#this will pass but today I feel worthless

[victorianwestpiano]

I just had my first Greek Tragedy class...

After the class I began to cry. Literally...

Mostly because, before the class, I was already having headaches and pains in my back. I couldn’t sleep well either last night. And a blister emerged in my big toe in my right feet and it was cut in one of the excersises. It bleeded afterwards.

When I returned home it wasn’t any better and I cried again.

My head still hurts and now I’m having a sore throat.

I’m physically destroyed.

And emotionally, but that’s other story.

[bunnihearted]

☁️🌷

[kelin-is-writing]

ngl... today i kinda want to cry from how overwhelming work is 🥲

[hiimera]

Officially passed exams I win

[extemporary-username]

Sad wet sock time :)

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Fuck Me Like You Hate Me

“That’s right. Cry, you fucking whore. That’s what I want to see,” his voice is guttural and unforgiving as he drives the vibrator harder against my clit.

I stare up at him, eyes glassy and mind dazed as he forces unrelenting pleasure over my body. It’s been hours and countless orgasms since he’d tied me down and pressed the vibrator to me. I didn’t even realize I was crying until he mentioned it. I’m too far gone to even protest or struggle.

I feel another orgasm start to build and a high, keening whine breaks free from me as the pain-tinged pleasure makes more tears fall from my eyes. “Good fucking whore, give me another one,” he smirks at me, sliding two fingers into my sopping cunt and curling them just right.

I tremble as the orgasm washes over me, my pussy clenching desperately around his fingers and my clit burning with painful overstimulation.

“You deserve this, don’t you? This is what you get for being a worthless whore who’s only good for cumming, isn’t that right?” He mocks me as his fingers continue to slam into me, the sound of my dripping, brutalized pussy barely audible over the sound of the vibrator.

I’m wordless at this point, I’d given up begging several orgasms ago when it became clear that he didn’t care about my sensitivity. My eyes are unseeing as he continues to work my body into a broken shell.

“You’re nothing more than a worthless whore, cumming your brains out for me. Not a single thought left in that pretty head of yours. Come on, whore, I want to see you break,” he clicks up the vibrator, pulling his fingers out of my cunt to pull back my clit hood to force the torturous stimulation to ravage my clit with no mercy.

My eyes roll up into my head as my next orgasm slams into me, my pussy squirting my release all over the bed beneath us. The stimulation doesn’t stop and he laughs cruelly as he watches my body and mind struggle to cope with the pleasure he’s putting me through.

I can’t get enough air into my lungs as the vibrator continues to decimate the most sensitive part of my body. His fingers keep me splayed open, leaving my clit with no protection from the bulb of the vibrator.

“We’re not stopping until you pass out today. And maybe even then, I’ll keep pulling orgasm after orgasm out from your worthless little body just so you know who you belong to,” his eyes are alight with a maniacal gleam as he continues to force the horrible pleasure onto me.

Before my last orgasm fully faded, another rose up inside of me, the feeling overwhelming every single sense and rushing at me. I feel every muscle tense and the pleasure rips through me, so hard I can feel it in my bones.

It broke me as the world around me faded to black, my mind cracking under the assault of pleasure and pain.

—

I wake up to the feeling of a warm towel pressed against my sensitive core. I whimper softly, shifting slightly, registering that I’m unbound now. His shushes me softly as I peer up at him with bleary eyes. “I’ve got you, sweetie, it’s okay,” his voice is soft and reassuring as he finishes wiping me down and kisses the top of my head. I smile up at him and watch as he sets the towel down before crawling into bed with me, pulling me close and surrounding me with his scent and warmth. I close my eyes and feel myself drift away, safe and sound.

[emmyrosee]

YALL BASED ON THIS VIDEO HERE IM SCREAMING-

-

It’s been hours since you’ve smiled at Rintaro.

Not since this morning when you left. He was home today, all day, left to watch your three year old, and be home to see your nine year old. You’d kissed the side of his nose, reminded him of some chores, and everything was fine for you to go out and do your own set of errands.

But to come home to a trash bag sitting outside of the door and not in the barrel that got emptied today?

Oh. Screw smiling.

There may have been a small argument that broke out once you told him, about how he assumed you’d take the trash out since you were leaving the house- of which you snapped that it’s not your responsibility to automatically take out the trash when you leave.

Your son, Akito, was only left to watch the chaos, setting up the console he and his father were about to play on.

“I forgot, okay!” He snaps, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take it out later, it’s fine!”

“It’s not fine!” You yell back. “The trash was already taken! It’s worthless at this point to do it!”

He looks like he’s about to say something back, but you see him bite his tongue. “Good choice,” you snarl. Leaving him and Akito, you make your way upstairs and into your bedroom where you get changed into something that doesn’t emit outside-world feeling. You take a quick shower, wash your face, and when you step out still angry, you’re quick to make a new game plan.

Once you’re done with your small dose of self care, you stomp into the kitchen for something to eat, hoping that it’ll help curb any further anger coming from you both.

Crackers and cheese, some little slices of fruit which you intend to pair with they jelly you got on your last visit to the city.

You grab the jar and with a deep, frustrated exhale, you grip the cover and try to twist.

When it doesn’t budge, you feel your eye twitch.

You try again, to no avail. You grab the nearest towel in an attempt to get a better grip. No dice.

You sigh, tossing the rag to the side before stalking your way into the living room, grimace etched on your face.

“Can you open this?” You ask, and just as Rintaro pauses the game and tosses his controller aside to reach for the jar, you slip right past him and pass it to Akito, who takes it in his hands to pop open the lid.

With a small grunt he manages to open the lid, passing you the jar with a small smile, “here, ma.”

“Thank you, handsome man,” you hum, blowing him a kiss and blowing a raspberry at Rintaro when you make your way back to the kitchen. There’s a pause of silence, a question you don’t quite catch from your son, and suddenly, you hear your husband jump up from the couch. You smirk. It doesn’t take long before feet quickly pound their way into the kitchen, and a disgruntled Rintaro stands, pouting, in the doorway.

“What. Was that about?”

You shrug softly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t give me that crap,” he says, brows furrowed in frustration. “You’re seriously going to use my own creation against me?”

“Your creation?” You scoff in disbelief. “First off, I don’t remember you carrying our two children around for nine damn months. Second of all, our children are not creations. They’re children.”

“Point one,” he begins, quickly walking over to you. “You were hot as fuck carrying around our spawn. Secondly? Last time I checked, our baby machines only worked when together.”

“Feral!” You snap, giving him a grossed out look before turning towards the snacks you’d been making. “Get the hell out of my kitchen, I don’t want you here- HEY!”

Before you can think, Rintaro reaches past you and grabs the jar of jam, quickly raising his arm above his head to get it out of your reach. You would’ve tickled him for it, but the jam was from a small business three cities over. And the fuckhead knew that, and you hate him for it.

“You’re such a pain!” You growl, making a jump for it. You barely come close. Your fingers wrap around his shoulder in an attempt to yank his arm down, but he tightens it up completely to make it immobile. You’re rendered completely helpless to your husbands cruelty.

“Akito!” You call your son in hopes for assistance, snarling up at your husband. Instantly, socked feet slip along the floor, and at the sight of his figure in the doorframe, Rintaro bears his teeth.

“Don’t help your mother, she has to learn a lesson!” He snaps.

You growl back, “don’t listen to your father, you and your sister’s snacks depend on it!” Akito’s green, confused eyes flick back and forth between you both, and if you weren’t so stubborn, you’d think about how absolutely hilarious this is.

Rintaro, in all his 185 cm glory, holding a damned jar of jam above his head, so much so a sliver of his side pokes out from his shirt, and you, crossing your arms childishly after making extreme reaches for the jar.

It’s ridiculous, it’s childish, and it’s perfect for your marriage.

Akito gnaws his lip, “I mean… Ma is the boss, dad-“

“If you scram, I’ll double your allowance this week.”

“Bye mom!”

With the last bit of hope you have, you watch as he skates his way back into the living room, eye twitching in annoyance. “Kaiya wouldn’t betray me like that!”

“She’s three, mom!”

“She’d still help!”

Left to your own pity, you once again make a reach for the jar, only for him to reel his arm back a little bit more. “Give me a break, I have snacks to make,” you say, voice pitched in annoyance and defeat.

“Tell me you won’t go to our son for husband jobs.”

“Tell me you’ll take out the trash when I tell you to!”

“I thought you were throwing it out!”

“Why would you not check!”

“I didn’t think I had to!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll check on your waking daughter,” Akito calls annoyed from the living room, the only thing breaking up your argument.

With a deep, exhausted breath, Rintaro slowly lowers his arm, though still keeping a slight distance between you. “Cant we both say we’re wrong?”

“I’m never wrong,” you snip.

“I know, but for the sake of waking our three year old up, please just cave with me. Please, baby. I’m-“

He’s cut off by your quick lunge for the jar. He yanks it out of the way, and you’re left chasing it like a dog with a treat. You do, however, hear your husband laugh, but it’s not the laughter of victory from a few moments ago.

It’s laughter of adoration.

“I will leave you.”

“Gotta get the jar first.”

You, once again, for the nth time in a row, make a reach for it, but this time, Rintaro’s free arm quickly wraps around your waist to encase you in a hug, and he leans you back into the most ridiculous dip you’ve ever been apart of. You can’t begin to fight your own laughter that bubbles past your lips, fingers instinctively gripping his collar for stability.

Once your titters are finished ringing in the air, he straightens you both up, relaxing as you thunk your head against his chest. The jar gets put down on the counter, and he kisses the crown of your head sweetly as his arms tug you close.

“You’re annoying,” you purr.

He chuckles, “I know.” He closes his eyes and gently breathes in your scent, “and I’m sorry about the trash my love. Even if I thought you took it out, I really should’ve just. Checked.” Long fingers gently smooth up your neck to gently massage the nape, and he hums as you melt like putty against him.

“Now it’s gonna sit,” you pout. “In the trash outside. And it’s gonna smell. And we’re gonna be the house with smelly ass trash.”

“I know,” he repeats, trying not to laugh at your concerns. “I’ll take care of it princess- and worst case scenario, I’ll write letters apologizing to the neighbors for our rotten trash.”

You snort softly against his collarbone as you continue to nuzzle closer, “I’m sorry I went to Akito to open my jar,” you confess, angling your head up at him. He smirks and leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, his hands moving up to cup your cheeks lovingly.

“You wanna know a secret?” He asks against your lips.

You hum in intrigue.

“I’m pissed because I tightened them all when you were in the shower, so you’d have to talk to me.”

“SERIOUSLY?”

[slayfics]

Heya! Can I get a comfort/fluff one shot with Kirishima and fem!reader? They like each other but are clueless about it, but are really good friends. He is in a sad mood, feeling insecure about his quirk compared to others. Reader comforts/cheers him up and it leads to him finally confessing? 😚

Eijiro confesses his feelings for you.

