#like. i cannot fathom cooking an actual meal.

[natjennie]

i know its not healthy but i will simply continue to only eat easy premade meals that take like. less than 10 minutes of effort at most and 0 effort at least. and if there isnt anything that fits in that category? I will wait until i forget to feel hungry anymore. if there isnt food that's easy to eat i just wont eat anything. it's that simple.

#like. i cannot fathom cooking an actual meal. #like a real adult human meal? #with a main dish and a side? no no no #im grabbing a bowl of cereal. frozen waffles (not heated up) #granola bars. poptarts. #these are my best friends #the MOSt effort i can put into something is boiling water for box mac and cheese #genuinely #if its not any of that. it's fast food #like normally my mom makes an adult real meal. i wanna say like. 4 days of the week #but otherwise its childrens snack foods or fast food that's it #i cannot provide food for myself it just wont happen #i can toss a bagel in the air fryer and thats IT

[mychem1cal1mbalance]

How it feels to be underweight

You're underweight, finally.

You've reached a bmi of 16, you're 45 kg, 166 cm.

People around you mention your weight occasionally. They tell you how skinny you are and sometimes comment on your diet, or lack thereof. People call you 'petite.' People say you don't eat enough, you need to eat more. You shrug it off. 'It's just genetics.' you say, 'I'm just naturally underweight'. Covertly, you ooze with sick pride. It isn't genetics, actually. It's a lot of hard labor. You run on the treadmill everyday. You skip breakfast and lunch. Actually, you don't eat at school anymore whatsoever; eating has become too sacred to do in public. You like to eat alone, that way you can really savor the meal. You eat 1 meal a day. You've told your parents not to cook for you anymore. You act too fussy, you say you don't like what they've made, you'll make dinner yourself. At first, they object, but eventually they become complacent with your little rituals, and allow you to eat in isolation. They worry sometimes, about how skinny you are. But you brush off their concerns, immediately on the defensive, 'I eat all the time!'

And you do. You lose control a lot. It seems to you, every other day you lose control. You snap, and eat everything. Absolutely everything. You eat to the point of eruption. Your stomach bloats outwards, pulled so uncomfortably tight it feels as if it will rupture. You've heard of that happening, but formerly could not conceive how full, just how much a person would have to eat for their stomach to actually burst open. Now you can. You go into a frenzy, eating and eating until you feel sick. You went over the limit. The day is ruined already, so you may as well. Your entire being is spiralling out of control. You are disgusting. You are pathetic.

The next day, you torture yourself with your daily weigh in. You have gained. You are a failure, you are repulsive. You look in the mirror, and you hate what you see still. Fat. How many kgs have you lost? You can't remember. You can't remember what your body used to look like. You don't really know what it looks like now -

are you really that skinny...?

You think to yourself: at 35 kg, you will finally be skinny.

You feel tired all the time, exhausted all the time. Emotionally. Physically. You are constantly losing control. You are constantly getting back on track. It's completely, excruciatingly, exhausting. It is draining you away. You cannot eat like a normal person. You cannot even conceive eating like a normal person. You look in the mirror, wondering when this all started. Still fat. The days are blurring, you hate yourself more. Binging. Restricting. You can never get a hold of yourself long enough, it seems, before you fuck everything up again.

You cannot fathom ever eating like a normal person again. This is just how you are. It's absolute hell. You can't seem to lose weight. But you need to lose weight. You'll feel better at 35kg, you know it. You'll finally be skinny at 35kg. You think about food all the time. Food, and losing. Losing and food. You hate yourself so much, you can hardly bare it. You need to lose weight. You need to lose weight. You are dying. You are stuck in a cycle. You feel like shit. You can't go over your limit, ever. But you do - you binge. Again and again. The guilt is bone-crushing. This is your own personal hell. You could never, ever, eat like a normal person, ever again. You cannot possibly conceive eating normally ever again. You're stuck this way, forever. You're hungry. Eventually, you want a reprieve from this torture, but you can't stop. If you stop, you'll gain weight. You want help, but you can't imagine getting it. You don't deserve help. At 35kg, you'll be worthy of help. At 35kg, you'll actually be skinny.

You need to lose weight.

#th11n$p0 #tw ed sheeran #tw ed but not sheeran #tw edtwt #th1gh g@p #th1n$pø #skinnyspø #4norexla #4n4blr #s3lf harn #self h@rm #eating disoder trigger warning #ana buddie #4nor3xia #pro4ana #th1ghspø #sk1nn1 #bulim14 #⭐️rving #⭐️ve #pr04ana #tw eating issues #low cal diet

[motleyfam]

hey! so its 4am and ive just finished my, um... fifth(?) reread of world's saddest breakfast club and like! aaahhhh!!!

do u got abything to tell us abt this story? like sbt the writing proccess or things u thought that did not make it in or hc or anything really. i dont have a question exactly, just wanted to hear you talk about it. im a bit. well. obssesed.

Oooh cool question! I definitely do!

World's Saddest Breakfast Club: Fun Facts

The opening line is a result of me angsting to @batmoniker about how I couldn't figure out how to start my fic, and her jokingly being like "I got you, bro. Ready? 'It was a dark and stormy night'" and then me just being stubborn and committing to the bit.

The story started with a vague idea of "everyone in the kitchen at 3am for different reasons and Jason channeling his inner short order cook." All I knew going in was the order I wanted people to appear, what was wrong with them (sick, hurt, insomnia, etc) and what food Jason would be making for them. Everything else I made up as I went.

If I could go back and change one thing about this fic, I'd reduce how long Jason was kidnapped to like, 6-8 days, max. 16 days seemed funny when I wrote it, but in hindsight, I feel like he'd be a little more fucked up in the story if he were really escaping from that many days of captivity lmao

I headcanon Dick as the kind of person who straight-up forgets to eat when he's preoccupied, and Jason as the kind of person who cannot FATHOM this concept. Jason absolutely will miss a meal if the situation calls for it, don't get me wrong, but he's aware the entire time he's doing it and it makes him super antsy. (This once turned into A Thing™ when Jason was like, 13 years old and staying with Dick for the weekend for some brotherly bonding and Dick forgot about lunch and by 5pm, Jason maybe sorta kinda had a minor panic attack about it. Dick was a lot more mindful of that moving forward)

Bruce's favorite food being lobster thermidor is a reference to the Lego Batman movie

I wrote this whole fic with Julia Child's recipe pulled up in one tab and my google doc in the other

At some point I realized that since I started with fresh lobsters, I was going to have to write Jason killing them, and it derailed me so hard that the fic nearly became about meatloaf instead. (Never mind the fact that Jason canonically kills human beings — that's totally fine. I just draw the line at him killing lobsters 😰)

(in the end I just kinda glossed over it and made sure they were already cooked before Damian appeared so I wouldn't have to address it 😬)

Dick's reoccurring shoulder injury is a reference to the DCAU where I swear that man has dislocated his shoulder/injured his arm at least 4x

The line about Tim being allergic/throwing up when he eats eggs was inspired by a line in chap 11 of @goldkirk's fic Hymn, which I've reread about 37x

Jason is correct— grits are fucking delicious and definitely not baby food.

My favorite line is "Okay there’s self-sacrificial bullshit, and then there’s whatever the fresh hell that is."

The idea for Cass being a big meat-eater comes from a comic panel where Steph offers her a plate of rice and beans and Cass says she needs meat and starts mischievously eying Steph's hamster. Can't find the panel to save my life, but I promise it's out there.

EDIT: finally found it!

Steph's nickname of "Zombie Boy" for Jason is borrowed from @audreycritter's Cor Et Cerebrum series (which is a fucking masterpiece, btw)

This fic was gonna be called "Creatures of the Night" until batmoniker said Steph's line made for a better title

Several people have asked me whether Jason was really cooking Bruce's lobster to spite him, or if he was actually intending to make it for him all along. The answer is... both? Like Jason's kind of an unreliable narrator in that he's trying to convince himself that he's just doing what he's doing to be a little shithead when deep down it's all stemming from his need to take care of his family, you know? Like he'll never admit it, but that's where his heart is at.

To everyone who's asked for a part 2 where the family finds out Jason was kidnapped, I'm gonna be honest: the main reason I don't think I'm ever going to write that scene is because I can't come up with a good enough joke for him to make to accidentally out himself 💀

#thank you so much for asking! #you're super sweet and I'm so glad you enjoyed the story

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Wildest dreams, pt. 6

Wildest dreams // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 

Summary: Y/N’s beginning to feel the physical effects of the bond while she goes to Emily for answers.

—————————————————–

Staring at the wooden house, Y/N felt like her mind is in a disarray. She’s hanging on by a thread, feeling as if she’s losing her mind.

When she woke up that morning, she was barely breathing. It felt as if an invisible hand has wrapped itself around her neck, choking her until she fell to the floor. As her vision got blotchy, the pressure relented and she finally inhaled properly. Ever since then, her ribs have been achy, so much so she was certain something was broken but she couldn’t fathom how.

All she did was wake up.

Why does she feel like someone beat her to an inch of death? 

It’s definitely a time for a check-up.

Licking her dry lips, she shakes her head. Letting out a heavy breath, she walks toward the house. It’s not much, but it looks homey. The wood has been painted recently, the rose garden is small but well-tended to.

It’s odd. She used to wonder how Sam’s house looks like before, the headquarters of a cult he’s started. In her head, it was meant to be a dump, but this place is loved. It’s taken care of.

“Can I help you?”

It’s a voice she recognizes. Turning toward the sound, she finds a woman walking out from behind the house. She has gardening gloves on and a hat to help with the unusually sunny morning. Her skin is sun-kissed, but Y/N’s lived long enough in La Push to know this isn’t a temporary tan. Most of those inhabiting the reserve have a beautifully natural tan skin, something so many women try to achieve with tanning beds but never can.

“I’m looking for Emily.”

However, when she makes eye contact, her jaw clenches. She often heard of the scars Emily bears so bravely, but she had never seen her since the attack. A part of her was skeptical about it being caused by a bear, but no one else seemed to question the story.

Although the right side of her face is scarred from hairline to chin by three thick, red lines, one of them pulling down the corner of her dark, almond-shaped, brown right eye, another twisted the right side of her mouth into a permanent grimace, her beauty is undeniable.

Y/N worried it was caused by Sam, like a sick initiation into his cult. But Leah joined them too and she didn’t have any scars.

“So you’re the infamous Y/N”, Emily smiles and Y/N can’t help but smile back.

Scars simply add to her character, but they do not dampen the disarming charm Emily oozes.

“Depends”, Y/N pockets her hands in her jacket. “Who have you been talking to?”

Chuckling, Emily tosses her gloves to the side. “I hear you like lemonade. Want a glass?”

Raising her brows, Y/N answers with a curt nod and a tight lipped smile. If she’s come here to talk, she cannot be impolite and refuse, can she? And she really does love lemonade.

Following Emily who leaves her hat hanging on the doorknob, Y/N hesitates at the door.

Noticing, Emily turns to her. “It’s alright”, she beckons her inside. “There’s no one here at the moment.” Smiling, Emily reaches for Y/N’s hand to reassure her.

Initially, Y/N stiffens, wishing to pull her hand out of her reach. With a gentle squeeze of Emily’s hand, she feels the woman light tug as she leads her inside and this time there is no hesitation.

“It’s actually rare to have a minute just for me”, Emily’s hand leaves hers and Y/N looks around.

Her eyes shift from the large sectional in the corner of the dinner table to the massive muffins laying on a tray in the middle of it.

“Have one”, Emily tells her. “I’ve been trying a new recipe, I could use an honest opinion.”

“Does Sam lack honesty in sharing his?” Y/N remarks a bit too sharply than she intended.

Snickering, Emily nods. “He never criticized my cooking in all the years we’ve been together. Says he’d rather suffer a few bad meals than have me never cook because I’m mad at him.”

Pursing her lips, Y/N pulls out a chair and sits. “Smart man.”

“Unsweetened, right?” Emily asks as she lifts a glass with lemonade. She’s definitely talked to someone, likely Embry. Quil never paid her attention like that and Paul barely knew her...he barely knows her now. He certainly wouldn’t know how she takes her lemonade. Jacob would, but he’s not here. 

Reaching for a muffin, Y/N raises it like a champagne glass. “It’ll be perfect with a muffin.”

Smiling, Emily brought out two glasses of lemonade before taking a seat beside Y/N. Bouncing her feet on the floor, Y/N realized just how tall these chairs are. When she leans back to sit properly, only her tiptoes can reach the floorboards.

Taking a bite from the muffin, Y/N glances at Emily. She’s smiling. No. Her lips seem to be set in such a way there’s always an inkling of a smile hiding behind her lips. There is something so pleasant about her, about the way she’s genuinely kind and warm to her while Y/N can’t help but analyze what shady business her husband is involved in.

“There is no need to be nervous.”

Nearly choking on the bite she took, Y/N coughs. Swallowing the food quickly, she takes a sip of the lemonade.

“You promised me answers I’m genuinely worried about getting, I’m bound to be nervous.”

With an understanding nod, Emily glances at Y/N’s fingers. Following her gaze, she realizes she’s tapping her fingers against the glass.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize”, Emily’s eyebrows furrow ever so slightly. “You’re right to be worried.”

Eyes widening, Y/N raises her brows. Stifling a nervous laugh, Y/N tilts her head to the right. “Well, that’s not helping my nerves.”

This time, Emily does not laugh or smile, she just leans forward. “I cannot tell you everything you want to know”, Emily sighs. “I wish I could, but I can tell you what to do next.”

Frowning, Y/N shakes her head as she stands. “You promised me answers.”

“And you’ll get them if you listen to me.” Standing too, Emily’s hands grip Y/N’s shoulders. “The key to all of this is Paul. But he is stubborn and he will not admit to anything unless he’s confronted by the truth.”

“And how am I supposed to get the truth if no one is going to tell me?!” Y/N’s tone is laced with annoyance, with hostility she refuses to cloak. She’s angry and she’s tired of hiding it.

“I knew a girl once who uncovered the truth on her own, but her story was a difficult one. If you do not wish the dangers the truth you seek brings, walk away and never engage with any of us.”

Swallowing thickly, Y/N locks eyes with Emily. Neither is blinking, the silence lingering becoming heavier as Y/N’s lips part.

“And what if I do not care of the danger?”

Finally, Emily smiles. “Then open your heart and mind for unimaginable things you will face. Until then, start by finding a book.”

“A book?” Y/N deadpans.

“On Quileute legends”, Emily adds.

“I know the legends”, Y/N rolls her eyes.

Snorting, Emily continues. “Are you feeling aches all over your body? Like you’re coming down with a flu?”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Y/N’s forehead wrinkles. “What does that have anything to do-“

“Do you have weird, repetitive dreams about…someone?”

Staring at her, Y/N gnaws on the inside of her lower lip. Paul. He’s haunting every dream she’s had since she first saw him in the woods. 

“Read the book”, Emily states.

“But-“

“Read the book”, she repeats.

Before Y/N can ask for more details, she gasps at the sound of laughter coming from outside the house. Emily’s hold on her shoulders tightens, her eyes widening lightly too.

“We’re not alone anymore.”

Blinking fast, Y/N turns to the door as it’s slammed open with three men all but tumble inside, speaking loudly over each other.

They were all smiling, joking, all until they saw Y/N and her heart sunk so quickly down to her ass that she couldn’t move.

Staring at them, she could easily recognize Jared and Embry, the third one resembling an older Seth Clearwater but she wasn’t certain anymore. It’s been too long since she last saw him and he was just a scrawny kid who was yet another victim of Sam’s cult back then.

When he speaks, Y/N’s suspicion is confirmed. It is Seth.

“Paul’s gonna kill you.”

“Sam won’t let ‘im”, Jared chimes in.

Glancing at Embry, Y/N’s eyes narrow. “And why would he do that?”

“You need to leave”, Embry heads toward her but Emily is quick to step before Y/N.

“She leaves when she chooses to.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Y/N shakes her head. “What the hell”, she whispers under her breath.

“You and I both know if she’s here when he arrives, it won’t be pretty.” Embry hisses and Emily sighs.

“He needs to start dealing with his emotions instead of hiding like a petulant child!”

“STOP”, Y/N yells. Raising her hands in mock surrender, she moves past Emily and Embry and toward the door. “I’m leaving, okay?”

“But you barely touched the lemonade”, Emily exclaims but it felt more like a plea.

“Do you feel safe”, Y/N asks her earnestly, her voice calm and collected now more than at any point in their short conversation.

“Yes, I just…” Emily glares at Embry. “I just hoped you’d stay longer.” Looking back at Y/N, she musters up a meek smile.

“Perhaps another time”, Y/N glances at Jared and Seth. “When there is less testosterone around.”

Glancing at the muffin she took a bite of, Y/N points at it. “I’d add a bit more of orange. But I loved it.”

With a small smile, Y/N turns on her heel and all but runs out of the house. She didn’t turn around, not even for a mere glance as she walked as quickly as possible. She could sense them staring at her, but she refused to look back. Whatever the hell that was, at least she was gifted a clue on how to proceed further along her search for answers.

Part of her wished she could give up, but her heart that’s just traveled back from her ass to her ribcage wasn’t keen on giving up. She needs to know.

Panting, she reaches home. Her thighs are burning, the air drying up her throat and it’s become abundantly clear she’s out of shape.

But when she finds a dark, strange car in her driveway, Y/N pauses.

Inhaling sharply, she heads inside. Perhaps it’s just a friend of her dads? But her dad’s gone fishing, hasn’t he?

On her tiptoes, she opens the front door. Nothing seems out of the ordinary at first glance, but when she hears a clinking noise in the kitchen her blood runs cold. Grabbing her umbrella from the hallway closet, she sneaks toward the strange sound with care.

Her breaths are caught in her throat as each step across the old floorboards feels like stepping on a mine. She remembers where they creak the most, but any misstep and she will be caught and she can’t risk being discovered if it’s a foe.

Tightening her hold on the umbrella, she peaks into the kitchen. A tall, burly man with cropped black hair is sitting on the table, his back turned to her. Hearing the loud chewing, Y/N’s eyebrows furrow as she grimaces. She always hated loud chewing, it’s brought out murderous thoughts in the past and Jacob always used to chew so loudly she threatened to maim him. He absolutely loved annoying the hell out of her.

And that’s when it hits her.

“Jake?”

Tags: @the-chaotic-cow​ @xxxjaexxx​ @captainrogers-19​ @bexloxl​ @laehlaluvs​  @adaydreamaway08​​ @sunsetevergreen​ @volturiwolf​ @twihard08​

​Bonus: Jacob’s POV  

PART 7

#paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #jacob black x reader #twilight #twilight fandom #twilight fanfiction #Twilight series #twilight saga #paul lahote series #paul lahote imagine

[scarlet-ancunin]

Hi again I had a really cute for our dear doctor ian. So if I may could I ask for ian's s/o surprising them with dinner one night when ian gets home from work. S/o is dressed up all fancy and there's candles with ian's favorite scent lit up as well. At the end of the night s/o decides it's now or never and drops to one knee and proposes to ian s/o says "you are my love, my light, my everything and I truly believe you are my soulmate I don't know what I'd do without you in my life".

It's cute right I think we can agree that ian is perfect husband material

Sparrow anon

Sure ^^ hello again Sparrow Anon

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You Are My Better Half

Ian was working hard today but it lasted longer than it needed to but you was okay with that it gave you time.

They type away on the computer finishing up with this file and closing it out before walking away they had called you that they will be coming late and he would order something for them once he was home.

When they arrive they parked their car and afterwards walking to the door. Unlocking it and entering they looked around surprised to see a trail of roses of course Ian tried not to laugh when every so often there was a book they liked to read beside a candle on the floor.

After looking closer it led to their dinning room and once in there there was soft music playing in the background and a home cooked meal waiting hot on the table. With candles and wine set on the table as well.

"Wow Y/n you really outdone yourself" Ian said having a slight tint on their cheeks walking over and kissing you softly and lovingly.

