#health issues my father went through

[malicedragoness]

Finally realized why I’ve been such a depressed mess lately. May 3rd will be two years since my dad passed away.

Mid April his health started declining. And around this particular time is when he was admitted to the hospital. Each day my mom would send text messages on his condition and what the doctors were saying. None of it was good.

Some of his vertebrae were collapsed in his lower spine. Sclerosis in his liver and his blood infection came back with a vengeance. He had mini strokes which threw his infections to his joints, spine, brain, heart, and lungs.

I remember calling my mom after that text message and asked her if he was going to die.

She sounded so confidant that he was going to be all right. The doctors were taking care of him and they had treatment plans set up for him. It assuaged me at that time.

And little did I know, that my mom and I were in denial. Because two days later is when they called her and said that he’s not responding. A whole cup of blood shifted to one side of his brain.

When rushed to the hospital and when I saw my dad, I knew he couldn’t be saved. But my mom and uncles refused to accept that answer. It took the hospital getting a brain surgeon on the phone to explain that he could do the risky surgery. But even if he survived he would be in a vegetative state. That’s something my dad wouldn’t want, so we elected to let him go.

I was also three months pregnant at that time and going through health issues with that pregnancy. And having to deal with my dad passing made me emotional, bitter, depressed, and angry at the world. I felt cheated that he wouldn’t get to see his second grandson. (We didn’t even know I was having a boy at that time.)

And my daughter Sigourney was only four at that time. My dad was her favorite person. And trying to explain to an innocent child that has no concept of death was heartbreaking and difficult. All we could tell her was “Paw is at the doctor. He isn’t feeling well and won’t be able to come home anymore, sweetie.”

That whole year was so traumatizing for her. I wanted to take that pain away from her so bad. Everytime she would hear the doorbell, she would get excited thinking it was him. And then burst into tears when it wasn’t him.

Eventually, she understood he was gone and wouldn’t be coming back. But then anytime my mom or myself went to the doctor she would get scared and plead with us to not go. She would cry and say “I don’t want you to leave me! You won’t come back!” It took a long time for her to realize that we wouldn’t disappear if we went to the doctor. Every now and then she gets teary eyed thinking about my dad. But she’s doing better now.

Last year I didn’t cry when his one year anniversary of his death came around. I just wanted it to be a normal day like any other and just think about happy memories of him. I avoided all phone calls and texts of people checking up on me. I didn’t want to repeat the same conversation over and over again and hear how sorry everyone was about his passing.

I went through that when he died and it drove me crazy. I remember wanting to vomit when I got another phone call right after another one. That ball of dread of having to repeat what was going on, how long he was in the hospital, how he died, and everything made me nauseous and upset. I texted my husband I was turning my phone off so I could get away from everyone’s fucking “I’m sorrys”.

And I didn’t want to go through that on his one year anniversary. But now this year, I’ve been a crying, depressive mess.

My brother finally brought his urn over to my house yesterday, and it’s like it hit me all over again.

I may take some time away, most likely just this week, to get my bearings together. I miss my dad. I wish he could’ve seen my son. I wish he could see my kids grow up. He was so excited to be a grandfather and he only got to do it for four years. It’s not fair. Sigourney and Donatello are gonna grow up and not get to have his love the whole time. Donnie doesn’t even know who he is and will never know what his voice sounds like.

I miss him so much.

#‘read more’ incase this triggers anyone #depression #emotional issues #family member death #health issues my father went through #a little graphic #LONG POST

[thedeadthree]

🌿🍃🌱📗🧪🩺🩻🥼

#leg.txt #HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY TO MISS YELENA VORONIN and! ROMAN my girlies! ✨🥺 #the birthday twinsies! which i love that they have the same birthday? same zodiac but COMPLETELY different personalities and birth charts! #astrology my beloved ✨😌 which was something i LOVE about these two characters ✨😌 #polar opposites in every way but best friends all the same! #yelena as of new vegas and the new canon im working on for this is in the mojave with alaric and kellan! #eline and morgaine (my old courier and morgaines FORMER best friend which the reasons for this will be coming soon ✨😌) #but specifically eline may or may not know of a way to access the entrance into the area and….. he wants in! #and since yelena caught wind of the conflicts in the mojave and wanted desperately to help (bc she’s a SAINT) they set off! #kellan believes as well that through an old colleague of his fathers that arthur (his dad) might have went that way ✨🥺 #alaric was in search of a way to get into big mountain (u know bc science TREASURE trove for that mad scientist husband of hers ✨🥴) #AND team roman consisted of kai and minerva! and both teams arrived at different times with yelena and alaric having gotten there first #and while yelena and alaric are in new vegas and found eline (who sort of betrayed she has REASONS morgie and is there) roman finds morgaine #with victor! which maybe I’ll write about her meeting them? it’s fun! roman is bad at making new friends and the gang calls her out on it #like? oh yea sorry about ur head do u know where your friend is? SKDJXHJX ROMAN #OH and a update for y’all as i had to step back ✨🤧 #ahhh my wicked wacky week of health episodes is over ✨🤧 it was the WORST i tell ya #it was like? my stomach? and back issues? ✨🤧 so i had to take a step back but im feeling so much better now! ✨ #I NEEED TO CATCH UP ON MY ASKS + TAGS THEYRE TAKING ME A SECOND BUT IM DOING THEM ✨🤧🤍🤍 ty so much dears! #(hopefully my computer won’t fry while I write them this time too ✨🥴) #do not rb! 🌿 #*personal

[nightingalesighs]

.

#love how my mother manages to insert herself into my issues w my father #when in reality my father doesn’t talk about her except to ask me how she is #and the only way my feelings about her fit into my relationship w him is resentment and anger AT him bc he knew what she was like and #left me w her anyway #(which the situation is SO MUCH more nuanced than that but yknow bb!nightingale is hurt and desperately wants someone to acknowledge the #the terrible shit she went through and rn i am that person and I AM angry about it bc she deserved better) #BUT BACK TO THE ORIGINAL POINT #it’s just so #idk like it’s one of the few objective ways i KNOW and can see how shes doing this and know shes wrong bc for once i actually trust my #perception #and its MINDBLOWING guys. she couldn’t be more tangential to this scenario and relationship and yet while discussing it she still manages to #make it about her #which shouldnt surprise me. this is my life rn. i cant even talk about my own health wo her making the conversation abt her #it’s just WILD #anyway #hellsite therapy

[gyudons]

despicable

updates as of 22 oct

Travis Dermott knew that he would draw attention with his actions in the Coyotes’ home opener against the Anaheim Ducks at Mullett Arena on Saturday. The Arizona defenseman just hoped that the spotlight might shine on the issue that he was addressing, not on him.

“You don’t really want to go against rules that are put in place by your employer, but there’s some people who took some positive things from it,” Dermott said. “That’s kind of what I’m looking to impact.

“You want to have everyone feel included and that’s something that I have felt passionate about for a long time in my career. It’s not like I just just jumped on this train. It’s something that I’ve felt has been lacking in the hockey community for a while. I feel like we need supporters of a movement like this; to have everyone feel included and really to beat home the idea that hockey is for everyone.”

“I won’t lie,” said Dermott, who is playing on a one-year, two-way contract. “From the outside, it’s easy to see that I’m putting my career on the line for something. I definitely went through some emotional ups and downs that night, not regretting anything by any means, but I’d love to have maybe done a couple of steps a little different by making sure that everyone was aware of what was going on before I did it.

“I don’t want to put my teammates or my coaches or my GMs or the equipment managers in any kind of bad light when it’s their job to kind of look out for something like this happening. It was definitely something that I did just by myself and was prepared to kind of deal with whatever repercussions the league decides to push towards that. I’m not going to back off and say that this battle is won, but we’re going to find better ways to do it.”

As Dermott noted, LGBTQ+ inclusion is an issue that he has supported for a long time. Without getting into specifics, Dermott said the issue is personal for him because it impacts people close to him.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t shed tears about this on multiple occasions,” he said. “So yeah, it’s something I’m definitely very passionate about.

“I’ve met a lot of people that from the outside, it looks like they have everything going right in their life and they have a smile on their face every time they talk to you. But sometimes when we get closer to people and get comfortable enough for them to open up to you, you can see that there’s some pretty dark stuff happening to some good people. It doesn’t take too many times encountering something like that for it to really change someone.

“I’ve been blessed to have some of those opportunities put in front of me to really change my view of what being a good person means; what being a good father and a good example and role model means going forward. You really see how people are hurting and it’s because of a system that maybe no one’s intentionally trying to be malicious about, but until you’ve really had that first-person experience seeing people hurting from it right in front of you, it’s tough to kind of take steps.”

It would be a surprise if the league handed down any sort of punishment. The optics alone would add to the public relations damage that the original ban created. Even so, Dermott reiterated his desire to bring the entire franchise into the fold before he takes similar actions in the future, but he also made it clear that he will not be silenced on the topic.

“It’s not like I’m shutting up and going away,” he said. “I know more questions are going to be coming. We’re just going to be as prepared as we can be to just spread love. That’s the thing. It’s gay pride that we’re talking about, but it could be men’s health. It could be any war. It’s just wanting world peace. Everyone’s got to love each other a little bit more.

“Like my parents said growing up, ‘How awesome would it be to be the guy that people look up to?’ That’s what really hit home when I was a kid, especially from my mom. You want to grow up and be that guy. You want to be the guy that’s having the impact on kids like NHL players had on you. If they had been racist or bigoted, that’s going to have an effect on you.

“With how many eyes are on us, especially with the young kids coming up in the new generation, you want to put as much positive love into their brain as you can. You want them to see that it’s not just being taught or coming from maybe their parents at home. They need to see it in the public eye for it to really make an effect.”

#nhl #pride #lgbt #gay #queer #hockey

[lunamugetsu]

Danny is an ao3 writer

Hear me out!

Y'know how there's a running joke that ao3 authors/writers will put in the author's notes that they're sorry that they took so long to update and their reason is because of either they got into a horrible accident/ life threatening health issue/serious personal issues/ their life went up in flames figuratively or literally, or somehow a combination of all of those scenarios. And they're all like "Well enjoy the chapter! tee-hee!" and everybody who's reading it all collectively go "are you okay?!" (aka the ao3 writers curse)

So I want to take this, and add Danny

Danny begins taking a liking to the classic literature that Mr. Lancer talks about during class and decides to writes a fanfic about it along those lines. It all starts for when he writes a Pride and Prejudice fic where Charlotte gets a better life where she's both happy and comfortable. And when he gets pretty supportive comments about it. He starts writing fics for other books as well (and it never stops)

During that time, who else but the Jane Austen fan, Jason Todd reads this fic. Yes he reads fanfic (do not ask him about his ao3 history), he yearns for more Jane Austen, but unfortunately she's not exactly able to write more books for him to read. So he turns to ao3 where there are some people who have incredible talent for writing pretty good regency era romance.

So what happens when he finds a couple of Pride and Prejudice stories written by " HalfDeadHalfAliveWriter

And when reading through the stories and looking at the author's notes.

All with very weird scenarios happening to the writer that he can't be sure that if it's a joke or if it's an actual thing he should be very worried about.

Author's notes such as:

Sorry it took so long for me to update this I was being shot at by my parents and ended up getting a burn on my hand and couldn't use my computer for awhile.

Sorry the chapter's so short, all the people in my town are being possessed by a hoard of angry ghosts because somebody had a bright idea to steal an artifact that belongs to an ancient civilization. So I had to get this out quick before they ruin my wifi connection

Sorry I haven't updated in awhile, I had to fight off a crazy guy that is obsessed with killing my father so he could marry my mother and become my new stepfather.

Sorry for the wait I got sent back to Ancient Egypt by my mentor to hunt down a runaway ghost that was messing with time.

But honestly the most recent author's note on a fic that hadn't been updated in week is what makes Jason really worried.

Sorry for not updating for a couple months guys, I was taken by a government agency that started vivisecting and torturing me. Thankfully my sister and friends busted me out and now I'm working on healing up. Anyway here's the Great Gatsby fic where Nick and Gatsby kiss.

After reading that author's note, Jason just sits there thinking only one thing.

What the fuck?

#dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc au #dpxdc #dp x batman #Jason just sitting there not really knowing how to react to these authors notes #I imagine that Danny is completely chaotic when writing author's notes but completely professional when writing his fics #Imagine the downfall of the GIW starts with Danny writing fanfiction #that's something he'll never let anyone forget

[gatheringbones]

[“I told my mother I thought I might be trans in a lengthy and overly apologetic email, which she didn’t quite know how to respond to. From her perspective, my transition had popped up out of nowhere, with no prior warning signs. She was convinced I had been brainwashed into transitioning, and agreed to meet my counsellor for a joint meeting with me, primarily to meet the person she felt had brainwashed her child into transitioning.

My mother describes her first meeting with me presenting as Laura as very difficult for her, due in no small part to her inability to see me as anything but her very traditionally masculine son in a dress. For a while she knew but did not talk to my father, which she found very difficult. She told me years later that she went through a period of mourning, feeling like her child had died, and that she was left with a stranger she did not know. It put a lot of strain on her, and on our relationship as parent and child.

Why the assumption I was brainwashed? Because of autism infantilisation.

Before we talk more about my journey coming out as transgender, we have to rewind a little bit to something else that went on at around the same point in my life: my diagnosis of Asperger’s. By the time my mother attended that appointment and met me as Laura for the first time, I had already been diagnosed with Asperger’s, which was part of the reason she was so worried about me. She was not aware of any statistical link between autism and gender dysphoria, and in her eyes I was a vulnerable young person with an autism spectrum condition who was being manipulated into transition because I was easily swayed, or lacking in ability to assess my feelings on the matter properly for myself. This is depressingly common: an adult’s assumption that having an autism spectrum condition means you’re incapable of proper self-understanding, or that you’re susceptible to being manipulated into believing things about yourself that you did not previously. You’re not trusted as being of sound mind to make choices about your own life, out of fear you’ve been manipulated.

Speaking to my mother years later, now she has somewhat settled down and got used to me going by Laura and female pronouns, she told me that her biggest fear, and the primary reason she agreed to attend that first joint session together, was that, as a youth with Asperger’s, my therapist was influencing me into believing that I was trans. She feared it was some kind of brainwashing that my gullible mind could not resist the allure of, rather than believing my own account of what I was experiencing.

I also faced this same issue with doctors when trying to access medical support through the NHS. I would have general practitioners, mental health doctors and gender specialists alike raise an eyebrow when I acknowledged my Asperger’s diagnosis, and then proceed to take plenty of extra time asking me lengthy questions about how my autism symptoms manifested, to ensure I was of sound enough mind to make permanent choices about my body. Apart from the obvious infantilisation of people with conditions like Asperger’s on display there, I always just explained it as being like the decision to get a tattoo. I am an adult, over the age of 18, who has been deemed sober and mentally sound, and as such I have every right to permanently inject colours into my skin that may never go away. Why should I not be trusted to take slow-acting meds that are somewhat easier to reverse? Still, the fact I had to fight to be believed that I was mentally sound enough to make that choice says a lot about misunderstandings about autism spectrum conditions, but highlights that to assert that transition is unique in the permanent nature of its change to the body is completely inaccurate.”]

laura kate dale, from uncomfortable labels: my life as a gay autistic trans woman

#laura kate dale #lesbian literature #trans literature #currently reading #gender stuff

[readychilledwine]

hi, would it he okay to request one where it’s reader x azriel and they’ve been struggling with fertility/getting pregnant. And after a while reader finds out she’s not only pregnant but with triplets😭😭 and they’re all crying happy tears together sith the ic and celebrate😭😍

I was struggling with fertility and finally got pregnant after so long and I couldn’t be happier, so seeing dad az would be so amazing, but I read ur latest post so if it’s a lot then please feel free to ignore ❤️❤️

No. This is perfect. I can do this. 💙💙

Azriel Week Day 6 Prompt - Past and Future - Threefold

Summary - After years of trying and unsuccessful attempts, you and Azriel finally receive everything you've asked and prayed for threefold.

Warnings - high-risk pregnancy, labor (nothing graphic), babies, illusions to miscarriages, inferred toll of pregnancy on mental health (its hard.)