1.1k words

You walked back to the common room of the dorms after finishing showering. Ready to relax with your friends for the rest of the night. The usual group sat in their spots on the couches. Hanta was having an animated discussion with Denki, while Katsuki sat with his hands in his pockets, pretending he wanted to be anywhere else. Everyone was accounted for, except for Eijiro.

"Hey," you announced yourself taking up the empty spot next to Katsuki.

Hanta and Denki greeted you warmly while Katsuki grunted. The four of you had the usual conversations about classes, assignments, and training. You expected Eijiro to come down and join you all any minute, but he never did.

You waited for a natural pause in conversation to ask, "Where's Kirishima?"

"Said he was tired and went up to his room early," Hanta replied.

"Oh," you mused gazing at the ground. It was unusual for Eijiro to be sleepy so early, that was Katsuki's job.

"Yeah, I thought it was weird too, but it was a long day," Denki added. 

Hanta and Denki started up another conversation while you found yourself worrying about Eijiro. You knew he didn't do well in the training today and he had a tendency to be too hard on himself. It was likely being tired was just an excuse to wallow in his room.

"Go check on 'em," Katsuki said, so lowly you almost didn't hear.

"Hu?" You perked up looking at him.

"If you're so damn worried, go check on him," Katsuki huffed.

"I didn't say I was worried," You argued.

"Tch- ya didn't have to. Go," he demanded.

"You don't have to be so bossy about it," You rolled your eyes and stood up.

"Yeah, I do, or your stubborn ass wouldn't listen," Katsuki retorted. 

"Sorry, can't hear you," You mocked as the distance between you and Katsuki grew while you made your way to Eijiro's dorm. Katsuki huffed but didn't argue any further.

After the short elevator ride, you were in front of Eijiro's dorm door knocking.

"I told you guys I'm tired," he called from inside his room, responding to your knocks.

"Oh, sorry I didn't know," you called back.

Hearing your voice Eijiro rushed to his door.

"Oh hey! Sorry, I thought you were Sero and Kaminari," he replied.

"So, you're too tired to talk to them but not me?" You joked.

Eijiro's cheeks flushed slightly, "I uh-," he stuttered.

"Relax, I'm just teasing you," you said saving him the embarrassment. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," he said stepping aside to make way for you. "So, what's up?"

You thought for a moment before deciding how to answer. You figured honesty was the best. "I was just worried about you. I know you had a tough day today. So when the boys said you went to bed already, I just wanted to make sure you were ok."

Eijiro grunted as he plopped himself down on his bed, "Was it that obvious?" He asked, placing his hands over his face. His shirt lifted slightly revealing part of his abdomen. Your own cheeks flushing now.

You sat down on the bed next to him, "I don't think it was to anyone else!" You tried to comfort him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Eijiro let out a sigh, "You saw me today... my quirk was worthless."

"That's not true!" You try to combat him.

"Yes, it was! There was nothing productive for me to do in that situation. It's just... never mind it's stupid," he said cutting himself off...

"No, tell me! I want to hear," you encouraged.

Another heavy sigh and some silence passed before Eijiro took his hands off his face and spoke to the ceiling, "I hate my quirk sometimes. You, Bakugo, Kaminari... all have amazing quirks that could be useful for almost anything. I've been training so hard to try and make up for that... but days like today just remind me how far behind I am from you guys... Sometimes it feels like I'm never going to catch up. Or even when I make improvements, it's not enough because everyone else has to so I'm still miles behind. I always wanted to be a hero and help people but, recently I don't think I'm even needed. The world has enough heroes ya know?"

"Are you being serious right now?" You said angrily at Eijiro.

"Hu?" He sat up looking at you confused.

"You really can't see how much of a difference you made for your team in the training today?!" You asked.

"They would have been fine without me; they didn't need me. The outcome would have been the same," Eijiro stated.

You shook your head no aggressively, "You're so dense sometimes."

"Ok ouch," Eijiro exclaimed.

"I just mean... the way Koda froze on your team; you all would have lost. The only reason he used his anivocie is because of you!"

"So?" Eijiro asked.

"Don't you get it? There's so much more to being a hero than just your quirk. There's your drive and the comfort you bring those you're saving. Even though you may have felt useless on the inside you hyped your team with your endless positivity, and it made everyone fight so much harder. Your team won because you were on it, and you believed in everyone." You explained.

Eijiro felt his eyes get misty, "You really think so?"

"I don't think. I know, and so does the rest of our class. You inspire everyone with your big shark smile and... the way you look up to all of us, makes us want to be that hero you think we can be. You bring a lot to our class, it's why you're friends with everyone. Even the hard-headed Bakugo. You're going to be a fan favorite hero someday because of that, I know it," you smiled at him.

"Man," Eijiro exclaimed taking in a breath. "You always know what to say, no wonder I like you so much."

"Hu?" You breathed out, taken off guard.

"No! I uh just mean-," Eijiro tried to backtrack.

"Don't... Please don't take it back," you said, gaze meeting his crimson eyes.

Eijiro bit his lip, attempting to swallow his nervousness, "You're right that would be unmanly. I meant it... You always check on me, and have this way of getting to me when I'm in my head... I can't help but... like you."

"I... feel the same way," you confessed.

"What?! Are you serious?" Eijiro asked stunned.

You nodded shyly.

"Man, I feel like the luckiest guy in the world right now... would you... want to go to my favorite restaurant after class tomorrow with me?" Eijiro asked.

"I'd love to," you replied.

sinners: @unofficialmuilover @maddietries @fiannee @derangedmango @reneinii @peachsukii @pastelbakugou @abadbitchblogs @deluluforcarlos55 @pinkpurpledreams @that-one-fangirl69 @dreamcastgirl99

[drudyslut]

BROKEN — J.M

— summary: JJ comforts you after Rafe hurts you yet again.

— CW: angsty af, reader has a panic attack, soft!jj, hurt to comfort (by jj rafe is no comfort in this), strong language.

— note: i have loved this song since i saw a Cassie Howard edit to it, and yeah.

You couldn’t remember exactly what had set Rafe off today, you knew you hadn’t done anything wrong, but then again, you never really ever did anything wrong.

Your boyfriend had a short temper, the smallest things could send him into a fit of rage and anger, and you almost always got it taken out on you.

Like every other time Rafe is set off, sending you into a panic attack, you rush out of Tannyhill, hoping in your car and rushing to the chateau. There was only one person who knew how to calm you down, and even though he was going to be furious that Rafe had put you in this position yet again, you knew he’d be there for you.

Within minutes, you’re quickly pulling into the gravel driveway of the chateau. You barely get your car in park before you’re pushing your door open, your knees hitting the unforgiving gravel. A loud scream pierces the air, your hand planted firmly on your chest as you try and calm your erratic breathing.

You knew you shouldn’t have drove here, you were teary eyed and struggling to breathe the entire way, but you had to get to JJ, and calling him wasn’t an option. He would have came to get you, but wouldn’t have left until he got some words in with Rafe first, and you couldn’t let that happen.

“J-J-JJ!” You shout, your hand still planted firmly on your chest.

The sound of the screen door creaking fills your ears, and your tear filled eyes look toward the front porch, barely making out the head of blond messy hair and tanned skin rushing toward you.

“What the fuck? Princess, are you okay?”

JJ’s voice is frantic and laced with worry as he scoops you up into his arms. He slowly carries you inside the chateau, walking straight past your group of friends — whose eyes are all on you — and straight into ‘his’ bedroom. He gently sits you on the bed, kicking the door shut behind him and kneeling in front of you.

You see the scowl on his face, and you already know what he’s thinking.

“I-I- Rafe…” you try and stutter the words out, but your erratic breathing, and tight chest make the words die on your tongue.

“I figured, he’s always makin’ you cry like this, princess. I can’t fuckin’ stand it. Please, please fuckin’ leave him!”

More tears stream down your face, and you lay yourself back on JJ’s mattress, curling your body into a ball and letting the sobs out.

“I’m so sick of him makin’ you feel like this, Y/N/N. You’re broken, and you need to leave him so you can allow yourself to be happy again. Do you understand me?”

Your breathing doesn’t calm, you feel like you’re seconds away from passing out. You don’t know what happened today, something with Ward, and Rafe being called worthless, and somehow it was your fault. He claimed you weren’t there for him enough, claimed you didn’t give a fuck about him and you made him miserable. When you started crying, begging him to let you comfort him, he’d lashed out even more. He was in your face, telling you to ‘grow up and stop fuckin’ crying’. You could usually handle his outbursts pretty well, knowing that it would subside soon, but today was different. When Rafe had harshly gripped your upper arms, shaking you while shouting harsh words and insults at you, you couldn’t take it. You had believed every mean thing he was saying, and you knew you needed to get out of there before things got worse.

When JJ notices you can’t breathe, your panic attack only getting worse, he quickly kicks his shoes off and climbs into the bed with you. He lays behind you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and squeezing tightly, rubbing his thumb against your arm and shushing you softly.

“Shhhh.. It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m right here, princess. He isn’t here. He can’t hurt you with his words right now..”

JJ’s tight hold on your body mixed with the soft, gentle calming words he was whispering to you had you finally calming down. You felt your heart rate slow, your breathing calming and the tears slowing. JJ always knew how to calm you down, and he was always there for you. No matter how many times this happened — which was sadly quite often — he was always there to hold you and calm you down.

Once you had fully calmed, JJ spoke. “I know I tell you this every time, and I know you’ll leave when you’re ready, but you can’t keep letting him make you feel this way. You can’t keep letting him have this control over you and your emotions, you hear me?”

You nod your head softly. “I- I know.. It’s just.. I love him, J. I wish I didn’t, but I do. I know he can change, he can be better, he just… He hasn’t had it easy..”

You don’t miss the scoff JJ tried to subtly let out.

“Y/N… You have shown up here, broken and crying to the point of a panic attack ten times in the last two weeks. TWO. Not a month, not two months. TWO WEEKS. He is fuckin’ with your head, baby. He has done this all before, and I know you’re trying to tell yourself he’ll change, but people like Rafe Cameron don’t change. It’s the sad truth, but he won’t ever change. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

Deep down, you know JJ is right. Rafe has issues that he needs to seek professional help for, but he won’t, because getting help equals weakness, and weakness equals Ward coming down on him ten times harder than he already does. But you do love him, and you can’t fathom the thought of losing him. Living life without Rafe would be empty, lonely, heart shattering.

But instead of voicing all of that, you said, “I know you’re right, J. It’s just hard.. I love him, and I want to see him change, but I know you’re right.”

JJ sighs deeply, resting his forehead on your back and running his thumb up the length of your arm. “I know, sweet girl. I just hope you realize how special you are, and how you deserve the world, before it’s too late.”