Ian noticed you was dressed fancy and also picked up on the candle scent they loved to smell. It was almost like a summer peaches smell (i went there yes)

"What is the occasion" they asked softly

"Well you worked hard today and since its late to take you out i decided I'll take you to my dinning room instead and cook for you haha you like it?"

"No, iove it actually" Ian said looking around before taking thier seat and you taking the other both of you enjoying the meal set before you and ever so often you would feed Ian who smiles while dabbing their mouth with a napkin.

After you both was finished eating having a small fancy cake for each of you to enjoy and sipping some wine you look at Ian.

"Care to dance love" you asked suddenly

"I thought you never ask" Ian replied before joining you in the empty space and slow dancing. "This has to be the best night we ever had together we should do this more often and i can cook for you this time"

You chuckle and dip them slightly before pulling them closer to you once more and kissing them "sure love but i wanted to do this for a long time i just needed to know the perfect date"

Ian looked at you confused for a moment before nodding.

You stopped them before pointing at the dinning room table "oh i got you that love" they smirk and walked over opening it to see a new style of cat ears and they giggle. "Perfect haha"

It was now or never you thought before going on one knee opening a red velvet box smiling brightly.

Ian tried on the cat ears how could they not turning around "y/n these are-" and seeing you down on one knee.

"Y-y/n" they asked shyly but their eyes looked slightly glassy.

"You are my love, you are my light, my everything, and i believe that you are truly my soulmate and i cannot fathom another day not having you as mine forever, Doctor Ian Wright will you marry me?"

You heart was beating rapidly not as rapidly as Ian's but yiu was nervous.

Ian was trying not to cry but a few tears slip down their cheek. You wanted to marry him. Ian didn't think they was marriage material but being with you made them feel wanted.

They slowly went on their knees and smiling at you "y-yes i will" you do a soft happy sigh and gently slip the ring on their finger before pulling Ian into a passionate kiss.

"I love you so much Ian Wright"

"And I love you to Y/n L/n"

Magic spotted the ring first and purposely made it his business to set the conference room up for a small private thing for the team Ben and everyone else was in there and they called you as well to hide behind the door.

"IAN we need you here." They tried not to laugh when Ian quickly stop typing rushing over.

When they enter Magic move aside and Ian saw the "Congrats Ian & Y/n" on the cake Ian blushes deeply and looked up at everyone who laughed and hugged Ian saying how happy they all was for them.

Of course someone wraps their arms around Ian's waist and they tense only to see you was there to "y-your here"

"Why would i miss this your face is priceless haha i got it all on camera to" they said high fiving Ben who laughed.

"I see you wore the cat ears"

"Yes it matches my ring so i decided to put it on today" they scooped up some frosting from the cake and putting it on your nose laughing before everyone started to enjoy the cake as well.

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Taglist: @justaproudslytherpuff , @sherazyjade , @the-masked-scorpio , @sugakookieswithacupoftae16 , @happilydangerousworld , @harlekin6

#unhinged desire simp #quantum leap #quantum leap 2022 #quantum leap ian wright headcanons #ian wright quantum leap #dr ian wright #ian wright #quantum leap ian wright x reader #dr ian wright x reader #ian wright x you #ian wright x reader #quantum leap ian wright #join me in mason alexander madness #mason alexander park #thank you for your request! #thanks anon!

[not-close-to-straight]

I CANNOT WAIT FOR THIS OMEGA/OMEGA STEDDIE FIC!!! Like give me all the cuddles and not sexual just physical intimacy!!! I love it!!! Please tell more!!!

BOY HOWDY DO I HAVE PAGES OF NOTES FOR OMEGA!STEDDIE WHERE DO I EVEN START.

There will be HUGE emphasis on non sexual intimacy with basically everyone, but especially between Omega!Steve and the kids (meals cooked for them, puppy piles on movie nights, everyone has a favorite blanket, he has a piece of everyone's clothing in his nest because they are FAMILY).

And a HUGE emphasis on non sexual intimacy at first with Omega!Steddie. Think, burrito rolling into blankets so they are plastered together staying warm. Holding hands all the time. Can't fathom sleeping without being glommed on to each other, why would they sleep separate, that seems weird. Playing with each others hair. Always on each others laps. Steve hates the silence so Eddie is always in his ear sort of mumbling a non stop commentary on whatever is happening. Settling each other, petting each other, eating off the same plate cos Steve likes this part of the meal and Eddies likes THAT part of the meal so instead of dirtying two plates by dividing it in half, they just share one. Super happy Omega scent being so potent that the Alphas end up a little drunk on it, they give Jonathan a ride somewhere and Jonathan ends up stumbling out of the back seat, eyes glazed over and giggling a little bit because happy Omega scent is basically a drug. Eddie's ADHD means he's constantly fidgeting, unable to calm down, never able to just SIT and Steve takes all those stims and flailings and gives Eddie a way to let it all out because he doesnt mind if Eddie sits there and switches rings out between their hands and plays with them constantly, he doesn't mind if Eddie kneads at his thigh instead of drumming his fingers on a table, he actually thinks its full on adorable that Eddie switches from constantly chewing on a pencil or pen to biting at him when they cuddle up, like it's FINE.

And eventually this will turn romantic for them and then it's going to be so over the top super soft, like ten ply soft, it's going to be ridiculous. It might be the softest fic I'll ever write???

[st-alessia]

Blood of Empires Chapter 9

3rd of Sun’s Dawn

My friend,

If things aren’t already as bad as they are! A few days ago, a woman was murdered butchered within the heart of the city! Who could have done such a heinous thing? Elda says it was a vampire but I don’t think so. Calixto had stumbled upon the act as she had screamed for help but he said it was too late… Poor Isabella, even though she kept to herself she was kind. If he was only a few moments sooner maybe she could have been saved and the culprit caught. 

I overheard the guards asking him questions but he became so emotional that he could barely speak. I can only imagine how he feels, I think I’ll visit the temple for a bit - I know you have little issue with praying to the Gods for guidance but it is not something I do often. I find that I hate the silence and the loneliness praying invokes in me - but this time it won’t be for me. I will pray for both of them. 

Do you think I should cook something for Calixto? I can’t imagine he will want to cook for himself and it’s not like he has anyone to look after him. Poor man. 

In regards to your last letter, no other strangers have come to town. The man you spoke of, I hate to intrude but, is he a danger to you? 

Stay safe,

Susanna

*

8th of Sun’s Dawn

Susanna, 

While it was a relief to receive your letter, the news about a killer in Windhelm is deeply unsettling, especially with the vampire attacks as of late. 

That man is not a danger to me, quite the opposite actually as I very much look forward to our reunion. And before you ask, no he is not my lover! I do appreciate your concern and wanted to respond immediately as you know I will be returning soon. Later than originally planned, I will be heading out within a few weeks after I have gotten my affairs here in order. My mentors will be signing off on documentation signifying my dedication to their teachings, I will be able to present that to the Jarl and hopefully be allowed work within his army. I feel like I’m getting steps closer to taking back my aunt’s home and returning my cousin to where he belongs!

I wish I could discuss the situation with my cousin, I think it would help to know what his thoughts are on the situation. Would he want me to adopt him? I can imagine he would be upset to find that I have known about him but never tried to help him before now. Even if he was alright with it, would the city be safe for a child by then? I hope the guards do something soon, a murderer should not be allowed to run free.

I think making Calixto a hot meal would be welcoming, I cannot fathom what he must be feeling after having been too late to help that poor girl. It would at least be kind of you to offer. 

Your friend,

Cassia

PS - I know this is not the most appropriate time, all things considered, but I don’t have much choice but to just mention it now or I would suffer with this knowledge until we meet again in person and I cannot bear to wait so long. I met someone. A Companion. Remember when I mentioned Farkas? Well he has a twin brother named Vilkas. I think I may have found myself enamored with him. I feel silly, he is a friend. Just a friend. A friend that I have dinner with fairly often and speak with regarding just about anything. I’m not sure what to do, as I told you before–I am still legally married. A married woman shouldn’t be putting herself in this situation. What am I doing? What should I do, Susanna?

*

Time seemed to slip away unnoticed for Lucretia, and before she realized it, the days had marched its way to the cusp of First Seed. Nearly three months had elapsed since she embarked on her journey to escape her husband's pursuit and find a new life in Skyrim. The passage of time had woven a complex tapestry of emotions within her, weaving threads of invigoration and terror into her very being.

Lucretia had not received a single trace or hint of Valerius, her ever strong-headed brother who followed her around like a duckling when they were children. His absence was as perplexing as it was unnerving, like a lurking shadow on the periphery of her consciousness. On the surface, she maintained a façade of composure and well-being, but beneath it all, a creeping sense of despair gnawed at her soul with each passing day. She was losing hope.

During the solitary hours of the night, when the temple's chambers provided her only sanctuary, Lucretia grappled with her inner demons. Her thoughts seemed to betray her, echoing with cruel voices that mirrored the relentless criticisms of her husband. Every facet of her existence became fodder for self-flagellation, from her perceived inadequacies in the fields of restoration and alchemy to her unspoken desires and yearning for connection.

One particular target of this inner torment was Vilkas, a presence that ignited her heart with an intensity she dared not acknowledge. Her very core trembled with every stolen glance, every racing heartbeat in his proximity, and the burgeoning eagerness to converse with him. But her inner tormentor, fueled by her own self-doubt, taunted her mercilessly for these unspoken desires, leveling them like a jagged knife against her throat.

Nights of self-imposed exile within her dimly lit chamber beneath the temple's roof saw her cocooned within layers of furs and blankets. In the hushed solitude, Lucretia sent her fervent prayers to Kynareth, Akatosh, and the pantheon of Divines. She did not presume herself to be a beacon of significance, deserving of divine intervention. Yet, in the depths of her solitude, she clung to a faint hope that perhaps the gods would bestow upon her a fleeting sliver of blessed fortune, a respite from the arduous path she had chosen.

Despite the torrents of self-doubt, Lucretia remained resolute in her purpose. Her unwavering determination crystallized around her unwavering goals: to become a valuable asset to the world, to reclaim her abducted cousin, and to provide him with the safe, loving home he so desperately deserved.

As she huddled upon her bed, hidden from the world around her, Lucretia made an unspoken promise to herself. Regardless of the unpredictable, tempestuous outcomes that awaited her, she would press onward. Her journey was a relentless march into the unknown, a testament to her resilience and the strength of her convictions–regardless of how fragile she feels-she forcefully wills herself to maintain a hope for something more, something better than all the suffering she and her family have already been put through. With that profound hope that Valerius would soon find her, Lucretia clings to the thread of possibility, a slender lifeline amidst the dark tides of uncertainty that threatened to engulf her.

*

21st of Sun’s Dawn 

Cassia,

It has happened again. Another woman was murdered last night! This time it was Frigga Shatter-Shield, I don’t believe you had the chance to meet her but her family are well-to-do citizens of Windhelm, controlling the trading shipping business. I can't imagine the grief her parents and sister are going through right now. How can the guards be so incompetent as to allow this to happen again?! Viola has taken to drafting letters to post throughout the city, she is calling this killer “The Butcher” and it’s a fitting name. I think you should bring these Companions of yours with you when you return. 

I think I’ll head to the Temple again, a few people were there praying for Isabella even though she was an Imperial and Rolff and his goonies have accused her of being a spy—what a load of skeever shit, by the way—so I’m sure more will be there praying for Frigga. I am beginning to feel like I have to keep eyes in the back of my head, no woman is safe until this murderer is captured or killed. I wish the Jarl would do something.

Also you should write a letter to Honorhall in Riften. It doesn’t hurt to try getting in touch with your younger cousin. He may very well believe he has no one left.

Stay safe my friend,

Susanna

PS - Oh by the Gods, that is exciting! Maybe you should have them both travel back to Windhelm with you, I would sure like to meet these Nords who have captured your attention in one way or another. I’m sure your husband would understand, he would want you to be happy - not miserable and mourning him for the rest of your life. 

*

Lucretia’s cot feels too hard, too cold, to bring comfort to her sore body as she sits there enduring it, her heart aches as she reads Susanna’s latest letter. She had only seen Frigga or her sister in passing and at the time she didn’t know who they were until one evening she overheard a conversation between Frigga’s mother, Tova, and Viola, and now it would be too late. Not that Lucretia would know how to go about introducing herself as a distant cousin anyways, especially since the Shatter-Shield clan had made their distaste known for kin they consider as outsiders; Aventus is only a child and yet they spurned him when his mother died. Lucretia wants to hate them for it but now she could no longer find it in herself to have anything but pity and sadness towards them. 

Her shift in the Temple is over for the night and all is quiet now so she decides to stow the letters in her bag before returning to the main room. She ignores the questioning look Jenssen gives her as she passes by one of the emptying beds he is cleaning up from an injured farmer who was well enough to leave not long after the end of her shift. 

She beelines for the altar of Kynareth though as tired as she is she remains standing before it as she begins to offer her prayers for those killed by The Butcher and the people who have to live and suffer for it. 

After some time she hears leather-clad footsteps approach her slowly before halting a respectful distance away, finishing her prayer Lucretia finally turns to acknowledge Jenssen as he stood slightly abashed and looking more towards her shoulder than towards her face. Without a word, he lifts his hand and offers her a cloth but when she doesn’t take it from him, he clarifies. “You’re crying. I thought you’d want something to clean your face.”

“Oh.” Lucretia had realized her face was wet with tears but chose to ignore it and now that it was being acknowledged by someone else it is her turn to feel abashed as she reaches out and takes the cloth—it’s clean and soft, not at all what they use in the healing halls for bandages, it's personal. After she quickly wipes her face, she barely has time to thank him for his kindness before he is walking away from her. With her heart still heavy, she returns to her room and to her cold, hard cot with the hope that she will at least have the fortune of having a dreamless sleep. 

Come morning Lucretia resigns herself to a day of exhaustion as her mind would not rest and by the time she was falling asleep dawn was not too far off.  As she pulls herself from her cot, she is quick to ease the pain in her back with a simple healing spell but refrains from wasting too much on herself when there are others who may need it more. 

She shrugs on her plain brown robe given to her by Ahlam solely for working in the Temple and ties an apron, clean but long since stained, around her waist. She pulls her hair back into some semblance of a braid before wrapping a cloth over the bulk of her head to hold any stray hairs from her face. Once she tugs on her shoes she is fully dressed, she heads towards the main hall where in her approach she could hear some chattering from Danica and Jenssen as he was due to leave soon, he was likely filling the priestess in on anything of note from the night. Lucretia wouldn’t be surprised if he already told her mentor about her emotional state last night. 

As she fully enters and makes herself known, Danica’s eye flickers over Jenssen’s shoulder and meets her own. With the Priestess’s attention diverted, Jenssen also looks back before dipping his head and quickly turning back to Danica with a final whisper before he nearly dashes off to what she could only assume to be his bed after a long night. Lucretia hopes she didn’t offend him in some way to make him avoid her. 

Whatever he said made Danica’s brow furrow for just a moment before smoothing out as she watched him dash away. Turning back to regard Cassia, she gives her a more discerning eye as she said, “Blessings upon you, child. You look like you have slept for days.” 

“It feels like I haven’t.” Lucretia replies. “I assure you that I will be fine for the day though, I won’t let a little sleeplessness hold me back, you said we were going to be training for healing in the field.”

Danica doesn’t argue with her, just simply nods and says, “Think of it more like surgery. You will have no access to your magicka and will be expected to clean and stitch wounds, dress them, cut off limbs if you must. Field surgery is about quick thinking and precision. Stay calm and collected, even in the midst of chaos.” She begins to lead the younger woman out of the main hall.

Lucretia follows Danica to her own room, sitting at the small table as Danica rummages through scrolls and books on her bookshelf, collecting a few as she goes, and with a final collection of a roll of leather, she meets Lucretia at the table. 

“This,” she unrolls the leather and displays an array of metal tools, “this is to be your medical kit, it is your lifeline. Familiarize yourself with every tool and supply it contains. Sterilization is crucial. Make sure your instruments and hands are as clean as possible, given the circumstances.”

Lucretia only has a brief moment to study the tools–they remind her more like instruments of torture, not healing–before her attention is pulled towards the literature that was also presented to her.

“These,” Danica gestures to the books and scrolls she laid out, “will go into more detail about the various techniques that will be undoubtedly useful to you. Sutures, bandages, adhesive – know when and how to use each method for closing wounds. I have written in examples that you can use in a pinch should you lack the necessary supplies; sap and honey are useful and can be easily found in nature–should you have the time to harvest them. They work well by applying to wounds to prevent infection; this also includes abrasions, burns and other forms of damage on the skin. Always be mindful of infection. Even a small wound can become deadly if not properly treated.” 

“Honey - I can understand, my grandmother used to apply it to my brother’s scraps, but sap? I never would have guessed it was used for more than just treating fabrics and leather for preventing water damage.” 

“Of course. Knowledge is your greatest tool. Study the body's anatomy,” she opens a scroll that shows a man’s body with specific details about each part - Lucretia ignores the drawing’s lower region, “and the properties of herbs and remedies diligently, thankfully Arcadia has been doing an admirable job at that part. Many things one may consider mundane to the art of healing are in fact beneficial. Be wary though, sap is harder to remove and must also be kept away from fire.”

Lucretia relishes the new knowledge, she wonders if Vilkas knows this. “What else?” she says with vigor.

Danica appreciates her apprentice’s excitement, even in the face of exhaustion, and chuckles, “Plenty more. Honey, or sap, can also attract insects that may do more damage so you will need to know how to prevent that as well. But for now, let’s start somewhere simpler first. Here,” Danica picks up the first book and flips a couple pages to find what she was looking for and hands the book to her apprentice, “this may be a good starting point. I will discuss everything as we go but read the books, study the scrolls, you can keep these - consider them a gift for being a good student - they are tools that will be at your disposal.”

“Thank you so much!” Lucretia beams with gratitude. 

Danica's eyes met Cassia's, and she smiles. "Remember, healing is not just about potions and remedies. It's about understanding the world around us, respecting its gifts, and sharing them with those in need. Comfort the wounded both physically and emotionally. A reassuring word can also do well to ease their pain."

Lucretia nods, absorbing every word like a sponge thirsty for knowledge. The weight of her sleepless night begins to recede, replaced by a newfound determination to excel in her training. She understands that what lay ahead will not be a simple path, but she is eager to embrace it.

As Danica delves into the intricacies of field surgery, Lucretia follows her mentor's instructions with diligence and dedication. She learns about the different types of wounds, their treatments, and how to maintain composure amid chaos. Each piece of information feels like a precious gem, adding to her growing repertoire of healing skills.

"Listen carefully, Cassia," Danica says, her voice steady but tinged with an urgency. "In a battlefield, time will be your enemy. As a healer, you won't have the luxury of endless magicka, possibly even supplies. Your patients may be as tough as nails, but they will need you. Remember, in the field, you will often be the beacon of hope for those in despair. Your skills can save lives and inspire courage but it comes with a heavy price. You may be forced to make tough decisions, some of which others will not agree with–save the life of one brother, sacrifice the life of a different brother–it will never be easy but learn from every experience. Successes and failures alike are valuable lessons in the art of restoration.”

A thought stops Lucretia for a moment and leaves her also nervous to ask but she forces herself to shake it off. “Danica - you are not old enough to have fought in the Great War, right?” 

“Hmm.” Danica’s eyes flint in the candle light and for a moment Lucretia feels a chill run down her spine before the older woman smiles again, looking as calm as she did before the question.

Lucretia releases the breath she’s holding and lets the thoughts and questions die on her tongue. After all, who is she to question someone to clearly doesn’t welcome those types of questions when Lucretia has her own that she would rather no one question her on. 

“Let us continue. Where were we? Oh - another important thing to remember: never forget the importance of teamwork. In the field, you often rely on others for support and assistance, even those who are not healers can help you with tasks such as collecting water, holding a patient still, anything you can think of that will require an additional set of hands that are not your own. Make use of that.”