A/n - this fit too perfectly for @azrielappreciationweek dad Az is my favorite to write as a father simply because his inner child deserves to heal 💜

Madja and Rhys held your upper body as another bout of sickness ripped through your stomach. You hadn't felt right for several days now. You were exhausted and irritable, and lately, nothing has stayed down.

Rhys pulled your hair back, rubbing small circles into your back. "I can call for Azriel, y/n," he offered again. "He's only doing some follow up things in Windhaven. There are no new issues."

Madja looked at the High Lord. Calling for him silently in her mind. It was clear to the healer what was going on, and she wanted you on bed arrest immediately. You and Azriel had been trying and struggling to have a babe for years. She inclined her head to Rhys, motioning for him to follow her.

"She's pregnant," she boldly said. "The scent is faint, meaning it's early, but her morning sickness indicates multiples." Rhysand's face fell, joy, happiness, fear, sadness all washing over him. You and Azriel were the last of the circle without children.

He and Feyre had 4, Cassian and Nesta had 2, Lucien and Elain had 2. Even Mor and Armen had adopted children. But you and Azriel? You had been trying for years now, and unsuccessful attempt after attempt had led to you two in long fights, heartache, and emotional turmoil.

"Were they even trying?"

Madja nodded at the question. "We tried one last alternative method. It was very painful for her. That's why I need you to command her to bedrest, Rhysand. For them."

The High Lord reentered the bathroom, gently picking you up after you finished brushing your teeth and began the pathway to your room. "You're done working for today. I'm calling for Azriel." Madja opened the door for him, watching as he gently set you down on the soft sheets and blankets you had already started subconsciously nesting with. "You will not leave this bed unless one of us is here with you."

The Riverhouse set food and water on the table, indicatine needed you needed to eat. "Madja, what's going on?"

The old healer looked at you. "I'll be able to give you a better answer once Azriel is here and I examine you."

Azriel flew hard. Not wanting to be away a single second longer after Rhysand's urgent message. He landed with a thud, and instantly went into Rhysand's office where he and Cassian sat in silence. "Where is she? What's wrong?"

Rhys motioned for him to sit and Cassian handed him the whiskey he was nursing. Rhys sighed, "She's pregnant. Madja thinks there's multiple. You're both done. You will distribute your missions until further notice and stay with your mate." Rhys paused as Azriel threw back the expensive whiskey. "Madja is with her and waiting for you for the exam."

You were laid back, Azriel holding your soft hand in his scarred ones near his mouth as he kissed each knuckle. Madja was glowing, hands over your abdomen. You watched her mouth twitch and Rhysand stop pacing in the corner before he started to just laugh. "You are indeed pregnant, my dear. With three healthy developing children. Maybe 6 weeks." Azriel's face fell first, looking at Rhysand in panic. "I will leave you two with your High Lord. He is aware of my opinion given your history." Madja left the from gracefully, a firm smile cemented on her face as she walked into the hallway where the Inner Circle waited.

Rhysand moved to the foot of the bed, leaned on the post as he looked between you and Azriel. "You're on bed rest. You will not leave this bed or go anywhere alone. No training. No long walks. No long trips into town. We," he motioned between himself and Azriel, "will set the nursery. You, my dearest y/n, will no longer lift a damn finger." Azriel had not moved, his eyes locked on you. Rhys took the silent message, leaving the room as Azriel moved onto the bed with you, his mouth immediately on yours as that dam broke and tears began to fall.

"3?" He asked in shock, a hand going to your stomach. "And 6 weeks? You're already to where-"

"I know," you interrupted softly. "If we can make it 2 more weeks, it'll be the furthest we've made it." Azriel's hand tilted your head to his, and he kissed you softly.

Azriel paused. "Rhys is asking Madja if she'd be willing to stay here with her own chambers. They're also all setting up a rotation to ensure one of them is always with us."

You nodded, hand going over his to rest on your stomach. "3."

"3," he whispered back.

6 weeks passed without complications. At, 12 weeks and you were halfway to that safe period Madja had promised. The healer had her hand over your stomach, glowing in her magic and happiness.

"Such healthy little heartbeats." You felt Azriel's body language relax and his hand gently squeeze yours. "Everything looks very healthy so far. I will not lift the bedrest, though."

You looked at Azriel, silently pleading for him to advocate for you and were met with a soft apologetic gaze. "No," he commanded softly. "You stay here. I stay here. We stay here." House arrest, bed rest, that was the only issue so far. You were used to your work, to running daily, to anything but this. Madja left with a small smile as Azriel whispered thank you, and you began to cry. "I know, my love-"

"No you don't. You do not know what it's like to be trapped here. I can't even go outside without Rhys or Cassian appearing out of fucking no where. I miss the sun, the grass." You took a deep breath. "I am confined to this house and it's many walls for the well being of our babies. I understand that, but what about my well being, Azriel? What about my mental health?"

Azriel looked down, your normally selfless mate. "I'm sorry, y/n, but until I know something as simple as laying in the sun won't hurt them, I will support you being in the home, maintaining low stress levels. I will see if I can find a compromise. Perhaps an atrium? I know you've always wanted one."

You woke up to that the very next day, Azriel, Rhys, Lucien, and Cassian were all shirtless with other workers. A room facing your favorite garden had been wrecked, the furniture all moved. They had started at sunrise and at nightfall it stopped. Between magic, skills, and your husband refusing a break, you had a skylit atrium. Rhysand moved to you, covered in dirt and sweat, tilting your chin to place a small kiss on your temple, then Cassian, then Lucien, the last leaving his hand ok your already large stomach for a little while with a happy smile.

Azriel was moving the furniture back, shadows assisting every step of the way. He finally entered the room, lifting you gently from the chair you were reading in, and placing you in the lounging couch he had moved into the full glass room.

"Az-"

"I love you," he interrupted. "And I'm sorry you're having to make this sacrifice for us and our family, but please know I love you. Please know I am just worried. We've lost so much, too many already. Please, y/n, meet me here. Let this be our common ground until Madja says otherwise."

You had no choice but to nod, eyes locked on the beautiful night sky you had not seen in what felt like months. "I'm hungry." Azriel smiled at the statement. His eyes lit up as he felt your gentle caving down the bond. "Could you perhaps bathe and feed me? Maybe out here?" Azriel nodded, pulling you into a deep kiss.

Before you blinked, your third trimester was half way over, and suddenly bedrest was all you could think about. You were uncomfortable, large, constantly feeling as if the babes were using you as a personal playground. You and the Twins were in the kitchen when it happened, tight pain shot through your stomach and wetness came, your hand flew to Cerridwen and she supported you immediately, screaming for Madja as she moved you to sit.

The next several hours blurred together. Rhysand appearing and having Cassian help him carry you to a tub per Madja's request. Him holding your mind as he apologized over and over.

It made sense that this was happening now. The one time there was a mission that required Azriel. The one time he was in the Mortal Lands, having to spy on the Queen furthest from your home. Rhysand held your hand through the process, Cassian helping support your body as every inch of you felt like giving up and going out.

Until that first scream came. That first wail of life. That first tiny little body handled to one of the twins, small perfect wings intact. "Push, y/n," Rhys whispered softly. "They need their siblings." It could have been but moments, possibly hours. You didn't know. But a second cry came followed by the door slamming open and Azriel running to your side, allowing Rhysand to move and help with the babes.

"I'm so sorry," you kept saying, guilt hitting you at his bittersweet joy of missing two of the babes being born. "I-"

"It's okay. I'm here for this one." Azriel kissed your temple. "Two have wings, my love. You are doing so well."

The third cry came soon after, your body wanting to be done before finally giving out as Azriel and Cassian waited for Madja to heal you the best she could. She nodded and they removed you from the tub, body absolute done as you rested in Azriel's chest.

Cassian had gone to the babes, his excitement too heavy. Soon the whole Inner Circle and Nyx sat in the room, waiting for Madja to begin the announcements. She walked one of the babies to you, "First Born, winged, healthy weight for a triplet. Boy." Azriel stilled, his grip on your hand tightening.

Rhys walked the second over, a familiar soft look in his eyes, "Second born, winged, also healthy and hungry. Boy."

Cassian was sobbing holding his little bundle, looking at Azriel and then nodding. Your mate's dam broke, handing you the two sons instantly and reaching for the baby Cassian had. "Third born. Wingless for now, we all know that won't be the case forever, though. A little smaller than Madja would like. Girl."

Azriel held her close, his eyes locked on her perfect little face as tears fell. "You promised," he reminded you gently. You were too busy, admiring your boys to even respond. They were holding hands, both searching for their sister. "Y/n."

You broke your stare, brows knit in confusion. "They're your lineage, Azriel. You know you have last say in their names." Madja and the Inner Circle now stood closer as Azriel studied the babes one by one, never letting go of his daughter.

"Ophelia," he handed her gently to you. "After my mother." He took one of the boys, stroking his little cheek softly. He was holding the second born, who was wearing a serious pout. The was the largest of the three, little wings trying to stretch already on his back. "Ramiel. Because I have a gut feeling." Nyx laughed gently, silently asking to take his cousin and get him situated for a bottle. Azriel gave him to his nephew, a look of warning on his face. He took the oldest, who immediately took a scarred finger into his tiny hands. "Opinions, love," he asked you before realizing you were feeding your daughter. "She just decided to latch on there, huh?"

"Pretty much," you looked at your oldest son, the second smallest. Face all smiles. "Arnan," you looked to Armen. "After his aunt who found the method that brought them into the world." She was at Azriel's side immediately, taking the babe from him without him even putting up a fight.

*3 months later*

You and Azriel sat in the nursery. The boys in his arms, feeding softly from bottles, your daughter in yours breastfeeding. Figuring out a schedule to ensure all of them breastfed once or twice a day had been difficult but the routine was easy now. Ophelia slept best through the night after skin to skin and breastfeeding. Arnan was less fussy in the mornings when his breakfast came directly from you. Ramiel napped better after an afternoon breast feeding. "They're holding their heads up so well," Azriel cooed. "My strong boys." He was a male obsessed and in love. He was frequently out your shared bed at night, and you'd find him, sleeping with all three of them on his broad bare chest in the nursery. He was the perfect father despite not having an example of how to be one.

"I think our sweet girl will get there soon," you kept watch on her, holding her little hand as she reached for you. "We're just a Danity little thing, though so Heaven forbid daddy has to carry and coddle us more." You teased them both as Azriel's jaw dropped.

"I can't help it, love. Look at her, look at those eyes, that nose, her little smile. I'll carry her to Spring and back by foot." He stood, burping both of the boys and laid them in their cribs before coming to sit in front of his girl. "I want her when you're done."

"You say that until they poop."

"They're so warm and happy after breastfeedings, y/n." He watched as she unlatched by choice, reaching for her father's familiar voice and he took her. "And her belly is all full. And she's so happy. My little star. The perfect ending to our family's constellation." He walked her to her crib, continuing to coo her. "All of my little stars," he turned their mobiles on, watching as they all slowly shut their eyes and then walked to you.

He left the door open a crack, escorting you to your adjoining bedroom. Once inside he kissed you, thumbs stroking your cheekbones as he did, and rested his forehead against yours. "I love you."

"I love you too. Let's go to bed. Please. They hardly napped at all today. Nyx got them that damn toy and I am still deciding if our nephew gets to live." Azriel laughed quietly, moving to the bed with a hand holding yours. "Perhaps tonight you could stay here."

He paused, staring at you as he pulled the blanket over you two. "I don't know what you're talking about." His cheeks were slightly flushed. "I always stay the night here."

You kissed his hand. "Of course you do, Azzie. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, y/n."

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azrielweek2023 #dad!azriel x reader

[lilacsandamethysts]

Ragnvindr(s)

Pairing: Diluc x fem!Reader (she/her pronouns)

Summary: The Ragnvindr clan is expecting a new addition.

Warnings: pregnancy and mention of kids, characters expecting and becoming parents

A/N: Hi im back, hopefully i'll manage to post more regularly bc I have truly missed this (writing and posting). This is the first fic of my dad!character series bc I have a huge case of baby fever and seeing my favorites as dads satisfies my daddy and abandonment issues.

“Can you please take a seat? Boss is going to kill me if he finds out you’ve been exerting yourself.” Charles could have sworn to any archon willing to listen to his pleas that he had lost ten years from his life during this six hour shift. He was on bar duty this evening, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing he couldn’t handle and nothing he hadn’t done before. What he hadn’t done before was have his boss’s pregnant wife on duty with him. “I swear miss, you’re giving me gray hairs.” Funny, now that he thinks of it, he had heard his boss utter the same exact words three hours prior when he dropped her off, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead as he had looked at his wife worryingly. She rolled her eyes at his comments going back to cleaning the dried glasses littering the underside of the bar. 

“Barbara said that moving around would do me good. Besides,” she frowned at him, the fire burning in her eyes making it clear to Charles why master Diluc had found his match in her. “I’m feeling peachy.” She wasn’t even that far along, stomach barely showing from under her slightly loose blouse. Diluc, ever since it had been revealed that her sudden unwellness was due to her expecting their child, had become thrice as protective than he already was, barely leaving her out of his sight. Truthfully, as much as she loved and cherished her husband, being under constant surveillance was starting to irritate her. She couldn’t fault him; this was his first time going through such an experience and he was rightfully anxious. A soft hum escaped her lips at the thought of his frazzled gaze every time she shifted in her seat while they went through documents of the winery. Diluc was going to be an amazing father, she knew that from the moment she announced her pregnancy to him. What she was even more certain about was, the gray hairs he was bound to start sprouting by the end of these agonizingly long nine months.

The door to the tavern flew open and in stepped a slightly agitated Diluc, hair sticking out from his usual high ponytail he dawns whenever he works behind the bar and eyes darting all over her figure as she continued to shine the glass in her hand. His shoulders sagged slightly in relief upon seeing her in one piece. With a sigh he shed the heavy layers on his shoulders before walking behind the bar, peking her cheek once with a hand resting on the slight bump of her stomach. 

“Why are you up? Again.” He said, a serious expression engraved on his features, brows furrowing when she simply hummed in response. He sighed again, rubbing at his temples before kissing her cheek again and reaching for one of her glasses. “You two are going to be the death of me.” 

“And they haven’t even been born yet.” She giggled again, leaning into his side, head tilting so it rests securely on his shoulder. Instinctively, he leaned closer, cheek smooshed on her hairline. “Imagine the terror once they start walking or even worse, running.” She swears she could already see the dark circles forming under his eyes which only made her laugh harder. The shift went by calmly with the tavern not being at its highest customer rate. They even got the chance to close up earlier than usual and make it back to the manner before midnight. Once inside, Diluc helped her hang her coat-even though she whined about being capable of doing it herself- and then led her to the kitchen where their dinner awaited them on the counter. Adelinde had taken it upon herself to teach both her masters the art of healthy nutrition; she had tried twice before in the past but they both were too stubborn and drowning in work to keep up a healthy diet, now with a child on the way they were more than willing to listen to her advice. 

Taking a seat side by side they dug in, emptying their plates in a matter of minutes with not even a peep leaving their lips until they were both done. Diluc brought her chair closer to his own, one arm draped over her shoulders while the other traced patterns on the fabric of her shirt absentmindedly, an action he seemed to be doing more and more each day. He had developed a habit of touching her in some way no matter the time or place or who was with them; whether it be his hand on the small of her back or his warm palm engulfing her own, an arm around her waist or merely their pinkies linked, Diluc couldn’t seem to let go of her no matter what. The citizens of Mondstadt would swoon at his blatant displays of affection, eyes full of unfathomable softness whenever they saw the soon to be parents on a stroll through the busy streets. There were still those select few who side eyed the couple -mostly her-, those whose jealousy shown through the happy facade, who sometimes didn’t even hide their displeasure at the fact that the informant who had managed to take Master DIluc off the market a few years prior was now securing her spot further with the birth of an heir. The Ragnvindrs merely scoffed at their sly comments and back handed compliments, Diluc usually making a mental note to have a word with the Knights about their insolent behavior. 

“Our baby is the size of a sweet potato.” She softly broke the silence, hand gently resting on the small sweet potato sized bump. “And in about four weeks they’ll be as big as a pomegranate.” Diluc couldn’t help but place his hand over hers, running his thumb over her knuckles before kissing the crown of her head. 