Your heavy eyes blink slowly, your mind taking in everything JJ was saying. You let his words sink in, the last thing on your mind before your eyes finally closing as sleep claimed you.

JJ TAGLIST: @drewstarkeyslut @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @rafesthroatbaby @starkeysprincess @rafescurtainbangz @atorturedpoetx @redhead1180 @maybankskiss @lovelysturnioloos @maybankslover @simars3 @antagonize-me-motherfucker

jj maybank masterlist | taglist form

[waywardprintmaker]

Ominis's earliest memories are that of being surrounded by family.

He remembers his legs dangling above the floor and the velvety feel of their living room chair. Remembers the hoarse caws of ravens through the open window and the faint smell of chocolates he wasn't yet allowed to have. There were the sneering remarks of his brother and his mother's ever-calm voice, urging him to "look this way, darling". The room felt too warm, the fabric beneath his hands too rough.

He remembers his fingers aching from how hard he's gripping the chair's arms, remembers his father's stern voice dripping with annoyance above his shoulder as he paces around the room. There's a sinking feeling in his stomach and a slight tremble to his knees. There's a wand pointed at his face for the fifth time in the last hour. 

At this point Ominis is too exhausted to cry. 

"Please, no more," he says weakly, "It hurts."

His mother only sighs in irritation. "Stop your whining, Ominis. This needs to be done." "But it hurts…" Ominis protests again. "Please, can't we stop?" "No more fussing. This might finally fix you, if you'd only cease snivelling and cooperate."

He remembers the velvet underneath his palms growing damp from the cold sweat of distress. Remembers squeezing his eyes shut though it made no difference. His entire body tensing as if bracing for a physical blow and the air growing heavy with magical energy as his father knelt in front of him.

Ominis pushes his back into the chair in anticipation as the incantation sounds and an already familiar surge of magic hits, heat engulfing his face and eyelids like hot coals pressed against his skin. His eyes sting and it hurts to blink. It feels even worse than the times before.

"Please," Ominis pleads through tears. "Couldn't we stop for today?"

His father gives no response, continuing the incantation with increasing intensity. Ominis tries to shut it out, pressing his palms hard against his eyes, to soothe the pain and hide his returning tears, but he's only given a few seconds of respite before his hands are being pulled away again.

"Hold still." 

Ominis takes a shuddering breath, steeling himself for what's to come. "Please, just one more day. I promise I'll be good tomorrow."

But his father ignores him, touching the wand to Ominis's skin. White-hot agony erupts behind his eyes once more, as the magic bursts through. Ominis yelps and twitches involuntarily from the shock of it.

"Perhaps he's had enough," Ominis's mother says, a rare note of concern in her voice. "Further spells won't help if he's too distressed."

But his father is implacable. "We keep at it until there's results. Now end your squabbling, both of you." He moves his wand closer to his son’s eyes again. 

Another sharp cry is torn from Ominis as another surge of magic assaults him. When it passes, he slumps weakly in his father's grip, dark spots dancing before his unseeing eyes. Firm hands grasp Ominis's shoulders, steadying him. "Look at me, boy. What do you see?"

Ominis feels movement before his face, blinks the pain away. He doesn't want to disappoint. If only he knew what he's supposed to see, maybe he could manage a little white lie, if just to make this stop… but his world remains unchanged, with only the faint impressions his other senses provide of a reality beyond his grasp. He trembles, eyes darting fearfully. "N-nothing. Only darkness."

For a long moment, his father gazes intently into Ominis's blind eyes, as if discerning some subtle change behind the milky irises. At last he draws back with a displeased grunt.

"Worthless. But we're done here for now. We will try again with a modified spell." His voice is cold with disappointment as he turns and strides from the room, indicating the session's end. It is a relief, though for how long, Ominis is unsure. He sinks back into the velvet chair, every muscle spent. Another day of agony awaited on the slim hope that this time, this time, the magic would at last pierce the veil over his sight. For now there is only the dark, and the vast emptiness where shapes and colors should be. He bites his lip to hold back a sob. The relentless throbbing behind his eyes is nothing compared to feeling so alone. He hugs himself tightly, hears his mother walk by, but she only pats his head distractedly as she passes. 

"Go play quietly now. And no more tears!"

Ominis feels a piece of chocolate be pushed into his palm - the promised reward for being good. 

He remembers staggering to his feet and feeling along the wall for the door. Remembers the rough wood of the banister, the hard edge of a window seat. Remembers the number of steps to the stairs as he climbs up to his bedroom and the exhaustion that drags him under like a riptide, offering temporary escape. The piece of chocolate is quickly forgotten in Ominis' palm. What little comfort it once offered is gone. He can feel it melting against his skin, but pays it no mind. It stains his sheets as he climbs under the covers.

He remembers waking to darkness, with stinging eyes still tightly closed, afraid to face a world that sees him only as broken while he remained trapped alone within it.

[bangaveragewhitewine]

baby, be my valentine

dad!Steve Harrington x mom!Reader

February, 2000

A snapshot of Saturday morning with the Harrington's. In between toddler-cuddles and sister-squabbles, Steve has a very important question for you ❤️

In the same universe as soft slow, morning glow & hearts are wild creatures

Word Count: 5.3K

Contents: Sickeningly romantic loverboy Steve Harrington comes with his own warning. Heavy flirting and some kisses. Steve refers to you as his wife / Mrs Harrington. Parental domesticity - Steve & Reader have two kids. Valentine's vibes.

Author's Note: After a very frustrating few months, I found some sort of spark to write something and here we are. Easing myself back in gently, with my preferred brand of cosy domesticity and warmth. Proof-read by @specialagentmonkey. Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

Steve Harrington was a romantic. 

He was a self-proclaimed hopeless romantic until he met you. After you smiled at him that first night almost ten years ago everything felt possible and full of hope. 

Steve was easy to love, despite years of believing that he was not, that he would never be loved by someone in the way he wanted and needed. You were careful with his battered and bruised heart, nursed it back to health with your sweet kisses and gentle hands.

After years together, marriage and a house and children, you could swear on it that Steve had only got more romantic and loving with age. You were sure that he spoke each of the love languages fluently. 

Physical touch was doled out in spades; he liked to have you always within reach of him, a hand in your back pocket (and yours in his ideally), gentle fingers brushing back your hair or beneath your chin so he could gaze at your pretty face. The weight of his hand against your hip, squeezing as he passed you by in the kitchen, or your shoulders when he knew you were feeling tired and tense; Steve’s touch gave you butterflies every time. 

You never had to de-ice your car on cold mornings or fill the tank with gas. He had mastered the perfect bubble bath, filled deep and topped with fluffy bubbles - Steve knew too when to leave you alone in there with your book and a candle and silence, and when you wanted to rest back against his chest and talk about nothing and everything until your fingers and toes were pruny. 

There was never a need to wonder whether he loved you; he told you every day. How beautiful you were, how proud he was of you. You both made sure your daughters knew too, that they were adored, that they were beautiful and smart and good. Steve listened too, remembered the little things you told him and loved seeing your eyes sparkle when he recalled something tiny from weeks ago. He surprised you with flowers and always bought the chips you liked when he was doing the groceries.

You were Steve Harrington’s favourite person and he was yours too. There was plenty of love to give and room in your hearts to spare when your girls came along, Beth and then Ava. Steve had learned a lot from his own Dad, though it took him a few tough years to figure it out. He learned how not to cherish your wife, how to make your kid feel totally worthless in a house full of valuable, breakable things. He promised himself that he would never be his father, do everything his father had failed to do. In a way, that is what made him the good man he was today. You were proud to be Mrs Steve Harrington. 

February in Chicago was freezing, but the promise of brighter warmer days kept you going. On the Saturday before the big day, you wake to an empty bed. It was not unusual with Steve, who spent the mornings in the den with the girls and Saturday morning cartoons. Instead of his messy bedhead on the pillow beside yours was a bright red envelope. It took your sleepy brain a few moments to figure it out, but once you did you felt warm all over with butterflies swirling in your belly like a schoolgirl. 

The card inside shows Snoopy holding a big red heart. When you open it, in Steve’s neat writing, is a simple question: 

Will you be my Valentine?  Steve x

You press your smiling face into his pillow, breathing in your husband's musky, lovely scent. An almost overwhelming wave of cuteness aggression crashes over you and you want to squeeze Steve until he wheeze-laughs and says something gorgeously charming like ‘down, girl’ or calls you his strong lady, asks for tickets to the gun show. 

Nine Valentine's Days together and he always found a cute way to ask you before the day even arrived. Pre-kids there were flowers delivered to your workplace, a question whispered in between kisses lavished on your neck in the months counting down to your wedding. When Beth was born, he dressed her in a pink babygrow with red hearts and enlisted her cuteness to ask the question. When she got a bit bigger, sentient enough to understand it a little more, he would ask her too. When Ava joined the Harrington Crew, Steve found himself with three Valentines and felt like the luckiest man alive. 

You think about the card and present tucked away in your closet to give him on Monday morning, a red envelope with your heart poured out inside that matched the nicely wrapped new Chicago Blackhawks jersey (with two tickets tucked in the collar). You cannot wait to see his face when he opens it.

Thinking about him, Steve’s smile, makes you miss him next to you. It makes you miss the warmth and weight of his arms made stronger from carrying car seats and all of the grocery bags in one go. Beth’s giggly voice travels upstairs, barely breaching the bedroom door but it is enough to make you ache with the need for morning hugs and toddler kisses. 

You tiptoe downstairs to the den to find Steve in his comfy throne (his spot on the sofa, the left side near the side table with the lamp and TV remote and his coffee cup gone cold). He is watching the girls watch Bear in the Big Blue House. Ava is mesmerised by it, standing with one little hand on his pyjama pantsed knee and the other clutching a bottle. Beth sits cross-legged a few feet away, a little smile on her face because she loves Bear. Steve is just glad it’s not Barney & Friends - he loathes Barney and his friends.

You take a mental snapshot before Ava’s bat-like hearing makes her head whip around to spot you at the door. Her face melts into a beaming baby-grin (a toddler now, but she’s still got that gorgeous baby fat that you want to bite and nuzzle). 

Babbling ‘Mama!’ she bee-lines to you and you wrap her to your chest with equal eagerness. 

“Good morning, little one,” you whisper to her cheek, kissing it over and over as her dimples pop. Beth’s arms wind around your legs, head against your hip (she should never be this tall!) and you drop one hand to stroke her bed-head hair. “Hi Betty Bee.” 

When you look at Steve he has a soft smile on his lips, everything is okay in the world now that you are here. 

It makes your heart skip a beat. You feel just the same, everything is good. The washing machine has been acting up and your back still aches from when you slipped on ice after Christmas. There was a lice outbreak at Steve’s school in January and you both still get the phantom itches and have to check the girl's hair, just in case. But everything is good. 