“What if they won’t help me?” A genuine worry she has, the Nords angry with the Empire have their distaste for Imperials, she expects resistance regardless of how she wants to help.

Danica's countenance softened as she observed the genuine concern reflected in her young apprentice's eyes. Her voice carried the wisdom of years as she responded, her words imbued with a comforting reassurance. "You bring up a valid point. In times of strife, emotions can run high, and not everyone may be willing to cooperate. However, it's essential to remember that healing transcends politics and loyalties. When someone is injured and suffering, their need for aid often supersedes their grievances."

With a deliberate pause, Danica's gaze locked onto Cassia's, underscoring the gravity of her message. "Your role as a healer is to serve as a beacon of neutrality and compassion. Speak with actions, not words. Show through your deeds that you are there to help, not to further any political agenda. Over time, people will recognize your genuine intentions, and resistance may lessen."

Leaning in closer, Danica's voice dropped to a gentle whisper, as if sharing a precious secret. "Yet, you must also be prepared for the potential dangers that lie ahead. Some situations may pose risks to your own safety, and in those moments, your well-being must always be your foremost concern. Exercise your judgment, Cassia, and trust in your instincts. We will continue to work together on scenarios that will equip you to navigate these challenges."

Lucretia nodded, her eyes fixed on Danica, absorbing every word like a sponge soaking in knowledge. She knew that the path she had chosen would be fraught with trials, not only in mastering the intricate art of healing but also in navigating the intricate web of human relationships during times of crisis. Yet, she remained resolute in her determination to become a healer who could make a difference, regardless of the circumstances.

As their training continues, Lucretia finds herself not only learning the art of healing but also the art of resilience and compassion. Danica is not just a mentor; she is a guiding light in a world filled with darkness.

In the days and weeks that follow, Lucretia's training intensifies. She practices her skills tirelessly, honing her ability to heal wounds and mend broken bodies. With Danica's guidance, she was thrust into battlefield scenarios within the safety of the Temple, each one more challenging than the last. These exercises, in no small part due to the escalating vampire attacks, compelled her to think on her feet and make split-second decisions that could mean the difference between life and death.

*

Her skills with handling the variety of plants nearest the city and stocked in Arcadia’s shop has increased faster than she would have considered possible for herself; Arcadia likes to say she took to it like a slaughterfish drawn to shallow waters seeking prey–a strange analogy she accepts it for the praise it is supposed to be, albeit weirdly phrased. Though Lucretia still feels that she has much more to learn, she only considers herself to be an Adept even if Arcadia says she is being too humble.

The number of vampire attacks have gone up causing the guards to set up a curfew after the city itself was boldly attacked. Members of the Companions have been coming and going in pairs to hunt down the foul creatures; more often than not she doesn’t get a chance to spend time with Farkas or enjoy her usual dinners with Vilkas. She also missed out on the opportunity to peruse the wares of the Khajiit caravan before they decided the valley was too dangerous to stay for more than a few hours; Arcadia herself lamented the possible plants they had in their inventory that couldn’t be found in Skyrim. 

Lucretia was grateful for Ria being even more adamant about following her around as it reassured both of her mentors and is the only reason she has been willing to go beyond the walls of the city. She has had no choice but to cut down her time for gathering plants to every third day and only from the late morning to mid-afternoon, and now the majority of her time with Arcadia is spent brewing potions of healing and cure disease before taking them to the Temple for Danica to administer to those hurt or bitten by the vampires.

Much to her dismay, Lucretia’s skills in the art of restoration magic is still not enough to assist any more than bursts of healing at a time. While she could extend her magicka to heal herself with ease, it was a taxing process to heal others. Danica reassured her that with time and continued practice, her magicka will deepen like a well and she would be able to draw on more for longer periods of time. When she becomes too worn down, she settles for the traditional healing Danica had been teaching her for when she will be expected to heal without magicka and spells. 

Lucretia’s lack of ability to treat those in her care with the instant relief of magicka brought a bout of hesitancy against her until the Priestess gave them an earful until they relented and no one questioned or denied her assistance again. She needs to learn to channel her mentor, she knows this resistance is going to be a frequent problem when she heads back to Windhelm. 

In the time she has been away, she has exchanged numerous letters with Susanna. It was a little bit nostalgic for her as she hadn’t sent or received letters since before Naalia died. Sadly most of the letters from Susanna were lacking in good news; a string of murders has taken place since she left Windhelm. According to Susanna’s recent letter, The Butcher had recently claimed his third victim–an older Imperial woman by the name of Marina Laevinus, who kept to herself and rarely left her home, and the guards still haven’t done anything about it. It was more worrying considering Lucretia was planning to return within the next couple of weeks as well as Susanna confirming vampire attacks of their own outside of the city.

Regardless of the dangers, Lucretia will need to leave soon and while she is as prepared as she could be, armed with her letters of recommendation in Restoration and Alchemy, a deep swell of apprehension makes itself known. She feels at home here in Whiterun, no one looks at her with suspicion or hate, she has met many people who welcomed her with open arms and expressions of happiness and by the Gods she craves it, these feelings she has been deprived of for years. Although the city is beautiful and the perfect place to raise her younger cousin, there is no possible way for her to support either of them yet and when she has no home. The temple closet where she sleeps is barely big enough for her, let alone a child as well. 

She loathes the idea of leaving, even if only for a time because she certainly has every intention of returning with Aventus in tow; she would like him meet the children here and have the opportunity to play with them, not once did she see any other children in Windhelm out and about playing, not that she could fault them as the city has a certain eeriness to it on top of being unfathomably cold. 

For now, she writes a response to Susanna. 

*

5th of First Seed, 4E 201

Susanna, 

I want to emphasize how important it is for you to stay safe. Please, do not go outside after dark, especially alone. Your safety is a priority, and I cannot bear the thought of anything happening to you. Maybe I will take Farkas up on his offer to see me to Windhelm at least. I dislike using them for such things, especially since I cannot afford to pay for their services. Farkas and Ria have shunned the very idea of me paying them but that doesn’t take away the guilt. 

I can already hear you berating me for not asking such a thing of Vilkas. I have hinted that I would like his company along the way but I am too much of a coward that I can’t even ask him to come with me. 

I promise that as soon as I arrive, I will find you. Likely at the inn of course so easy enough. Again, I am deeply grateful for your offer of allowing me to stay with you while I get my bearings about me. I hope I won’t need to impose myself for too long, with hopes that the Jarl doesn’t take offense to an Imperial wishing to join his army as a healer (lack thereof from what I have heard). Thankfully it's only tensions in the air, if it was a war then I wouldn’t even consider this path as I am not cut out to be a soldier. With Arcadia’s and Danica’s training, I feel that I could start an apothecary or a healing house, perhaps something to consider in the future. What do you think?  

I also did as you suggested but I still haven’t received a response from the orphanage, does it normally take this long? I know Riften is far but I would have thought someone would have written me back by now.

Also, did you cook for Calixto? 

Until then, please stay indoors after dark, keep your doors and windows locked, and if you see or hear anything suspicious, don't hesitate to contact the city guard or anyone you trust.

I am looking forward to seeing you soon, Susanna. In the meantime, take care of yourself and know that I will be on my way soon.

Your friend, 

Cassia

*

10th of First Seed, 4E 201

Cassia,

Your concern for my safety warms my heart, my friend. I will do my best to stay safe, and I promise not to venture out alone after dark. Farkas and Ria seem like honorable companions, and I'm sure they will be more than willing to help you on your journey. Don't feel guilty about accepting their assistance. Sometimes, people genuinely enjoy helping others without expecting anything in return.

As for Vilkas, I understand your hesitation. Matters of the heart are never straightforward, especially when we carry the weight of our past. Take your time, and when the moment feels right, you can speak your heart to him. Remember, life is too short to let fear hold you back.

Starting an apothecary or a healing house sounds like a wonderful idea, Cassia. With your knowledge and skills, you could provide much needed help to the people of Windhelm and the Eastmarch. I believe it's a path worth exploring, and I will support you every step of the way.

Regarding the orphanage, I'm surprised to hear that you haven't received a response yet. It might be due to the distance or some delay in their communication. I would recommend sending them another letter, just to ensure they received your inquiry.

And yes, I did cook for Calixto. I made a simple but comforting meal of vegetable soup and fresh bread. He was grateful for the gesture and appreciated the company. It's amazing how a warm meal and a listening ear can provide solace during these troubled times.

Please keep me updated on your journey, and let me know when you're nearing Windhelm. I'll make sure to prepare a warm welcome for you. Until then, take care, my friend.

With warm regards,

Susanna

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: Eh.. not much to say at this moment lol

Catch the story here on AO3

#ao3 fanfic #elder scrolls #skyrim fic #Blood of Empires

[softboywriting]

Don’t Go | Nathan Bateman | Ex Machina

Summary: One difficult boss, one contraband cat, and a whole lot of emotional turmoil. That’s your life these days. When you leave for a few months to get things settled back home before moving into the facility officially, Nathan doesn’t cope with your absence well. Upon your return you have to deal with Nathan being moodier than ever, hiding your cat Baxter in your room, and sorting out just what your relationship with Nathan is. [Light Angst] [Swearing] [Insecurity] [Daddy Kink if you squint] [Fluff] [No use of Y/N] [Sexual/Flirting Situations] [F!ReaderxNathan] [Assistant!Reader] 

Word Count: 5.2k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Four months. You're gone from Nathan's facility for four months while sorting out fully moving to Alaska with him, closing your leased apartment, and finding a home for your cat. Everything was squared away finally. All of your furniture and non personal items were sold and you were ready to move into his place in the middle of nowhere. Of course you couldn't find a home for Baxter, your cat, and you refused to put him up for adoption, so he was coming with you. 

Nathan didn't want a cat he explicitly said don't bring him but here you are in the helicopter with your bags and totes full of what you have left of your old life, and strapped in the back is Baxter in his tan cat carrier. You had to get special medication to help him stay calm but it was worth it. Surely Nathan won't kick him out once you've snuck him in. You'll just keep him in your room. 

You never see Nathan. He didn't help you carry everything in, he never saw Baxter, he didn't even leave a message. It's not until after you've unpacked the essentials and gotten Baxter settled into the bedroom that Nathan calls to you on the intercom system. 

"Meet me on the deck."

You jump, startled by the sudden break in silence. You slip out the door quickly to keep Baxter inside and head for the outdoor deck where the punching bag is hung. You round the corner of the kitchen and stop dead, eyes on the man on the deck, back to you. 

"Nathan?" You call out, walking forward carefully. It can't be. This man has hair. Quite a bit actually. But it looks like Nathan from the back. That is surely his ass. 

Nathan turns around and oh, it's definitely him. He looks so different without the buzzcut, he looks softer, sweeter. "About time you came back."

"Did I miss a day of work?" You roll your eyes. He may look softer but that snippy attitude was ever prominent. "Don't act like you missed me."

"You worked? I barely noticed." He quips, stepping down and unwrapping his hands.

You fold your arms. "So you just remembered to go shopping for groceries, to get your hand wraps, and to get the mineral water from the specialty place on your own? You just remembered that you had to eat every day? You don't need an assistant?"

"I'm an adult. Of course I can do all of that without you."

"So you definitely didn't use those alarms and reminders I set?"

He scoffs.

"Oh no, you did." You click your tongue. "Because they're linked to my tasks app and every time you shut one off I got a notification. And look!" You gesture to him. "You're not starved to death or bloody knuckled from training with no wraps!" 

Nathan rolls his eyes. 

"No come back?" 

"Fuck off." He sneers, grabbing his glasses off the table. 

You walk around the table and run a hand over his hair. "What's this?"

"Hair?" He pushes your hand away. 

"You've never had hair. Ever." You shove your hand back into his hair. It's short, but long enough you can grip the top. Curly, thick, dark. It's beautiful. It must grow like a weed, and with his genetics, you're not surprised it's this long in only four months. "Why now?" 

Nathan growls, shoving you back away from him gently. "Quit touching it!" 

"Then answer my questions!" 

"Fuck you!" 

"Fuck you too, Nathan!"

He narrows his eyes at you, glaring daggers. This is how it always is with him. Constant fighting about stupid shit because he doesn't know how to express himself around another human being eighty percent of the time. You're sure it's why he hired you, so he didn't go feral out here on his own. The other twenty percent of the time he is bearable and you actually really like that twenty percent. 

You let out a soft sigh and relax your shoulders. Yelling at each other isn't going to get you anywhere right now. You'll take the initiative and soothe the room. "Did your clippers break?" 

"Yeah." He grumbles, no longer looking at you, but to the bar behind the dining table. 

"And you didn't buy a new one when you went for groceries?" 

"I didn't go."

"What?" 

"I didn't go for groceries."

You close the gap and step in front of his line of sight. "Nathan, what have you been surviving on?"

"What was left. I've got some MREs in the office for emergencies. Well, I did." He runs a hand through his hair and turns away. "I'm fine. I'm alive, obviously." 

"So you just dismissed my alarms? Why didn't you go? I know the flight is a pain in the ass but it's better than starving. Is there nothing left?"

He walks out of the room, toward the kitchen. 

"Nathan!" You groan and let out a yell of frustration. If he ate everything and didn't replenish anything, then you're going to have to call the pilot back tomorrow and ride another two hours into the city, go shopping, then ride two hours back. 

"Fuck!"

_____________________

After a grueling day of travel and shopping you start making dinner. You've not seen hide or hair of Nathan since you found out he's been barely living for the last four months. You can't fathom why he wouldn't go out, why he wouldn't even get you to bring him something. Sure you were in Seattle for the time you were gone but you probably could have managed to get on a plane and bring him some protein bars. It just kills you, knowing he just let himself suffer. But why? To prove a point? What was it?

"Dinner is almost ready." You say, pressing the talk button on the kitchen com system. He probably isn't listening but it's worth a try. The man must be desperate for a real meal. 

As soon as you get everything plated, on the table and glasses of wine poured, Nathan appears. You can only assume he watched you on the cameras, so he knew exactly when to show up. He is always checking in on you with those cameras. It was alarming at first, when you arrived about a year ago now. But these days it's alright, a sense of security, knowing that if something were to happen he would be there in a heartbeat. 

"Steak, spinach salad with bleu cheese, and a potato." You say softly, presenting the food like a gameshow host with your hand as he sits down. 

"I can see what it is."

"Mmhmm." You stuff a fork full of spinach in your mouth. "Can you see the poison then?"

A small smile plays at the corners of his lips and you don't miss it for a millisecond. "Must be tucked into the cheese crumbles."

You grin around the rim of your wine glass. "Soaked the steak in it actually." 

"Clever." He mutters dully, biting a piece of said steak off his fork. 

You eat a few more bites in silence, just staring awkwardly at each other. You have so many questions about what he was doing while you were gone. But you know he won't answer them, not now at least. He will have to be exhausted or perhaps less sober. That actually is another question. Has he been sober for all this time? Or did he ration his alcohol?

"Good food?" 

"Fucking amazing." He says, voice barely above a whisper.

"Oh?"

"Yeah." He rubs his last bite of meat around in the bleu cheese. "You can cook like no other."

You feel a flush rise in your chest. "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." 

"Don't get used to it." 

"Oh I won't." 

Nathan stands and takes his plate to the kitchen. "Did you get my shaver?" 

"Yes." You follow close behind and drop your plate in the sink beside his. "But I like it." 

"What?" 

"Your hair. I like it." You lean against the counter and he runs a hand over his head. "It looks... different."

Nathan rolls his eyes. 

"It's up to you, obviously. I'm sure you keep it shaved for whatever reason." You shrug and look away from him. "The shaver is in your bathroom."

"Thanks." He mutters and heads off into the house. He's going to the lab no doubt. 

_____________________

Finally two weeks later. Nathan is wasted. Gobsmacked, shit faced and three sheets to the wind. You got an allegory for it, that is this man right this second. Your chance is now, you can get his ass on the spot and start interrogating him. Well. That is if you can get him out of his lab. 

"Nathan, I have something for you." You coo softly into the com beside the door to his lab. "Something you'll like."

"Go away."

"Come on!" 

"Unless you're out there in some red panties and stockings then I'm not coming out."

You flush and close your eyes. He did not just say that. Surely he cannot mean that he actually wants to see you like that. God that's hot. Does he really want to see you like that? No. He's your boss. 

"What if I am?" 

"You're not."

"I could be."

"You aren't. Fuck off."

"You wanna see me all undressed hmm?" 

Nathan groans and opens the door, glaring you down. "You lied. Fuck off."

"No, I never said I was out here undressed. But now I have you." You shove your way into the lab office and plop down on his sofa. "You're not gonna get rid of me." 

Nathan stands at the door and sways on his feet. He seemingly is perplexed how you managed to overcome him and slip into his space. "You're a pain the ass."

"Mmm and you're a thorn in my side." You lay back on the sofa, and prop your legs up on the armrest. "C'mere, I wanna talk." 

"You wanna talk? What do I look like? One of your gal pals?" 

"Maybe with a little mascara, some eight inch pumps...yeah."

"I'll give you eight inches alright." He sinks into his desk chair and grabs a bottle from the desk to press to his lips. "What do you want?" 

You sit up and brace your elbows on your knees. "I want to know why you didn't leave here in four months."

"I didn't need to." 

"Nathan, you were living on MRE rations like a bunker crazed maniac. You barely called me, and when you did it sounded like you were doing fine. What happened?" 

"You left."

"Yeah?" You chuckle softly. "I had to settle things back home. I told you that, you knew where I went." 

Nathan takes his glasses off and sets them aside. "I think...I think I rabbit holed into my insecurities and loneliness."

You raise your eyebrows. This is going deeper than you imagined it would. "Okay. How so?" 

He tips the bottle up against his lips. "I thought, well maybe you wouldn't come back. Why would you? You got out, I let you go willingly. I felt like I just deserved to suffer alone." He shakes his head. 

"Nathan, why didn't you tell me this sooner?" 

"And make me look like a desperate fucking idiot? How would that look? Desperate lonely billionaire misses assistant so much he begs her to come back." 

"So you did miss me."

"Fuck." He rubs his palm into his eye and lets out a yell of frustration. "You're the only person I've had proper physical contact with in like three years, I've gotten attached to you, and you just don't even understand how messed up I am!"

You stand and walk over to him. "Nathan, do you have feelings for me?" 

He stares up at you, and sets his bottle aside. It's sloshes, mostly empty. "Don't play with me."

"No one's playing."

"You hate me. I'm so mean to you, and I yell at you and piss you off everyday."

You chuckle softly. "Oh yeah, that's all true. But when you're not being difficult, that's when you're incredible. You're so hot and cold I should have run away but somehow I still wanted to come home."

"Home?"

"Yeah." You run your hand over his hair and his head slumps forward. He hasn't shaved it off. It's been a few days. "You're insufferable but I can't get enough. I love how you talk, how you think, how you are always making sure I'm comfortable and happy even if you think I don't notice. I love how you look at me, glancing to make sure I'm still there, to make sure I'm real. I know how you need me."

"Don't want you to leave." He mutters, eyes heavy. 

"I'm not leaving." You kneel down, arms across his lap and he looks at you, hand going to your cheek.

He strokes his thumb over your lower lip. "Be my good girl."

"Nathan," you whisper and your heart threatens to explode and you're flushing, heat pooling between your legs. "You're really out of it."

He smiles lopsidedly, pressing his thumb between your lips and you open your mouth automatically. 

You lick the pad of his thumb and give a quick suck before pulling back and standing up. "You're way too drunk." 

"Come back here."

"I'm going to bed." You lick your lip, the taste of his thumb is salty. If he weren't wasted you would consider exploring this further. You've wondered if there would be more between the two of you. It felt natural. But he's your boss. This is your job and as much as you would like to be more with Nathan you know this has to end here. He's not a relationship guy. 

Nathan pushes up from his chair and slumps over onto the couch. God he's fucking gone. He won't even remember this in the morning. It's for the best. 

"Good night." 