“Barbara sure has a weird way of measuring the weeks of pregnancy.” He unlatched himself from her, hand still resting over her own, as he examined the curve of her stomach trying and failing to imagine a sweet potato sized baby. Eyebrows scrunched in concentration, he failed to notice the pure disbelief written on his wife’s face. 

“Are…are you trying to actually imagine a sweet potato?” He looked at her sheepishly for a moment, big red eyes filled with nothing but serenity. Laughter echoed through the empty halls as she burst out into a fit of snorts making Diluc join her after a moment. Once calm, he brought her unbelievably close, kissing the tip of her nose before tucking her head in the crook of his neck and letting his eyelids fall shut. 

“I love you.” 

BONUS: 

The sun was at its highest when Katheryn spotted the family enter the city. The edges of her eyes crinkled as she nodded in acknowledgement at Master Diluc, red hair a mess from the strong winds of the city of freedom. Even worse was the mop of red hair in his arms as his daughter played with the ruby pendant around his neck, completely ignoring her hair obscuring her fathers’ vision. Turning around, they waited for their counterparts to catch up as the lady of house Ragnvindr strode up the steps, another mop of red hair in her arms in the form of a little boy this time, fast asleep while clutching his mothers’ blouse.

#master diluc #diluc fluff #genshin diluc #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #genshin impact #dad!diluc x reader #dad diluc #diluc x pregnant!reader #genshin impact x reader

[silantryoo]

BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — the last great american dynasty, pt 2.

jang wonyoung, throughout the years.

WARNINGS ; misogyny, toxic household, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, absent parents, mentions of affair families, hints of eating disorders, overworking, health issues, implied depression, imposter syndrome (7.2k)

hannah was just a name.

it was a combination of letters that the high schooler couldn't bear herself to recognize. she willed herself to read it as presented in front of her, but wonyoung had always been good at reading between the lines.

still, it didn't matter.

the name held good memories, ones that the young heiress should've treasured. the lullabies and stories that she cherished, the warmth and protection she had been engulfed in, all of it was gone.

good memories were for good people, perfect people. they were for people who kept their promises.

yoo jimin probably had good memories, ones that she didn't feel guilty about.

it helped that her half-sister stayed in the previously occupied room. it gave more of a reason to steer away from hyunseo's vicinity, despite wonyoung's desire to see the familiar layout.

wonyoung knew it would only anger her.

she had peaked into the youngest's room, the door ajar as western music blasted through the crevice. wonyoung had already been upset that day, her mother and father arguing about wonyoung's desire to join her high school's volleyball team. she needed to calm herself, to gather her thoughts and study, but hyunseo was making it difficult, blasting noise through the vents.

the wallpaper was different.

she was disappearing, just like wonyoung wanted.

(it hurt, more than it should've.)

it didn't matter. the young high school student had no time for grieving over her incompetence. her schedule had been filled to the brim with studies and practice since she had officially entered high school. wonyoung had little time on her hands, bouncing between studying and practicing in her free time.

it was a consequence of becoming perfect.

(wonyoung wondered how many consequences she could endure.)

the day after wonyoung had finished the final tryout, she had looked at the board, the official team roster was finally up.

her name was there, the very bottom written hastily as if a second thought. for once, wonyoung was glad to be last. she was glad to be there at all.

the young jang went home, eager to tell someone, anyone about her achievements. her mother and father, as usual, were nowhere to be found, but out of habit, she found herself rushing to her room.

oh.

the wallpaper was different.

hyunseo looked at her, eyes the same as their father's. before the youngest could speak, wonyoung rushed out.

hannah was just a name. she wasn't anyone.

wonyoung wished she wasn't just a name.

wonyoung had never played in a game before.

she had watched many on the tv in her room, juggling her studies and taking notes on all the events and mistakes that happened each minute.

she wanted to be on that screen one day, not as the leader or the libero, but as the ace, the outside hitter who scored all the points, who always seemed to play the perfect game despite not being so.

yoo jimin was an outside hitter, one who had a perfect family.

perfect.

"i have my first game next week." wonyoung looked at her food, hyunseo's head turning to her at her words.

her mother rolled her eyes.

"you got in?" wonyoung had gotten in a month ago. her father should've known that if he paid attention. "that's surprising."

she bit her tongue back, hyunseo's eyes glued onto her half-sister in awe. wonyoung calmed herself before speaking. she wasn't going to cause a scene, not when her father had just came back from work.

"so," wonyoung already knew the answer. "can you guys come?"

jiyoung and wonseok's eyes met briefly, and anyone who could see knew what they were thinking.

they weren't going.

"we'll see."

the youngest jang was proven right a week later, her teammate's parents crowded in a bunch on the bleacher, cheering on their kids. colored banners filled the area, and different players' names were displayed except hers.

disappointment settled in her chest, but not surprise.

she looked once more, scanning the crowd, a false hope still bubbling in her chest.

it was baby blue.

'go wonyoung-unnie!'

wonyoung frowned.

she asked for her parents. she asked for her family. she didn't ask for the affair child of her father to come, much less live under the same roof as her. wonyoung couldn't fathom the thoughts that were going through hyunseo's mind.

it was an insult to her, to the jang's. how dare she come to her game? she had no right.

hyunseo wasn't a jang. she would never be.

they had lost that day, wonyoung too angry to focus on what was in front of her. all she could see was the blue on the sidelines and red all around.

wonyoung didn't speak to hyunseo for the rest of that month.

time kept moving, but all the young jang could ever want was for it to stop.

her first season had ended two weeks prior, her official school training finally slowing down. there were no more long days spent in the gym, or sore shoulders and legs from overworking. instead, they had been replaced with gruesome hours at cram school, and an aching wrist from writing for hours nonstop.

the end of the semester was near, and wonyoung had noticed a slight drop in her grade.

she had to do well on her final.

the sun had already set, the heiress stepped inside her residence with a tired haze. friday was always a stressful day for wonyoung, her off-season conditioning and the weekly test at cram school lining up.

she needed food, and then sleep.

wonyoung took off her shoes, listening to the lack of britney spears blasting from upstairs.

her father was home.

"the ahn's told me you did well."

wonyoung jumped as she heard her father speak, his voice loud against the silence of her house.

jang wonseok worked late nights, even now, when his mistress was no longer with him. seeing him home before twelve, completely sober and talking to his eldest child in such a manner was whiplash to the young jang.

she collected herself, clasping her hands in front of her as she bowed politely.

"you watched my finals?" wonyoung bit back a smile, hoping that her true emotions hadn't shined through.

"i was busy." wonseok shook his head. wonyoung looked away. she should've known better. "their daughter watched it with them. why didn't you tell me you were starting?"

the young jang could feel the pride bubbling in her chest, her father's approval filling her with a warmth that she hadn't felt in over a year and a half.

she had worked hard to get where she was, adjusting her schedule to fit more practice and less studying, just enough to maintain her grades but improve significantly. wonyoung's coach had congratulated her progress, rewarding her with her hard-earned spot as the opposite hitter.

she was one step closer to being perfect, just like yoo jimin.

"i did." wonyoung tried her best to sound non-combative. she hated it when her parents twisted her words. "i told mom."

wonseok sighed. leave it up to jiyoung to forget. "your mother never told me anything."

wonseok had never talked to her this long, and the lack of interaction had become evident as the two fell silent, the younger avoiding her father's eyes.

wonyoung internally debated whether she should leave. perhaps her father had gotten tired of her presence. it wouldn't have been the first time, and she was sure it wouldn't be the last.

"how are your grades?" her father spoke once more, wonyoung's head shooting up at the sound. "are you getting along with hyunseo?"

his words left a bittersweet taste lingering in the air. wonyoung was partially elated, her father suddenly caring about her to this extent. it was what she had always dreamt of, back when she had been a child.

still, hyunseo was still his favorite, no matter how hard wonyoung tried.

"um, my grades are good." wonyoung barely stuttered out her words. "i'm at the top of my grade."

"good." wonseok smiled. "good job, wonyoung."

good job, wonyoung.

wonyoung always wanted to make her dad smile.

it was a name that she had forgotten, just like the shadow that used to linger next to her closet, holding a glass of water as it urged her to come out.

"who's hannah?"

the walls of the jang household seemed to echo it, chills running down the second-year high school student's spine.

"what?"

wonyoung could feel the memories, hazy and distorted, like an old vinyl playing on a forgotten record player. she could feel it, see bits and pieces of everything. she could see her crayons, lying on her bed. a familiar hum seemed to invade her ears, a lullaby.

then there was a casket, and a broken promise.

to love someone is to do the right thing.

wonyoung wasn't good enough to love or be loved.

"who's hannah?" hyunseo repeated her words, and anger flaring up in the young jang. "dad mentioned her, and-"

"he isn't your dad." wonyoung snarled, gripping the counter as her mother sighed from behind her. "you aren't my sister."

"i just heard-"

"then stop hearing." wonyoung had never asked for her in the first place. she didn't want another person ruining her family. "no one asked you to be here anyway."

hyunseo flinched, her head down as she nodded. the heiress watched as her half-sister walked away, most likely to the room that she had stolen.

wonyoung could see her mother shake her head, jiyoung's doe eyes staring at her with disgust. it was nothing new, especially as of late. it didn't bug the young jang anymore. she had gotten used to it.

still, it stung that jiyoung treated hyunseo, the product of her husband's affair, better than her own daughter.

"you need to control your emotions, before you hurt hyunseo." jiyoung's voice was stern, reprimanding. wonyoung almost laughed at how odd it sounded, like a mother scolding her friend's playmate.

hyunseo had everything she didn't.

"it's not your problem, mother."

jiyoung shook her head, and wonyoung hated how eeriely similar she and her mother looked.

"god, you're exactly like your father."

she didn't know why those words hurt more than they should've.

jang wonyoung had known the ahn's from the moment she was born.

her father had many connections being a politician. he had friends from all over the globe, from switzerland to hong kong. it didn't matter what their profession was. as long as it benefited the jang's, wonseok would treat them with the highest respect.

the ahn's were like them, the head of the family owning one of the biggest acting agencies in all of asia. it helped that they had lived in the penthouse two minutes away, and that their youngest daughter was near wonyoung's age.

yujin was a breath of fresh air, and wonyoung was glad to call the older girl her best friend.

the two younger girl's continued their conversation, ahn yeojin, the oldest of the two ahn sisters, keeping a watchful eye on them. she rolled her eyes, sending petty jabs at yujin. her parents had forced her to accompany the two teenagers in case her sister did anything stupid again.

it was a complete waste of her exam break before she had to go back to campus.

(yujin had broken her grandmother's china plates recently, their father cutting both their allowances in retaliation.)

hyunseo walked down, eyes hesitant as she approached wonyoung. the young jang was glad she had gotten the hint to leave her alone, hyunseo clearly avoiding her for what seemed to be weeks. she ignored the gnawing guilt that built up in her chest whenever she looked at her younger half-sister, replacing it with annoyance instead.

still, there were times were hyunseo refused to get a hint.

"unnie," hyunseo's voice was small, just like how the young lee felt. "can you help me with my homework?"

"learn how to do it yourself." wonyoung sighed. "you're a big girl, hyunseo, and i'm not your tutor."

"oh." wonyoung didn't know why it upset her to hear her half-sister's defeated voice. "okay."

wonyoung tried to ignore it, but the guilt seemed to overtake her. she watched as hyunseo walked back upstairs, her glassy eyes glued onto her paper.

english. wonyoung was good at english.

"you should be nicer to your sister." yeojin sighed. she turned to yujin, pinching the younger girl's cheek. "i would kill for yujin to go back to being that sweet and cute."

yujin blushed, her eyes going wide as she stared at wonyoung. she tried to push the older girl off, embarrassed at the thought of the heiress seeing her like this.

"hyunseo isn't my sister." wonyoung muttered, her eyes lingering on the stairs. "she's not a jang."

"you sound like your dad." yujin noted, eyes void of any thought.

yeojin let go of her cheek and smacked her head, the sight of wonyoung frowning enough for her to justify her actions. "ouch! unnie!"

wonyoung should be grateful that she was turning into a jang. it was what she wanted, to be the perfect daughter her dad wanted.

she paused. when did becoming a jang equal perfection?

yeojin sighed, wonyoung's turmoil evident. she looked at her younger sister, shaking her head.

"private school is melting your brain, ahn yujin."

yujin pouted. "i didn't do anything, though!"

"dad?"

jang wonseok was a busy man. wonyoung didn't know if all his flights were work-related, but she knew that all the papers piled on his desk occupied his time. she knew that from a young age, wonseok couldn't find the time in his schedule for her, and she continued to hold that belief.

jang wonseok stood outside her school gymnasium. he watched. he watched her.

wonyoung didn't understand why she wanted to cry, or why there was an odd feeling in her chest, one that she felt a long time ago with a shadow of person.

it felt warm, but it felt misplaced.

"let's go, wonyoung." wonseok's voice was stern, but he still managed to smile at anyone who came near them.

her father was still a politician before a dad, but wonyoung was still glad he decided to be dad today.

"you came to watch."

warmth and love.

it was all wonyoung had ever wanted from her parents. she had tried different ways of getting their attention, of becoming the version of herself that they had always wanted her to be.

even though she had found it in places where she had never expected, in the cracks and crevices of her closet, behind the shadow that casted against her wall, she had always wondered what it would feel like.

it felt wrong. it felt like she was undeserving.

maybe because she was.

silently, she followed her father into the parking lot. the different muted black and bone-white hues reflected from the sun and into her eyes. her father's car stood out like a sore thumb, however. it's clean, sleek finish emphasized the wealth of the jang name, just like all of the things that wonseok owned.

wonyoung could feel her father's temperament rising with each tired step she took. his patience was running thin and it didn't take a mastermind to figure out it was because of her.

she gets in the passenger seat, the slam of the driver's door making her flinch as she closes hers gently.

her father came to watch her, yet there was still a sinking feeling in her stomach, one that felt worse than before.

the car ride was mostly silent, the hum of the engine virtually silent as they drove.

"what was that?"

wonyoung didn't know what he was talking about.

"what?" she hadn't heard her father speak to her in such a tone, not since he found out that she had been playing well. "what was what?"

"that game, wonyoung."

wonyoung had hurt her shoulder during practice. she wasn't sure how it happened so fast, but it left her feeling discomfort every time she winded her arm back.

her coach had instructed her to take it easy for today, and wonyoung agreed. had she known her father would be watching, she wouldn't have.

why did he have to watch today?

"i hurt my shoulder during practice." wonyoung mumbled under her breath, playing with the cinnamoroll pin of her volleyball bag. "i usually play as the opposite hitter but-"

the car jolted, wonseok stepping on the gas, burning the rubber on his tires. his grip on the steering wheel tightened before he lifted his foot off, no longer accelerating.

she hated it when her father was like this. she would rather have her driver pick her up. at least then, she knew she wouldn't crash.

wonyoung wished he never watched her game.

"i'm not paying for you to be mediocre!" his voice was akin to a whisper, yet much deeper, and much angrier. "i'm not sending you to camps or paying for your physical therapy for you to play middle."

"i still played well." wonyoung tried to reason, slightly afraid. "coach said-"

"your coach doesn't pay for you." wonseok never took his eyes off the road, the snarl on his face staying. "i do. you should be doing everything that i say."

she did. she has. had he caught her playing any other day, she would be there, all over the court and in the air, playing with the pride of the jang's on her back.

she had picked '01' out for that reason.

wonyoung wanted to make him proud.

she just wanted to make him realize that today had been a bad day for her.

"dad-"

"what?"

but there was nothing she could do, not when he had decided that she was as useless as she truly was.

wonyoung stayed quiet, no longer finding the energy or worth to reason with her father. it was one of the many things her father had praised her for when she was younger.

her compliance was a gift.

"get your head out of your ass, wonyoung." wonseok muttered. "don't act like that ever again."

wonyoung, as obedient as ever, nodded.