“Morning, handsome.”

“Hi, pretty lady.” 

You can see that simmering excitement, barely contained beneath the surface. Did you see the card? Do you still think it’s sweet? Are you going to be his Valentine? You make him feel seventeen and stupid again.

Beth is chatting at breakneck speed and pulling you over to sit on the sofa as Ava’s curious hand wiggles beneath your fluffy robe. 

“Mama! Tut-ter!” she says, pointing at the worried blue mouse, “Oh no!” 

“Bear said I smell like warm an’ cosy, like a good sleep! I did have a good sleep!” Beth says, tapping your knees with busy fingers. 

“Really? Let me smell...” Your Bear-like sniffing sends her into a fit of giggles when your breath tickles her neck, leaning against her Dad’s legs to evade the ticklish feeling. 

“Mm, so warm and cosy,” you agree, before giving Ava the same treatment. 

Steve feels a little bit like he might die if he does not get a kiss from you soon. Ava’s honey-blonde head blocks his way in for a smooch against your cheek, resting against your shoulder with a sigh too big for a two-year-old. 

When Beth is distracted again by the television, you turn your body a little to look at Steve. He’s already looking at you and it feels like the sun is shining on your face, bright gold in the grey chill of the morning. 

“Hi.” Your voice is a whisper across the youngest Harrington’s head. “Miss you.” 

“Miss you,” Steve says, inching closer to you out of the warm Dad-shaped groove he has made on the sofa. His arm brings you and Ava closer, manoeuvring a kiss to your lips without squishing the little one too much. She complains anyway against your neck and earns herself a kiss from Steve as an apology.

“Kiss ‘gen, Dada!” she insists, and is only placated when her cheek is well and truly smooched. Her laughter tickles your neck until it is damp with baby breath. 

He is still wondering whether you saw the card, feels a little silly asking in case you think he is corny or in case it had slipped beneath the duvet after he left. 

“Up long?” you ask when she settles again, eyes on the screen. It’s barely after eight-thirty but his coffee is long gone cold. 

“Ava woke at seven fifteen-ish, woke up Beth. I might have promised breakfast out if they were quiet and not wake you…” Steve watches your face for a reaction, hoping the lure of waffles and breakfast that you don’t need to do dishes after can win you over to his well-meaning-but-morally-skewed bribery. The creases from the pillow on your cheek make him feel fond and he chances another kiss over Ava’s head, pressed right on the pillow-marks. Her cute scowl is worth it to see your smile. 

“I think that’s a great idea. Brains and beauty, huh? I’m a lucky woman, Harrington.”

That makes Steve smile, a shade of coy confidence. “Well, I’m a lucky guy, Harrington.” 

There is a fluttering feeling deep in your chest, close to where Ava is stroking the collar of your pyjama shirt, but this is one hundred per cent Steve. Beside you, he basks in his own loved-up feeling, that sense of warmth and calm.

“Lucky us.” You turn and land a quick kiss on the side of his head. “Can we go to Bakehouse?” You are already dreaming of waffles with chocolate chips and strawberries, and crispy hashbrowns and coffee.

“S’a date,” he says, winking. 

Ava turns in your lap, her eyes are back on the screen but yours are fixed on Steve, the smile lines around his eyes and the tired crescents beneath them, the stubble on his cheeks.

“I got your card.”

Steve’s heartbeat triples at your coy little smile. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. You’ve got yourself a Valentine, handsome.” 

Steve beams brighter than the sun. “Cool. Prepare to get totally loved-on.”

Laughter bubbles from your lips, a giddy feeling vibrating through your bones. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. You’re getting so spoiled, baby.” Plain and simple; the sky is blue and the grass is green, and Steve Harrington is a romantic motherfucker.

You cannot stop smiling, cheeks aching as Steve presses one more lingering kiss there. “Okay, Cassanova. I’m ready to be ‘sooo spoiled’.”

He runs a hand through his messy hair, feeling all too pleased with himself. 

“You wanna grab a shower before we go?” you ask. 

His smile melts into a weak laugh, “Oh, you wound me, babe.” Steve lolls his head the other way to pantomime sniffing himself. “Not bad…” 

“I like it when you’re musky.” You really do. You can’t make the most of it anymore, but when he comes back from a run or coaching basketball at the school, there’s something about sweaty pink-cheeked Steve that makes you feel a little bit crazy. 

“But,” you continue, “if you go while they’re distracted, you can shower in peace.” Your fingers brush through the crushed baby curls at the back of Ava’s head, tickling the back of her neck until she squirms and cuddles back against you. 

Steve softens and rests his head against the couch. “God, I love you.”

“Mm, I know. Love you more, Valentine.” You accept another smiley kiss and pout for one more because you need it.

“Go shower, stink. Bear will call you out if you stay for the next episode.” 

You smirk when he rolls his eye at you, murmuring a playful ‘alright, jeezusss’ before squeezing Ava’s foot gently. His knees crack and Steve barely suppresses an all-out Dad Groan when he stands. Pinching your lips together barely contains your laughter, hidden against your toddler’s head when Steve narrows his eyes at you. 

He is barely out of the room when you slide into the warm groove left behind, bringing cuddly Ava with you as Beth sings the ���Goodbye Song’ as a duet with Bear. She joins you on the sofa and wiggles right up under your arm as the credits and advertisements roll. 

“Mommy, are we going out for breakfast? Daddy said we might, if we were little angels.” Beth asks, resting her bony chin against your arm to look at you. 

“Mmm, you’re always a little angel, Bethie.” You wink at her and watch her glow. “And Ava, my angel baby.”

“So can we?” she pushes, cherubic and smart. 

“I think we can, sweetie.” 

Beth wiggles with excitement before whispering to Ava, “We did it! Angel-girls!”

The thrill is contagious and Ava is wiggly with excitement. “Yay!” 

They make you dissolve into a puddle of sugar with how sweet they are. You pull yourself together and crystallise back into Mom. 

“Are you going to help me decorate for Valentine's later? We can do some crafts, hang up some bunting...” You watch Beth’s eyes go wide. 

“Yes! I love Vanentimes!” she insists. “Miss Janine says, she says we making cards! On Monday. Van-en-time cards!”

With wide-eyed Mom-enthusiasm, you match her smile. “That’s so fun. Who are you going to give your card to? Do you know who you want to ask to be your Valentine?” 

Beth considers it as you brush her hair away from her face. “Ummm. Maybeeee… Daddy!” Her smile shows off her perfectly milk-white baby teeth

Heart warmed, you stroke her soft cheek. “I think Daddy would be over the moon if you asked him to be your Valentine, babe.” 

“I’ll ask Daddy, and Ava will ask you!” she decides. 

Ava backs her up, “Yah, Mama!”

Beth giggles and tucks herself against you to watch the screen again. You don’t miss how she whisper-sings along to the theme song and looks up at you to make sure you’re watching too. 

The need for coffee is pushed way back in favour of soaking up the quality time with your girls, how cuddly they are with you on this cold February morning. It’s cosy and perfect until it’s not, but those ten minutes were pretty great. Beth wants her turn sitting on your lap and Ava is absolutely not having it. It’s nice to be the centre of attention, but not when the two warring parties are tearful and are still learning how to process their emotions and words. 

“Beth, please don’t push your sister. That’s really not kind,” you say. The smile-ache feels long gone and instead, that line between your brows feels deeper than the Grand Canyon. 

“Ava hitted me! I did’in push her!” Her voice wobbles dangerously as she insists that she was pushing her sister's hand away. “I- I- wanna sit o-on you, Mommy!”

Ava is all out crying against your chest and your soothing circling back rub is doing nothing to comfort her upset. 

There’s a particular heartache you feel when they both need your attention. It tugs hard that knot of anxiety in your chest; tears you can fix but you can’t figure out how to fix it fast enough. You want to gather them both into your lap at once and hold them both, but their pushing hands and kicking feet aimed at each other (sister-enemy #1) do you no favours. 

You carefully lift Ava and place her down in your seat, keeping enough distance between them in case of any rogue pinching fingers. You kneel in front of the sofa, knees cushioned by the rug. “Listen to Mommy, please. Let’s take one big deep breath in, okay? All of us. Hold my hands.”

Their little hands slip into yours, both copying you to take deep shuddering breaths. It works better with Beth because she is older, a little wiser, she knows the drill. But Ava sniffles her way through it like a trooper, doing her best. 

“Now we blow out the air.” Your big breath tickles their faces and makes the wispy hair around their faces fly, pulling tiny scrunch-nosed smiles onto their faces. 

“Good. One more big big big breath.” Your thumb rubs tiny circles on their hands as you help them (and yourself) settle the big feelings. “You girls just got a bit frustrated, that’s okay. I love having you both sitting with me, it’s my favourite thing ever. But we have to be gentle and careful with each other.” 

Sweet kisses are pressed to their hands in turn. “There’s plenty of Mommy to go around, no need to fight over me. I love you both so much.” You open your arms to gather them up, a few final tears soaked up by your robe. 

Beth’s adjustment to Big Sister after two years of being the sole focus of your attention had gone mostly okay, but as Ava got bigger you could see the moments when she struggled with it all. You and Steve always made sure she got quality time with each of you, but it was still tricky at times.

“Are we all okay now?” you ask, watching them nod tentatively, “It’s okay if we’re not, we can take more deep breaths...” Neither girl lets go but you manage to move your head back to look at their pretty faces. 

Ava rubs at her cheek and rests her head on you with another big sigh. “Oh-kay, Mama.” 

“I’m okay, Mommy,” Beth promises. 

You kiss their cheeks and tap your fingers on their backs. “If you’re okay, Mommy is okay too.” Neither really want to let go of you and that’s okay. 

“Let’s go get dressed and we can start our day. Daddy’s going to bring us for breakfast. That’s going to be so nice, huh?” you suggest, hoping to distract and cheer them up. “I want waffles and some yummy strawberries.” 

Steve’s voice at the door makes you startle. 

“Good choice, Mama.” He has a small frown between his brows, a towel around his bare shoulders with his jeans already on. His hair is combed-through and damp, and his gold chain glints around his neck and collarbones. You don’t let yourself look at the happy trail disappearing beyond his waistband, though it is tempting. 

“We okay?” he checks, looking at you. He brings with him an energy that makes the tense room feel light again. It is something you can’t quite name but it feels like everything will be okay again.

“We’re okay. Just a sister squabble. We took some breaths, didn’t we?” 

Steve had introduced that trick - his school councillor certification came in handy at home too. You could simply not do this without him. 

“Yeah, we okay now.” Beth hugs Ava, a little for show but mainly because she loves her. “Sorry Ava. I did’in mean to push you, I jus’ wanted to sit with Mommy too.”