_____________________

You make your way to Nathan's room with a bottle of water, two Tylenol and a banana. He's going to be so hungover it's not funny. You hadn't realized how much he was drinking until you found the empty bottle of vodka in the kitchen trash can and the rest of a small bottle of whiskey in the office trash and you had only bought both just the other day. Not to mention all the beers he sucked down while in the lab, a good six of the eight pack. Oh boy is he going to be hurting. 

"Nathan, hey," you call softly, sinking down beside him on his bed. "It's almost noon."

"Lea'me 'lone." He grumbles into his pillow, wrapping his arms around it tightly. 

You run a hand up his back, settling between his shoulder blades. "I brought water and a snack." 

He turns his head, face smushed into the pillows as he looks at you. "What happened last night?" 

"You got very drunk and drank literally everything we had. I'm not sure how you're alive." 

"Did I do anything?" 

"Nothing I wouldn't expect of you." 

He shoots you a leery glare. "The fuck's that mean?" 

You shake your head. He doesn't need to know he started spilling his guts and coming on to you more than playfully. "Nothing. You were a dick."

"I'm always a dick sweetheart. I told you that when you started."

"You did." You rub his shoulder and he groans. "Come on, get up. Have your banana, pills and water. Get a shower. You've got a video call in an hour."

"Oh fuck off." He presses his face into the pillows. "Attend for me. I want to sleep."

"It needs to be you. It's an HR meeting about hiring new staff to run diagnostics on Blue Book backlog data."

Nathan grumbles unintelligibly. 

"I'll make your favorite lunch." 

"Mm'not hungry."

"I'll join you in the shower." 

He pushes up fast, nearly knocking the Tylenol from your hand. "No take backs." 

"Nathan! I'm not actually going to shower with you! You're my boss for God's sake. I just said it for shock value to get you to roll your hungover ass out of bed. Shit."

"Yeah but no take backs." He grins and swallows back the pills you hand him. "Come on, it's not like you haven't seen me naked."

"Uh no, I most certainly have not."

"Oh yeah you have." He smirks, eyes holding yours in a challenging gaze. "You liked it too."

"What?!" You shove him and stand up, throwing the banana at his lap. "Eat your snack and get your shit together. I'm going to take a hike." 

Nathan rips his banana top off to peel it and takes a bite. "You're not gonna set up the meeting stuff?" 

"You just turn on your webcam when they call, Nathan."

"What if I need help?" He says teasingly. "You're my assistant after all."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Would you like me to wait until they call? You want me to stand beside your desk and click the button to answer with a video camera on? Is that it?" 

"You could sit on my lap." He pats his legs. "Keep it nice and warm for me."

You twist your face quickly into an expression of distaste before a flush begins to heat your skin. This is just Nathan. He isn't flirting. He's being an asshole to get a reaction from you. He's like a child. Don't reward bad behavior. 

"Oh you're thinking about it." He murmurs, voice dropping lower than usual. It's almost sultry. You've not heard this tone but maybe once before. "You wanna fuck your boss don't you?"

"Absolutely not." You grip the side of the door a little harsher than you mean to. Just another step and you're out of the room. Away from his eyes. Fuck. His eyes. What is that look for? It's so...commanding. 

Nathan presses the door closed and you lean against it. "You're a horrible liar."

"You're projecting."

"Am I? Or were you on your knees in front of me last night?" He raises his eyebrows. "Oh you think I don't remember? That's cute."

"You know that isn't what happened." 

"I know you let me put my thumb in your mouth. I know you licked it, sucked it, willingly." He catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "You really want me don't you?" 

You narrow your eyes. "Maybe I want you, but I have morals. You're my boss, I'm not going to just fuck you for no reason and I intend on keeping it that way."

Nathan drops his hand from your face. "You'll come around. You can be my employee and still fuck me. I'll allow it."

"Yeah, whatever." You pull the door open and he steps back. "Go shower. You've wasted enough time."

_____________________

 Days later you go for a supply run and come home late in the afternoon. As you haul the bags from the cart you use to get them from the helicopter to the front door you see Baxter on the sofa in the living room. He's curled up, the fireplace is on, he's living his best life. Wait. Baxter. No. 

"Bax what are you doing in here?!" You set the bags down and hurry to the fireplace to snatch the little gray cat up from his warm nap spot. "How did you-"

"You're back." Nathan says sleepily from the couch. He sits up and runs a hand through his hair. God it looks so good, it's gotten longer you swear and fuck the curls are just maddening. "You wanna tell me something?" 

"I'm sorry. I couldn't leave him with anyone and he is like my child. I couldn't just abandon him." You cradle Baxter against your chest. "I'll leave, if I have to. You can fire me."

Nathan chuckles softly. "Fire you? For having a cat?" 

"You said he couldn't come with me. You specifically said no pets under any circumstances."

"Yeah, but maybe I can make an exception for this guy." 

You set Baxter down as he begins to squirm. He hurries over to Nathan and winds around his legs. 

"Come here." Nathan pats his lap. "Come see daddy." 

Baxter jumps up and curls up on Nathan's lap, head butting his hand for attention. It's the most bizarre thing. Baxter has never taken a liking to anyone this fast. It's as if he's been living with Nathan for weeks. 

"He never likes people like this. What did you do to him?" 

Nathan strokes his hand down Baxter's back and massages his ears. "I didn't do anything. I gave him affection."

"How did you find him?" 

"He's loud." Nathan laughs, looking at you with a soft smile. "You were on a walk in the woods and I heard him crying one day-"

"Wait what? You've known about him before today?"

"Yes." He gives you a look that says you're not fooling anyone. "I've been seeing him for days now. Almost two weeks."

You groan and press your back against the fireplace. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I wanted you to tell me. I wanted to see how long you thought you could lie to me."

"I didn't lie. I never said he wasn't here."

"Very true."

"So he was meowing? That's how you found him?" 

"Mmhmm." Nathan chuckles again. "You must have forgotten to feed him before your walk. Because as soon as I gave him food he was happy."

"Fuck. I probably did." You sigh and laugh softly at yourself. "I'm terrible at hiding things."

"Yes you are." His eyes catch yours and you glare at him. "What's the look for? You jealous?" He pats his leg where Baxter isn't stretched out. "You wanna sit on Daddy's lap too?"

You cover your face with your hand. "For fucks sake you're a freak. No, I would not like to sit. I'd like help with these groceries." You point to the long forgotten bags by the door. 

Nathan peeks over the back of the couch. 

"Come on," you shoo Baxter off his lap and as you turn away to go get the bags, Nathan pulls you backwards down onto his legs. "Nathan."

He chuckles deeply against your back. "What?"

"I'm not sitting on your lap."

"Mmm, yes you are." 

"Nathan," you sigh softly and stand up just long enough to turn around and straddle his legs, facing him on the couch. It stuns him silent for a second as he stares up at you in bewilderment. "This what you want?"

He grins big, hands running up your thighs. "Just remember that you escalated this, not me."

"I just sat down."

"Oh no sweetheart, you sat down with a purpose." He pulls you flush against him. "I thought you had morals."

"I do." You lean in and his lips part instinctively. "I haven't done anything against them."

Nathan grips your ass and you collapse against him, foreheads together. "You're pushing it."

"I just wanna see you weak, Bateman."

He narrows his eyes and shoves you off his lap. "Little late for that." He mutters as he retreats into the house and you climb up off the floor. If he thinks you're not going to push him to admit he wants you more than sex then he has something else coming. 

_____________________

Two days later you're making breakfast and out of the corner of your eye you see Nathan walk in. You pay no mind. It's not unusual that he comes and grabs a water or a cup of tea before breakfast. You turn, plates in hand to put the eggs on and the moment you see Nathan you drop them. 

He shaved. Holy fucking shit he shaved his beard very close and his hair is still grown out. He doesn't have his glasses on and who...who the fuck is this? How does one person literally shapeshift? 

"Oh fuck, are you okay?" Nathan looks down at the shattered plates. "What happened?" 

"What- you! What happened?!" You gesture wildly to his face. "Who are you?!" 

He laughs, straight up laughs at you. "Is it that bad?"

"Bad? I wouldn't call it bad." You run a hand over your hair and look around for a tea towel to pick the glass up with safely. "It's not bad." You can't help but continuously glance at him. 

Nathan grabs a large bowl from the cabinet on his side of the kitchen and you both kneel down to clean up the glass. "You like it." 

"It's different."

"Good different."

"Yeah." You sit back on your heels and take another good look. "I almost couldn't believe it was you." 

Nathan drops the last piece of glass into the bowl and brushes his hands off on his sweater. "It's been a while since I went this short. Ten years maybe."

"Damn."

He smiles and it's like he's a different man. You cannot stop staring. It's all familiar, like if you were seeing his brother, or maybe twin. It's the same teeth, same turn of his lips, but that beard being nearly gone makes him so...fucking attractive. Not that he wasn't attractive before, you dug the buzzcut and beard combo, you dug the beard and grown out hair combo. But this is...this is hard.

"Hey, your eggs are burning." 

"What! Fuck!" You scramble to your feet and sure enough the sunny side up eggs are hard yolked and brown around the edges. 

Nathan dumps the bowl of glass in the trash and places the bowl in the sink. "Let me make something."

"I- what? You?"

"Yeah." He wraps his hand around yours on the pan handle and moves it back off of the burner. "I can cook y'know. I did it a lot before you moved in."

You step back and let him carry the pan to the trash. "Is it April fool's day?" 

"No? It's November." 

"You're being nice to me."

"Am I?" 

"Yes?" You fold your arms across your chest. "Suspiciously nice."

Nathan turns and quirks one eyebrow up. "Suspiciously nice? I don't think I'm being suspiciously nice. Maybe...considerate."

"Not a word I would associate with you either." 

"Well, I can just have a power bar and get out of your way if you like." He folds his arms, mimicking your pose. 

You chew on your lip. "Are you okay? Seriously, you've never offered to cook and you've managed to not insult me for a solid ten minutes. You even helped me clean up the glass. You're not...you."

"I had a good night's sleep."

"So you've been a dick because you haven't slept properly since I met you?" 

"Maybe." 

"Maybe? Okay y'know what." You raise your hands and let out a little laugh. "I get it. You are trying to get me to sleep with you. You have been for weeks and I can't just sleep with someone without being in a relationship. You've changed your appearance, knowing I'd like it. You're being nice, acting like you're some normal guy as if you think I'm into that. You just want to get in my pants so bad that-" 

"Or maybe I am trying to be a better person because I realized I'm going to run you out of my life if I keep being the way I am." He runs a hand over his hair and tugs. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come on so strong."

You're floored. He's left you speechless. Never has he said he's sorry, for anything. 

"You don't have to say anything. It's fine. I understand that I'm a lot to handle. You have been so patient, and understanding in this last year, and you go toe to toe with me and you don't stand for my shit, so I think you must have been put in my life to force me to make a change. I've been trying to get in your pants, yes, but I don't just want that. I want you." 

"Oh."

"I've been thinking about this since you left, and even since you came back. It's consumed me for the last five months and I-" He bites his lip and looks away from you. "I'm in love with you."

Your eyes widen. "You....Nathan..."

"It's fine, I understand if you don't love me. I've been awful and selfish and-" 

"You're really in love with me?"

"I don't waste words, you know that." 

You step forward and reach out to touch his cheek. The beard is so short, still there, but not bushy in the least. "I love you too. Even if you're a pain in the ass and a little egotistical." 

"So I don't have to be disgustingly nice?"

"I didn't fall for disgustingly nice Nathan."

"Thank fuckin God." He grabs your hips and pulls you against him. "Felt like I was playing house." 

You giggle and he groans. "Nathan."

"I love your laugh." He grips your hair and tilts your head back, kissing your throat. "I love how you say my name." 

A little moan escapes your lips as he scrapes his teeth along your neck. "Hey, easy, relationship first and sex later."

"Mmm. What do you want sweetheart? A date? Gifts? Long walks in the moonlight?" He leans back and looks at you. "I've got a proposal for you."

"What's that?" 

"Be my girlfriend. No, be my wife." He bites his lip and cradles your face. "Yeah, you'd be a damn good wife."

You raise your eyebrows. "Not sure I like the implications of that." 

"You don't like the implication that you'll be the richest woman in this country, own half of Blue Book, have everything you could ever want, and be a goddess to a god?" 

"A goddess to a god huh?" 

He smiles and presses his head against yours. "That's right. Besides, we already have a kid." 

"We do?"

"Mmhmm. Baxter. I'm his daddy and he knows it."

"Oh hell. Shut up." You roll your eyes. 

"I'm your daddy too." He hauls you against him, hands on your ass. "You like it, admit it."

"No!" 

"Yeah you do." He kisses across your jaw and down your neck. "It's okay, it's just us you can admit it." His tongue lavishes against your sensitive pulse point. "Come on, tell me you like it."

"Nathan," you moan softly and he rolls his hips against you. "Please."

"Just say it." 

"Never."

He chuckles and pulls back, leaving your neck damp and aching. "I'll get it out of you. I know you wanna say it but you're too shy." He bumps his nose against yours and your head swims "I will bide my time."

"Yeah, a long time." You press your lips to his and he hums softly. "I'll think about your proposal."

He chases your lips as you pull back. "I'll be waiting."

"Relationship first." You run a hand over his hair and push him back. "Gotta show me you truly want more than what's in my pants." 

"Absolutely." He pushes his sleeves up. "I'll be the best husband." 

"Let's stick to boyfriend for now."

"Husband sounds better." He grabs a clean pan from the rack over the stove. "So, breakfast?" 

You hop up on the counter and watch as he moves about easily. "I'll take whatever you got."

"I've got a lot." He smirks and you roll your eyes. "But let's start with breakfast."

"Yeah, let's."

End 

-----------

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[bettsfic]

Hi betts, how do you separate yourself from your fanfiction works? As in having the mindset that ‘you are not your work’? I feel like I’ve fallen into the myth that positive feedback equates to readers liking me for me, when in most cases I imagine they’re solely interested in my content. I guess I’m expecting too much from fandom members? I just don’t feel like I belong to the fandom if it weren’t for my fanfiction. Thanks for your time.

this is a really great and really big question that for me anyway had far deeper roots in my mental health than i initially recognized. 

even before i found fandom, i strongly conflated love with being of use to someone, and then i would get upset that people used me. all of my relationships were either distant or volatile. i knew that i was the only thing all my relationships had in common, but i couldn’t figure out what i was doing wrong. 

what i was doing wrong was that i didn’t know how to love or be loved. i only knew how to need and be needed. i was defined wholly by my relationships with others; without them, i was no one. i changed everything about myself to fit with the people i was surrounded by. i had no ability whatsoever to see or assess myself. my worth was measured in others’ perception of me. if they hated me, i hated me. if they loved me...actually, i still hated me, because i believed that love was temporary, and it was only a matter of time they saw the “real” me and they would take their love away. it was much easier to mold myself into someone they could love. 

i once told a guy i was dating, i just want to be who you want me to be. and he looked at me like i was crazy, and asked, then how can i love you? 

when i found writing, i didn’t know what love really felt like. i only knew obsession and codependency. i didn’t know how to feel emotions in order to process them, so everything that had ever happened to me was still just sitting inside me, waiting. writing offered me a tool to begin working through the pile. it offered me a means to observe and validate myself, and feel my feelings. 

but when i was first developing a relationship with writing, i put so much of myself into it that i couldn’t help but use feedback as a measure of self-worth. 

i think to some degree, every artist needs a witness. almost everything we write exists to be made public to some degree, and it’s a totally normal thing to want to seek reception. but conflating other people liking you, and by extension your work, with your worthiness to exist, creates a lot of self-suffering.

i remember realizing that i had boxed myself into a corner, and i knew i had to reassess my perspective of myself and my work. i had found myself in the same position you describe, feeling bad because readers didn’t love me, they loved my writing (see: being of use and wondering why people always used me). especially with fanfic, which has so much to do with quantity, 90% of readers don’t even look at the fic writer’s name, let alone kudos or comment. reading is a self-fulfilling endeavor the same way eating is. all of us need stories to live. as writers, we’re just the chefs. when you eat a good meal, you don’t fall in love with the chef. most of the time you don’t even know their name. the food isn’t the chef and the story isn’t you. 

but also, i was, and always had been, disgusted and baffled by people who *did* love me, especially if i felt i had nothing useful to offer them. once, a friend of mine drove like 3 hours to come visit me for dinner, and then drove 3 hours back. for some reason i assumed he was on a road trip somewhere and just passing through. when he told me he had come just to hang out with me, my brain short-circuited. i couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to hang out with me like, for fun. 

after a few years of posting fic, a weird thing happened where a few people did seem to like *me* because of my writing, insofar as they would follow my blog and interact with me and eventually we became friends. there may even be people out there who like me and don’t interact with me. but that idea also kind of weirded me out for a long time, because i kept thinking, who am i? no one. i’m nothing. i’m boring. go read my writing, that’s what matters. 

and then i realized, i could not have it both ways. either i wanted to be seen, or i wanted to go unseen. i was schrödinger’s validation. 

so i think the very simple answer is “learn to love yourself,” but i was so far behind when it came to love, i didn’t know what loving yourself even meant. so i think a better adage is “learn love.” learn what love is, what it feels like, what it looks like. and then turn that definition on yourself and your work. 

i love myself, even when i mess up, even when i’m not meeting my expectations. i love my work, even when it’s bad. when other people love me and my work, that makes me happy. when they don’t, that’s fine, because i still have plenty of my own love left. 

in practicality, for a few years i basically had to constantly chant to myself “what other people think of me is not my business.” a reader’s relationship with your writing is not your obligation to know or control. it’s only your obligation to create the stories you want to tell, and maybe you share them so you can share the love you put into them, or maybe you don’t. maybe you eat the meal you cook, or maybe you share it with someone else. whether they like it or not has no bearing on who you are. it’s all just personal taste.

more importantly, you can’t generate self-beliefs externally. someone’s opinion of you or your work cannot define you, because no one has a wider view of you than you. you are the expert of yourself. it took me a long time to change all of my self-beliefs, or what i’ve come to call “life sentences,” into statements of temporality and priority. “i’m brave” turned into “i value courage.” “i’m bad at directions” turned into “sometimes i get turned around.” every time i’m about to make a sweeping judgment of myself, i try to recast it into something more malleable, because every state of the self is temporary, and i always want to give myself the opportunity to grow.

i won’t lie and say i have a totally healthy relationship with my writing. i still get jealous sometimes, although it’s much briefer and more bearable than it used to be. i still get deeply annoyed by tactless or rude feedback, but i rarely get upset. i *do* get upset when someone sends me a link to a forum or thread of people making fun of me; i think it’s hard to unlearn that. sometimes i still feel the need to defend or justify or apologize for my work. and i definitely still compulsively refresh my comment inbox whenever i post something i’m proud of. but for the most part, i’m in a much better place than i used to be.

currently i’m working on making peace with the idea of publication, that my original work treads a morally risky line that is easily misunderstood, and i’m publishing into a world of mob mentality and cancel culture. and moreover, once a work is published, once it’s out there, it can never go back in. i’m trying to figure out whether i’m confident enough now in my work to still stand by it in ten years or fifty. i’m also freaked out about how anything i publish will outlive me. as someone who has always lived with existential dread, it’s terrifying to think i may write something that could be read in a hundred years, that my voice might live longer than my body. there is a very slim chance of it, but as i’ve mentioned before, i think it’s better to plan more for success than failure. 

i’m not sure if any of this is helpful, but it’s the path i took to get where i am. i wish you the best of luck navigating your relationship with your work. 

my carrd | writing advice masterdoc

#writing advice #Anonymous

[jafndaegur]

Happy Monday!!! Hope you’ve had a decent start to your week!!! ♥️ This week I’m here to ask what’s your favorite mundane at home activity you and Jumin do together?

Happy Wednesday lovely Lea!!! How was your week? Good I hope!