"yes, dad."

she wished that her father stayed a busy man today.

the only person to knock on her door was hann hyunseo.

her father rarely went up to her room, always opting to call her downstairs to scold her or review her game videos. her mother preferred to barge right in, yelling at the top of her lungs about whatever she was particularly upset about that day.

it was one of the only things that hyunseo had done well, at least in wonyoung's eyes.

wonyoung grabbed the door knob, twisting it open to come face to face with her younger half-sister.

in hyunseo's hand, a piping hot of cup noodles steamed, and in the other, wonyoung's favorite water bottle. no one, not even the housekeepers, bothered the heiress during her study sessions. they knew that they wouldn't get a response at the very least, or gettting yelled at by jiyoung if her daughter answered at the very most.

wonyoung would've scolded the young lee instead, if not for her tear striken face.

"hi." hyunseo's voice was soft, trembling.

wonyoung knew that hyunseo was an energetic young kid, albeit too much for her liking. she always walked around with a smile on her face, even when the jang ignored her.

this wasn't like lee hyunseo.

"you haven't eaten all day." wonyoung didn't know why she felt so guilty. "i made you some food."

she hated hyunseo for many things.

she hated how hyunseo had erased her, even though the young jang had wished to. her shrill, excited voice annoyed her, especially when her mother seemed to be too fond of someone who wasn't hers biologically. she seemed popular at her school, friends hovering all around her with a smile.

hyunseo was too much. too loud, too annoying, too happy.

she was too much like wonyoung, or at least everything she wanted to be at that age.

"are you crying?" wonyoung asked, her voice almost comforting.

tears fell faster down the lee's face. hyunseo had always wished for her older sister to speak to her like that.

"oh, i didn't notice." hyunseo muttered. "don't worry. i just get sad sometimes."

wonyoung got sad sometimes, too. especially when...

oh.

"did dad yell at you?"

hyunseo hesitated before shaking her head, and it was all wonyoung needed to know.

"it's okay." hyunseo handed wonyoung her food and her water. the older girl couldn't help but stare. "i'm gonna go to my room now."

to love someone was to do the right thing.

when was the last time wonyoung had loved someone?

wonyoung hated meetings.

her father seemed to love them, yet she didn't. she hated the way each season started with a mandatory get-together, discussing away games, team trips, and fundraisers. it all seemed like a headache, organizing and planning. she would hate to be left with a task as such.

she could only shiver at the thought.

still, wonseok always got what he wanted, whether it be women or money. the beginning of the season allowed for him to 'suggest' the head coach to put in a good word for wonyoung to recruiters. although it was never needed, wonseok couldn't help but want a little cushion, just in case.

"we're gonna be late." he looked at his watch, handcrafted in spain.

"dad, it's just a meeting." wonyoung wished for hyunseo to talk longer, hoping that her father would just get frustrated altogether and not go. "you know that coach won't care."

"i care." wonseok was getting tired of the youngest at this point. making him wait for three minutes had already pushed his limits further than it should've. "hyunseo! hurry up!"

wonyoung winced, knowing exactly what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his screaming.

she felt horrible, like she was watching her four-year-old self get yelled at in the third person.

"dad, it's fine." wonyoung would've grabbed his arm, if she weren't so afraid of him. "it's only ten minutes away. we still have tim-"

"lee hyunseo!" his voice cut through the air in a way wonyoung had never heard in her life. instinctively, she took a step back. "do you want me to go up there and force you down here?"

jiyoung and wonyoung frowned at the thought of the man dragging the young lee down. it took everything in the younger jang to stay quiet, knowing that if she spoke, he would only get angrier.

jiyoung didn't care. that was sister's blood, regardless of origin.

"wonseok."

"shut it, jiyoung." wonseok's voice was raspy from his shouting. "i can't have that child ruin the reputation that me and wonyoung have built."

wonyoung bit the side of her cheek. if anything, he was ruining the reputation she built. wonseok's instant donations had spread rumors throughout multiple schools, and regardless of truth (which they weren't), wonyoung had to face the blow.

thank god for uchinaga aeri.

"she's a child." jiyoung tried to explain.

envy coursed through the young jang's veins. hyunseo was lucky to have jiyoung on her side. wonyoung would die for her mother to defend her, especially against wonseok.

she was a child, too. why didn't her mother care for her?

"she's grown enough to know that the world doesn't revolve around people like her." wonyoung was a hypocrite, just like her mother and her father. "lee hyunseo! last warning!"

wonyoung couldn't do this anymore. she could let a kid relive everything that she tried so hard to escape from.

hyunseo wasn't wonyoung, and wonyoung needed to see that.

"i'll go get her, dad." wonyoung smiled kindly, the facade threatening to fall with a single accusation.

she waited for her father to allow her, and with a simple nod, wonyoung rushed upstairs.

she hadn't been to han - no, hyunseo's room before. she had peaked inside multiple times, the old, grey wallpaper replaced with a soft pink that complimented the younger girl's personality.

the door was still the same though, and it reminded wonyoung that not all things change.

wonyoung felt a wave of deja vu as she knocked on the mahogany, the solid thud with each hit. her shadow bounced off the ground, and wonyoung wondered if hyunseo could tell who was there from it.

it was silent.

"hyunseo?" hyunseo heard the shadow speak. "can i come in?"

wonyoung could hear the faint footsteps approaching the hardwood door. her younger sister's tear-stained cheeks peaked through as hyunseo let her inside.

wonyoung closed the door behind her, knowing her father and mother would do their best to listen despite the soundproof walls.

everything felt familiar.

the air conditioning blasted from across the room, whirling out puffs of cool air that made wonyoung shiver. she could see the vanity, still in decent condition, just like how it was left before. the back of the door had an empty space between two of its hooks when a young jang wonyoung had decided to hang a chair off it.

the memories came flooding back, but jang wonyoung didn't deserve any of it.

but wonyoung couldn't dwell on it. lee hyunseo needed her older sister more.

"why are you crying?"

wonyoung could list multiple reasons off the back of her hand, many of it her doing.

she felt horrible. she could've stopped this.

hyunseo rubbed her eyes as if she were tired. "i can't find my brush."

although a brush was an odd thing to break down about, wonyoung couldn't help but brush it off. she had her fair share of meltdowns as well, one of which was a missing throw pillow in her closet.

"do you want me to look for it?" wonyoung's voice radiated a warmth that hyunseo had never felt from her.

without thinking, the younger girl threw her arms around her sister, wonyoung holding her in place. she was confused, even more so when the younger began to sob.

"hyunseo?"

it was heartbreaking to hear a child as bright as hyunseo cry. wonyoung didn't know how her parents managed to listen.

"i can't find my brush..." hyunseo could feel wonyoung embrace her back, and she felt as if she finally had someone on her side. "i miss when my mom. i miss my friends from my old school. i miss when dad was nice to me."

wonyoung didn't know why she felt as if hyunseo would shatter if she released her hold, or why it sounded like a six-year-old version of her, begging her dad to stay for her birthday.

"i wish i was you, unnie." wonyoung could feel the tears staining her shirt, and the shock running through her body. "you never mess up. you're always so pretty and smart. you never say the wrong thing. everyone loves you."

each sentence seemed to amount to the lie that was jang wonyoung. everything, every word that had come out of her younger sister's mouth, was all carefully curated by her in fear.

wonyoung was terrified that people would see through her, that they would see an imperfect, horrible monster. the one that resembled her father in namesake and in emotion.

wonyoung had even managed to fool hyunseo, but the eldest could never fool herself.

"you're perfect."

jang wonyoung was a useless, stupid crybaby. she was a coward who hid behind walls, who didn't deserve the love and praise that came to her.

jang wonyoung was jang wonyoung, and she feared that it would never change.

""i'm sorry, hyunseo." the younger girl cried as wonyoung tried her hardest not to. she was fooling everyone but herself. "unnie's here now. don't cry, okay?"

hyunseo's sobs eventually faded seconds later, her face flushed in embarrassment and exhaustion. wonyoung could tell that the younger girl had been needing her by her side, and all this time, she had done nothing out of pure selfishness.

"feel better?"

hyunseo nodded, her hair still messy. the eldest could only laugh at her sister.

"let's go find your brush."

hyunseo nodded, her head low as she watched wonyoung's shadow bounce off the hardwood floor.

wonyoung getting scouted to her dream school was basically a fantasy.

both her parents hailed from different SKYS. her father, like the typical jang he was, was an alumni of seoul national university. her mother, on the other hand, was from yonsei university.

she knew that her father wanted her to follow in his footsteps. wonseok had made it clear that if wonyoung were to continue volleyball, it would need to be at snu, where she would major in political science, just like him.

but, like yoo jimin, she wanted to go to seoul's university of multi-arts.

her father didn't need to know that she had a one-on-one meeting with the coach today. it wasn't like she could accept their offer without discussing with her father first.

but then there was her mother.

"i need to go, mom."

wonyoung had dressed for the weather. her light jacket, engraved with the letters of her high school, lay neatly on her figure. it wasn't one to keep her insulated, but with every word her mother spoke, it seemed more and more the case.

jiyoung was against wonyoung playing volleyball as a whole. she had heard from aeri that her mother would go on rants, demonizing the sport as if it was the reason for her daughter's shortcomings.

the reason for her daughter's shortcomings was many things, including her mother, but it was never volleyball.

still, jiyoung was sure wonyoung was going to get nowhere in life.

"you need to pass your csat." jiyoung had said those words before, like a mantra. "volleyball isn't going to get you there."

wonyoung could only scoff. being the top student at her school should've been more than enough, especially since wonyoung was also in the top ten players for volleyball.

she was eighth, right above a girl named shin yuna, whoever she was.

"i'm already going to pass." wonyoung muttered, putting on her shoes hastily. "i've been studying myself to sleep for the past month."

wonyoung remembered many mornings where she would wake up at her desk, her face pressed against her textbook.

"that's not enough for someone like you."

wonyoung blinked.

"someone... like me?"

wonyoung knew she was stupid. she knew that there was nothing inside her head aside from volleyball and textbooks, and that she always had to try twice as hard to be at the same level as everyone else.

she knew that she was worth practically nothing, but she was growing tired of her parents repeating it over and over again.

wonyoung didn't need a reminder.

"you need to study harder and stop trying to be something you're not."

wonyoung hated how her mother saw right through her, just like how she hated her mother for never loving her.

she hated how she could never love herself because of it.

"is that why you married dad?" wonyoung's voice sounded unfamiliar to her, as if it wasn't her own. "is that why you let yourself get cheated on and why you let his other child live under your roof?"

hyunseo gasped, and wonyoung had forgotten she was sitting in the living room right next to jiyoung.

"this has nothing to do with my marriage and has everything to do with how stupid and useless you are." jiyoung's words still cut deep, no matter how hard wonyoung had willed it not to. "you think your father cared about you before this? you think he cares now?"

wonyoung could only blink her tears away.

she knew the truth, just like then. wonyoung was an extension of the jang name, nothing more. her failures were hers and her successes were his.

she wondered if wonseok ever cared about anyone but himself.

"he cares about someone!" wonyoung bit back with the same furosity as her mother. "and that's clearly not you."

hyunseo wanted the shouting to stop. she wanted everyone to calm down, to get along.

(deep down, she wondered if the real cause of the tension was her.)

"you don't know how hard it was carrying your burden." jiyoung could remember every insult that wonseok threw her way. every jab at her character, she took and held, and it was all wonyoung's fault. "you don't know the things your father put me through."

"i don't need to know!" wonyoung could feel her throat growing tired of holding back her tears. "you're a horrible mother. i wish you died instead!"

the room fell silent.

wonyoung could hear the quiet chatter coming from the tv, playing whatever show hyunseo had been watching. the polyester cuff of wonyoung's sleeve rubbed against her wrist as she covered her mouth. she could smell the rain from outside, no longer pouring,

in front of her, wonyoung watched as she saw her mother cry for the first time.

to love someone is to do the right thing.

"how can you say that to me?" jiyoung didn't know she could feel pain like this again. "how could you hurt your mother, wonyoung?"

("it should've been you, jiyoung. it should've been you instead of jihyun.")

but wonyoung was tired of asking her mother to love her.

"whatever."

wonyoung turned, slamming the door behind her. she could feel her hands shaking, a part of her guilty for saying those words, and a part of her horrified for meaning them.

wonyoung wished the rain would start once more. perhaps she could hide her tears in them.

wonyoung and her mother hadn't spoken about the incident, and she never would.

upon thinking about it, only regret gnawed at the bottom of her chest. she hated how a significant part of her meant the words she said, and how deep down, she truly wished for it to be true.

wonyoung was just like her father, in every sense.

"dad told me to pick you up today."

wonyoung could see the middle schoolers around her, mouth hung open as the eldest picked up her sister. behind hyunseo, a boy around her age scurried away, nearly tripping over himself in fear.

granted, wonyoung was glaring at him.

"was that your boyfriend?" wonyoung felt a deep-setted anger simmering in her chest.

"no!" she could see her sister blushing heavily. "why?"

she knew her mother couldn't care less about who she dated, but she wondered if jiyoung felt the same as her when it came to hyunseo.

"you guys shouldn't be that close if you aren't dating." she felt like a mother scolding her daughter. sighing once she saw hyunseo's pout, wonyoung relented. "does he like you?"

"i don't think so." hyunseo's frown deepened, and a part of wonyoung wanted to reassure her that it was the boy's loss. "do you think he does?"

oh. wonyoung raised an eyebrow.

"do you want him to?"

hyunseo's face burned a firey red as she refused to answer. it took everything in the older girl to not tease her sister. wonyoung never understood someone crushing on another person that much.

perhaps she hadn't met the right person yet. at least, that's what aeri and yeojin had told her (yujin had stayed oddly quiet when wonyoung had asked her).

the two walked out of the building, wonyoung smiling at every passerby she had recognized. there were many of her father's business partners around, all because wonseok had decided hyunseo had to attend private school.

wonyoung shivered at the thought of entering a private school.

"you should apologize to auntie." hyunseo frowned, fiddling with the strap of her backpack.

wonyoung sighed. "it's not your problem, hyunseo."

hyunseo lowered her head, feeling as wonyoung gave her a soft pat on her head.

"i don't like seeing you upset, unnie."

upset was an understatement.

"i'm not upset." wonyoung tried her best to reassure her younger sister, smiling as she opened the car her dad had gifted her on her sixteenth birthday.

"my mom said that lying can put you in jail for life." hyunseo scolded her, and wonyoung couldn't help but burst out laughing. "i know it doesn't because i'm not five anymore, but still."

the two hopped inside, wonyoung starting the car as hyunseo settled in.

"it's her fault." wonyoungg muttered.

she didn't expect hyunseo to understand. although there was a sliver of her that felt bitter, the younger girl wasn't there for wonyoung's childhood. she couldn't blame hyunseo for defending her version of jiyoung.

"i know." hyunseo looked at the window as they pulled out of the parking lot. "but sometimes, it's not just her fault. no one is perfect."

wonyoung felt her heart drop.

hyunseo had seen through her facade.

"i thought you thought i was perfect?" wonyoung's calm voice failed to reflect her true emotions.

did hyunseo hate her now? did she realize that the person she looked up to was nothing but a selfish, ruined person who wished death on her mother?

wonyoung needed to focus on driving before she crashed the two of them on the side of the road.

"you are." hyunseo seemed truthful, but wonyoung begged to differ. "but even perfect people mess up sometimes."

she knew. she had to.

"that would mean they aren't perfect."

wonyoung wasn't perfect. it was her fatal flaw.

"oh." hyunseo hummed, oblivious to her older sister's internal turmoil. "that makes sense, i guess."

wonyoung wondered if she'd ever be perfect.

she wondered if hyunseo would forgive her.

it had only been almost a year since the two had gotten close. hyunseo had followed her around like a baby chick following her mother, and wonyoung cherished it like she cherished her little sister.

but she couldn't stay in this place anymore, not when her father and mother was here. she couldn't become who they wanted, no matter how hard she wanted to.

wonyoung just wanted to be selfish. she just wanted to be anything but her parents.

"look at my daughter!"

wonseok had been babying her since she agreed to go to snu. it was everything she wanted when she was a child, to be recognized and loved by him, but she was terrified of becoming another jang clone.

"top of her class, and on her way to seoul university, just like her father."

she had to break the news to him coldly, just like how he had announced to her mother about his affair.