Ava is too little to get it but she likes hugs and she loves Beth so she baby-hugs her right back. 

“I get it. I like sitting with Mommy as well,” Steve says, hands on his hips. “So are you three going to get this show on the road or am I going for breakfast all by myself?” 

You try to hide your smile in your robe but he knows that the Dad-routine really does it for you. “You going to ask us if we’re ‘ready to rock and roll’ next, Stevie?”

“Maybe, guess you’ll have to wait and see.” Steve winks at you as the girls hop off the sofa and make their way towards him. “You need a diaper change, and you need a hairbrush.” His finger points at Ava, then Beth as they hold hands now. 

“And you.” You are next. “Need a kiss.” 

Beth laughs when you fake-swoon and Ava squeals in delight at your silliness.

“How romantic. Come sweep me off my feet, I think I’m stuck.” You could haul yourself up from the floor but Steve’s warm hands do a much better job of helping you up. He sneaks an ass-grab while delivering the kiss you need so badly. With giggly kids present, you can only let it linger for a few moments but it is enough for now. 

“My hero.” He earns himself one more peck before you pat his behind toward the stairs, the girls already waiting by the stair gate like the little angels they are. You spare him from your chilly fingers on his bare back as you follow them up - he always finds a way to get you back for that. 

Steve scoops Ava up to change her diaper and dress her in something warm for the day and you shepherd Beth to pick an outfit. You can hear him wrangling her to lie down on her changing mat as you make Beth’s bed and pick up the fallen teddies from the floor. 

“What are we thinking, babe? Maybe your pink cords and a sweater? Or…?” you suggest, turning to see her looking at her own reflection in the mirror on her wardrobe door. 

Your arms wrap around her as she leans back into your legs, sharing a cheesy smile in the mirror. “You’re so pretty, Betty.” 

“I look like you!” she beams, tilting her head back to look at you. The angle can’t be any good, she’s seeing the worst angle of your chin and right up your nose, but to Beth you are beautiful. “Daddy says I’m mini-Mommy, coz our nose and smile is the same!” 

You cannot deny that Beth is more you than Steve in looks but she is bless with a beauty mark or two like his, you think they make her extra gorgeous.

“Let’s see?” For a few moments, you smile and pull faces with each other in the mirror before agreeing she is definitely all you. It’s quiet(er) down the hall, meaning Ava has stopped evading Steve and the clean diaper. 

The pink cords are set aside for preschool on Monday and you dress Beth in a long-sleeve striped turtle-neck top and dungarees to keep the warmth in. She agrees to a woolly cardigan over-top and her snow boots, but only if her hair is half up with her butterfly clips - it’s a fair deal and she looks adorable. Her fifth birthday looms a few months away and you can already feel your heart aching in the best way. 

“Beth Harrington, you are so gorgeous,” you say as she swishes her arms and bounces happily in front of the mirror again. She has his sparkle in her eyes that is so Steve, it hits you right in the chest. “Will you help me pick out my clothes, please? You’re a fashion expert.”

Nodding eagerly, Beth runs at you for a hug as tight as her little arms can manage. “Yep! We could match, Mommy! Please?!” 

When she looks at you like that, with huge brown Bambi-eyes like her Dad, it’s hard to say no. Not that you want to. 

“I’d love that.” You stand from her bed and feel her little hand slip into yours as you make your way down the hall to your bedroom. 

It smells like Steve after his shower, warm and fresh with a hint of something spicy. He has made the bed and your Valentine's card is pride of place next to a photo of the girls on your bedside table. Beth zeroes in on it as you pick out some underwear and switch the bathroom fan off. 

“Mommy, a card! Look!” she gasps. 

“It’s from Daddy, he asked me to be his Valentine.” 

You watch her eyes go wide before her face splits into a smile. “Daddy looooves you!”

“He does. And I loooooove him.” You wiggle your shoulders for emphasis, pulling more delighted laughter from your eldest. 

While she strokes the sparkly heart on the card in awe, you pull on your jeans and pick out some top and cardigan options for Beth to choose from. You forgo the butterfly clips, but once you are dressed, you and your Mini-Me match quite nicely. 

“Woah. Too much beauty in this room, I gotta leave,” Steve says when he joins you, pretending to shield his eyes. 

Ava runs past you and climbs on the bed with Beth, a tornado in cosy pink and lilac leggings and a matching fleecy top. Her hair is in pigtails and you swear she ran right out of a JCPenney catalogue. 

Steve is still in just his jeans, his hair mostly dry now after taking on Ava’s morning routine which primarily consists of her evading capture until she is limp with laughter. 

With the girls minorly distracted, you take the chance to give Steve that appreciative once over. His tummy has this beautiful pudge that you want to press your face against and bite. He filled out a little more over the years, much to his initial disdain, though he did not care so much when he realised just how much you loved those softer edges.

Steve watches you do it, feels the warmth of your gaze roll over his body. You could surely be the death of him, making him boil over or implode with desire.

“Hey, handsome. Are you going to get this show on the road or are we going to have to do this breakfast thing all by ourselves?” You feel smug, parroting his words back at him and catching him off-guard. 

His tongue presses into his cheek as he shakes his head, smiling down at his own socked feet. “You…” Steve shakes his head again. His hands feel huge on your hips when he squeezes past you, closer than he needs to be but still not close enough. 

There’s a heat in his stare as he pulls a navy Henley on, then a sweater. He dials it down quickly when Beth remembers out loud the time when she saw Uncle Dusty’s cat throw up a hairball last summer. 

You try not to laugh at her totally out-of-the-blue memory but nod along anyway, remind her how gross it was. “Good remembering, Betty.” 

“Meee-ow!” Ava chirps next to her, proud of herself when she makes everyone laugh. “Cat!”

Steve cups her little face. “You’re a funny bunny, Ava.” He squishes her cheeks and rests a kiss on her forehead before giving Beth the same attention. “And you! Best remember-er in this house, huh? I had forgotten all about that.”

He had actively tried to forget it. It ruled out ever getting a cat, especially when Ava tried to touch said hairball. The memory makes him shudder.

Once everyone has brushed their teeth and used the bathroom, you bundle everyone up in coats and hats and gloves and pack into the car. It’s freezing cold but a morning out of the house is what you all need. A morning with no breakfast to make or dishes to wash is worth braving the cold for. 

You feel toasty enough with your three favourite people, and Steve could swear that your hand on his thigh as he drives is all he needs to keep him warm. 

“You look extra gorgeous today,” he says when you stop at a red light, the girls happily distracted in the backseat. 

“Laying it on thick today.” Steve is easy to tease. “I already said I’d be your Valentine, Stevie. Consider me buttered up.” You squeeze his leg through the denim to lock in your promise. 

“I’m being serious,” he insists. “Besides, I know you’re all loved up with me. You want to kiss me sooo bad.” His voice is like a song as he returns your teasing.

“Oh, I do. I even wrote your name in a heart in my diary.” 

“Cute.” His teeth shine when he grins, glancing over at you before starting to drive again. “You want to go on a date with me? Dinner and some drinks. How ‘bout it. I’ll be real good to you, baby. Have you home by ten…”

Your laugh echoes around the car, cutting over the car radio quietly playing the Backstreet Boys and Lauryn Hill. 

“What’s funny? Did Daddy make a joke?” Beth asks, wanting to be in on it immediately. “Tell me!”

She is quick, but Steve matches her. “What do you call a cat with a lemon in its mouth?”

You don’t know where he pulls them from, it’s probably deep in the Dad Manual, but it keeps the older girl thinking for a moment. 

“Um… Lemony?”

He catches her eye in the rearview. “A sour puss.” 

There’s a beat as she makes sense of it in her head, and you’re already groan-laughing when Beth gets it and joins in. She sets her sister off and Steve feels like King of the Car. 

“Thanks guys, I’m here all week.”

Beth is tickled-pink and repeats the joke again for Ava who doesn’t get the word play yet but laughs when her sister cracks up again. 

“So?” Steve asks you. 

“Your jokes suck.” 

“You laughed.”

“It was at your expense.”

He winces at that. “You’ve been spending too much time with Robin.”

With a coy smile, you counter, “You can take it, big boy.”

You watch his cheeks flush minutely, just like you knew they would. “And Eddie. Stop that,” he mutters, “Anyway. You never answered my question.”

Steve looks at you expectantly as he waits for a car to reverse out of a space right outside the cafe. If it wasn’t sub-zero you could have walked. Maybe in the spring. 

“Ohhh.” Your smile is coy as you remember his pitch for your date. “Okay, Romeo. You can take me out.”

He grins, trying not to look quite so pleased with himself and failing miserably. “Cool. Tonight at eight. Rob’s taking the girls.”

As Steve swings the car into the parking spot, you sit in stunned silence. He switches the engine off and watches you for a moment before concern drips in, second-guessing himself. 

“Is that okay…?” 

“You… Steve, of course it’s okay!” You unclip your seatbelt to hug him across the gear stick, peppering kisses to his stubbly cheek. “Thank you,” you murmur. You can feel the relieved sigh leave his body as you crush him in a hug.

Steve steals a kiss from your lips. “Don’t thank me. I promised to spoil you.”

He earns himself another kiss with his sweet thoughtfulness as the girls begin to complain a little - Beth because she’s ‘sooooo hungry’ and wants to know why you’re kissing again, and Ava because she is sick of her car seat and simply must be freed from it. 

“Alright, alright, we’re getting out now. Hold your horses, ladies,” Steve says, faux exasperation on his face that softens when he looks at your smiling face again. 

“I love you, Steve Harrington,” you say, warmed from the inside out with pure adoration.

Even though the girls are getting whingey, and it’s starting to snow again and the cafe looks busy, you could not be happier or more content with life than you are right now. Everything is good.

Steve unclips his seat belt and zips his jacket all the way up. He winks at you before opening the door to start the endeavour of freeing the girls from the back seat with you and making sure they don’t slip on the ice, or wander in front of a car, or get too loud in the cafe. 

“Love you more, Mrs Harrington.”

Thank you for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️ 

[theredqueenandthebloodwyrm]

I see we’re just reposting things without sources for some reason?? I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it’s because the tweet used the magic word “Zionist” which is taken to be “irredeemably evil and vile person”. For context, the context which that tweet purposely left out (and yeah I’m going to say it’s fucking purposeful) is this article by the NPR. Inside this article the allegedly pro-Palestine posts on social media were fucking videos of the Hamas on October 7th. So, yeah if you’re reposting antisemitic stuff (blatantly antisemitic too), fuck you.