Mundane at home activity? Hmmm... *cracks knuckles* let's give this a try òwó

Jumin hands me the saucepan, and after gingerly touching the metallic sides, I deem it cool enough to put away the probably room temperature food. Dinner was a "simple" affair as he would say, since I had cooked instead of his chef. Homemade meals were far better for us in my opinion, and we got more than enough leftovers for us to use as lunches through the week too. It's not like Jumin stopped paying the chef either even when I provided the meal, so it's a win-win situation.

Plus Jumin's palette is easy to please, basically savory with robust flavors—anything to pair with a sharp Merlot or natural Cabernet Franc.

Which always worked for me because, savory dishes? My absolute favorite to make. Not to mention such rich meals always well followed by a warm-toned whiskey or spiced rum-bourbon mix. So cooking for us was always a treat.

And delicious.

Once I knew Jumin was no longer paying attention, he was gathering up our dishes to dutifully load into the dishwasher, I make my move. The sauce I had been putting away was a tangy broth marinade with mushroom and beef fond that could be eaten like a gravy. It went incredibly well on top of steaks, very much the flavor profile of a Salisbury steak.

I take a moment to enjoy the sauce until I hear someone clear their throat.

"I can feel your stare, don't look at me like that," it's a playful warn, something I offer half-heartedly after licking the spoon.

Jumin’s sigh crosses somewhere between exasperated and bemused. "What did I tell you about eating while you're putting the food away?"

"Not to do it?" I guess, offering an innocent smile before getting one last spoonful.

He immediately jumps to my side, snatching the spoon and the pan from my hands. After confiscating both, he clucks his tongue. "I cannot fathom why you would double dip."

"My germs are your germs at this point, love," I snort.

He coughs out a laugh before fixing his expression and sending me a reprimanding lift of his brow.

"Am I wrong?" I ask, leaning in and waggling my brow.

Sighing, Jumin lifts the spoon to his mouth and takes the last bite that I had wanted. "Oh...that is good."

Strangled vocalization manages to squeak past my lips. And he thought I was gross for double dipping!

"That was most definitely mine," I mutter. "Don't steal my leftovers."

Jumin makes a face, mimicking my pout. "Then don't eat while putting dinner away, Jaf."

He winks.

He actually winks after saying that.

But the moment is gone. His resting impassive countenance returns as he chivalrously offers himself up to the dish washing gods for the things that won't fit in the dishwasher. I decide not to help him. Out of retaliation. Jumin can handle the leftover dishes if he's going to eat the last of my leftover food.

#tumbles friends #jaf answers #mystic messenger #mysme jumin han #jumin han #jumin han x self insert oc???? idk what to call this ive never done it before #this was short and sweet but ahahahaha it was something that i thought would be really fun

[elexica]

Second Chance Christmas: {{ December 24 }}

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832405/chapters/69340716 Christmas Eve is a lot more pleasurable this year.

Rating increased to Explicit for smut this chapter. If you would like to skip it, end the chapter at the grilled cheese.

Entire chapter under the cut.

When Joey rolled over to look at his cellphone, he was startled to see it was almost 10:30 am.  How did he sleep in, until mid-morning, on Christmas Eve?  It was impossible that the kids hadn’t awoken with the dawn, and absolutely impossible that they didn’t need some form of attention by now.

Maybe they’ve been kidnapped, Joey wondered to himself.  That would be just his luck—the second Kaiba’s back, loved ones get kidnapped.

He looked out the French doors that lead to the master bedroom’s balcony.  It wasn’t a bad view at all, and the snow was wafting down.  It was soft, fluffy, powdery stuff, already accumulating on the handrail of the deck.  Joey considered fighting the temptation to wander out, but decided to just take a peek outside.

He was instantly rewarded with the sight of Alexis braining Atticus with a snowball.

They were dressed warmly, if a bit mismatching.  From the bright red glove on one of Atticus’ hands, and the black mitten on the other, someone wasn’t able to find the right counterpart in time.

That someone was looming a bit off to the side, like he always did.  Kaiba was crouching in the snow too, busy at work making something.  Joey couldn’t tell at this distance, and it would be pretty harsh of him to join in the snowball fight.  Joey knew from experience that Kaiba didn’t half-ass snowball fights and had killer aim.

Joey had only managed to keep up because he thought shoving snow down the back of Kaiba’s shirt was the funniest thing in the world.  The full body shiver and searing rage it inspired were unparalleled.

Instead, today it looked more like he was on hand to intervene if Alexis got too invested and owned her older brother too hard.  And like he was doing something of his own, playing with the snow.

Was Seto Kaia building a snow man? Joey squinted, but the white snow was too bright and the packed snow was too indistinguishable from the freshly fallen drifts for him to actually be able to tell.

Joey felt some snowflakes collecting in his own fluffy hair, and with a shake of his head decided he could do a better job spectating from downstairs.

A latte was sitting on the kitchen counter.  The foam had somewhat disintegrated, melting back into the coffee and milk mixture.  At first, Joey assumed Kaiba had just left it behind for himself when he had been probably unceremoniously dragged into the falling snow by their little miscreants.

But upon close inspection, the foam had a sort of heart pattern on the top, made from pouring the steamed milk just so.  Latte art had been an interest of Kaiba’s for about a day several years back—he had been convinced that he could replicate the delicate pouring in a robotic attachment added to the espresso machine, which could be repurposed to replace certain precision work in the Duel Disk manufacturing line.  In the process, he had gotten very good at making them by hand as well.

Could the mug actually be for Joey?  It didn’t look like Kaiba had sipped from it.

Kaiba was probably just showing off to the kids, Joey thought to himself.  Even so, it melted his heart in his chest just a little bit.  Even if it wasn’t for him, Joey was going to taste it.  It was on Joey’s counter now, right?

The milk foam was soft against his lips, sweet little bubbles popping on his tongue as he sipped, and the coffee was still warm.  He could feel the heat of it course down his throat.

He took another long drink of it, and it really was that good.  If Kaiba had a love language, Joey pondered midway through another gulp, it probably would be fancy coffee.

Joey took the mug out with him, the warmth of the mug soothing in his hands as he wandered to the backyard.  The chill in the air hit him in the face, instantly, and he wished he was wearing more than night clothes, his bathrobe, and slippers.

The family hadn’t really moved since he’d seen them from the master bedroom balcony.

Watching Seto play was always a source of fascination.  Sure, it had been infuriating back in the day.  The seriousness and anger he took to Duel Monsters, even when it wasn’t him dueling, was unpleasant at the time.  But over the years, it had become endearing and intriguing.  Sometimes, early on, Joey would even sit near Kaiba, during Yugi’s duels especially, just to hear the commentary.  Kaiba was thoughtful and smart as hell, and his take on the game was as insightful as it was overly intense.

When Kaiba played other games, it was even more fun.  Before they had met, Joey had never fathomed that someone could be completely engrossed in Operation!, or bring complete vitriol to Connect Four.  Discovering that Guess Who could be played through carefully crafted insults to each figure’s appearance was delightful.

It had been one of the things Joey had kind of been looking forward to seeing in Kaiba when they had kids.

But… things don’t always pan out the way you want them to.

Joey took another sip from the coffee—Kaiba had put some sugar in it too, to Joey’s surprise.  It had to be for him.  Just that thought lit a spark in his chest that warmed him in a way that his bathrobe and flannel pajamas couldn’t.

Joey refocused on Kaiba, trying to discern exactly what the other man was doing in the snow.  He was almost on his knees in the snow, and using his black-gloved hands to shape something.  The packed snow was rather elegantly shaped, and even if it had been years since he had seen one in person, those white scales were incredibly iconic.

“Ay, Kaiba, is that?!”

With a finishing touch of black pebble eyes on the modestly-sized snow-dragon, Kaiba turned to face him dead-on.

Kaiba’s smirk was almost as haughty as it had been when he was a teen.  He stood proudly in his winter coat, hands on his hips before the three-foot snow-dragon and pointed back at Joey with a flourish.  “Attack with white lightning!”

Like magic, the kids turned on Joey.  Snowballs were launched in his general direction and the kids made what Joey assumed were supposed to be dragon noises.

Joey was fortunate—the deck was pretty far from where they were playing, and the snowballs exploded harmlessly on the bannister or the porch in front of him.  Alexis’s little screech was especially precious, even if her throw wasn’t.

Joey laughed so naturally that he didn’t realize he was doing it.  When he composed himself again, he dramatically raised one hand, and pointed back.  “I play my trap card,” Joey shouted into the fray, revolving enough to point at the kitchen behind him.  “I’m making pancakes!”

Indeed, the promise of pancakes was more powerful than the lure of pretending to be dragons, and the kids cheered as they headed in.

Kaiba trailed the kids, looking oddly contemplative.  Joey was about to leave and make good on his promise, but he was struck by the way Seto had his lips pressed together.  He really looked like he was trying not to say something.

Joey gave him an expectant look, the space to say whatever it was that he was thinking.

“I never knew it could be this way.”

Joey tilted his head, blond hair flopping to the side.  “What do you mean?”

Kaiba walked closer, within a few inches of Joey.  With his thumb, Kaiba brushed a few snowflakes from the shorter man’s cheek.  “I… didn’t realize that life could be this free.”  And without any other comment or discussion, Kaiba composed himself and brushed past Joey.  Leaving Joey with his now-chilly latte and distant thoughts.  

…

Time slipped by quickly, the sands of the holiday magic hourglass rushing down as the finale approached.

The family had a holographic call with Mokuba and Yui, who expressed again how grateful they were to have the kids at their wedding.  If Mokuba was surprised to see Joey and Kaiba alongside each other, not fighting, he didn’t show it.  

After three years away from the high technology, Joey kind of saw the appeal of the holograms with fresh eyes.  It was pretty neat to see Mokuba again, in three dimensions, glowing just a little in his living room.  While Mokuba was patiently listening to Atticus explain how they were playing dragons this morning, Joey was just taking it in.

Then they sat down for another round of Christmas movies—this time all the classics.  First was Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, which Kaiba insisted had an overly mature message, that being unique is respected only when someone else can profit off of it.  Then was Frosty the Snowman, which Kaiba objected to on the grounds that it sent mixed messages about mortality.  “It is like watching ‘All Dogs Go to Heaven’ if you actually had to watch the dog—”

“Kaiba, it’s fine, he’s a snowman.”  Joey interrupted.

“He’s clearly sentient.  He’s aware of his surroundings.  Do you think he cannot feel his body melt—”

“Next movie!” Joey announced, clicking away.  

Kaiba completely left the room for Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer, which was a pity, given how much of the runtime was dedicated to business decisions.

Kaiba only returned later, to poke his head around the corner and say that he had finished making dinner.

Joey wasn’t sure what to expect from Kaiba for a holiday dinner.  Frankly, the times he had seen Kaiba cook were few and far between—he had helped out yesterday, but otherwise it was something of an informed ability.  Kaiba said he could cook, but Joey supposed the proof would be in the literal pudding.

When they were dating, Kaiba was usually working and they would get take out or go out to dinner far more frequently than doing dinner at home.  Joey couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the expectation of family meals had appeared—maybe after Atticus was born?  Whenever it had happened, the family chef had appeared like magic.

Joey realized that maybe Kaiba had no idea what Joey’s cooking was like outside of this week either.  That was a disturbing thought.  How long could you spend with someone without ever learning what their cooking tasted like.

Joey was in for a pleasant surprise.  It certainly wasn’t fancy, but tomato soup from a can—garnished with a basil leaf—and a decent stack of not-burnt grilled cheese sandwiches were waiting.  With the snow falling gently outside, and the reflection of a few twinkling Christmas lights draped around the kitchen, it was a very pleasant scene.

It felt like too much to demand, but Joey bit into a perfectly buttery sandwich—crispy on the outside and gooey on the inside—and thought maybe he would like it if Kaiba cooked every night.

…

Finally, the kids were instructed that they needed to have an early bed time, as part of the last ditch efforts to convince Santa that they were good kids.

With certain designated cookies set out and carrots left for the reindeer, the kids were headed to bed.

“So… we didn’t wrap the presents last night,” Joey announced.  Kaiba nodded, and they grimly turned toward the master bedroom to contemplate their fate.

The present pile was absolutely not representative of what Joey had purchased on his singular trip to the mall.  At some point, quite deviously, Kaiba must have procured another thirty presents, through some assistant or something—Joey really could account for most of the time, and had them hidden in Joey’s secret present hiding place (unsurprisingly the master bedroom’s closet).

As a result, even with the two of them working to wrap presents, it had been almost three hours and they were still at it.  Kaiba was frustratingly slow: he was both meticulous about straight edges and perfect tape amounts, and just slightly terrible at wrapping.  It was brutally obvious he had never had to do it before, so even though the theory was easy for him, his long fingers struggled slightly with execution.  It made the process even slower because Joey kept getting distracted, watching Kaiba’s long fingers fiddle with the paper and the tape.

“We can take a five minute break, we’ve been pretty busy this week,” Joey announced, stepping away from the supplies covered desk and flopping back on the bed.

Seto walked over and sat on the edge of pensively before curling into the fluffy duvet.  “It’s true.  Whatever doesn’t get wrapped can be saved for birthday presents.”

Joey graced him with a skeptical look.

“What?! You said you wanted it to be lower key,” Kaiba snapped back, offended.  Kaiba looked down at his hands, tape resting on his pinky as he tried to get the fold just so on a small packet that was obviously a Duel Monsters cards booster pack.

The bags that were omnipresent under Kaiba’s eyes were etched just a little deeper than before.  “A five minute break… sounds wise.”

Joey flopped backward onto the bed, avoiding the wrapping paper.  Kaiba relaxed backwards as well.

Five minutes passed, and then another five.  The bed was really soft and cozy.  Joey knew it was much more comfortable than the guest room bed, and Kaiba was burrowing in somewhat.

The other man really did look peaceful, brown hair falling into his glasses, eyes finally closed and relaxed.

Two hours later, a quick glance at the bedside clock warned Joey that it was almost eleven at night.  The lights had been extinguished, but the curtains hadn’t been drawn, leaving the room with a hazy glow from the bright snowscape and moon beyond the French doors.

Joey had dozed off on the bed and like magnets, Seto had ended up so close to him.  Joey really hadn’t expected to wake up to the other man clinging to him for dear life, but it felt so nice.  A pleasant weight, holding him, making him feel treasured.  God only knew where his glasses had ended up.

Seto’s breath ghosted across Joey’s collarbone.  “I missed you.”  It was soft, sleep addled, and entirely sincere.  His breaths were deep and warm, as if he was taking in everything about the situation that he could, inhaling the sleepy cozy scent of his partner, the soft detergent smell the dryer had left on Joey’s pajamas, the pine scented holiday candle that had been inadvertently left to burn for the last two hours.

Cuddling again felt so magical, after so long.  Joey’s hand caught in Seto’s hair, soft brown strands running across his rougher fingers.  His nails scraped lightly across Seto’s scalp, and Seto practically purred.  It was enough to make the heat rise in Joey’s cheeks.

“I don’t want to let go of you,” Seto admitted to Joey.  Seto looked up from where he was snuggled into Joey’s chest, eyes softer than Joey remembered them.

“Then don’t,” Joey answered, pulling Seto up so that their faces were perfectly aligned.

Staring into Kaiba’s eyes was always like this.  It hit so deep, struck Joey right on the inside of his sternum.  Something in the blue depths broke his heart every single time.

And Joey pulled him into a kiss.  Seto’s mouth tasted the way that it always had.  With his large hands grabbing at Joey’s back, clutching at the fabric, it felt the same way that it did before.  When Seto deepened the kiss, when his tongue plunged into his mouth, nothing had changed.

But Seto pulled away, marking that Joey hadn’t truly time traveled.  “I… are you sure you want to do this?  I’m leaving tomorrow, Jounouchi.”  Seto was so serious.  The flush in his cheeks was just painted onto his ex-husband, the rest of his face was schooled into a business-like countenance.  It almost made Joey forget the familiar hand on his hip, thumb stroking over his side.

Joey smiled, but he could feel the pinpricks behind his own eyes.  “Then you better not ruin tonight, huh?”

Kaiba smirked, falling back into his role.  “As you should well know,” Kaiba dived into Joey’s neck, sucking and biting something fierce, “I always rise to a challenge.”

Kaiba’s hand drifted up, grasping for Joey’s shirt and tearing it off.  “If I remember correctly,” Kaiba continued, crawling down his body and quickly arriving at his cock, “and I always do,” Kaiba’s eyes flashed up to meet Joey’s, devious and dirty be fore pulling down Joey’s pajama pants, exposing his dick to the tense air of their bedroom, “I have some reliable methods for ensuring this is worth your time.”

“You talk too—” Joey attempted to complain, but Kaiba’s mouth on his hardening penis cut him off.  A shock of lust zapped through is body, reaching the ache in his chest.

As Seto sucked gently—cheeks hollow and eyes closed in focus, Joey felt the lust course through him.  But also a sense of comfort, of safety, and of loss. Each jolt of pleasure also triggered something cruel and bittersweet.

Joey tried to hold off, knowing that the sooner he came, the sooner it would end.  The fantasy of having his husband back, adoring him in the most intimate way, would be over, even as the pangs of pleasure rippled through him.

But it was hard.  Kaiba was an obsessive man, and when pleasuring Joey was his focus, he was meticulous in mastering its intricacies.  One of Kaiba’s hands was caressing his inner thigh, alternating worshipful touches and soft, stinging scratches that dragged needy whines from Joey’s lips.

Just when Joey was certain he wouldn’t be able to hold on for any longer, the pressure building inside, threatening to spill out, Kaiba disengaged.  A bit of pre-cum mixed with spit bridged between his plush lips and Joey’s rock hard cock.  The light glinted off of the dew on Kaiba’s mouth, and accentuated the way that his lips were trembling.

Kaiba slid up, rolling over far enough to reach the top drawer of the night stand.  And, just as if no time had passed, a bottle of lube was waiting for him.  Joey’s eyes lingered on the way Kaiba poured it along his hands, leaving them glistening in the reflection of the moonlight off of the freshly fallen snow.

Kaiba removed his own sweatpants, and Joey’s eyes could see how devastatingly hard Kaiba was.  The full body shiver that ran through him just touching himself in order to lube his own cock.  And when he looked back over at Joey, the determination in his eyes was so intense, it was almost scary.

Kaiba crawled over, hands framing Joey’s head, heat radiating off of his body in hot waves, cocks threatening to touch.  “I want you so bad, Jounouchi,” he whispered, voice husky from sucking him off.

“Then take me, Kaiba. You never had a problem taking what you want before,” Joey issued the challenge with a hint more menace than he had realized was there.

And the restraint was lifted.  Joey hadn’t really realized there ever was any restraint, but with Kaiba’s fingers plunged into his tight opening, searching and quickly finding the familiar magic spot, maybe his partner had been holding back.

With only so many desperate thrusts of his fingers, Kaiba withdrew them.  Joey almost moaned at the loss, wanting to tell his partner there was no rush.  That they had enough time for everything, make love like they used to—languid and peaceful, wasteful of time.

Any complaints were silenced as he felt Kaiba’s thick cock enter him.  Joey was lost in the sensations, swimming in the lust. The only things he could keep track of were the thrusts, the feeling of Seto’s hips and thighs rhythmically moving against his own.  The white hot pulse of Kaiba coming inside of him, and that perfect moment, when he felt full and complete.  Finally coming himself, untouched, semen spilling over his own stomach.

Even though it was sticky, and would soon be uncomfortable, he hated when Kaiba withdrew.  His heart ached when he handed him a damp towel from the in suite, and when Kaiba gathered his pajamas, prepared to walk to the guest room.

Joey had to go back in his memory all the way to their earliest days to remember Kaiba getting up immediately after sex.  Once their relationship was, well, a relationship and not a duel to see who could keep the connection more casual, Kaiba loved to be close afterwards.  Even if he didn’t necessarily snuggle, he was usually present, sharing small smiles and holding Joey until he fell asleep.

“Don’t.”

Kaiba froze.  And then he looked back, more surprised than he should have been.