"i want to go to suma."

wonyoung could see his facade drop, and she was met with the face of the wonseok she knew; cold, unloving, and terrifying.

she hoped hyunseo wouldn't see her like that once she left.

"what?"

wonyoung repeated herself. "i'm going to suma."

suma was a prestigious school, one of the SKYS that everyone had obsessed over. still, in the eyes of the elite, sending your child to the worst out of the four was a mockery.

jang wonseok wasn't a mockery.

"no, you aren't." wonseok's voice was firm and wonyoung could see her mother stiffen at his voice. "that's a performing arts school. your mother went to one when she was younger and look how she turned out."

"she graduated in yonsei."

"she went to a performing arts high school." wonseok reasoned before standing up. "wonyoung, you're not going to suma. you didn't even apply."

she sent the registration forms the day her and her mother had fought, with a letter of recommendation from her coach and the principal.

it was the only school that she had done so.

"i did." wonyoung tried her best for her voice to not waver. "i'm going."

wonseok took a heavy breath, internally blaming his wife for raising a daughter so disobedient. "who's gonna pay for your tuition?"

"i'm on a full-ride scholarship." she decided to answer, quick and curtly.

suma was the only school that had given her a full-ride scholarship, included in which are dorms and her meal plan. snu had only given her a partial one since the campus was only a couple minutes drive from gangnam.

"the majors there are useless." wonseok tried to reason, his temper slowly getting the better of him. "you need something practical, something that makes you-"

"a jang?"

wonyoung had meant it as an insult, but all wonseok could take it as a compliment.

"exactly." he felt as if he was starting to get through to his daughter. "i thought you said you were doing political science, wonyoung."

she never wanted to do political science. if she had to choose a major, one of which wasn't in multi-arts, she would've chosen biology with a focus on flora.

wonyoung never got what she wanted, though.

"i changed my mind."

this time, she would.

"you're kidding me." wonseok couldn't believe what he was hearing. he looked over to jiyoung, face red from anger as he adjusted the cuffs on his shirt. "talk to your daughter."

with one look, wonyoung knew her mother knew that she wasn't going to change her mind. it was one of the many things that terrified wonyoung, especially back when her mom found out about her preference for women.

("it's gonna be my problem if your dad finds out. keep your mouth shut.")

"wonyoung, now's not the time to annoy your dad." jiyoung just wanted to go upstairs and turn off her brain. she was tired of hearing her husband yell and her daughter whine. "just do what he says."

wonyoung shook her head.

"no." she stood her ground, just like her father had taught her. "their volleyball team's good. it's basically the best way to get into the national team. each year they take someone to go and-"

"that's not you!" wonseok could feel his temper skyrocketing. the jang's were made for politics like they have always been. "you're a jang!"

wonyoung never asked to be born a jang.

"i'm going." this was her only way out. "i already accepted."

jiyoung shook her head. with a piercing glare, she looked at her husband. "this is your fault for enabling her fantasies."

"kang seulgi and lee chaeyeon went there. so did seo soojin." her father shook his head, muttering curses under his breath. suddenly, wonyoung had realized.

"dad," there was a reason why she had gone to that high school in the first place. if the jang's were anything, they were easily influenced. "yoo jimin goes there."

"you're not yoo jimin."

wonyoung knew that, but she still wanted to dream.

"yujin-unnie is going. aeri-unnie also goes there." wonyoung begged. she knew that deep down, no matter how hard she tried, she would always need her father's approval. "the oh's went there too! haewon-ssi is next in line to inherit-"

"enough."

wonyoung looked down, her act no longer hiding her desperation.

she couldn't stay here. she couldn't go to snu, and be a half-baked politician who lies their way out of problems. wonyoung had no say in her life, but this time, she just wanted one chance.

"who else?"

wonyoung thought to herself.

"hwang yeji."

wonseok nodded.

"i'll think about it, wonyoung."

that was more than enough.

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taglist (CLOSED)!!

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#jang wonyoung x reader #ive x reader #iz*one x reader #izone x reader #aespa x reader #kpop x reader #idol x reader #silantryo

[artofchira]

As someone else who's in the process of burning out just surviving, and has lost sight of why I enjoyed art in the first place, would you be willing to share some of the things you've tried to get back on your feet? Super glad that you're doing so much better, btw.

First: It's actually become a job for me to help artists reconnect to their art through my mentorship workshop with everything I have learned, and I consider myself very good at it. I've been doing it for about 4 years now. If you or any other artist would like direct help with recovering from burn out please check out the service page of my website and testimonials from previous clients.

To answer your question:

A lot of my own personal stabilization just came as a result of wanting the experience of making art to be comfortable. It wasn't a choice anymore. After my father passed I relaxed for about 3 months -- longest I went without drawing in my life since I started freelancing -- and when I sat back at my desk I just couldn't make myself work under the same pressure. I'd try to force myself to draw and it made me want to cry instead. I quickly learned I could only create if I felt comfortable and drawing felt gentle, so I had to accept moving forward if I wanted to continue being as productive as before I needed to find a way of working that eliminated stress or using will power, which means working in a way that was renovated from the ground up. I couldn't go back. How I was making art was over. I needed it to be repaired. I had no idea what that looked like, so it was truly trial and error.

A fact about me is I have a very high sensory/pain threshold naturally (I also recently learned I was autistic over the pandemic, imagine that has something to do with it) so I've always been historically bad at ignoring my physical limitations because I rarely felt them unless my body broke down on me, and when it did I treated myself with annoyance and forced myself to work through it. I'm talking like no sleeping for 3-4 days straight, or coming home after a kidney stone to finish a comic page still shaky on pain and morphine and then feeling bad at myself for being lazy. To say my old work habits were highly self abusive is an understatement. So when I started addressing everything that was an inconvenience and uncomfortable, it ended up correcting everything I was ignoring or failed to consider a problem until it was past due.

To cut a long story short, a list of material changes to my life that improved my health:

I got medicated, finally. I'm extremely bipolar. Always have been. Drawing between periods of oscillating between feeling divinely invincible vs ideating suicide every waking moment vastly became easier to manage.

I got glasses. I'm farsighted, but it was never a problem for me since I could see fine -- ooor so I thought. Turns out when you're farsighted you're focusing constantly without even realizing it. Turns out getting glasses gave me 80% of my mental space back so I suddenly had more energy, generally more awake, and more focused. No one talks about farsightedness so I had absolutely no idea I was burning myself out physically just being able to see. Worth mentioning!

Started seeing a massage therapist and a chiropractor regularly. I always thought of those things as luxuries, not necessities. Which was extremely stupid. Maintaining my physical body through directly working out kinks in it became something like brushing my teeth or showering -- it's just something you do to make sure health and hygiene isn't making you dysfunctional and rotting you. My body no longer breaks down.

For the same reasons as above, maintained seeing my therapist regularly even if I felt fine or had no issues to work out. I realized I was always quick to end support as soon as I felt I didn't need it anymore (again treating it as a luxury) so making the space in my life for mental/emotional check ins kept my head organized. My therapist is bewildered by me and has no idea what to do with me because she feels she's not doing anything. I just tell her by me making the space for me to explain myself at all, even if all I was doing was describing how I was fine, was the help. She's great.

Got a cappuccino machine. May seem stupid but being able to make gourmet coffees from my kitchen every morning really genuinely improved my life and mind more than getting medicated.

Got a dog. He's amazing. I love him. Very warm and loving companion, and such a gentle soul. He keeps me out of my head and gets me prioritizing walks every day, so my vitamin D intake increased massively. I don't have the luxury of staying in bed for 3 days straight in my depressive episodes anymore. I have to make the effort to leave it at least twice a day to walk and feed him and play with him. Like most people, I'm terrible at prioritizing for myself but will move worlds for those I love no matter where I'm at.

For personal habits I just reflected a lot on why I felt I had to will myself to draw when drawing is something I love doing most. It made no sense to resent doing what you devote yourself to doing. I changed -- and still changing -- my mental framing in how I think of working on art for it to be something I'm eager to do, not obligated to.

Hope this was educational.

#ask box answers #Personal

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Congratulations on your milestone!

If it’s not too late, I’d like to request Spencer/Reader post prison with this lyric.

“You’re the cure, and your eyes have dug me out of my grave more times than I could ever count. You’ve always been the one to breathe me back to life - The Cure by The Movielife

Thank you.

Oh how I love post prison angst! And this was the perfect song for, thank you darling!

You’re the Cure

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary - you’ve always been the ray of light in Spencer Reid’s often dark life. But in the wake of his incarceration, can you be his cure?

CW - past drug addiction, past parental abandonment, mentions of Maeve arc, prison arc, emotionally distant Spencer, break ups, bad mental health, mentions of not eating and bathing, an almost relapse, heavy drinking, maybe one swear, tears, hopeful ending.

WC - 4.4k

Spencer Reid had never seen himself as someone who needed saving. Being forced to grow up at ten years old when his father abandoned him and his sick mother, had a way of instilling in him that when things went wrong, he could only rely on himself. 

His drug addiction only went to further perpetuate the notion that he was on his own. Even when his brain was muddled by the dilaudid he knew his team was aware of what was going on and not a single one of them ever said anything. 

So Spencer got used to fending for himself, keeping his emotional issues internalised. He loved his friends but he learnt not to count on them. As such he made a habit of keeping his cards close to his chest, never letting anyone in fully. 

Spencer Reid could only truly depend on one person and that was Spencer Reid. 

But then he met you. 

You admittedly joined the BAU at the worst possible time. Spencer was off work while he dealt with the grief of losing Maeve and he heard all about you through stories from Garcia and JJ. Both women described you as a bouncy, happy-go-lucky, ray of human sunshine. And to be perfectly honest, that filled Spencer with dread. 

It was one of the darker moments of his life and the idea of someone coming in and trying to force their light onto him was the last thing he needed. Spencer liked to deal with his trauma by wallowing in it on his own, he didn’t need other’s trying to cheer him up, to drag him out of the shadows. He wasn’t looking for someone to try and make it better, to take his pain away. 

And then you showed up and you breathed him back to life without even realising you were doing so.

From the moment he met you he had instinctively gravitated towards you, like you were magnets of opposing poles who were inherently drawn to one another. But his wounds caused by Maeve’s death were still so raw that he wasn’t in a position to open his heart up again. 

So the two of you fell into a wonderful friendship, probably the best one Spencer had ever had in his life. You were the light to his dark, the sunshine on his cloudy day. You were the first sip of coffee in the morning, the crisp pages of a new book. You were his favourite song. 

You were his cure. 

The whole team joked about the two of you, often referring to you as work husband and wife. Truthfully what you had was essentially a romantic relationship minus the intimacy. And at some point Spencer found the scars start to heal and his heart began to open up again without his realising. 

Almost two years after you joined the team, when Spencer kissed you for the first time, it was like the most natural thing in the world. 

You’d been leaving work together one night and you offered him a ride home like always but somedays Spencer enjoyed taking the metro to clear his head after particularly long days. 

He walked you to your car nonetheless and as you were saying goodbye he leant in and kissed the corner of your mouth as though it was something he did all the time. And then he kissed you again, this time directly on the lips and the strangest part of it was how it didn’t feel strange at all.

You never talked about what it meant but you didn’t need to. The next time the two of you went to the movies he slid his hands in yours as you walked towards the theatre. He spent the night with his arm protectively around your shoulders while you snuggled against him. 

And outside of your door after he walked you home, he kissed you again, this time much more passionately. You’d subsequently invited him in and the two of you finally took your relationship to a whole new level. 

You never defined your relationship per se. Somewhere over time Spencer started referring to you as his girlfriend and it was just so simple. 

Your relationship had grown and blossomed as though it was the easiest thing in the world, like you’d always meant to be together. Up until he’d met you, Spencer’s life had been full of complications but you were the least complicated thing in the world. 

You were the full stop to the end of all his paragraphs, you banished all the darkness from his life. You were the cure for everything that ailed him. 

But then he was arrested. 

Being locked in a cage for two and half months for a crime he didn’t commit brought all those demons out of the shadows that you had chased away with your light. He was sure even your sunny aura couldn’t bring him back from this. 

And after his release, he started shutting down. 

It started in small ways, ones in which you didn’t even really notice at first. Conversations became more one sided, his casual touches were few and far between. Then he started leaving for work earlier and earlier and you started getting used to waking up alone in an empty bed. 

During his stints of mandatory leave from the BAU you barely saw him and you knew that was by design. It became apparent that he was avoiding you, pushing you away along with the rest of the team. 

But you weren't the rest of the team. You were his partner, you shared a home together; a life together. You were once able to pull him out of any hell he was going through without even really trying. But this time he seemed so lost you worried he’d never find his way back to you. 

Even when he was home, mentally he was elsewhere. Perhaps he was still stuck inside a prison cell at Milburn, or maybe he was trapped in a perpetual nightmare that revolved around Cat Adams. 

You tried to comfort him, to offer him a reprieve from his dark thoughts but after so many attempts you gave up trying. There was only so much you could do and to be perfectly honest, you didn’t think there was any way of freeing him from the clutches of his monsters. 

Seven months after his release from prison, the two of you called time on your relationship. 

You moved out of his apartment and in with Penelope as a temporary measure while you found your own place. You took an indefinite leave of absence from the BAU while you worked on piecing your life back together. 

You didn’t see or speak to Spencer for several months that followed the break up. You made Penelope promise you not to tell you anything pertaining to him, it wasn’t your job to worry about him anymore. And even thought it killed her to do so, Penelope agreed to do this one thing for you. 

Spencer had allowed himself to get swallowed up in the darkness and this time even your magnificent light wasn’t enough to cure him.

***

Three months after the break up you still felt just as fragile as you did the day you moved out of his apartment. Your heart had taken a beating, it was bruised and battered and it would take a long time for it to heal, you knew that. But after three months you thought you might have made some progress. Instead you were still stuck at square one.

You’d moved out of Penelope’s last month into a tiny little studio apartment not far from Dupont Circle. You hated it if you were honest, but it was better than continuing to put Garcia out by sleeping on her couch. 

You hadn't been back to the BAU since the break up and had recently started looking for other jobs. You’d interview at the DC Field Office and were hopeful to get an offer, but it would be bitter sweet. You loved the BAU, you didn’t want to leave, but you knew you couldn’t work with Spencer again. Not with the way your heart shattered everytime you simply thought his name. 

You were trying to move on, it was all you could do. But what you didn’t realise was Spencer living in a whole new level of hell. 

***

The final nail in Spencer Reid’s coffin was when you moved out of the apartment. And what made it a harder pill to swallow was the fact it was his own fault you’d done so. 

He’d thought he’d been protecting you by bottling up his emotions and not dragging you down into the pit created by his time in prison. He thought if he didn’t talk about it, it would go away. This was one thing you couldn’t shield him from, one thing he needed to work through on his own the way he’d grown so accustomed to doing before he met you. 

But he’d pushed you too far, right out the door. And from there his life simply spiralled out of control. 

He left the BAU, just up and quit one day without any warning. He knew it was terrible timing with you taking a leave of absence but he couldn’t stop himself. He woke up one day and decided he’d had enough. 

For the months that followed he didn’t leave his apartment much at all. He wasn’t eating properly, wasn’t showering as frequently as he should and barely sleeping more than a couple of fretful hours a night. 

To be alone with himself like this for eternity would be agony. Without you there to breathe him back to life his appetite for living died. 

On one of his rare trips outside of the four walls of his tiringly lonely apartment, he brought a vial of dilaudid. He kept it in the middle of his coffee table for weeks, unopened, just as a reminder that he could take it if he wanted to. 

But thankfully it never did come to that. Instead of getting high, a particular rabbit hole he may never find his way out of, he drank. 

In actuality, it wasn’t much better and he knew that. Just because he’d never had a dependency to alcohol before didn’t mean he couldn’t develop one, clearly he was susceptible to addiction. But drinking was the only thing that helped numb the pain, aided in distancing himself from his tormented thoughts. 

Without you the demons were able to sneak closer and he lived with them among the shadows. You were always the one to shoulder the brunt of his misery but now he had to face it alone because he’d pushed you away. The lightness in your heart that he had always envied was gone, casting him forever into blackness.

He needed you here, the cure when his thoughts turned to cyanide, when he was going out of his fucking mind. 