The images that came out of Israel on October 7 were brutal and graphic, and the images coming out of Gaza for months now are constant, also brutal and horrific. All this violence is being shared on social media, and as KQED's Lesley McClurg reports, that's affecting the mental health of Americans with loved ones in Gaza and in Israel. A warning - this story contains descriptions of violence. LESLEY MCCLURG, BYLINE: Some of the footage Shoshana Howard (ph) saw on social media months ago still haunts her. A video appears to show a Hamas fighter pulling an Israeli hostage from the trunk of a jeep. CNN aired a clip of the video. (SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING) UNIDENTIFIED PERSON: Her face is bleeding, and her wrists appear to be cable-tied behind her back. MCCLURG: It looks like blood is seeping through the back of the woman's sweatpants. SHOSHANA HOWARD: And that broke me - and then seeing friends calling it liberation. MCCLURG: Howard, who is Jewish, couldn't believe people she knew were writing comments online that, to her, felt inhumane and anti-Jewish. HOWARD: That's when I started to have night terrors, and I was ending my days going into my closet and just would cry. MCCLURG: She couldn't stop thinking about her cousins living in Israel. As the days passed, it became harder to focus on her life and work in Oakland. HOWARD: Like, I just was so fragile. MCCLURG: And then recently, she felt shamed by a friend who told her her grief doesn't matter when so many Palestinians are suffering.

Is it “making the argument” to point out the hypocrisy of saying the Houthis (a terror organization) are protecting international laws and human rights when there’s documented evidence of Houthis perpetrating slavery, diverting humanitarian aid, and so on? Or you know, is it providing necessary context that readers might want to know?

And the comments below that tweet are awful (with a few exceptions rightfully pointing out accuracy of said community note and how slavery is in fact bad).

Antisemitic Tweet #1: This is what all community notes have become now. Total Zionist propaganda machine.

Antisemitic Tweet #2: There's been an influx of "community notes" that are clearly just people trying to protect the narrative.

Antisemitic Tweet #3: It's like the Israeli Bot accounts that change the community notes to favor Israel.

Already reblogged multiple posts explaining what's wrong with the Houthis with sources attached, so linking those now to save space (rather than adding ten different links).

This? This is what you say on October 7th, 2023?

Shaun: Lot of reaping being condemned by the sowers today. Shaun (cont.): I'm talking about politicians who stridently oppose all options except those which lead to violence and then act shocked violence occurs. Their condemnations of violence are worthless while they ignore their hand in the apartheid causing it.

October 7th was an attack against civilians where hostages were taken, people were murdered, people who advocated for peace were harmed, killed, and so on.

I also noticed a tweet not too far down from that one which said the following:

Lots of people in these comments very mad that Palestinians aren't being victims of occupation in the right and proper way.

No, people are mad about civilians being massacred and taken as hostages by a terrorist organization. The lack of empathy is something.

[furiousgoldfish]

I had a conversation the other day, with a person who seemed to have some respect for me, but couldn't understand why I'm still having trauma symptoms, and can't be normal already. I took it as a chance to try and explain my symptoms, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears;  I was told I just needed to tell myself that 'I am a new person now', and forget about the past. The person then explained to me how they weren't always the same person either, and they would sometimes cringe at their behaviour in the past, but then they would be proud of themselves for being smarter and more reasonable today. I couldn't quite explain to them that my situation was not the same.

They gave me various suggestions like 'just don't think about these things anymore', and 'these people are not going to hurt you anymore', which I strongly doubted was true. I tried to explain that I am not purposefully thinking about it; in fact, I was doing everything to avoid it. But with intrusive thoughts, flashbacks, nightmares, and the symptoms of the dissociative disorder, I had no control over it, the past was at my throat, holding me and unwilling to let go. I could tell that they still believed I was doing it on purpose, holding on and refusing to stop living in the past.

I very rarely get a chance to talk to someone about anything trauma related, so I was originally grateful that anyone was even showing an interest at 'attempting to help me', but later when I thought about the entire thing, I got pissed off.

Firstly it doesn't make any sense for me to be 'normal', in any timeline, regardless of how much time has passed. You can't have a person living first few decades of their life in belief that their life is worthless, in environment where they're getting locked up, beaten, humiliated, tortured, threatened with death, brainwashed to believe they're not human, severely neglected, and without any kind of genuine caretaker or a parent. And then leave it to this person to 'deal with it alone', never getting any help, never even getting reassured that what happened to them was wrong. That is complete abandonment by human society, and I find it sick and twisted that this person should be expected to adhere and integrate into society afterwards, for what? This person will logically feel betrayed, untrusting, bitter, feral and unnacepting the society's standards, especially their standards for victim blaming and ignoring abuse. Society continually fails these people expects them to 'fix themselves' so nobody would feel uncomfortable about it.

Secondly why is it up to me to change as a person? I am not like this because 'I was not a good enough person', I am not the one who needs changing. I am good as I am. It's worse that after being failed in every aspect, I am now being seen as the one in 'the need of change', for not acting normal and being haunted by my past. I am not hurting anybody! I am the only one suffering from this. God forbid my reality leaves someone uncomfortable, I better try to hide it better. Which I actually do unless sometimes is actively asking me about it.

And the last bit of my anger is about making it seem like the actual problem is 'me holding onto the past', and not my life being severely different and harmful in a way that isolates me from other people. I don't have the same formative experiences other people had. I don't remember being cooed at and hugged, I don't have endless experiences of being taught that I'm important, that someone will care and intervene when I'm in pain, that the figures of mother and father are safe, warm, comforting and reliable. That childhoods are a positive and fun part of life. That families work as an environment for children to be raised on. I don't have the experiences that formed all other beliefs that this culture holds, I hold nothing sacred that is sacred to everyone else, I don't believe in the authorities, I don't believe in family, I don't rejoice with holidays, I don't want children, I don't trust religion, I feel contempt towards capitalism, I don't relate or connect to people who are receptive to any of it.

And it turns out I'm right to feel as I do. Because people in this society will actively come to me asking me to 'stop being like that', while never asking any abuser to 'stop being like that'. Victims who make them uncomfortable can be spoken down to, should be told to stop being traumatized, even in private, while the abusers just need to be 'ignored' and 'hopefully they stop doing it'. What a great plan. Surely it will fix everything.

Humane thing to do would be to approach me with awareness that I've been treated like a worthless creature and address it and allow me to act genuine about it. If I'm still feeling betrayed, abandoned and outcast from society, I should be able to express that. I deserve to react with genuine responses rather than this insane preformance art I have to do every single day to make sure nobody else is aware or uncomfortable by my peril.

[holylulusworld]

Unwanted mate (2) - Steve's version

Summary: Rejected. Humiliated. Left outside alone.

Pairing: Alpha!Steve Rogers x Omega!(fem) Reader

Warnings: angst, a/b/o, rejection, unrequited feelings, hurt reader, attack, violence, blood, angry reader, arguments

A/N: This is Steve’s version of this story Unwanted Mate (Bucky’s version)

Catch up here: Unwanted Mate

After your encounter with Steve, and his promise you had no other choice but to leave your shelter and the pack. Fury promised to protect you at all costs, but you already caused so much trouble that you didn’t want them to fight in your name.

Broken, and scared you left your old life and tried to start a new life, somewhere else. No one knows your name, or where you are from. You work at a coffee shop and try not to draw too much attention to you.

Scent blockers and suppressants get you through the day and hide your true nature. Everyone in your new life believes you are a beta. It’s better this way. Omegas are still rare, and sacred. This doesn’t mean every omega gets treated the way they serve.

Even though, your nights are still the worst. You dream of Steve, and the day he rejected you over and over again.

Sometimes you ask yourself if the last encounter with Steve was a fever dream. It feels unreal that the man rejecting you in front of two packs suddenly changed his mind.

You shake your head and look at the next customer. He’s one of these busy bees, waiting for his caffeine to kick in. You know his face. One of the few you didn’t forget immediately.

“The usual?” you ask, drawing his attention toward you, not the phone in his hands. He quirks a brow and huffs. Of course, he doesn’t remember your face. He’s an ant in a bigger system, and you don’t belong to the system.

“Coffee, black,” he hisses in your direction. You don’t know what you did wrong today. Usually he’s nicer to you, and your colleagues. “Hurry up and stop wasting my time. I must stick to a schedule.”

“Coffee, black,” repeating his order you drop your eyes. “Coming up!” You twirl around to get his order.

He’s just another alpha believing he’s above a beta. If only he knew you’re an omega in disguise. That arrogant bastard would kneel in front of you to get your attention and fulfill your every wish.

Your walk home is short. The small apartment you rented under a fake name isn’t far away from the coffee shop.

On your way, you grabbed your favorite food, and more groceries to make it through the weekend. You don’t like leaving your apartment for more than work and grocery runs. Always afraid someone will discover your true nature or that Steve will find you.

Sighing deeply, you try to ignore the man from earlier standing on the sidewalk, barking at someone on the phone.

You try to pass him by and wrinkle your nose as he snarls in the phone, calling the other person a worthless beta.

“Another worthless one,” you feel a hand on your back, and then someone pushes you. Your groceries drop to the ground, and you follow them. A cry pulls from your throat when your knees hit the cold concrete. “That’s for believing you know how I like my coffee.”

While you struggle to get back up and mourn your lost dinner at the same time, the man laughs at you. He taunts you and kicks your groceries with his polished shoes.

“You will pay for this,” you snarl, and slowly get up from the ground. Your knees bleed, and your left wrist hurts like hell, but this doesn’t keep you from using all the strength that’s left to punch his nose.

He squeaks ungracefully and immediately presses his hand to his bleeding nose. “You broke my fucking nose,” he whines as you grab the bottle of wine you dropped to hit him in the groin.

“Yeah, and no one will punish me for it,” you say as you drop the bottle to the ground. You open your bag and get a wet wipe out to remove your scent blocker.

“You think you’ll get away with hurting an alpha?” He growls. “They will arrest you. No one cares about a stupid beta.”

“Bad news for you,” you step closer to let your scent wash over him. “You just attacked an omega in public. Do you remember the law?”

He blanches and steps away from you. “No…no! I didn’t know!”

“Sir, I must ask you to step away from the woman.” An officer aims his gun at your attacker. “You are arrested for attacking an omega.”

“I told you,” you mouth at the growling man. “Officer,” you fake a sob. “I’m so glad you came. He pushed me and threatened to hurt me. I…I punched his nose to keep him from hurting me even more.”

“Home sweet home,” you sigh as you drop on your couch after another day at the coffee shop. It was a less busy day, and you’re grateful for the silence at your apartment.

After the incident with the aggressive alpha, everyone knows that you are an omega. At least your forged papers protected you from getting found.

“A very nice home you made for yourself.” You freeze and a whimper escapes your lips.

His scent fills the living room, and you stiffen as he steps out of the shadows and switches the light on.

“How did you find me?” You look at Steve, eyes widen in fear. “How did you get inside my home? What do you want here?”

“Doll,” he sighs as you move to the other side of the couch the moment he gets closer to you. “I won’t harm you.” Steve shakes his head. “You caused a lot of trouble when you left. Fury lost his position, and the rest of your pack is looking for you.”