The look on his face sent Joey to the early days of their courtship, when Kaiba would wear that same expression as he gathered up arm-belts as he bailed from Joey’s shit apartment back in Domino.

But that they had shared this exact bedroom for six years.  

Joey hadn’t even changed up the pictures on the walls—shamefully enough, a wedding photo still sat on the dresser.  Their trapped smiling faces judging the messy entanglement that their romance had become.

“Don’t leave me,” Joey choked out.  Don’t leave me again went unspoken. He didn’t have that bad of a time saying how he felt, but Kaiba always tested the limits, made him want to withdraw into himself.  It took some kind of bravery to be open with his feelings now, and it swelled in his chest.  “I want you to stay the night, here.”

Kaiba nodded slowly, and dressed in his pajamas.  He sat down on the bed carefully, cautious, like he hadn’t slept there a thousand times before.  It almost seemed like he didn’t trust the mattress not to turn to dust beneath him.

And then he laid in bed like a corpse in a coffin, careful to bind his arms to his waist.

With a deep sigh, Joey said, “Ah come on. We just fucked, Kaiba.  You can uh… you can touch me, if you wanna.”

Kaiba looked over.  In the darkness, the glow of the moon-touched snow glinted in his eyes, sparking something mysterious.  “We… did.”  He looked a little bit like a cryptid, something not quite of this world, trapped in a reality he couldn’t totally understand.

“I don’t regret it,” Joey said, though his voice betrayed a bit of his uncertainty.  “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Hn.” Kaiba scoffed.

“Yeah, I shoulda seen that one coming,” Joey said, leaning back against his pillow.  It was somehow entirely foreign to have another man in his bed, and yet also familiar.  Like Kaiba had never been there before, but also like he had never left.

The warmth was almost that of a phantom sensation—almost close enough to touch, just far enough away to feel like a figment of his imagination.

And then, somewhat suddenly, Joey felt the familiar hands of his ex-husband wrap around his arm.  Just like that, Kaiba crept back into his space, foreheads almost touching, straight brown hair entangling in unruly blond strands.  Joey could feel each exhale of Kaiba’s against his cheek.  They were soft and rhythmic, pantomiming sleep.

Joey was surprised when he didn’t tense up at the contact.  When they both melted into the shared cozy warmth under the quilt.  When his own breathing turned more evenly paced.

He was falling asleep in that most literal sense, the experience of complete relaxation where one sinks through the mattress and into the dream world.

Somewhere in that sinking, the purgatory between sleeping and wakefulness, Joey could have sworn he heard Kaiba whisper “I still love you” in his gravelly tone.

But it could have been just a dream.

#puppyshipping #Violetshipping #my fic #seto kaiba #Kaiba Seto #Jounouchi Katsuya #Joey Wheeler #update schedule is hitting the point where the chapters are posted on the dates when they occur. #that's fun and sexy #right??

[starswordartblog]

The God of Cavesong

Got around to writing a sequel for one of last year’s OCtober pieces, I’ll link it in a reblog since Tumblr hates links.

Content warning for abuse and religious trauma (albeit the religion is fictional).

Silvana lost track of the days as she remained confined within the sanctuary's chamber. She was given the bare minimum of food and water and nothing else. Her time was spent praying and sometimes just talking to the God. The God answered at times, and that was enough for her.

After who knows how long, someone came to question her.

"You have been here for long, in fervent devotion no doubt. The priest requests you share the wisdom our God has imparted so far.

Silvana's breath hitched. "I'm sorry. I'm heard His voice, He asks for prayers and worship, but that was all. I don't even know what wisdom I should be asking for."

She heard nothing but the man's breath as he came closer, putting a hand under her chin to lift her face up. "My, my," he said, "don't be so hard on yourself. You don't have to ask for anything. To hear His voice so soon, you are far more blessed than we thought. Continue your work, priestess." As he talked, he brought his other hand to her hair, pushing it off her face, long nails scrapping her scalp with far more strength than the gesture required. "Make it clear that there is no part of your favored existence that cannot be offered to Him."

And he left. She wasn't brought food for much more longer than usual after that.

"On the chamber where moonlight drips on forever, miracle rain falls for but a moment."

The words were blown to her ear as soon as she woke up that time. It was the first time the God had spoken to her unprompted. Usually she would be murmuring prayers of gratitude and pleas for help for what felt like hours before the voice came by, always along the only wisps of wind she could feel in the enclosed chamber.

"On the chamber where moonlight drips... I don't understand."

"You don't have to understand. Worship me and remember my words. That will be all."

Then it clicked. "God's wisdom...! Thank you!" and she chanted the words spoken to her a dozen times, carefully and clearly, hoping to remember them and pass them on to the priest's followers next time they came by.

"You'll have time to memorize them," said the voice, "first, eat."

It was far from the first time the God interrupted her like that. In fact, it was their most frequent interaction. Hours of prayers stopped by short, stern reminders. Eat. Rest. Sleep. Stretch your legs, you've been kneeling for too long.

It all sounded so earthly, so unexpected of a higher power. Those were the only moments Silvana didn't feel so terrified, so out of her depth.

"Of course, thank you," she whispered back as usual and extended her hand to where the bowl of food was usually placed. But there was nothing there.

Before she could say anything, she felt something small bump against her back, again and again. Turning around, she felt a handful of round, soft things with a fresh smell. Putting one on her mouth confirmed her suspicions. They were berries, scattered to her side by a soft breeze.

The breeze that only came from her God.

They didn't taste miraculous, weren't even enough to sate her hunger. She actually recognized them. Those berries grew on bushes from higher on the mountains. The more adventurous villagers would bring some home at times, and gladly share with her in trade for her own cooking.

The image of a berry gathering God coming over for lunch put a smile on her face.

The next time someone came by, it was just to deliver food, but she still blurted out the God's words as fast as she could, hoping to appease them. It probably worked, as they returned to the previous feeding schedule.

"I thank my God for this and every meal, for looking out for our humble lives, for every tiny berry and huge tree of our blessed land," became an habitual prayer for her before meals. It was usually after it that the God would reveal more cryptic wisdom to her, warnings of beasts and places to be avoided, and other things she didn't understand. She only passed on the words to others as soon as she could.

It took her by surprise when the words whispered were a question.

"Why didn't you tell them?"

"I..." She was tired of saying she didn't understand things, but how else does one politely ask a God for clarification?

Luckily she didn't have to figure it out. "The berries," the voice provided. "You clearly haven't forgot about that, but you haven't told them. Why?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I should, I'll tell them of your miracle as soon as I can, my God."

"I didn't ask you to. I asked why. I wish to gaze upon your true heart, priestess. Let it speak for a moment."

Silvana's blood ran cold. Was the God dissatisfied? She hadn't ever been dishonest so far, what else did she have to say? She hated this responsibility, the fate of her people on her shoulders.

"I am not a brave person, my God," was the truest thing that could came from her lips with so many possible disasters weighting on her mind, "I tell them what they ask of me. They asked me for wisdom, so I gave them your words. I'm, not smart enough to tell the wisdom of that act, so I haven't told them."

The silence that fell did nothing to soothe her anxiety, but it didn't last long.

"You couldn't see the wisdom in that, yet you keep bringing it up. Why?"

"It's because I could see the blessing in it, my God. I was taught you are of immense power, that you share it with your followers to conquer the land and shape it to your will. As someone who lives a humble life, these designs are hard to understand. But I understand looking out for someone in need, feeding them with what the land provides, keeping them company even when they're weak and useless. Those are small things you've done for me since I came here, and to me they were easier to see as blessings. Because I have no training as a priestess, I could only hope my honest gratitude would make for better prayers."

She felt numb and winded, having talked more than she intended. It was weird, confessing to a God that she had no idea how to worship properly, but her chest felt lighter. It was probably obvious from the start, wasn't it? She had always been an honest person, there was only so much she could take of a role she wasn't made for.

She could the breeze gently blowing around her, but no voice came for a while.

"You are wiser than you believe," it finally said. "You would make a good priestess, if you hadn't been forced to it."

Silvana's head spun like the wind. So the God knew she hadn't had a choice. The cult called her blessed, favored. She thought they had acted due to some divine will she could not fathom.

"Have we angered you, my God?" She did her best to not raise her voice in panic, but couldn't stop it from trembling. "Would you rather someone else be in my place?"

A stronger gust blew. "You can't say things like that. If they think that you don't want to listen, or that I've rejected you, they might harm you. And I won't let your faith be in vain. As long as you're here, I will protect you. So even if you're afraid, please trust and keep a secret when I ask you to."

What kind of God says please to a common peasant? What kind of God sounds powerless against their own followers? The voice continued to sound more like a fellow partner than a God.

Silvana couldn't help but smile, it was better that way. "I understand, thank you. I trust you."

The wind died down and silence fell. After a while just a wisp came by, the sound so low Silvana didn't make out all the words.

"...that will be all." It sounded like the usual parting. But then it picked up again in a regular volume. "And get up and stretch a bit, your human body will be pained if you just sit here all day."

"...of course, thank you."

#writebrl #writers on tumblr #fantasy #magic #ocs #the god of cavesong #despero #silvana the priestess #theodora the air elemental #cavesong cult #2021

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 163

Chapter Summary -After the long and tedious road to her Ironman, Danielle begins to get back to normal, including acknowledging that she has neglected Tom in certain manners for the past few months.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

Copyright for the photo is the owners, not mine. All image rights belong to their owners

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1 @black-ninja-blade

Danielle and Tom left Tenby the next day at lunchtime, giving Danielle a chance to actually get some rest and recover from her sporting endeavours, Tom holding her to him and repeating, time and again, how proud he was of her for reaching a goal.

On their way back to London, they collected the dogs and brought everything to the house. Tom drove to give Danielle the rest she needed after the triathlon. When they got out of the car, he noticed her moving her shoulder and hissing. “It’s worse.”

“It’s utterly fucked now.” She confessed. “It will need weeks of rest and physio, I’d say. I don’t think I can even drive safely.”

Though grateful she was being honest, Tom felt annoyed that she had allowed it to get worse when she promised not to overdo it but hearing her acknowledge that she would tend to it properly now silenced his argument on that front. “If you need a lift there, let me know.”

“I will.” She gave a small smile and did what she could to bring in some of her belongings inside, but Tom refused to let her and shooed her in citing the dogs needing to be settled as the excuse.

*

The next few days continued with a pattern, Danielle going to physio for her arm, her working on paperwork for Safeguard and her own personal work projects and catching up on sleep.

It was a week after her return from Tenby, after she had another physio session on her arm and she was collecting some food from Sainsbury’s on her way back to the house because Tom was dealing with something work related when she paused and thought of an idea. Smiling to herself, she made a small plan.

Tom was exhausted. He had been dealing with some work that Marvel had asked of him for an upcoming piece of work they were considering for him, and more importantly, Loki. He was bound by contract to say nothing yet knew that should he and Danielle come to discuss it, she would not say anything. If she could hide the ending of Game of Thrones from even him, he knew he could depend on her to say nothing regarding his work. When he pulled into the driveway, all he could think about was sitting on the couch and resting for a while, or perhaps making it to the bedroom to do so if he managed to scrape the energy from somewhere to do that.

When he opened the front door, fear filled him.

The smell of good home cooking filled his nostrils, the scents of lemon, spice and garlic telling him that Danielle was cooking some form of a roast. When he entered the kitchen, he noted the oven had a tinfoil covered meat in it, with roast potatoes on a tray below it and the stove harbouring further foods. Looking around, Tom wondered where Danielle had gone before calculating dates in his head. Their second anniversary was just a fortnight away but they had agreed that they would go out to dinner that night, so he could not fathom what had prompted this evening’s feast.

“Tom?” He jumped slightly as he heard a voice from the back kitchen area. “Are you home?”

“Yes.”

“Oh good.” Danielle came back into the room and took something in a small pot out of the fridge before placing it on the stove, swapping it with some form of vegetable. “How was your day?”

“Good?” Tom looked at her. She was wearing a dress, for no apparent reason, in the house. She never did that. It was figure-hugging, slightly dipping at her cleavage and she was wearing makeup. His fear intensified. She was clearly on a different level to him regarding the significance of the evening and it scared him to wonder what he had forgotten.

“Tom?” He looked at her face again to see a notable look of concern on it. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I...What am I missing?” Rather than trying to pretend he knew what was going on and be found out later in the evening, Tom favoured being honest.

“Missing?”

“What event or occasion is this. Our anniversary is in two weeks so I cannot figure it out?”

Danielle laughed. “Do I need a reason to want to cook a nice dinner? I haven’t been allowed half of my favourite food in weeks and I know you are busy and tired so I thought it would be nice to make us something.”

“But...your clothes?”

“I saw this a few weeks ago and with the body alterations from my new training, I thought it would be nice. Was I wrong?” She looked at him worriedly. She rarely liked dresses and she seldom wore them, but this dress had made her feel as though her figure looked good and was excited to get it, but seeing Tom looked at it with uncertainty made her anxious that she had made a mistake.

“No, it’s gorgeous, I just...Why tonight?”

“Why not tonight?” She challenged. “If I am looking for events to wear certain clothes to, I may be waiting a while.”

Tom subconsciously nodded to her words. “I’m sorry, you’re right. You have every right to wear anything you want and you look incredible so I don’t know why I am causing you to feel as though you don’t. I’m sorry, I am ruining your nice evening. Please, forgive me.” He pulled her to him, noting the lovely smell of strawberries and coconut in her hair as he did. “You look incredible and the food smells sublime.”

“Part of me wanted to get a takeaway and stuff my face in the corner but I was thinking this is probably healthier and if I continue to eat okay will mean I will not have to be greased into a wedding dress when the time comes.”

Tom gave a disapproving growl at her ridiculing words. “To the best of my knowledge, you have never had to be greased into anything and I have seen pictures of you when you accuse yourself of being at what you deem your ‘biggest’ and it’s laughable. Also, if you did add a few pounds or even a few stone, I wouldn’t care because as long as you are healthy, I just care about you being happy.” He put his arms around her as he spoke before looking down, his pupils dilating at the sight his taller height bestowed him. “Though, I will never complain as to you wearing this dress.”

Danielle laughed as she noted his line of sight. “I can’t really say anything, you have long declared yourself a lover of breasts.”

“And yours are exquisite.” Her reaction was to lean up and kiss him, causing him to groan. “Dinner…” He reminded her.

“Another ten minutes.” Danielle pulled back as she spoke. “So get a shower to help you relax and when you come down, dinner will be served.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but with how wrecked I am, I will gladly accept it.” Tom kissed her again and went upstairs as Danielle let the dogs back in from a stint in the garden before readying the last of everything that was required for their dinner.

The meal was a pleasant affair, lighthearted and relaxed. Tom informed Danielle of some more Loki related work that Disney was considering. It was not finalised, but from what he gathered, both the Trickster and another character, of whom he was not made aware of, were getting their own mini-series if certain plans came to fruition.

“So that would be your beard gone?” Danielle asked.

“I would imagine so, yes.”

“Pity.”

“Good thing it can grow back,” Tom smirked, seeing the small smile she was trying to hide on her face. “Dare I ask, come the wedding, will you want me to have it?”

“I will want you to be comfortable and happy and so long as that does not include some naff Seventies mustard and brown suit and a “pervy uncle” moustache, I am not bothered how you look.”

Tom erupted in laughter at the image Danielle gave him with her words before looking at her and seeing the playful look on her face. “I missed this.”

“Missed what?”

“Your ridiculous playfulness. You were so tired from training and juggling us, work, the dogs, training and even helping Emma, you didn’t talk as much.”

“I sacrificed a lot for that achievement but I also forced you to sacrifice for it. Thank you for being so patient and staying by my side.” Danielle looked at him with sincerity, understanding more and more since she stopped her ridiculous training load, just how much she had sacrificed for that goal. She had known she would have to adjust her life for it, and many of the things she would have to cease or put to the side made sense. Late evening dinners out with friends, a social drink, her favourite unhealthy foods but everything really came to the fore when she looked at it now and one of the greatest things to be sacrificed was her time with Tom. She was a zombie from exhaustion more than once. She recalled him urging her to bed more often than her going at the same time as him fully awake. She did not always eat meals with him and she had all but become celebate in that time and to his due, Tom never once complained at her enforcing such a fate on him too. Danielle realised that the sacrifices she made were hers and for her goal but Tom did sacrifice things also, for her. She knew he would love to spend time with his friends comfortably in New York after the fashion show but he had chosen to rush back to her. She knew he also wanted them to go out for dinner like a normal couple more than once in that timeframe also, yet he never bothered her about it, because he wanted her to have the nutrients she needed. The early morning training sessions, the early morning starts for the practise races, everything, he did willingly, for her. Looking at his cerulean blues eyes, now almost permanently framed by his glasses, she saw the love she had for him returned to her with as great an intensity. “Thank you.”

The rest of the meal went well, both continuing to talk between healthy and comfortable silences. When at the end of it all, Tom began to try and stifle yawns, Danielle urged him to bed. “Only if you join me.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” She joked as she walked up the stairs ahead of him, the dogs having been dealt with for the evening. Danielle brushed her teeth and whatnot first before swapping out and allowing Tom to do what he required in the bathroom. While he was doing so, she took off her dress and began searching for her tattered old clothes she tended to wear in bed, since she had not planned to wear them but with Tom’s tiredness, she knew there would be no amourous fun for the evening.

“What…?” She turned to see Tom looked at her from across the room.

“What, Love?”

“You’re wearing the black underwear.”

“Yes?”

“Did you want to…?”

“What?” In all honesty, the lack of full sentences by Tom was confusing Danielle at this stage.

“You dressed sexily, cooked a nice dinner and wore these,” Tom explained as he walked towards her. “You planned on us having a romantic evening.”

“I did, and we did have a romantic evening, I thought.”

“But…” He looked at her breasts, which he noticed had decreased in size as a result of her tedious working out and diet, not by much, but they did not fill the cup as they had before. “You look incredible.”

“You took your glasses off.” She joked. Tom growled slightly and pulled her to him. “You’re tired, Love, we don’t have to do anything.”

“I want to.”

“You’re exhausted.”

“You’re sexy.” He silenced her next retort by kissing her gently nipping her lip as he urged her over to the bed, causing her to smile and do the same back to him, only tugging slightly as she did, knowing how much he adored that, pushing him so he was the one to fall on the bed in his t-shirt and boxers, which he had stripped to while she had been in the bathroom and straddled his hips. The shift in power, to her being on top made Tom moan as a small wave of excited pleasure surged through him, loving that she was taking control of the situation, her breasts in his hands, her crotch rubbing against his for friction, both loving the feeling. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“I’m sorry, never again.” She pulled at his t-shirt and let her hands slid over his chest, enjoying the feel of the slight bit of hair he had on his pecs.

Tom found himself conflicted. Partly because he wanted to control the situation, partly because he was loving how Danielle was controlling it.

When he tried to place his hands on her hips to turn them around for him to be on top, Danielle grinned and shook her head. “Not tonight.” She leant down and kissed him again. “Tonight, I am in charge.” She shirked down his body, toying with his nipples as she gently kissed and playfully nipped at the skin of his abdomen, loving the small line of hair that trailed from his navel down to his pubic region before sliding down his boxers and gently kissing the head of his hardened length, then finally, placing as much of him in her mouth as she could, using her saliva and enthusiastic tongue to moisten him. Inhaling deeply, she held her breath and took as much of him into her mouth as possible, gagging slightly as she reached the back of her throat, but forced her body to relax slightly before edging him in a little more.

“Elle.” Tom forced himself not to buck into her mouth, knowing she was already pushing herself to fit as much of him in as she could. “Fuck, so good.”

Slurping slightly and ensuring he was wet from her ministrations, she prowled over him again, giving Tom a chance to seize her face with his hand and encourage her forward to kiss him passionately. Whilst they kissed, Danielle slid Tom to her damp body and sank down onto him, throwing her head back and gasping as she felt him fill her, realising just how long it had been since they were intimate by how tight she felt.