He’d been drunk for more days straight than he could count and with each passing day the dilaudid grew more tempting. He moved it from the coffee table more often, rolling the vial around his hand, tapping his nails against it; contemplating the sweet release that would come with just one hit. 

But it never would be just one hit. 

The things he’d seen and done in prison haunted his every waking breath and seeped over into the small window of sleep he managed. He was never going to be the same after that experience, it had hardened him in a way he never realised possible. 

It had created a shell around his heart, a solid armour snugly encasing the organ in order to protect himself from his own emotions. But ultimately it hadn’t just been himself his emotions had been locked away from. 

In the seven months you stayed by his side after his release he hadn’t once been able to tell you he loved you. It only occurred to him after you walked away that he hadn’t said that to you since the morning he’d left for Mexico. 

In seven months the most physical contact the two of you had was a few occasions when you’d dared to place a kiss on his cheek. You hadn’t kissed properly, hadn’t been intimate, hadn’t even so much as held hands since before he made the decision to go to Mexico. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t think about it. There were multiple times he’d almost initiated something, almost drawn you into his body when you were laying in bed side by side yet miles apart. But he always stopped himself.

The sad fact of the matter was: Spencer didn’t trust himself to be with you anymore. But in order to survive in prison he’d had to become someone he didn’t recognise and it wasn’t so easy for him to shed that new persona. And as if to really drive that point home, when he’d had Cat pinned against the wall with his hand around her throat, he knew he would never trust himself with you again. 

The darkness was inside of him now, leaching into every pore. If he was the kind of man who could have killed Cat, or Scratch, and slept well afterwards, who’s to say where he would draw that line? 

As much as he missed you with every strangled beat of his shattered heart, keeping you away from him kept you safe. And he only ever wanted you to be safe. 

But without you, he may well meet his demise at the bottom of a bottle, or the bottom of a vial.

You were the cure. Your eyes have dug him out of his grave more times than he could ever count. You’ve always been the one to breathe him back to life. 

And so maybe it was inevitable that he called you, perhaps it was a feat in itself that he’d managed months on his own. But when he found himself on his bathroom floor, half a bottle of whiskey clouding his brain and a needle full of dilaudid in his hand, the only thing that was going to stop his relapse was you.

He didn’t expect you to answer but he prayed you would. And maybe someone was looking out for him, maybe there was some kind of higher power smiling down on him because you answered after three rings. 

“Spencer…” your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke his name. Just those two simple syllables from your lips wrapped him in a blanket of your warmth. 

“H-hi Y/N.” His own was hoarse, run down. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken out loud and it showed. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks, heavy and thick as the hand holding the needle trembled. 

“Did you…did you want something?” Your voice held the weight of the pain he’d cause you and made even more tears fall. 

“Uh…” he stared at the needle, brushing his thumb along the plastic tube. This was so unfair of him. He couldn’t do this to you, drag you back into his mess like this. He knew if he asked you would come running in a heartbeat. But it wasn’t fair of him to ask. “It’s nothing. Forget I called.” 

“Are you sure?” Your tone was riddled in concern. 

“Y-yeah. Sure. V-very sure.” He stuttered, choking a little on his own tears. 

Before you could reply he hung up the phone before he could change his mind and beg you to come and save him from himself. He tossed the device aside and focused on the needle. He leant back against the bathroom wall, pulling his knees up to meet his chest. 

The cool tile on his bare feet was a nice repreve, but the dilaudid would be better. 

His shirt sleeve was already pushed up to his elbow, the tie was already secured around his bicep. The needle was full, all he had to do was press it into his waiting vein and all of his problems would melt away. 

But this was one grave he may never be able to dig himself out of. Once he relapsed there would be no going back, no getting sober this time. But his sobriety didn’t mean as much to him as it once had, and perhaps it was worth succumbing to his demons for a chance at peace.

***

Despite how hard he tried to sound like himself, it was easy for you to see through Spencer’s thinly veiled lie. And as much as you didn’t want to involve yourself anymore, you couldn’t help yourself. 

Taking care of Spencer Reid came as naturally to you as breathing. You didn’t intend on doing it, and most of the time he didn’t need looking after. But you did it anyway in small, every day ways. 

You did it in the way you made him coffee every morning before work. You did it in the way you ran your fingers through his hair after a stressful day. You did it in the way you grasped his hand when he needed something to ground him, when you offered him a soft smile of encouragement when he needed it. 

He’d always called you his cure, as though you were the antidote to all the horrors in the world. He’d told you that your smile was the sweetest medicine, that your mere presence in his life was therapeutic. 

So if there was any way you could help him, even after he’d pushed you away and caused you to leave, you would find it and you would do it. Which was why after he hung up on you, you were quickly jumping in your car and driving across town to the apartment you used to reside in. 

The door wasn’t just unlocked but it was open a crack. Immediately your heart started to race and you were so glad you hadn’t officially quit the BAU yet and you were still in possession of your firearm. 

Your hand shook as you pulled the weapon from your holster, nudging the door further open with your shoulder. You made quick work of taking in the room. It looked to be ransacked, like someone had broken in and turned the place upside down in search of something. 

You held your breath as you silently started across the room, manoeuvring in and out of piles of debris left behind in someone's wake. You headed towards the closed bedroom door, gun pointing right ahead of you. You focused your hearing but thus far couldn’t make out any distinctive sounds. 

Pushing open the door, you found the bedroom in much the same state as the living room. You tried not to allow yourself to get sentimental as your eyes swept across the unmade bed and you thought back to late nights and early mornings snug beneath those sheets with Spencer. The bed that was so big but you’d never know it as he always kept you as close as humanly possible. 

The bathroom door, like the front door, was open a crack and a light pooled from inside. It was then you heard the sound of haggard breathing punctuated by loud sniffing, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to well and truly stand to attention. 

As you listened to the unmistakable sounds of a grown man sobbing, you lowered your gun and tucked it back in your holster. 

A deeply disturbed and troubled man had ravaged this apartment but it was not the work of some petty criminal. Spencer had turned his home into a reflection of his own tortured mind, you had no doubt. 

You were somehow more tentative after you knew someone hadn’t broken in. You had never seen Spencer cry before, he always liked to put up a tough exterior, probably something to do with him being the baby of the BAU for so many years. 

You’d seen him vulnerable, probably more than he’d ever let anyone else see him, but you’d never witnessed him with his walls stripped away completely. And honestly, the thought of it scared you a little. 

But no matter how scared you were, despite how much he had hurt you, you pressed on. 

You inched open the bathroom not wanting to startle him and found him on the floor, hugging his legs to his chest and sobbing into his knees. But the truly terrifying part was the vial and needle discarded at his side. A silk tie was fashioned into a tourniquet around his arm.

“S-Spencer?” You gasped, covering your gaping mouth with your hands. 

He stiffened and slowly lifted his head from where it had been buried in the fabric of his slacks. His eyes were red rimmed and tears silently streamed down his cheeks. His hair drooped lifelessly onto his forehead and his face clearly hadn’t seen a razor in months. 

He somehow looked even worse than when you visited him in prison. 

“Why are you here?” His voice cracked and his words were slightly slurred. 

“You didn’t sound like yourself on the phone. I needed to see you with my own eyes.” You heard the sadness in your own tone, unable to hide it. 

“I’m not myself.” He exhaled a breath that sounded like he had been holding it in for years. “I haven’t been since prison.” 

You swallowed, daring to take a few steps further into the bathroom. Spencer let his legs fall and stretch out in front of him on the linoleum and you slid down to sit next to him, the only thing separating you was the drug paraphernalia. As if reading your mind he exhaled again before he spoke.

“I didn’t take it.” He wouldn’t look at you, instead he looked down at his hands. “I wanted to, but I didn’t.” 

“Why are you slurring then?” You watched the side of his face. He clenched and unclenched his jaw several times. 

“Whiskey. Not dilaudid. I swear.” 

“I’ve never known you to drink.” Of course it was a relief that he hadn’t taken the drugs, but hearing that he was drunk wasn’t a whole lot better. 

“I hadn’t had a drink in nearly ten years. I gave it up around the same time as I quit dilaudid, I guess I worried it would become one vice replacing another. But I needed something. And alcohol was the lesser of two evils.” He was still slurring but he was surprisingly coherent. 

It didn’t surprise you in the least that Spencer could still string a logical sentence together when he was inebriated. 

“Why did you call me, Spencer? Of all the people you could have called, why me?” You whispered as though you weren’t entirely sure you really wanted an answer to that. 

He finally looked at you, glancing to his side with his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip in contemplation for a moment or two as though formulating a carefully curated answer. But really, the answer was incredibly simple. 

“Because you’re my cure.” He shrugged, his tears had dried up but the stains on his cheeks remained. “And right now I am in desperate need of remedy.” 

“Spencer…” You sighed, your own eyes misting over with tears. “I was always here for you, you could have talked to me about anything but instead you shoved me aside and tried to deal with things on your own.”

“I’ve never been very good at asking for help. I’ve only ever been able to rely on myself. People leave. People aren’t reliable. But you…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “You brought the kind of sunshine into my life I could only dream of. You have saved me in more ways than you will ever know. Your mere existence in my life has been more help to me than I can explain to you. That’s why I call you my cure, because it's the best way I can think to describe what you are to me.” 

“I knew you would be different after prison, Spencer. No decent man can go through an experience like that and come out unchanged. But in your bones you are still the Spencer Reid I fell in love with.” You tried to tell him much like you had countless times in those torrid seven months. You hoped this time he might actually hear it. 

“I’m really not sure that I am, Y/N.” He raked his fingers through his tangled hair with a meek shake of his head. 

“I am.” You nodded. “I’m sure. Spencer, whatever you had to do inside was for your own protection. It was every man for himself and you did what you did to survive. And Cat…? After everything she’s done to you, I wanted to strangle the bitch too.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened, looking a little like deer caught in headlights. He was gnawing on his bottom lip haphazardly as he stared at you. 

“Really?” 

“Yes, Spencer.” 

“Do you really think I can come back from this?” 

“Yes, Spencer.” You repeated, defiance in your voice. “And I’m going to help you. Whether you want me to or not. Because my love for you is stronger than the pain you caused me. I will be by your side, showering you in light until there is not even a sliver of a shadow for your demons to hide in. Let me be your cure, Spence.” 

You reached out your hands towards him, palm upwards and fingers spread to create enough space for his own to slot between them. He glanced between your face and your hand a few times before his lip quipped up ever so slightly at the corner in a small smile. 

And then he reached for you, his fingers finding those spaces between your own that always seemed like they were made intentionally to fit his. It was as though someone had crafted you both perfectly for each other. 

Spencer had never been a believer in higher powers but it was the only reason he could fathom for how you had found him. 

In a world consisting of nearly eight billion people, what were the chances of the two of you meeting? What were the odds of two perfectly imperfect people finding each other and slotting together in such an inconceivably faultless way? 

As you sat there hand in hand, Spencer knew he would do anything to keep you by his side for as long as he lived. Even if it meant allowing you to see all his flaws, all his cracks. Because he was certain now you would love every one of his broken pieces. 

You were the light casting away his shadows. You were the air being breathed into his lungs. You were the thread holding him together. 

You were the cure. 

#milestone celebration #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n

[amyispxnk]

I'd do whatever I could do

Summary - you're staying with Joel now, trying to figure yourself out and leaving the QZ to visit some of his friends

A/N: oh my god, I finally did it y'all - finally made the part two for this 👏 Also, I was going through the lyrics of this song and I kind of realised just how daddy issues Joel it is. I'm not gonna list them, but there are definitely a good few lines that stuck out to me. A part 3 might be simmering. We'll see.

Pairing: platonic/father figure!Joel Miller x f!reader (could probably be read as GN tho?)

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: violence, mentions of past abuse, PTSD, alcohol mention, language, angst, pet names, comfort, paternal issues, very brief mention of a gun

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

Part 1 here

You reckoned you had stopped really taking the words in a few seconds after he slammed the door behind him, immediately shrinking back into the couch where you'd previously been sat staring into space, whilst he told you things about his day.

Your eyes darted up at him quickly, lip quivering already. You still didn't know exactly why. Why small things like him touching you too abruptly, raising his voice (never at you, but for some reason it still affected you), loud noises like a door slamming, affected you. But they really did, and he'd come to notice it after only a few days of you staying with him.

--

He came back home after a long, difficult, tiring deal. Since your arrival and staying at his place had been so recent, his old habits remained. One of them was to practically shout and stomp his foot in anger as soon as he got back from a trade went south, a bad day out.

"Fuck!" He had gritted through clenched teeth as he threw his bag on the floor, deadset on getting into the kitchen to his whisky to muffle the frustration of the day.

You froze in complete fear and horror as he rounded the corner, his eyes immediately falling onto your trembling figure, clutching the little food packet in one of your hands as your own eyes stared back at him, bulging out of their sockets.

"Shit." He muttered to himself, taking a few steps towards you - not expecting you to immediately drop the packet and raise your hands in front of you, almost cowering before him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry Joel p-please, I don't-" You stuttered, eyes welling up with tears as you flinched when he took another, more careful, step towards you, already apologising even though you didn't know what you had done.

"Hey, hey, hey. 's okay," he soothed. "C'mere sweetheart. It's okay." And somehow the sound of his voice, so gentle just for you, comforted you immediately.

You stepped into his open arms, body shaking hard with sobs as you choked on your own tears. "I'm sorry." You said, muffled into the fabric of his flannel.

"I told you it's okay. What happened, sweet girl?" He hugged you tight, right hand coming up to rub soothing circles into your back.

"I don't know." You murmured, unsure of what set you off so badly.

"It's okay baby, we'll figure it out. You're okay now."

--

That was the first time it had happened, now you were here again. He'd slammed the door, although he wasn't angry. It was just something he did out of habit to ensure it closed properly, but after he saw you shaking like before on the couch, his brows knitted in worry.

"What's wrong?" He asked, a hand coming to rest on your shoulder as you turned to face him slightly, jolting - not as aggressively as you used to - at the touch.

"Nothing. Just- you slammed the door. I think it's one of those.. trigger things you were talking about."

Naturally, Joel had racked his mind and scoured the dozen odd books he had in his apartment to try remember anything about this kind of mental health issue and the things you'd gone through, finally landing on some sort of PTSD. He'd explained it as best he could to you, telling you that the things like someone raising their voice at you and loud noises were 'triggers', things that reminded you of the times with your dad and made you feel that same fear you'd feel with him all over again.

"Right." He nodded, brushing your hair back and out of your eyes a bit. "'m sorry, sweetheart. I'll try not to do it again, yeah?"

You hummed a noise of agreement, making a space beside you for him to sit down on the couch.

He did so and cleared his throat. "Got some news," he began "'s nothin' big, really. Just thought you oughta have a bit of notice."

You turned to face him a little more as he looked up and met your eyes. "I have this deal, with a guy in Lincoln, and I'm due to go see him next week." He told you.

"So.. you're leaving?" You questioned, trying not to seem too hurt by it.

"No, no. I mean- if you don't want to come with me, then yeah, but I'll be back within the month. I just.. don't feel too safe leavin' you here." He explained, and you nodded.

"I don't want you to go. I'll- I'll come with you." You mumbled, and he gently tilted your head up to face him again.

"You're gonna be okay out there? Y'ever been out of the QZ before?" He asked. If you hadn't ever been outside then things could be quite difficult. It would be scary for a young thing like you. Not only that, but you had your triggers, and the gunfire paired with the infected would surely set one of them off - that's why he'd tried putting the entire trip off, but he had to go. That was how he made his living around here, he needed those supplies.

"Mmhm. I've also killed a few infected before, if you're worried about that. Not gonna be completely useless, I'd say." You said with a small chuckle, leaning into his touch subconsciously.

"Okay." He nodded, stroking your cheek gently before standing up and going over to the kitchen to make something for dinner. "And you're not useless, sweetheart, not at all."

-----

Bill and Frank. That's who they were. Bill was the guy he actually had the deal with, Frank was the one who'd convinced Bill to go along with it in the first place. Frank was the nice one, Joel had told you.

He'd explained a bit before you'd left and more when it came up in conversation as the two of you walked. In and out of forests, weaving between trees, trudging down dirt roads and kicking rocks, on your journey to Lincoln.