“Fury lost his position?” You ask. “This doesn’t make sense. Why would my pack abandon their leader? I’m no one special.”

“He refused to let me redo the ritual. Fury said that I lost my chance to claim you. I-I lost control of my alpha and threatened to break the peace between our packs.” He drops his gaze, ashamed of his doings. “I didn’t mean it, doll. You have to believe me. But, if you don’t come back, they will ban Fury and your parents.”

“How dare you, Steven Grant Rogers!“ You jump off the couch to jab your index finger into Steve’s chest. “You humiliated me without a reason. I stood in front of you, vulnerable and naked. I never felt so broken before.”

Steve tries to say something, but you shake your head. “No, Rogers. You won’t have a say in this any longer. We have rules for a reason. I was there, ready to become your omega and to submit to you completely. In. Any. Way.”

“Doll,” he tries to calm you, but you won’t have it. You slap his hand away when he reaches out for you to touch your cheek.

“You don’t even remember my name!” You snap at him. “Stop calling me doll! I’m not a pet, or your lover. You’ll never be anything to me but the alpha rejecting me.”

You wipe your wet eyes and take a deep breath. “Get out of my apartment!”

“I cannot leave without you,” he whispers. “If I go, your pack would come for you and force you to come back. I try to protect you.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” you snarl and bare your teeth at Steve. “You rejected me and tried to pressure Fury into handing me over to you like a piece of meat. Who do you think you are?”

“I know you hate me now,” he says, “but I’m the only one standing between you and your pack. If the order doesn’t get restored, your pack will lose control sooner rather than later. They need Fury as their leader. So, I’m begging you to come with me.”

“No,” you confidentially say. “If you want to prove that you are here to protect me, and help Fury, you’ll stay here with me.”

“D-Y/N,” he licks his lips. “We can’t…”

“We can and will,” you growl. “And I will call Fury. I don’t trust anyone but him…”

Part 3

[pistatsia]

OKAY so the only thing I want to say about yesterday's spoilers (Ness backstory) is that borderliner* Ness is canon now lol

✅ explosive anger

✅ feeling neglected, alone, misunderstood most of the time

✅ low self-esteem and the resulting self-hatred

✅ strong, overwhelming emotions

(feelings that can't be explained == too high (for average person) bursts of them. Inability to handle them)

✅ black and white thinking

(Isagi's either good (tosses to Kaiser) or bad (doesn't toss to Kaiser) lol)

✅ fear of abandonment + self-harm

✅ very intense, frequent, extreme emotional swings

(difference of one second)

(difference of one second pt.2)

✅ maladaptive daydreaming

✅ determining one's value through relationships with others

✅ unstable relationships

I'm really disappointed that chapter haven't shown Ness' attempts to gain his parents and siblings love but, eh, okay. I can work with that

*

A little background on who people with borderline personality disorder are and where do they come from. (Of course, each case is unique. I'm talking about the average manifestation of the disorder here.)

Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) is a type of personality disorder in which a person is unstable, hypersensitive, highly anxious, and has no sense of self (no feeling of identity). One in ten patients end up committing suicide.

In fact, borderliners are people with no emotional skin. What for a stable person is a small domestic nuisance - for a borderliner is boundless terror, fear, a complete sense of helplessness and overwhelming self-loathing. Are you sick? It's your fault, you're worthless. You forgot your pass and had to buy an underground ticket? You're disgusting, step under a train right now. You forgot the food in the fridge and it spoilt? Don't you dare eat for another three days, punish yourself, cut yourself because you're nothing. That's not an exaggeration, it's true. And then you see an advert with a doggy and you laugh until you cry and all is fine.

It's like that dozens of times in one day.

Why do borderliners work this way? Heredity plays a role (which in Ness's case can be seen, for example, by the fact that he reacted acutely to some things even as a child), but to a greater extent, of course, the family, because when BPD is treated in the early stages, it is more easily reduced to remission (but does not disappear completely - it is like the core of the personality). Speaking of family types, typically borderliners come out of families with a narcissistic parent or the same borderline. Why exactly is that the case?

Because life with a narcissist/borderliner parent is an endless battlefield in which the child is forced to survive. Any emotion you have, if it doesn't fall under the parent's incomprehensible ideas, is repulsive. Any request you make and attempt to speak your mind is a violation of all laws and the worst offence. Today you're the golden child, tomorrow you're trash. Today your mom says she loves you, and tomorrow she blames you for divorcing your dad. Today dad likes the tea you made him, tomorrow he'll throw it in your face. It's a constant violation of personal space, an inability to have privacy, an impossibility to defend your interests - and yet a staggering neglect, a removal of the child from your life. Parents in such families usually divide their children into "golden" and "outcast" children, emphasising in every possible way how terrible the lousy sheep of the family (the outcast child) is, and encouraging bullying by their siblings.

Sounds similar to Ness's story, doesn't it?

In such families, the child by the age of 6 or 7 already knows that he is disgusting, horrible, and must do anything to avoid being abandoned - because the parents emphasise in every possible way that he is horrible, but they (for now) keep him out of mercy. A child learns by the slightest movement of the eyebrows and corner of the mouth to know when mom loves you and when she hates you, when dad is good and when he's bad.

The childhood of such children is a battlefield, and they come out of it emotionally disabled. For example, a very common consequence of living in such a family, in addition to BPD, is PTSD. Yeah, like war veterans.

(and by the way, borderliners VERY often end up paired with… Narcissists. Because it's a familiar love-hate game. And on top of that, also a beautiful (non-existent) personality to take a bite out of for your non-existent self))

-------

(if it seems like I'm somehow writing about borderline disorder a bit too unkindly - I love Ness and sympathise with him. It's me whom I don't love lol)

[chaoticbardlady99]

Yesterday I Felt like Dancing (Astarion x GN! Reader)

Synopsis: You have burnt both ends of the candle and haven’t been taking care of your mental health. Unable to get yourself out of bed, Astarion begins to worry about you…

Author note- I have been hardcore struggling with my mental health lately and writing my silly little fics has been the only thing pulling me along. I thought it might be therapeutic to write about my current feelings (I have ADHD, MDD, and GAD so it’s a party up in here). I hope you enjoy!

CW- Suicidal Ideation, symptoms of depression, brief outburst, mentions of mental health diagnosis and poor medical advice.

Title inspired by song “Into the Walls” by Griff.

*not my pic, could not tell you where I found it so I apologize in advance. If you think it might be your picture, please message me so I can give proper credit.

Your last day before backtracking from the Mountain Pass to the Goblin camp is a difficult one.

Not for the group as a whole- just you specifically.

Days before a Mindflayer kidnapped you, a healer back home had told you your brain was sick. You had been devastated- resigned to your miserable fate.

You had been struggling for years at that point with inconsistent motivation, exhaustion, nightmares, and irrational thoughts for months. You have been functional for the most part, but then an overpowering wave will hit you like Warhammer in the ribs and you are rendered useless until it passes.

The healer suggested sunlight, exercise, eating healthy, and spending time with friends to help your affliction when you hit rock bottom. You were wildly unimpressed with her. At the time, you preferred to self isolate so you stayed by yourself in the woods trying to find peace there. You would have to let her know that her “going out and enjoying the sun” message is not always wise- you may get a tadpole shoved in your head. You can’t be that mad though- the tadpole helped bring your pep back.

Anyway, you have been doing all of that for weeks now, you even felt great, but today? You could not have hit rock bottom harder even if you tried.

You woke up that morning unable to get yourself out of bed. It was a rest day so it wasn’t a big deal, but you also know that your companions are going to have things they need to talk to you about and favors they need you to take care of.

Gods you had tried to get up. You are grateful that your past self had the gumption to wash off and change into clean clothes last night, but your armor is still disgustingly sitting outside your tent and your hair is long and wild. You had wanted to braid it, but it all felt like too much work.

Everything feels like too much work right now- even staying awake- so you drift in and out of uncomfortable naps throughout the morning. No matter how many times you fall asleep, begging for relief from the painful brick wall sitting on your brain, it never leaves.

You can feel the midday breeze rustle your tent. You’ve been laying here for hours now. You are crying and you honestly aren’t sure why. You feel completely paralyzed by all the things you need to do to be ready for the Underdark.

You need to clean your armor, go over the Goblin Camp’s map with Wyll, find Gale a magical artifact, and probably comfort Lae’zel since she’s been branded a heretic- but you won’t. The shame and self loathing continues. You are a silly, worthless little human being.

Every person who knocks on your tent gets a simple, “I’m just not feeling well,” and then they walk away. You don’t know why it makes you more sad than appreciative. If you were in their shoes- you would be bending over backwards to make sure they had everything they needed and you wouldn’t let them feel alone. Then you resent yourself for feeling that way towards your companions- they don’t owe you anything and you were the one who chose to help them- you didn’t ask for anything in return. This is all your fault.

The only person who hadn’t come to visit you was Astarion- which hurt your heart just a little, enough that the numbness coursing thickly through your body wavered for a moment. You are quite smitten and he is obviously not. Another mistake to add to the swirling black hole your mind has fallen into.

You knew it was stupid to want his comfort and affections- you had merely slept together a little less than a week ago. Astarion has been quasi avoiding you ever since and when he does talk to you- he’s awkward. You constantly look for flying pigs- Astarion feeling awkward or being awkward is unheard of.

You have come to accept that you were just some tryst and obviously he hadn’t enjoyed it as much as he said he did.

Astarion isn’t to blame and the situation itself certainly didn’t contribute to the sudden lack of emotions. You knew that you were on the verge of a mental collapse sooner rather than later, but you had foolishly hoped you wouldn’t be alone through it. It feels less all consuming when you try to find a reason. It’s more comfortable to know than it is to give up and say, “my brain is fucked and there isn’t a damn thing I can do so I guess I’m stuck here.”

You are jolted out of your thoughts by another knock on your tent.

“I’m sick,” you say flatly.

“Ha- you act like that will deter me. I can’t even get sick, Darling.”

Before you even have time to register that Astarion is on the other side of your tent- he pushes his way through the flaps and stares down at you in confusion. And… concern?

Astarion steps inside and kneels down next to you- scanning you for evidence of illness or injury.

“I suppose I had been worried for nothing,” he smiles sweetly at you, “you are totally fine. Come on Darling, you have to get up and eat. Wyll is fumbling with that map.”

You look at him and begin to cry. Astarion’s face lights up with alarm.

“What- what did I do!?”

“Please don’t make me,” you sob, “I just want a break. I’m so tired. I want to lay in this bed forever and never leave, but there is so much to do and it’s paralyzing.”

You continue to cry and you cover yourself with the extra blanket- successfully hiding your face.

“Go away,” you whisper, “I need to be left alone.”