For his part, Tom could not help the whine he made, Danielle’s body gripping tightly around him as he relished their having sex again after what felt like an eternity. At first, Danielle’s movements were slow and languid, but as she moved, Tom began to reach her most pleasurable point within her body as he slipped his fingers to just above where they were joined causing Danielle to gasp again as she moved with more purpose. Tom urged her to lean up slightly, meaning that she was not able to sit fully onto him, but rather than that causing them less pleasure, Tom urged Danielle’s hand to her clit before he gripped her hips and began to move her down as he leant up, their movements becoming sloppier as they both became more and more engrossed in the pleasure they were experiencing. Amongst it all, the crude noise of their bodies meeting became louder and all the more notable.

All too soon for Tom’s liking, he felt his gut tighten before he forced Danielle down until he was fully sheathed within her, groaning as his pleasure reached its peak. Above him, Danielle’s movements became less aggressive, knowing he would be sensitive from his release as she chased hers. With Tom’s fingers joining hers, Danielle felt herself get closer to her own orgasm.

“Come on, my beautiful Elle, I can feel how close you are,” Tom encouraged.

“Tom.” It was a plea as well as a whine, her body teetering on the edge of an orgasm. “I can’t…oh fuck!”

At the idea that she could not complete so close to her peak, Tom concentrated his thrusts back at the point in her he knew caused the most pleasure. It took all of a few seconds before Danielle’s body clamped around his and she gasped her release, her fingers, along with Toms, still rubbing and teasing her external nerves as Tom ensured to hit her internal ones in near a constant manner before gently urging her forward.

Before he could even attempt anything, Danielle placed her lips to his and moaned into the kiss. “I love you.”

“I happen to love you too, Miss Hughes.” He smiled with satisfaction.

Danielle could not help the snort of laughter she gave in return, loving the almost dopey grin he was giving as a result of his tiredness and orgasm. “I didn’t think you’d have the energy tonight.” She toyed with his hair as she spoke, loving how long it had become.

“After so long without you, I would have done an Ironman myself at the promise of getting to enjoy you once more.”

Danielle’ssmile fell slightly. “I’m sorry, I am so sorry that I caused you to have to endure the negative sides of that race with me. I thought, more than once that I was giving the air of disinterest. I wanted nothing more than to do this with you, but I was so tired so often.”

“I know. Don’t fret, Elle, I understand. It’s done now and we are on the road to more new and fun things in the future, which hopefully will not include being in your company for so long without sex.”

“It’s harder when we are both here and we don’t do it, I find you being away, or my being away, my brain just thinks, ‘Well, there’s no point in being horny, he’s not here’.”

Tom laughed at the silly voice she gave as her brain’s. “You are the most amazing woman,” he declared lovingly.

“I know, that’s why you want to marry me.” She gently allowed him to slip from her and curled up beside him. “And the reason I said yes was because I know a good man when I have one, and I am not letting you go.”

“I wasn’t going anywhere anyway.” Tom sighed as he felt his tiredness come to the fore once more, his body satisfied at finally having been fully sated once more.

#I Hate You I Love You #Chapter 163 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #wolfpawn

[speakupthinkup]

The Importance of Practice

Hello, all! Today, I wanted to talk to you about home practice and why it matters in the first place. When you think about self-improvement, recovery, or therapy, what do you think of? Do you envision a magical pill that you take, and all your problems miraculously go away? Or do you believe that improvement comes from effective, organized practice? Well, I’m here to say that at least when it comes to speech-language pathology, targeted practice is the path to recovery whether it is for voice, swallowing, cognitive, speech, or language therapy. Personally, I appreciate this truth. I feel that all too often we are prescribed a medication or an ointment, rather than empowered to achieve our goals or recovery by our own actions. Now, don’t get me wrong; I’d love for there to be a cure for any one of the symptoms I address in therapy, but until all these issues are in the rearview mirror, effective practice and therapy are the best way forward.

What should practice look like?

Any kind of practice must be based on your current level of ability. For example, if you can only effectively lift 20-pound weights, it doesn’t make sense to suddenly increase the weight to 50 pounds. Simply increasing the amount of resistance or increasing the difficulty of the practice alone will not bring about the desired result. Likely, it will just leave you feeling frustrated or when it comes to weightlifting feeling significant pain.

Practice needs to also take into consideration your interests and strive to be as practical as possible. This is especially true for adults. If an adult is working on improving his/her ability to follow through on tasks, it is better to use practical activities where strategies can be integrated in real-time (i.e., incorporating a written list and alarm system to help with effectively cooking and making a meal).

Additionally, practice needs to be geared to specifically what you are working on. For instance, if you are working on improving your reading ability, it doesn’t make sense for you to be practicing pronouncing speech sounds within certain words.

Practice also needs to make sense. So, if you’re not sure why you are being encouraged to complete a task, ASK...why am I doing this? Whether a given task is being recommended by your clinician or by your mom, he/she needs to be able to explain his/her recommendation in a way you can understand.

I am sure you have heard the token phrase that it takes 10,000 hours of practice to become an expert at something but is there such a thing as too much practice. I’m of the mindset that you can practice too much, but you can also practice too little. When it comes to doing therapy tasks at home, what’s the middle ground? Well, unfortunately, I can’t give a definitive answer to that as it is very individualized. However, I do encourage you to pay attention to yourself, your mind, and your body.

Your body is pretty good at letting you know that you need a break or that you’ve done enough for that day. Now, I’m the first to admit that I’m not always the best at acknowledging and responding appropriately to what my body is telling me. I do try to be more responsive to when I may need a break; I do this by reminding myself that I tend to be less effective at completing tasks and doing activities when I’m feeling more tired or burnt out. I also understand that sometimes a task cannot be avoided, but with appropriate preparation and time management, you can better prepare yourself and ready yourself for more effective completion of any given task.

When it comes to learning I think understanding this is really important, because if you’re exhausted, you’re not likely going to retain as much information as when you are well-rested and focused during a given activity. This is also applicable when you are trying to establish new behaviors, habits, and routines. So, remember that managing your energy level and knowing when you are most alert help to establish when you may want to tackle more demanding tasks.

Additionally, know that there are systems out there for time management and I encourage you to incorporate them, especially if it seems like you’re having difficulty establishing a good routine for completing therapeutic exercises. One example of this is the Pomodoro technique where you work for 25-minute periods and then take 5-minute breaks. More traditional practice methodologies incorporate a 50-minute practice schedule and then 10-minute breaks. These are just 2 examples of time management methods for practice.

I think it is also essential to be realistic and have appropriate expectations for therapeutic progress and growth. By setting realistic expectations and achievable goals, you’re setting yourself up for the greatest likelihood of success. Success in practice will likely motivate you to keep working harder and keep pushing yourself. Realize that if you are not making the desired amount of progress you may want to increase the amount of practice. We as people and myself included can settle into doing the bare minimum; just checking off that we did some task without actually applying any true effort to complete it effectively. You’ve probably heard that you get out of something what you put into it, and I think this statement readily applies to therapy. Keep this in mind as you incorporate any kind of therapy or practice at home.

Know that life is going to get in the way sometimes and you may not always be able to set up a perfect environment for practice, but don’t let ‘perfect’ get in the way of ‘good’ and ‘great’. Make the time and practice. When it comes down to it, starting to practice and especially regularly practicing are the biggest and most important first steps to therapeutic growth.

Lastly, I think it is pertinent to try to measure your own progress. Of course, your clinician or therapist will provide you with information on how you are doing and improving. However, taking ownership of your therapy is an integral component of optimal growth and progress. This is your life we’re talking about after all, and I personally want to see every individual I work with succeed. However, sometimes people don’t make the progress I think they’re capable of; that I know they’re capable of and I think part of the problem is lack of ownership when it comes to therapy. I know life is challenging and it’s hard for me to even fathom the difficulty some individuals are going through. But when you take the positive step to seek out therapy to improve yourself, you’re striving for something more. So, keep striving. Empower yourself by tracking your progress, by noting the little successes in every day, and by incorporating consistent, poignant practice.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this post. I hope it gave you some perspective on practice and working towards goals. Please check out other posts on my blog.

#growth #improvement #therapy #speechtherapy #better #bebetter #practice #exercise #readingtherapy #routine #behavior #modify #voicetherapy #swallowingtherapy #speech language pathology #cognitivetherapy #memorytherapy #attentiontherapy #dontgiveup #keeppushing #keepgrowing #keepgoing

[thebifrostgiant]

If You Know Where to Look - Part 14

Summary: in which you don’t have to fear for your life, you have a pleasant supper, and are briefly flirted with

Part 1 / Previous

Read on Ao3

Word Count: 3,049

Rating: T (for now)

Pairing: Loki/Reader

*

Chapter 14: Shadows Fall Behind

Loki lets his gaze rest on In-Hvassa, as it’s been doing so often as of late. His earlier confusion has mellowed into a temperate sort of curiosity, the uncertainty, the worry trickling away like a purulent sore that has been lanced and allowed to drain. Granted, there is still much he does not understand, so many facets to her, fickle and shifting like a reflection caught in a ripple of water. She is scared, he knows she is, but she is upright in the wake of it, trying to be brave as much as Loki himself is trying. But she is not scared of him.

He watches, unknown to her, as she sits in the chair she has established her claim on, hair tied back and up out of her face save for a few messy and loose stands, bare feet pulled up under her as she squints at the text of a book in the lamp light. He watches her hand creep up, almost unconsciously, frowning as her fingertips gently slide against her face, against the prominent scar there, feeling along the length of it. He looks away, his own hands clenching against the book he himself holds.

It isn’t the first time he’s seen her do that. Often, when she was deep in thought, distracted, or upset, her fingers would find the mar and rub at it like it was a smudge of dirt she could wipe away, or like it hurt and she was trying to soothe it, always with that frown, until she seemed to realize what she was doing and pull her hand back down like she’d been burnt. This time is no different.

Loki can’t quite swallow down the sharp taste of guilt each time she does it. And it is guilt he hasn’t earned. He realizes as much, rationally. But he cannot stop the feeling that he is to blame for it, that though he did not force her hand, he is at fault for the pain and the necessity of it. It is easier to rue the one tangible reminder than it is to reconcile an entire list of misdeeds. Cruelty is a trait as intrinsic in his very self as the blood in his veins, and while it has its place, is beneficial for some things, for his dealing with those who would harm him, would harm others, those like Einvald and Bǫlverkr, it is not something she had ever truly deserved from him. He had given it regardless.

And yet she has laid her life neither at his feet, for him to take sole responsibility for, nor firmly out of his hands, untrusting and reclusive, but at his side, steadfastly working with him to figure this out, to navigate the world they are in and balance on the line they walk. An ally. A voice to break through his thoughts and offer ideas, suggestions, things he would not have thought of on his own. A bolstering presence as dedicated to getting the fuck out of here as Loki is, relieving in the very fact that she shares this with him — not that he wants her to, not that he wants anyone to, but, he thinks privately, selfishly, it is better than being alone. More and more lately, a friend even.

She throws the book onto the windowsill with a clatter that pulls Loki from his musings, and lets out a miffed sigh, glaring at it like she could make it give her the answers she is looking by the heat of her gaze alone.

“Any luck?” he asks, just because he knows she’s had none.

She turns that glare at him, aware that he’s being a nuisance on purpose. He grins back, a bit toothily, and she relents with another huff of breath.

“No,” she says accusingly toward the useless book, and then glances at the rest of the stack she’s set aside to search through, looking weary. There are still so many, but there are fewer books in that stack than in the ‘hopelessly uninformative’ pile she’d already been through. “Please tell me you’ve found something?”

“Sorry.” Loki shrugs, because he hasn’t, in part because he’s not been paying full attention to his reading. “There just doesn’t seem much to find.”

“No. Midgard is not a very good repository for magical knowledge, is it? All I’m finding is card tricks and guides to dream interpretation, and a few of what seem to be children’s books.” She picks up another book with clear reluctance, and turns it so she can see the spine. “A Thrifty Wiccan’s Guide to Frugal and Benevolent Witchcraft,” she reads aloud, the color of distaste in her tone. “By Lyrica Nightshade. Do I even have to look at this one? I’m not even sure this is a real book.”

She rubs at her temples, looking about as miserable with the task as Loki feels.

“There’s only a few minutes until dinner time. It’s not worth it to get started on another book just yet. Let’s just get ready to go downstairs.”

Loki swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands and stretches out his back, carefully, mindful of his ribs. It still hurts when Loki moves the wrong way, when he stretches too far or makes any sudden shifts in his body, but now he can breathe in nearly all the way without choking on the pain, and he’s stopped needing to wear the bandage. It’s a relief to be rid of it, to be able to move his chest freely, without it chaffing and constricting and collecting sweat and dirt.

Oddly, though, he finds himself missing having In-Hvassa help him with it. He hadn’t thought he actually liked her fussing over him until she’d stopped needing to, and realized he’d sort of gotten used to the quiet care and concern for him. It was nice. She didn’t have to do it, but she did, and Loki is grateful, because he must have done something right to be rewarded by her genuine compassion. Somehow, somewhere along the way, she’d decided that he was worth being kind to, and much as he couldn’t wrap his head around it, couldn’t seem to fathom why, when she’d at first been so determined to lash out with icy words that stung as much as she’d meant them to, it gives him a new light to look at her in, and, he thinks, it’s a rather warm light.

He rolls the tension out of his shoulders, tips his neck side to side. Several popping noises ensue, and In-Hvassa looks up at him, brows furrowed.

“Maybe you should take the chair next time,” she offers. Then she adds, “you sound like an old man.”

Loki snorts.

“And you sound like my mother,” he returns good-naturedly. Funny, how he had demanded her respect when her flippancy is much more entertaining.

She purses her lips in a way that Loki knows means she can’t find a response to say to that, and he relishes the victory.

He makes his way to the door, where he’d set aside his boots upon entering and slides his feet into the familiar and comfortable black leather, stooping gingerly to do up his laces.

“Come get your shoes,” he calls, catching her eye over his shoulder. She still hasn’t gotten up from the chair.

“‘You sound like my mother,’” she mocks under her breath, loud enough for Loki to hear, not quite able to keep her mouth from twitching with a dawning smile. She heaves herself to her feet anyway, though.

Loki begins picking up the discarded books and placing them carefully into his shoulder bag, a sturdy thing of some stiff grey-green fabric with leather accents that Loki is actually quite fond of. The plasticky coatings on the books crackle as they shift and settle when he hefts the bag over his arm, and by the time he’s finished, In-Hvassa has done up the buckles on her own pair of boots, still new and crisp and obviously much preferable to the slippers she’d had before, if her lack of limping is any sign.

“Ready?”

She nods, and he follows her out the door and down the winding stairs, to the colorful and chaotic dinning room filled with mismatched bric-a-brac and an eclectic, changing assortment of people ever in transit.

***

You feel kind of bad for making Loki carry the whole mass of books when he is, still, injured, but he had insisted on it. The one time you’d offered to carry them for him, he’d told you no in no uncertain terms, with a stare so hard you hadn’t been particularly inclined to try again. You weren’t sure if it was pride or some misguided attempt at courtesy, the vestiges of his princeliness still in full force. But he seems to be handling it well, so you doubt the bandage will be making its return any time soon.

You sit next to Loki at the table, even though you’re among the first to arrive and there are many empty chairs. Loki has been, well, nice to you in the last few days, and being able to relax a bit in his company is something you’re glad of. You’re not adverse to all the strangers, all the people staying for various points of time and communing at the table, but you’re starting to know Loki in a way that all the changing faces don’t match up to. It’s become sort of a habit to have him around, and, well, that’s nice too.

All the food at this inn is typically served in big pots and platters filled up with an assortment of dishes, with each guest able to serve themselves what they desired from the feast. While the foods would vary from day to day, some things were staples of the evening meal, like baskets of fresh baked bread rolls, bowls of tossed greens, a mixture of vegetables cooked in butter, and some pale purple iced drink in a pitcher that seems to be a famous Primitive Raven special. You like it. It’s fruity and floral, and it has a bubbly sweetness that you can’t quite place. Loki refuses to touch it though, which you really think is his loss.

Today there are plates of some type of poultry that has been glazed and roasted, potatoes that have been mashed smooth with lots of cream and garlic, and long skinny green pods of beans in a tangy sauce. You fill your plate as the other guests start trickling in, solitary, or in groups of twos, or in one case, a family of five.

As you eat, you try to recollect anything helpful you might have read in the past few days, any trace of something that could be of aid, of transportation charms or cursed objects. There had been pitifully few even remotely helpful bits, and most of what seemed like it could have turned up something useful inevitably fell flat. You and Loki had checked his clothes for any talismans or inscribed runes that might have been drawn or stuck on there by Bǫlverkr, checked your own too, just in case, but every inch had been examined and re-examined with nothing to show for it. Which meant that it was probably a spell of some sort, and that may have been where Lyngvir came into the picture. Loki had mentioned before that Álfar magic was a tricky sort, one not understood well even by Aesir mages. Which meant that Midgard didn’t stand much chance at all, in hindsight, since there seems to be almost nothing even approaching true magic on this planet. Of all the realms you could have ended up on, it had to be the one that would be hardest to get back from. Well, at least it’s not Svartálfheim.

You push a bite of potatoes around the plate with your fork, distractedly wondering how long it would take to comb through the entire library’s worth of books, because, tempting as it is to give up and just let the assumption that the endeavor is doomed dictate your actions, to start afresh and come up with some new avenue to venture down and hope to come up with something, you can’t rule out even the slightest chance of there being some lead amongst the shelves of Midgardian literature. Even if you’d rather walk a mile in your old, terrible shoes than read another word.

Beside you, Loki sets his fork down and shifts his chair ever so slightly closer to yours, and you look up at him in question. He tips his head down so his mouth is level with your ear. It’s hardly the best approximation of privacy, but he whispers softly enough that you’re confident no one else has heard.

“The man three seats down on the other side of the table has been staring at you this entire time.” It’s a warning tone, concern and mistrust therein.

You smile, laugh a little bit, like Loki has said something delightful to you. Discreetly, you tilt your eyes to where, sure enough, a man who must be the one Loki means is in fact watching you with something that goes beyond curiosity. You’re not sure what it is, but you don’t like it one bit.

“What? I don’t have something on my face, do I?” you whisper back, trying to impart a little bit of humor to keep from letting that unsettled feeling take hold. But then the amusement falters and dies, because you remember that, yes, you do have something on your face. You very much do.

Your hand instinctively rises, intent on touching the scar, to hide it, even as useless as that would be at this point. Loki catches it in his own, fast as a blink, before you can lift it beyond chest height, stopping you from doing what would be something quite stupid indeed. Then he freezes, seems to realize that grabbing you like that, just on this side of violently, though you know that he had not meant it as such, could not possibly look good, would look, actually, quite appalling. Instead, he shifts his fingers around your own until he is simply holding your hand, a resemblance of tenderness.

You turn toward him, without letting your smile fall, because you don’t want anyone to think that he is actually hurting you when, you recognize, he is trying to do the opposite, trying, in his way, to protect you. And since you are facing him, you clearly see the impish idea light up his eyes as it fills his head, and you have but a moment to anticipate his next move, whether with dread or with eagerness, you don’t know.

Before you can decide if you should pull your hand back or not, he lifts it to his quirking mouth, the traces of a smile of his own, at his own mischief, lingering as he kisses your knuckles just like Brian had, just like you’d seen Loki do to Kathy, and Thor to Ülle. It’s almost sweet, somehow, the light brush of his lips on your skin, the little puff of air as Loki tries not to laugh, and you don’t even have to pretend to blush, just a little, and you’re sure that, to any outside perspective, you must truly look like a smitten couple quite taken with each other. And Loki must be having a bad influence on you, because you sort of enjoy the little performance, the illusion you’re creating, a bit of a lie, a bit of convivial wickedness.

Another secret glance reveals that the man is still watching you, still raptly studying the game you and Loki play, with an intensity that burns and a glare that’s even hotter.