A journey that you still would've been able to complete within a day on foot, but that was before the apocalypse. Now there were buildings falling over eachother, and guards near your place of departure which slowed you down, and clickers and the likes which ensured you had to be completely silent in your movements, extending the time of your journey by at least 50%.

You watched as he slaughtered them all though. It should have scared you, at least a little, but it just amazed you. Admittedly, it had shaken you when you saw him completely beat one of the FEDRA guards to death when you were making your way out of Boston. You'd been caught, a guard that wasn't supposed to be there was there and Joel wasn't careful enough.

Things were almost okay, you probably could have haggled your way out of that situation, but when the soldier made a comment about you, a comment about what they might do to a 'bad girl' like you for sneaking out of the QZ, he had simply seen red. He didn't even know he had lunged for the man until he was on top of him, the crunch of the soldier's jaw and Joel's fist coming down on his face bringing him back to reality.

He was protective of you, and rightfully so, and you didn't even care how aggressive he could get with it. He wanted to keep you safe, and would go that far for it, therefore he cared about you. Someone actually cared about you.

"Okay, I think we're gonna stay here for the night." He said, pulling you out of your thoughts as you gave him a small smile.

"Okay."

You both set up a makeshift camp, eating whatever you could spare from your stash of food before getting ready to go to sleep - him denying your offer to take watch like he did before and he'd do everytime.

You sighed, walking off and quickly settling into the sleeping bag, melting into it and relishing the warmth it offered you as you hugged yourself to sleep, body heat almost suffocating you but in a comforting way.

--

When you woke up, you thought you actually were suffocating, throwing the cover off of you and crying out his name, the only person you could think of to save you. He was going to get you, he was back, he was coming for you and he'd never leave you alone, he'd take you from Joel and then he'd k-

"Hey, hey. That's not gonna happen, sweetheart, come on, come over here." You didn't realise you were saying those things out loud but it didn't matter as you crawled out of your sleeping bag, letting him pull you into his lap as he cradled you, rocking you back and forth as he kissed your head.

"It's okay, it's okay. Did ya have another nightmare?" He asked, voice calm and low as he tried to comfort you and calm you down.

You nodded quickly, sniffing and breathing erratically as you did.

"Sweet girl. It's okay now, it's okay." He reassured you, hugging you tight and pressing more kisses into your hair. "I won't let anything happen to you, you know that."

"I know." You said quietly, voice cracking as you wiped at your tears. "I'm sorry." You said, somehow in a voice even quieter than before.

He sighed, breathing slowly and deeply - something he knew helped, as he noticed you'd start breathing in time with him to ground yourself, regulate your own breathing during these situations. "Don't go and apologise when you haven't even done anything wrong, sweetheart. You're going through a lot and you're probably still processing everything that happened, it wasn't that long ago when you were still.." he didn't want to remind you of anything too sensitive, trailing off slightly. "Point is, it's all fairly fresh, and it's natural things like these nightmares are gonna be happenin', so don't apologise, okay?" He said, looking into your glossy eyes and brushing your tears away.

"Yeah. I'm-" You were already going to apologise again, making him frown slightly. "Thank you, Joel."

"It's okay. You try get some more sleep now, okay?" He gently helped you off his lap and pulled the sleeping bag back on top of your body, knees cracking as he got back up to walk away to where he was taking watch - when your voice called out for him again.

"Can you stay with me? Please, Joel? I'm just- I'm scared." You mumbled, face growing hot with embarrassment at how pathetic the question felt now you were speaking it aloud.

He pressed his lips together, turning his head to check the area once more before getting his own sleeping bag, placing it by yours, and resting his arm behind your head as you tucked your face into his chest.

"Goodnight." He said softly, stroking your hair slowly.

"Night, Joel." You mumbled into the soft fabric of his shirt, before passing out again, leaving him to lay alone with his thoughts in the cool night.

Thank you sm for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated and requests are open! 💞

Tags - @rosierogie @jjlevin

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #the last of us #tlou hbo #joel miller hbo #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel tlou #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #ppcu #ppcu fanfiction #the last of us fic #joel miller tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou #amyispxnk fics #Spotify

[litnerdwrites]

So Nesta might also have second hand trauma...

+ Elain is a hypocrite.

“I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

This quote has rubbed me the wrong way since I read ACOSF for the first time. I reblogged and responded to a post by @simmanin where I discussed how Elain is a hypocrite for this line, since the IC have never considered what Nesta's trauma did to her. That was one of two thoughts I had regarding this quote, the second being how Nesta's reaction seems completely logical.

I think Nesta's response to Elain wanting to search for the Cauldron to be a form of real trauma caused, not only by her mother, her father's neglect, the cauldron, turning fae, the war and the shit ACOSF put her through, but also the trauma faced by Elain. This is a form of trauma called Secondary traumatic stress disorder.

Secondary trauma is most common in health care workers and mental health professionals, as well as others who help and deal with other people's trauma on the regular. This, to me, makes complete, logical sense. If you're exposed to so many traumatic experiences, even if it isn't directly, on the regular, then it makes sense that your mental health would also suffer for it.

There have been cases in which a person goes through trauma, and their family members, like siblings, develop secondary trauma as a result. Moreover, it's natural for any form of trauma to affect a person's relationships with friends and family, which we see happen to Nesta in how she distances herself from even Elain.

It makes complete sense that Nesta, who has set herself up as Elain's protector their whole life, and acts as more of a mother figure to her, would develop some form of secondary trauma when she almost loses Elain, or watches Elain endure suffering when shoved into the cauldron.

It wouldn't be far fetched for a parent/sibling to develop a form of secondary trauma after almost losing their child/sibling, in an accident or at the hands of another human being. So why is it that nobody considers that Elain's kidnapping caused even more trauma for Nesta.

While I'm not trying to say that it should come before Elain's trauma and experience, it also isn't okay to discount and overlook Nesta's just because her coddling of Elain is considered a bad trait. It isn't good that Elain is coddled like a child, but using it as an excuse to disregard the obvious traits of trauma that Nesta is showing is unfair to her, and just another example of Elain, perhaps unknowingly in regards to secondary trauma, thinking only about Nesta's trauma is doing to her. How she's upset by the way Nesta handles it, rather than considering that Elain's support is the one Nesta needs the most.

Nesta spend her whole life feeling like a failure. To her mother. Her grandmother. To Feyre. To Amren. To the court. Nesta grapples with feelings of self worth and views herself as a failure for being unable to protect those she loves so fiercely, which greatly affects her mental health and is a huge factor in driving her to want to commit suicide. The only thing she didn't feel like she failed at, was protecting Elain. Until the cauldron. Until Hybern. Until they were dragged into a war that Nesta wanted no part of, but got involved with because of Feyre's request and Elain's insistence.

Nesta tried to give to Feyre what Feyre gave to her in that cabin when she allowed her to use their home (despite Feyre's friends accosting her for issues that aren't theirs to address or comment on), and even then, she feels like she failed when the mortal queens turned traitor. Failed to make it up to Feyre, failed to protect her people, and when Hybern came, failed to protect Elain.

Now, for Elain to not only reinforce those negative feelings, but dismiss Nesta's traumas entierly, from the moment the war ended, is cruel. Elain is a hypocrite. She is a hypocrite who was quick to abandon the one person who's been in her corner for her entire life. While there are clearly issues between Elain and Nesta that need to be sorted through, especially in regards to how Elain is coddled and borderline infantilised by her Nesta, discrediting Nesta's trauma, the way she's accused of doing to Elain despite how Nesta sacrificed her own healing just to be by Elain's side and get involved in the war, again, at Feyre's behest, is not how you go about it.

Nesta appears to have a form of secondary trauma that stems from Elain's own traumas, and she's not the only one. I think tamlin's actions stem from a form of secondary trauma from watching how Feyre suffered and died under the mountain. It doesn't make what he did right. It doesn't excuse his actions. Nor does it excuse Feyre's, since one might argue that seeing her sisters dumped into the cauldron gave her a form of secondary trauma too (since Mor mentioned Feyre feeling responsible for what happened in acofs, and wanting to fix all their problems as a result).

However, it does explain them. Much like how Nesta's traumas, first and second hand, explain her actions. That's not to say that an explanation is an excuse. It merely provide a context from which to examine their actions can be examined and create a path to empathy and compassion. Whether they're forgiven and forgotten is entierly up to those affected by their actions (pretty much just Feyre and maybe Elain for the coddling), and in the case of fictional media, audience discretion.

Nesta has certain things she should apologies for (again, to Feyre mostly, and maybe a little bit Elain), I don't disagree with that. However, none of that can happen until Nesta is able to heal.

The quote above is the perfect example of Nesta being denied that, despite the delusion of the IC in thinking that's what ACOSF was about. Her trauma isn't considered valid by the Ic, or even her own sisters, which is why it isn't treated as such.

So to sum it up, yes. Nesta is thinking about what Elain's trauma did to her because it did have a very real affect on her. It caused real trauma that Nesta has to deal with. The dangers faced by Feyre and the entire court, cause her trauma. She suffers with the fear of losing those she loves so fiercely so that her mental health took a swan dive because of that, amongst other reasons. Yet nobody acknowledges that Elain's suffering, real and horrible as it may be, also caused Nesta pain. Hell, they don't acknowledge the pain Nesta's own suffering caused her, much less anybody else's.

Also Elain and the IC just prove that they have no empathy or compassion despite their own traumas being so similar to the hell they're putting Nesta through. Either their traumas weren't traumatising or the cycle of abuse broke the so badly that they can't even recognise the abuse they put others through.

#anti acosf #anti ic #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #pro nesta #nesta deserves better #nesta acotar #anti amren #anti mor #pro nesta archeron #anti elain #anti feyre #anti morrigan #Nesta's trauma needs to be addressed #preferably by a professional #but apparently those are off limits to Nesta for some reason #pro tamlin

[deathsmallcaps]

Casual reminder that being queer does not preclude you from repeating racist, xenophobic, conservative and just down right inappropriate shit, or from being a terrible hypocrite. I don’t want to out this person, so I covered their name. but I spotted a bad take, went to investigate and block, and saw these two posts right above and below each other.

This person, with a bi flag as part of their avatar, reblogged a fairly popular post about how the term ‘pedophile’ is weapon used against queer people. Right after reblogging a post about the troubles in Libya right now and adding a comment about how they can’t feel sorry for a country with bad child marriage laws.

As if such a statement wasn’t heartless and hypocritically unaware. As if such a statement didn’t also write off all the people that they’re supposedly arguing for (the women and children affected by those laws). As if derailing a post about the deaths of thousands from the collapse of a dam during a drought was in any way appropriate.

Warning for mentions of pedophilia, and xenophobic and Anti-Libyan comments. The photos below will be followed by image descriptions.

Image Description One: A tumblr post from December 10, 2017 by Robotlyra. The original post says: If "grooming an underage person" becomes the new go-to accusation that gets trotted out any and every time an adult makes any mention of sexual topics in the presence of a person under the age of 18, I wonder if it will eventually become functionally impossible for any adult in a position of authority to act as an educational reference for sexual health matters.

It is then followed by a reblog from Robotlyra, the original poster, on December 14 2022. It says: I was going back through my tumblr archives and found this post from five years ago and now I need a drink.

End image description One

Image description two: a picture just to prove that that the post in the previous screenshot is connected to the post in the next image. It shows parts of both posts.

End image description two

Image Description Three: a post by Unhonestlymirror from September 15, 2023. It is a screenshot of a tweet by Lyla_lilas, and contains both text and an image of a man wiping tears from his eyes. The text reads: A Libyan journalist cried live on television before declaring: "The world has abandoned us."

As a reminder: a new report shows at least 11,300 deaths in the country.

#PrayForLibya #Lybia

End Image Description Three

Image Description Four

A screenshot of a September 16 reblog with a comment, with part of the previous image’s tweet visible to make it clear this was a reblogged comment. The text reads: Ima be real. I struggle to feel bad for a country that has no issues with child marriage (as long as it is arranged by the parents/father, which it always is anyways)

And the age of consent is “Must be married”.

Oh and if rape is acknowledged, the woman (or girl) is kicked out and out in a “social welfare” home.

So I apologise if I struggle to cry about a country filled with pedophiles.

End image description Four

#I’m pissed about this one

[cream0fwheat1998]

Of Mean & Mice (Dark! Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Summary: College student y/n is invited to a girls' night by classman Sarah Cameron. All is not what it seems when she assaulted by Sarah older brother, who just happens to be staying at their parents house at the same time.

AU. Everyone is College-aged or older. 18+ thank you.

Warning: NONCON, assault and dark Rafe.

Rafe Cameron threw his empty beer can into the sand; the typically humid air has chilled as winter nears in the Outer Banks.

"Fuck you Sarah; you owe me." He tossed the "adult" photos of his sister into the bonfire. He didn't like her too much, regardless, he never wanted to see naked photos that her scorned ex had taken without her knowledge.

"I know, you asshole. I'm thinking." Sarah crossed her arms and sat into the sand with a defeated sigh.

"You could think faster; it wasnt easy to get Topper to give up those pics. My current supply of Coke - fucking gone." He said, pulling a pack of cigarettes & a lighter out of his pocket.

Sarah thought back to the moment the photos were taken. She had been waiting for that moment with John B. It was suppose to be special; and it was, until Topper had gotten sloppy with the flash of his camera. The heat of her and John B's skin, the longing in each others' eyes was replaced by panic and aggression for the pervert that ran from the bushes he had been hiding in.

Rafe noticed the single tear fall down Sarah's cheek. He didn't feel bad for her; but he was frustrated at the situation Topper had put all of them in. Kelce's poor taste in humor made the situation even more aggravating. The glance at the photos had him flustered but not because of his sister, that'd be disgusting. He could tell Sarah was distraught more than usual and felt that this was finally the time where he'd be owed something from someone else.

It had been a lifetime since he felt this powerful. Yeah, Rafe had money, drugs and Women whenever and wherever he wanted but as he has gown older; nearing 30, he knew he felt a loss for something that had never existed in his heart.

Real Love.

Rafe scoffed at the stupidest, fucking idea he ever had. It'd never be possible for him to find someone that would love him. But he could force someone; but who? Some of these whores were too willing & eager to share Rafe's bed. Only because of the weight of his families name and the weight of his bank account.

He shook his head; realistically, he knew he was no saint himself but he knew how to use his resources and powers to his favor. Above all, he loved to dangle it above others' heads.

"Find me a girl Sarah. Anyone. Not ugly, please. But someone who looks like shed be easy to tell what to do and say." He said, looking into the deep, dark sky.

Sarah shook her head and chuckled slightly, "You're fucking messed up but fine. I don't where to start though...." She glanced at her brother who was lighting a cigarette.

"Just fucking do it. Thats what you'll owe me. You have a week or I let Topper release the backup photos he probably has somewhere." Rafe looked back at his sister while taking a long inhale of his smoke.

Rafe felt good as the rush of nicotine hit him. He desired change.

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

Y/n sat at the instructor droned on about the class issue. Today she wasn't particularly attentive with the health of her father in mind. She and him didn't start off with a great relationship but since he's come back into her and her mothers life; both of them have made and effort to be civil.

When the past started to dissolve into nothing and the future seemed possible, all was lost when her dad went to the doctors for some stomach issues that have turned out to be a large problem than once believed.

On top of all that, she had noticed some stares from a girl in class. Sarah; Y/n thought. She was rather pretty but seemed kinda bitchy through her disinterested & entitled tone she typically spoke in. But the stares weren't mean; her eyes were bright and teeth as white as the moon shone at her from time to time. It was odd because this never happened before.

At the chime of the clock, the instructor put down his pointer and dismissed all of them. (Y/n) gathered her papers and stuffed them into an already full backpack.

The shame from falling behind her assignments felt heavy but Y/n couldnt bring herself to lift a pencil to a paper with the rest of the world on her shoulders.

A tap on her shoulder made her heart speed up as she twirled around to see 'Sarah' standing behind her with a wide smile.

Y/n glanced around the nearly empty classroom but it seemed she really was the one Sarah was waiting on.

