventually come to understand the necessity of him stepping down from his duties as royal advisor so that he might step up and take responsibility for his utterly irresponsible actions.

But it didn’t matter anymore, because both Noctis and the redhead were gone—the latter likely buried under a mass grave he’d unknowingly tread upon the last time he ventured into the city—and Ignis was left with nothing but the weight of a skull pendant around his neck that served only to remind him of the unbearable burden of living.  “Apologies for unloading on you like this,” he says, righting himself in his seat and resuming a firm grip over his emotions once again. “I suppose in the grand scheme of things, she was a drop in the bucket of everything I’ve ever lost.”

Ophelia’s hand falls from his shoulder, and she lets out a long sigh before finally speaking. “Ten years is a long time to carry that weight on your heart, Ignis. Don’t you think it’s time you forgave yourself?”

He rises from the bench and gropes for the balcony’s railing, emptying his cold coffee over the edge and out into the wind. “Truth be told, I wouldn’t even know how to start.”

Her footsteps stop beside him, and her clothes rustle as she leans agains the balustrade. “You could start by seeking closure. All you have to do is ask around—Lestallum’s not that big of a city, and a Lucian woman married to an Altissian merchant certainly narrows the playing field down quite a bit.”

He then feels the sensation of her fingers entwining in his, but there’s no trace of opportunism in her touch; it’s merely another display of the earnestness that has come to define her, and the strategist closes his own hand around her palm as the tightening in his chest suddenly eases a tad.

“I could even assist you, if you’d like.”

Her voice is quiet, her proposal modest and unobtrusive, and Ignis glances down at her for a long time before offering her a weak grin. “That would be… rather helpful, thank you.”