Loki maintains his hold of your hand even as he lets it lower, lets it fall beneath the table. You don’t pull it away as you go back to eating, even though no one can see it, even though it’s not necessary for the act. His hand is cool, and surprisingly soft, in your own, and it’s... reassuring. It makes you feel less alone. You’ve got someone literally looking out for you, and you’ve seen just how formidable Loki can be. You still can recall in vivid detail — a marvel, considering your state at the time — Einvald’s face as the prince laid into him, the vicious, satiated feeling of watching the vile man stutter and cower, drained of blood and gall something that will likely stay with you all your life. You’d also been target of Loki’s rancor, though you’ve still not been able to figure out what had put you in that place to begin with, what had made you the object of his venom. But now... now he is not spitting at you or laying some web to entangle you.

Something warm presses against your palm, something smooth in parts and edgy in others, and after a moment, you recognize the feel of the little dagger, Loki’s little dagger, as he slides it into your grasp. You take it, wondering, hardly sure what to say.

Loki leans close to you again, close enough for his hair to tickle your face, for his urgency to be felt like a physical presence.

“Keep it with you, at least until that man isn’t staying here any longer.”

You nod, strangely earnest. You clutch the handle tightly as you swallow around the sudden gratitude warming your chest.

“I will,” you say out loud, because no one would know of what you spoke anyway.

“If he, or anyone, tries to hurt you,” Loki says, merciless, and you can almost feel the sharpness of his grim smile, “stick them with it.” He pauses, then, with a ghost of a laugh, adds, “In-Hvassa.”

You frown at that. You don’t like the name, don’t like not knowing what he means by it. It feels like an insult, like a reminder, and it makes shame squirm in your insides.

But he had sounded almost fond, and you finish your dinner knowing that, whatever else Loki had been in the past, you sit side by side with a friend.

Part 15 __________________________________________

*feel free to ask to tag/untag*

@steve-rogcrs @ps-ghost

#loki fic #loki fanfic #loki/reader #loki/you #loki x reader #loki x you #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki imagine #loki fandom #if you know where to look #bifrostgiant writes

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Between the pages | 02

Genre: fluff, angst, romance, smut, Werewolf AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: alpha!Namjoon x human!Reader

Warning: Mention of blood & rape.

Summary: Sometimes we find by sheer luck what we lost between the pages. The retrieval, however, is not always as fortunate.

Previous part / Masterlist / Next part

The calming aroma of golden pancakes mixed with the tang of bright orange juice and sweetness of freshly cut fruit can even be smelled under the shower regardless of the kitchen being relatively removed from the bathroom. Judging by the scent combination, it is mostly strawberries from the farm just out of town, which always brings back memories of the missing cousin of whom there is still no news up until this very day.

Withal, it is another particular perfume that tries to hide in the background and has only been noticed after having become fully aware of reality once more which makes washing off the returning nightmare, every sliver of it carried off with a drop sliding over tanned skin to the drain, that much harder. Especially since the aftermath seems worse than it has been since a long time, due to a reason that cannot be fathomed yet keeps pressing on a mute part of memory without coming through.

Something happened, but it is not clear what or Instinct is simply confused as it always is after having spent terrible hours in the dark in a semi-aware manner, needing to be cleared up like the rest of the body and mind.

Henceforth, although the essences of dawn normally nullify the hold of the dreadful dream and the abhorrent payoff, around this time of the month it does all but that. Quite to the contrary, thanks to the intruder, it forms an unconscious reminder of the animal within.

The family curse.

Nevertheless, if eyes remain closed and fingers just occupy themselves with washing silver strands and styling them in the hopes of staying put, the day can be started as any other. Begin a new twenty-four hours as a human, as a simple bookseller who lives with his restaurant-owning brother whose girlfriend stays over for at least a week straight once a month for not completely normal reasons. Tess resides with us during that period - customarily pushed to find the solution on the Monday of the third week - to solve Seokjin’s continuous problem with the apparently necessary noise.

To be honest, the same issue is caused by the affected creature inside mostly two to three days after, the tempting natural perfume of a mate already belonging to the real alpha of the Kim brothers not particularly helping whatsoever. In fact, if the rut has not started, it is almost suffocating because it also cruelly reminds of the voluntarily taken on loneliness in favour of being an ordinary individual.

Devoid of the risk of hurting a loved one in a primal craze.

Without Y/N.

Ironically, it so happens to be today that Seokjin is loudly taken out of the game if the zesty yet not overly pungent summery smell drifting in from beneath the bathroom door and leading through the living room to the general hallway is any indication. Henceforth, before the earthly brown wolf can drop any hint of wanting to rush out of the kitchen to open the door and completely abandon the focus on cooking breakfast, a fire hazard nothing to be worried about because continuing the bloodline has priority, bare feet already tread over the mulga floor to the cool clay tiles leading to the front door.

While ignoring the heavy musk to the best ability allows without gagging, slender digits of a grey wolf wearing a disguise decorated with casual jeans and a plain white T-shirt mould around the bronze knob to grant entrance to the mate of the dedicated alpha. Likely it is for the better it is me answering the doorbell because the cook already seemed very eager to turn on his heel to take on the task instead.

Anything for a somewhat tranquil start of the day.

Just one meal without any otherworldly hustle.

‘Please do something about Jin.’ Light eyes stare up into pure chocolate ones in amused surprise, the finger still reached out for the doorbell lowering while a smug smirk forms. ‘By the way, good morning.’

‘I felt the mating mark heat up around five in the morning but figured it wouldn’t be a problem until at least seven. But, just in case, I also set a monthly reminder because getting up early in the morning remains an art I’ll never master.’ The enjoyment of the previously made comment fades from a round face as the lingering negativity not washed away by warm drops unfortunately not filled with oblivion is noticed. Of course, it does not pass under the radar since the she-wolf immediately knows it when something bothers a person or peer, mainly due to working in the medicinal branch related to animals and thus also having to interact with their owners. Not that it is hard to miss in general if one is to go by the melancholy air about a posture that tries to hide the nightmare.

Briefly, eyes show a pop of honey gold, the severe mood bringing out the motherly omega. ‘You had that dream again, didn’t you?’

A nod, confirming the answer without speaking. Although genuine concern clearly comes through in speech, there is nothing that can be done to make the mind stop replaying the corrupted memory.

Nothing ever will be able to do so until sight has been graced with Y/N, alive and well, away from the community hidden within society.

A strange pity comes through in the vet assistant’s attitude, quite unlike the sort normally shown at the mention of what punishment Imagination conjured up during the dusky hours. Somehow that unrecognizable emotion strengthens the sense of something bigger having happened but missing out on the event and being blind to the impact.

Nonetheless, before a word can be spoken about the lingering suspicion - the sole other person available for talking to about personal beast-related problems is the absent psychiatrist who is a barista in his spare time in the bookstore - Seokjin rounds the corner, clearly elated at the sight of the small figure in the entryway.

‘Tess! Talk about timing. We were just about to eat.’ Wiping digits stained with the  traces of the preparation of the meal which is now unmistakably beckoning - bitter coffee mixed with the comforting scent of eggs and pancakes alongside that from the seasonal fruits - from the cherrywood dining table, a vapor of musk almost directly nullifies the fresher albeit regardlessly sickeningly nectarous scent emitted by a mate craving their alpha upon coming closer.

Ruby colours for a split second normally identical eyes, indicating actually having an appetite for a whole other type of sustenance yet wanting to keep up airs of normalcy for a defect pack member. Though it is well-meant, it does nothing in the way of feeling any more human than when going straight to the point and leaving the waiting meal for what it is.

Again irises change to a shade of crimson out of warning when briefly locking gazes, the instinct to protect especially against the attempted claim - or so it might feel like despite the lack of desire to actually do so - of another on the beloved moving the transformation instead of something personal. Judgment or conflict is never in place when real nature shows itself because, either intentionally or not, during this period of fertile madness Jin is not the overly caring sibling who makes cringingly bad jokes.

He is the very personification of the curse, the powerful and proud alpha.

The accomplished one, worthy of the old pure blood flowing through the veins.

Albeit a portrayal tainted by the endeavour to control it in favour of the brother who cannot cope with what becomes the other so incredibly well. The outcast who has never gained any sort of mastery over the second savage persona even after five years of hard training, discipline and medicines to repress primal urges once a month and put the overall bloodthirsty demon to as deep a slumber as possible.

All to no avail.

Still a failure after all.

A disgrace to the ancient Kim pack.

A low growl unintentionally escaping when putting an arm around shoulders reaching the height of the middle of the broad chest, the chef at home leads Tess to the dining room. Making sure all the while to steer her just outside the reach of another child of the moon, as the poets would say.

But there is nothing poetic about this story.

In spite of the underlying sentiment of rivalry in the current behaviour, there is no competition in vying for attention since a mark formed by pale pink ragged flesh, the wound has never truly healed, on the shoulder blade is the foundation for an unbreakable bond. Furthermore, the sole thing which has ever been wanted from the sibling’s partner is a listening ear and advice shaped by the greater knowledge about humanity, which has been cultivated by daily contact on a personal level with those unlike us. The latter, in particular, offers the comfort Seokjin at times cannot give due to not really having a sense of what it is like hating the image reflected in the mirror, resulting in mostly sitting on a nearby surface and fulfil the role of an absent deaf man.

Fortunately, the small girl does understand, though acceptance of the condition came soon after being mated by the same wolf who caused the radical shift in persona. It was a reckless decision, made on no other grounds than finally having the individual who has been held dear all this time as a part of the pack as an equal in terms of nature, regardless of thus adding credibility to the rumours about the illegal activities that have supposedly kept the bloodline alive.

Perhaps part of the accusations are true since not every relative, still walking the earth or concealed beneath its surface in eternal rest, has had to endure the curse from the moment of birth. Nevertheless, all of them have forgotten at a certain point what living is like by simply going day by day without any supernatural powers or being similar to any other little piece of existence strolling the pavement.

What it is like to be normal.

This type of ignorance was the reason for moving in with the brown-haired chef alongside the man’s recognition the current environment was everything but healthy, pushing the choice a bit under the mirage of unconsciously doing so to keep up appearances for parents unapproving of any wolf unlike them. Certainly of dishonouring mongrels running amok, though they have not found out up until this very day the youngest son is one.

Breakfast passes in silence devoid of the comfortable atmosphere normally hanging in the air, even during the week wherein getting proper rest is pretty much impossible for each affected party because of various reasons. Eyes try to remain focused on the stack of golden pancakes dribbled over with honey which softens the bitter taste of the daily espresso, but thoughts keep drifting off to the images repeating themselves through the night and the nagging feeling of overlooking something significant. The latter especially applies this morning thanks to Tess’s weird expression earlier regardless of the fact it might not be related to the suspicion whatsoever.

‘Namjoon, are you- Babe, please, not yet.’ In place of opting for eating, the alpha across the table has begun softly nibbling on the mating mark on the side of a pale neck while purring, clearly wanting to retreat to the bedroom as fast as possible. However, the beloved obviously has another idea as a laborious push puts distance between a heated body aching with sensual craving and the one reacting to it but trying to hold off to make sure the third wheel is not dismissed without further notice. ‘Are you alright?’

Appetite entirely subsides as the gleaming polished metal fork is put down beside the half-filled plate, only one pancake having been touched at all. With an air of casualty to mask the growing sense of concern, the inquiry is answered. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not like this is the first time it happened. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.’

‘He hasn’t told you, has he?’ The eyes of the smaller brown she-wolf soften before becoming fierce when turning to Jin, the stern sentiment flowing over in speech. ‘You said you’d talk to him.’

‘I forgot, dear.’ A shaking exhale betrays the inner fight for control, wanting to surrender to Primality already yet aware that the apparently important subject at hand needs to be discussed. ‘I didn’t want to trouble him and you know he can’t help it.’

‘Told me what? What’s going on?’ As has been the case from the moment of moving in with the older sibling, certain details have remained hidden out of the belief it would only benefit the care for a monster desperately and comically trying to play pretend at being human. Notwithstanding, the concealment has never continued over a longer period of time since aroused suspicions pushed the urge to gain answers despite their potential ugliness.

And it does so again right now, wanting to hear the true tale, aching to know about the damage.

Because, judging by the knot forming in the gut, the beast within has reigned supreme again in spite of the efforts to tame it.

I took the pills. But why can I remember a different taste of blood so vividly then? It was delicious. Human. I haven’t... I’m not a monster. The medication should have done its job and Jin would never take me to a place where people would be when I’m... not myself. I must be wrong. I have to be. But it was so so good.

‘Are you going to do it or shall I?’ The intonation of the vet assistant suggests a severe approach to the pressing topic is about to be taken and, apparently, by her since no reply comes from the barely sensible alpha. An almost inaudible resigning sigh escapes lips before softening the gaze turning towards the discombobulated and gradually getting more gravely agonized demonic bookseller. ‘Joon, do you remember where you were on the last full moon, two weeks ago?’

‘Why do you ask? I was in the woods, far away from the town.’ Nothing was different from the normal procedure on rough amnesiac nights, going to the remote forest in the distant valley about an hour and a half to two hours drive away from home after having made the necessary preparations.

Thus far there has been no obvious trigger for the discomfort making the body shift nervously from side to side on the chair, the ministrations ever so scarcely noticeable though the sharp animalistic senses belonging to the present company clearly pick up on the unrest. However, neither of the couple seems to have eased as well as the talk carries on. In fact, it can be said each party is only growing more restless in the face of reaching an outcome that cannot be evaded.

With a new question, though, it is nevertheless tried. ‘Did you take your medicines?’

At the discovery of the futility of the long hours of supervision and training, a final resort to medicinal treatment was taken after extensive research on effects and risks with Hoseok and Jin. The former dove deep into the archives and is the sole person with knowledge about how to make the non-lethal pills, which have been helpful in the attempts of becoming more like the man who is aspired to be like since they suppress the rutting symptoms to a bearable and manageable degree. Though still having to retreat from society for a hurtful long irregular week, the pain of being unmated alongside the haphazard transformations would have been grander were it not for the repressing concoction of wolfsbane and silver, just enough to keep the beast within sedated.

Such an untamable creature had not been dealt with since the last similarly powerful children of the moon had been eradicated by the end of the 17th century, all of them ticking time-bombs about to explode and betray the well-concealed kin and peers to the public. Henceforth, albeit bittersweet, multiple alphas, betas and omegas who were present during the executions were relieved that the secret remained in spite of not directly showing it in the direct light of the demise of faces both known and foreign.

Later on, as science developed and the belief in werewolves transformed into a mental disease called “lycanthropy”, renegade wolves were sent to asylums like Lambeth by family members in hopes of the doctors being able to help at least a bit in the transformation of an inherently savage nature. However, as with every form of progress, details were missing in the earliest versions of research, thus causing failures from which others might learn. Hence is why treatment regularly failed, ending in death either by an overdose on the mixture of poison taken today in a lesser amount as an anaesthetic or the syringe.

That was the fate for those who were given a chance at endeavouring, or were, rather, forced to change but still had help. Yet there were also the madhouses specifically designed for execution where most of the Oldbloods, ancient werewolf families like the Kims, sent their uncontrollable relatives for they were the true dangers to the civilization that were dealt with more cruelly in the past.

Far beyond redemption.

Like me.

Fortunately, with the extreme rareness of the condition nowadays and the mental institutions gradually closing, a sole one is left active to extract death punishment on order of The High Council, the organisation consisting of the heads of every Oldblood family and its branches which discusses issues like ongoing affairs and crimes against the race. Otherwise, they have become another fragment of the past obscured by human history while some remember the truth behind the story and fear the last living remnant.

A nod assures the reply to the pharmaceutical question, fairly certain if not entirely of having done nothing to stray from normal protocol. ‘Yes.’

But the short comment is taken with a grain of salt, motherly doubt coming through in the tone of the reaction. Although the alpha’s girlfriend means well - always taking care of not only the beloved boyfriend but also his brother in whom a sort of peer was found at the first meeting - the careful approach serves the irritation building up at being kept in the dark about something clearly gone wrong. ‘Are you sure?’

I did silence the voice of the wolf. But, the prey was delicious, the flesh was so tender despite the muscle. No, I took the pills. The hunt was certainly worth the trouble. No, there was nothing but sheep’s blood in the end.

But if that is the reality of the issue, then remembering should not end at the empty abyss forming part of the memory gap. ‘I think I did.’ Quick glances are shared between the omega and the mate on the adjacent seat, who manages to - albeit temporarily yet impressively - repress every primal desire to pick up on the mental war being waged across the table in the eyes of a haunted soul which has finally found the key to the reason for the nagging feeling of ignorance. Guilt mixes with fear and self-loathing into a dangerous concoction that mostly follows the image of having killed Y/N, unable to stop the creature from devouring her.

The sole grace which is sometimes granted is that the woman who was to become the wife of a bookseller is not raped before the crimson flows richly.

But this time around there is no redemption.

Only pure agony.

Gaze averts from the amiable company to the cherrywood surface of the table, trembling fists filled with inward hatred underneath. This should not be happening, been left behind long ago. This cannot end with death in a clinical environment if the building and reasoned assumption proves truthful. ‘What have I done?’

I should be better than this, be more in control of myself. This isn’t me, some murderous beast. I’ve never wanted to be like this. But... I am... and it has cost me my wife and now even myself. Why can’t I remember?

Seokjin proves to be the one to take the lead in breaking the news, pausing every so often to remain calm and composed, for as far as that is possible when the rut is tainting each aspect of common sense. ‘One of my employees, Jungkook, is hospitalized. He was camping with his girlfriend in the woods and was attacked by a rabid animal.’

Pause, taking a moment to clutch an arm around the stinging pain in the nether regions, the body sick of having to wait to procreate and wanting to start a family right this instance.

Continue, regret distorting a steady voice.

‘I went by during visiting hours last week for further investigation, ask a few questions, but he was barely conscious. Pumped full with morphine, fortunately, because a quick look under the sheets told me enough about the wound on his hip. Not a pretty sight and the pain can only be fathomed. However, he kept anxiously mumbling about a monster black as night with red eyes. I tried to make sense of it without thinking of you, Joon, I really did.’

Pause, trying to suppress a familiar potion of anger and inward hatred that has been drunk many times before by a bookseller.

Continue, a sliver of panic seeping in.

‘Later, as I was about to return home, I came across Hoseok in the hallway, worried just as much as I was. He, too, asked me the same questions we asked you because he said the woods where Jungkook was found were the place where we go on full moons.’ A hush befalls the room as the information is pieced together and sinks in. ‘I know I fucked up big time and for that, I am tremendously sorry. Jungkook just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, but you also know what this means. It is merely a matter of time before they find out and can use this against you, against our family. I know I am guilty of the crime of turning as well, but the rabidness inside will deliver you to the end of the line. I don’t want to lose my baby brother.’

‘Serves me right because I should be punished for the mistake, not our family. This is not worth losing ground over.’ For with the loss of honour, comes the loss of power. And that is not a burden to be placed upon the people who unintentionally failed in raising a second heir.

‘Namjoon...’

I’m sorry I failed you, Y/N. I know I should be apologetic to Jin, but it’s you who has kept me going all this time, let me anticipate a reunion. I’m sorry, baby. For everything. For never having been nor have the potential to be the right man if human at all. For being me.

None of us says it, but right across from amber and ruby eyes sits a disgrace unfit to ever lead the pack nor rule the territory in its name.

A lunatic that not even an asylum can save.

A dead man whose hands should have tied the noose already a long time ago.

The beast incarnate.

#BTS #Bangtan #BTS x Reader #BTS smut #BTS Werewolf AU #Werewolf AU #BTS Bookshop AU #Bookshop AU #Namjoon #RM #Kim Namjoon #Joon #Jin #Seokjin #Kim Seokjin #Werewolf!Namjoon #Alpha!Jin #Alpha!Seokjin #Alpha!RM #Alpha!Namjoon #Between the pages