You say it, but you are far from meaning it. You want him to stay- to hold you- but he doesn’t want you so it will only make everything hurt worse once the numbness fades away.

You wait for several moments and then you hear him leave. Your silent cry turns into choked sobs and your body is shaking from the pain you are in. The numbness hurts. The numbness tells you that you shouldn’t be alive.

Maybe you shouldn’t be.

Everyone here would be able to figure it out on their own (eventually) and you would finally be free. Free of your uncomfortable brain, free of your ugly body- free of the expectations of others. You would no longer be holding them back like you are today- like you will again in the future.

You are sure they would temporarily grieve you, but that was the deal with this whole journey. You had all accepted that one of you or all of you could die at any moment. You will just put them in more danger by being here…

You shake the thought from your head, violently- your head is pounding from the growing tension headache and dehydration. The tears eventually stop and you just… well, lay in bed again. You stare blankly at a book over in the corner. You keep trying to convince yourself to get up and read the damn thing- do literally ANYTHING else than just stay here in your bedroll.

Instead, you fall asleep.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You wake up to someone knocking on your tent post. You grumble incoherently, covering your head and you hear your unexpected guest sit down next to you. The smell of food fills the tent and your stomach grumbles.

“You need to eat, my Dear,” Astarion says softly.

You are stunned to hear his voice grace your ears. You slowly pull the blanket down to just below your eyes and look at him. Astarion looks distressed, like he doesn’t want to be here. Why would he? You’re a nuisance.

You sit up gingerly and grab the bowl from him. You manage to give him a lopsided smile.

“Thanks. You don’t need to stay, I will be fine on my own,” you say apathetically, staring into the broth.

“I want to stay,” he says, “if you’ll have me.”

The expression on his face is unreadable, but he seems genuine. You nod, your lips pressed together tightly. You eat as much as you feel like while Astarion studies you.

Usually your anxiety is at an all time high (in maybe one of the better ways) when you are around Astarion- he gives you butterflies, butterflies, and even more butterflies. Usually your heart is racing in his presence, but right now you just feel empty.

“Where is your hairbrush?” Astarion asks.

You frown with confusion, “it’s in my bag, why?”

Astarion gets up and goes over to the bag- digging out a few items. He pulls out a lantern, your hairbrush, and a hair tie. Astarion comes over to you and sits down behind you. You feel him gather up the stray pieces of your hair and get to work.

Astarion runs his fingers through your scalp and your tangled hair- the feeling is soothing and it opens something inside of you. Your body shakes silently with sobs and you feel the worm behind your eyes wiggle as Astarion asks for access. You aren’t sure.

“I want to understand,” Astarion says, “please.”

His voice is so raw and desperate- you swallow thickly before allowing him to explore your current emotional state. The silence in the tent is palpable and you feel tense, uncomfortable even. No one has ever cared for you while you are in this state before.

You feel him continue his hairbrushing after he exits your mind. Astarion leaves soft kisses on your shoulder as he gently pulls apart every knot. It helps- you realize- to feel cared for. The numbness still hurts, you still hurt, but it’s nice to not feel so alone.

After Astarion is done brushing your hair, you feel his delicate fingers begin to intricately braid your hair. You wonder when he learned how to do hair.

“Leon’s daughter, Victoria, used to ask me to braid her hair all the time,” Astarion says in a bittersweet voice as if reading your mind, “I picked it up so that she would stop bugging me about it. She said and I quote, ‘you have the perfect braiding hands!’”

You smile to yourself tenderly, “That’s very kind of you, Star. I am sure she appreciated it as much as I appreciate it now.”

You feel Astarion’s hands falter at your words and you are unsure if you have upset him or not. A pregnant pause occurs before Astarion finally clears his throat and goes back to braiding your hair.

“I’m glad that I can help,” Astarion’s delicate, vulnerable words hang in the air, “I’ve… been worried about you today.”

You feel positively flustered and bad for making him feel that way.

“Oh you don’t need to worry about silly ole me! This happens sometimes” you make your voice chirpier than it needs to be, “This is actually the longest I’ve gone for a long time without this happening. I have theorized that the tadpole might help which is kinda cool- I think?”

You laugh awkwardly- desperate to ease his worry.

“How often does this happen?”

Shit. That was the winning question wasn’t it? Astarion will surely never see you as anything less than broken now.

“I’m not really sure,” your voice comes out in a whisper, “I usually always feel a bit of it all the time, but it’s manageable. I function very well regardless.”

“But this one isn’t manageable and evidently you aren’t functional right now.”

You sigh, “No, it isn’t and no, I’m not.”

“What changed?”

“Nothing,” you say, maybe too harshly, “that’s the part that drives me crazy. Yesterday was incredible- I was on top of the whole world, felt like dancing and screaming from the rooftops, but today!?”

You inhale and hold back the muted scream that wants to fill the air.

“Today,” you hiss, “I don’t even want to deal with any of this shit anymore. I’m so fucking tired. There is too much to fucking do and too many people depending on me. Then everyone gets irritated with me if I ask to push off their problems so I persevere through it despite knowing I’m getting bad again. I’m a giant stinking trash heap that everyone keeps adding more to.”

Astarion finishes braiding your hair and presses your back to his chest, pulling you into him. He puts his arms around your waist and settles his chin and face in between the crook of your neck.

“I just feel like such a nuisance all the time- no matter how hard I push myself to prove I’m not. Sometimes I think everyone would be better off if I just… went away.”

You both sit there quietly. At some point he had taken one of your hands in his and he was tracing shapes into the back of it with his thumb. Your omission still hangs heavily in the air.

“I wouldn’t be better off,” Astarion says hotly, “I’d be stuck with all these weirdos by myself. That would be truly miserable, Darling.”

You shake your head, a half smile on your face.

“And besides- you are not even close to a nuisance,” Astarion states, leaving a kiss on your cheek, “at least you aren’t in constant need of magical objects to eat or blood to drink. Oh and you don’t require a painstaking amount of searching to prevent you from literally burning everyone alive.

“Oh and did I forget to mention, we have not one, but two women who despise each other and follow hateful Goddesses which was a fun choice for whatever sick bastard twisted our fates this way.”

You laugh breathily, closing your eyes and letting the sound defrost some of your insides.

“What I’m saying is- I think you are the least of everyone’s ‘nuisances’, my Darling,” he says, squeezing you tighter to his chest, “despite how little you think of yourself. We ne- no, I want you to stay. I know everyone else would say the same, but I must emphasize that I would be horribly distraught if you disappeared. Hells I’d even pay to have you resurrected.”

You gasp playfully, your voice falling slightly flat, “You? The most frugal man I have ever met would pay 200 gold coins to ‘Strike thy name from the record’?”

Your impression of Withers gets Astarion to genuinely laugh- the sound vibrating in your chest. You lean into him and he guides you back to laying down. Astarion entangles his legs with yours as he holds you tightly- your faces are mere centimeters apart. You love the way Astarion smells- rosemary, bergamot, and brandy. You wish you could be wrapped up in him forever. You are still in pain- everything still hurts and feels too difficult, but right now it feels a little less heavy.

“I would throw bags of Gold Coins at that corpse out of revenge, my Dear,” he teases, “you couldn’t possibly think I would ever let you rest peacefully in your grave- I would be far too angry with you and unhappy without you to let that happen.”

You lay there and despite yourself, you lean forward and leave butterfly kisses along his cheeks with your lashes. Astarion scrunches up his nose reflexively and smiles at you. You plant a sweet, short kiss on his lips.

“Thank you Astarion- for everything.”

You close your eyes as he traces circles along your lower back. Your eyes begin to droop, and you fall asleep.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

When you wake up the next morning- you are disappointed to find that you are all alone in your tent. The heavy numbness is still there and you sigh. At least last night made it more bearable.

You look on the side where Astarion had been sleeping and find a note with a bottle attached to it. You pick it up and begin to read.

Tav,

Astarion had asked me about herbs for some relief regarding mental discomforts. I unfortunately don’t know many, but this is a mixture of St. John’s Wort, Valerian Root, and Ashwagandha. Historically, I know these have been used to alleviate emotional and mental pain.

Astarion didn’t tell me why he was asking, but I deduced it was you pretty quickly when he began shooing everyone away from your tent this morning.

I hope this helps- we are all here if you need us. May Silvanus light your path as you navigate this difficult time.

-Halsin

You sit in your own stunned silence for what feels like hours. Halsin knows and he wants to help? Halsin doesn’t think you are screwed or a nuisance? The man barely even knows you!

You are a bit embarrassed, but you can’t help but laugh at the image of Astarion telling everyone to leave you alone.

You open the bottle and a pleasant, earthy smell fills the tent. You drink the mixture (that definitely does not taste anywhere near as pleasant as it smells) and you do feel a slight bit better. Your apathy feels even more tolerable now. You will have to thank Halsin.

You slowly rise from your tent and look around. Everything is packed up neatly in the corner- your clothes from the previous day are folded nicely and you notice all the holes are sewn up.

You jump when someone enters your tent abruptly- the midday sun warming your skin. You turn around and Astarion is smiling at you, but looks nervous.

“I cleaned off your armor and your weapons,” he says awkwardly, scratching the back of his head, “I also packed up your stuff- as you can see. We have to start leaving unfortunately, but I’ll help you get on your armor like I usually do- I might still need help with mine though, but I can ask someone else if it’s too much for you right now. Lae’zel and Karlach offered to pack up your tent. Wyll and Shadowheart figured out the map- Wyll is going to be our ‘fearless’ leader for the day. Gale has some food for you to snack on while we travel- which you will be eating, by the way.”

Astarion is looking at you with a vulnerable expression on his face. He plays nervously with the gold coin in his hands.

You can hardly believe what you are hearing.

“Did- did you do all this for me?” You say with disbelief.

You never thought Astarion was capable of smiling shyly until he had admitted to you that you had been his first thinking creature- you certainly never thought you’d see him become shy twice in your presence.

“I did and it wasn’t a nuisance so don’t even begin to worry about that,” He walks over to you, gently cradling your face in his hands, “I hope this is all okay.”

You smile- the first genuine feeling of happiness you’ve felt in the last 24 hours gently sparks in your chest as you stare up at him. You get up on your tiptoes and bridge the gap between your lips.

“Thank you Astarion, this is perfect- you are perfect,” you are crying tears of joy, “this is the kindest gesture anyone has ever made for me. So just, thank you.”

“Of course, Darling,” he says smiling in between kisses, “I won’t let you lose to yourself. We’ll get through this together from now on- no more hiding.”

And for once? You actually believe someone.

-if you guys like this, please let me know if you would want a part two written from Astarion’s perspective.

Update- I did the thing you silly geese

https://www.tumblr.com/chaoticbardlady99/735969926279528448/i-took-all-this-love-i-found-and-i-hope-that-its

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