When y/n didn't say anything Sarah rolled her eyes, "Hey i'm Sarah. Listen I'm having a girl only bonfire friday and I'm inviting alot of girls in my classes. I thought I might as well ask you so.....do you wanna go?" Sarah handed her flyer with an address and clip art on it.

Before y/n could answer as the Un-comfortability of being singled out dawned upon her; Sarah dismissed any possibility of a 'no'.

"Please come. It'll be fun and much better than whatever you already had planned. Think about it and text me by midnight." Sarah asked and hurried out of the room.

Multiple thoughts crossed y/n's mind as she head to her car in the parking lot. There were still 2 classes left but the overwhelming social possibilities along with the stuff that already had her mind in a headlock weighed against her. She had no mental capacity for anything new.

While her home was silent and dark; Y/n thought about the uncertainty of it all. Her parents were at the hospital for another check up and she offered to join but they wanted her to focus in school and asked her to stay away.

As the numbers on her phone changed and the sky got darker; y/n decided to take a once in a lifetime chance before she fully decided society was not worth participating in all-together.

Slowly, y/n practiced her text message before forcing herself to hit send. A rapid heartbeat cause the girl to down a bottle of water and look to the deep blue evening sky as she hoped that she'd get to feel better for atleast one night.

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

Sarah was painting her last toenail when her phone screen lit up. On the surface was a speech bubble by an unsaved number that read, "This is Y/n L/n from school. I'd like to go to your party."

Sarah felt giddy by the politeness of the message; she felt deeply that this goody-goody mouse that always sat in the back of the class and away from everyone would be perfect to fulfill the end of her bargain that she owed to her horny brother.

Sarah texted Rafe not a second later with the picture she snuck of Y/n in class. "This is her. Tomorrow night." Sarah typed. A sigh of relief as she plopped down the phone but still a bundle of nervous in her stomach as she waited her brothers approval.

Three dots appeared under her own speech bubble. Sarahs eyes tried to see into her brothers mind for some peace but was elated at his response.

"Okay".

He liked Y/n (rather the potential that she held) and Sarah had felt she had done something right for once.

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

Y/n was in a car with several other women she'd seen on campus a few times. Sarah had called her in the morning with an offer to have Y/n picked up by some other girls that were coming.

Y/n wasnt totally comfortable with idea but Sarah insisted.

When they reached Sarah's home; the large mansion was a beautiful sight to behold. And y/n had never felt smaller than she had now; but little did she know that the mysterious face in the upper window would force her to feel the smallest she's ever been in just a few hours.

Y/n had been instructed to carry in some of the girls bags; she agreed to be nice but not without noticing the mocking chuckles from the women slapping their flip flops into the house.

As she entered into the front room alone; y/n stopped to admire the beauty of the house. It was an elegance she had never seen in modern homes, realizing that the house was probably historic.

One of the bag feel from her overwhelmed arms and fell to the ground.

"Shit." Y/n said while trying to grab it but a hand reached out of nowhere and grabbed it from the ground.

She followed the hand to it's owner; a handsome young man with beautiful blue eyes and a strong jaw line greeted her with a half smile.

Y/n stared, not knowing what to say.

"You're welcome. Sarah's room is upstairs and I'll show you the way." The male said already heading up the stairs, silently expecting her to follow.

Y/n followed, unsure of what the next move should actually be.

The bags were thrown inside of Sarah's bedroom and the pair stood in silence.

"Are you special needs or what?" The male asked with impatient eyes.

Y/n shook her head, "No. Sorry I just....What's your name?" Y/n asked, still taken aback by the subtle beauty of the man before her.

The guy scoffed, "Rafe. Sarah's brother. I have my own apartment but I'm staying here for the holiday break." he said as he sounded offended Y/n didn't already know that.

"I'm Y/n....y/n" She said with a slight stutter; embarrassed that she, as a 22 year old woman was still nervous when talking to men, alone.

Rafe nodded and yawned. Without a word, he walked away and disappeared down the long corridor.

Y/n felt disappointed that she couldn't keep the conversation going but figured that it was all just a fluke. There was a big fire, food and loud music to have fun with and she'd try her best to blend in.

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

1am, everyone was in Sarah's room. It'd been so long since Y/n had been surrounded by girls her age that she was willing to go with almost anything to feel good and wanted just this one night.

Sarah challenged this saying that Y/n's modest pajamas wouldn't do and that she needed something "Sexier" which y/n thought was weird (to be honest) but she wanted to fit in so Sarah handed her a pile of clothing and had Y/n change.

It was bittersweet. Not what she expected in either direction. It was a large t-shirt that went to her mid thighs (nothing but pebbled nipples and her underwear underneath) and a pair of long, shin length white socks. Uncomfortably, it reminded her of the socks her father would wear to work years ago.

When she emerged out of the bathroom, the women smiled. "You look adorable!" Sarah said while grabbing Y/n's shoulder.

Y/n had noticed just how cat-like Sarah was up-close. Suspicious eyes and lithe reflexes. "I was wondering could you go get us something? Sofia spilled her chips on the ground and I need a cloth to get it out of the carpet?"

Without thinking, Y/n nodded. All eyes in the room were on her. Sarah squeezed the womans' shoulders and said thank you.

"Turn left, down the hallway and a few doors. The last one at the end is the linen closet." Sarah said, turning her back to Y/n.

Y/n tip toed into the dark hallway; thinking about how embarrassing if any of Sarah's family saw a girl with no pants or bra on, rummaging through their personal property.

Y/n opened the door she thought was the closet but instead opened to Rafe, the young man from earlier, sitting at his desk, typing at the computer.

He glanced up from his work and saw Y/n standing there in the exact outfit he told Sarah to make her wear. God. He never imagined such a fantasy actually get to play out.

Go time.

Y/n face felt white hot as she and the eldest Cameron stared at each-other. "I'm sorry!" Y/n said, not knowing where to look or how to act.

"I thought this was the linen closet." Y/n said, about to close the door before Rafe answered.

He chuckled and stood from his desk, "It's alright. You're exactly where you need to be." He said closing in on the innocent woman.

Before she could comprehend what was happening, Rafe pulled Y/n in by the wrist and shut the door with a slam. Turning the lock in place.

In her head, Y/n asked what was going on but for whatever reason she stayed silent. But her mind screamed for her to run.

Rafe shook his head and walked toward the girl; like a lion stalking his next food. "You really don't think Sarah Cameron just invited you, a nobody, to hang out with her. Did you?" His eyes narrowed as his body glistened in the bit of moonlight showing through the window.

It didnt take a rocket scientist to put 2 + 2 together. More than ever, Y/n felt stupid. The realization that this may have been a prank dawned upon her.

"Now listen. This is gonna go one two ways. You either lay on your back and let me do whatever I want or I hold you down while I do what I want. You should feel grateful you're getting a choice at all." Rafe said, proudly but soft. His eyes were soft but his demeanor held an aura of temptation and daring. It was obvious that he liked 100% control regardless of his mates' feelings.

Y/n weighed her options. She knew she couldn't over power that tall, slender but muscular man before her. However she did have a voice and opened her mouth to scream.

Rafe slapped his hand against the girls mouth with a rough pat. "You can scream but they're not gonna help you. They know why you'll be screaming have been instructed to mind their fucking business. I'd save your voice anyway. Youll be screaming my name plenty soon enough." He said, a stern and scary look on his face.

Y/n backed up with Rafe forcefully pushing her forward until she fell on her back; she reached down to make sure her shirt was covering her intimate parts.

"Awww, look at you. You do know that's my shirt right? Its obviously too big for Sarah but I guess you were too stupid to figure that out before now." He said, looking ready to consume her whole at any given second.

As more things made sense, so did Y/n's fears. She rarely had courage so how she managed to say, "Please, don't do this...." In a choppy, emotion sentence was a step farther than she ever had taken.

Rafe thought how pitiful she looked with a line of tears ready to spill and that small voice that squeaked out delicate pleas. Something about her meekness made him feel powerful. He was in charge and he'd decide what happens to her. Though, for the first time in a long time, he felt his heart beat differently. Deeper.

Not a second later, he dove down, planting kisses on any visible surface of skin. From her neck to her thighs; she'd be marked in love bites. His marks. Y/n made a valiant effort to push Rafe off her person but he was much stronger than her. As is she didnt already know that.

"You're amusing but you're no match for me, cutie. Why don't you just lay there and take what I have to give you, hmm?" He said, tilting his chin up like a king looking down at a peasant.

A tear slid down y/n's cheek as Rafe abused her body. He roughly grabbed everywhere he could; he bit, kissed and chewed on anything he wanted. Y/n thought back to her parents and what they'd say if they saw her on her back, letting a strange man use her this way. They had instilled certain morals in her and to some degree she felt guilty not following those morals.

In a feat of conjured strength, Y/n bit down hard on the skin of Rafe's cheek. Her moment of people a defensive lioness what cut short with a hard slap, nearly punch, to the face by her assailant.

He was livid at the audacity she had to reject his love-making and slapped even harder the second time. She had wanted to bruise him so he was make sure he left his mark on her skin.

"You stupid fucking bitch!" He slapped a third time at the girl streamed tears down her face.

"I'm sorry! Please stop!" Y/n tried to squeak out but her soft voice drowned in the violence Rafe forcing on her.

"No no no, it's too late for that. I gave you the option for this to be gentle both ways but you had to fucking ruin it. You get no say now." Rafe pointed down at her before sucking on her neck twice as hard, like a vampire trying to draw blood.

Rafe grabbed y/n and spun her around ,onto her stomach and lifted the shirt over her ass. He took his time caressing and smoothing his hands over every acre of skin and over every curve like she was a piece of pottery. He moan and voiced awe while feeling her.

Still wanting to be let out, Y/n pleaded once more. "I'm sorry! I really am!! I promise I won't tell anyone about this and I'll never bother you or your sister again!" She cried.

Rafe shushed the girl, "You were chosen for me and I'm gonna take the opportunity to see if you're a good fit princess. Sarah doesn't matter in this coupling. It's about me and you. And you're going to let me, your master, figure you out." He said, sliding his finger around her folds like he'd touch a garden flower.

Sounds of despair came from Y/n in an effort to mask the little pleasure she was receiving from this violation.

Rafe was transfixed on her pink, plump skin. Every freckle, piece of hair and patch of discoloration made this artwork special. The tight feeling in his crotch telling him to hurry his admiration up. The lion wanted out of his cage; he's hungry.

Rafe smacked the girls bottom before unzipping and shedding his pants and boxers. Rafe felt the inside of y/n's shirt, enjoying the curve of her breast and plumpness of her nipples while his penis stood at attention.

"You're fucking beautiful. I hope it's alright that tonights mostly about me. We'll have a night for you soon but this first date is all about my dick getting to know the inside of you." Rafe said while using the tip to touch the delicate folds and skin.

He purposely spread the small bits of pre-cum on her intimate area as the first sign of marking before handling his shaft before the tip entered her cunt.

Rafe was struck with the feeling of heaven, not all the way in and yet his insides were purring away. He didn't want to wait anymore. He shoved forward without consideration for the girl underneath him. Fully sheathed inside, it was a five star stay at an exotic hotel where he'd be the only customer for the rest of his life.

"God, you feel so fucking good. Where have you been hiding princess?" Rafe asked, his large hand holding her down but his thumb gently rubbed her cheek before switching his movement to fully on.

In an aggressive thrust, Rafe began to move like a panther after his meal. There was no mercy in any movement. His heat, her slickness; his size, her submissiveness felt like they were one with human nature. For the first time, Rafe carnal desire was met with a romantic twist. The desire for a connection that meets both ways. He didn't know this woman; maybe she wasn't worth the effort.

But the way her pussy clenched around his dick made him think she was really meant to be him and he'd have to give Sarah props. This would be his girl, and if she behaved properly; a wife and mother.

But for right now, Rafe focused on fucking the shit out of her. He purposefully banged and hit as hard as he could. He wanted to see pain and pleasure. He grabbed her waist and brought her down to the base of his dick with little to no mercy. He wanted her fully with no space left unexplored by him.

The girls meek voice brought him back to reality, "Are you wearing a condom?" She asked, as if not wanting to upset him.

His eyes softened on the creature below him. She already had a small bruise forming under her eye where he'd harmed her. There was a sick pleasure in knowing that is his mark on her but he wasnt entirely a demon and felt some guilt.

Back on topic, no he wasnt wearing a condom; he didn't want to wear one with her. Rafe never had to deal with consequences because Ward would throw money at it, and it disappear.

Rafe didn't answer her; the panic added to feeling. He didn't owe her an answer. He decided he practically owned her now. Women in the past were just bodies; pleasure givers, holes at best. He always saw them as something to be conquered but with Y/n he wanted to own her; mind, body and soul.

Rafe sped up causing her to scream in both pleasure and pain. It only made Rafe feel hotter. Once he knew he had reached his limit, he bottomed out hard as he could; staying attached to the woman as long as he could before his size fell limp once more.

Looking down was a tearful girl trying to pick herself up after being violated. Before Rafe could do anything, she pushed him aside and fled the scene. Rafe looked after her but didnt follow, still feeling the blissful aftermath the coupling. No matter where she went, what she said or who she hid behind; Rafe would be there to claim her again.

This was a new game to him and he just casted the first dice.

*Note from author: sorry for this abomination. A mix of alcohol, horny and an actual desire to write something for the first time in almost a year hit and I didn't want to waste it*

#dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron #rafe obx #outer banks #dark rafe cameron #rafe x reader #sarah cameron

[totowlff]

chapter forty-five — a little reason

➝ the turn of the events make elisabeth realize she needs to give something for her father to fight

➝ word count: 2,7k

➝ warnings: health issues and hospitals

➝ author’s note: happy birthday to elisabeth!

JULY, 2018

It all started with a cough.

Every now and then it would interrupt conversations and make humorous comments about cigarettes and smoke surface, only to be countered with acidity. It didn't take long for it to become part of the garage's ambient sound, along with the pneumatic pistols and engineers' codes, as well as the way he announced his arrival in the spaces, accompanied by a loud throat clearing.

Then came the slightly labored breathing, as if he had been running all the time, which wasn't far from the truth. He was unable to walk at a normal pace, even when his daughter asked him to wait since she was wearing heels.

However, it was Marlene's call, the morning after the German Grand Prix, that made Elisabeth jump out of bed, feeling her heart sink inside her chest.

— What are you saying, mom? — she questioned, part of her begging that what she thought she had heard was a lie.

— It's your father, Elschen — Marlene replied, her nasal voice confirming that she had cried before making that call — He coughed up blood tonight...

— What? Blood? Coughing up blood? — Elisabeth asked, as she sat on the bed.

— When I went to see him in the bathroom, there was blood in the sink and he was choking, Elschen. He just couldn't breathe...

— Mom, where are you? Where? — Elisabeth questioned, her feet leading her to the closet to get something to wear, everything seeming like a big blur because of the tears that accumulated in her eyes.

— We're in the hospital — her mother said before her voice broke. After a heavy sigh, she continued — At the AKH.

— Do my brothers already know? — she asked, grabbing a pair of jeans and a white shirt.

— Yes, I sent them messages. Lukas and Mathias will see if they can leave Ibiza later.

— Okay, I'll leave in a little, I'll be there in half an hour.

When the call ended, Elisabeth was shaking and her cheeks were wet. It was as if the world had stopped spinning in those few minutes, fear gnawing at her chest like acid. That couldn't happen, it simply couldn't, not at that moment, without him knowing that he would be a grandfather again.

— Liesl? — Toto asked from somewhere behind her — Was that your mother on the phone? Did something happen to Niki?

Turning to him, the team principal soon realized that something was wrong.

— He's in the hospital — Elisabeth stammered, drying her face.

He pursed his lips for a few seconds, before running a hand through her messy curls. The look they exchanged was enough for him to understand the gravity of the situation.

— Dress yourself, I’ll take you there — he said, before turning around and going to the bathroom.

Within minutes, the two were already in the car, traveling through the streets of Vienna in the direction of Alsergrund, where the AKH was located. The tension was palpable in the silence that hung between them. Staring at the movement on the sidewalks, Elisabeth could only think about what her father was like at that moment. Would he be conscious or completely unconscious, with a tube stuck down his throat?

It reminded her of her mother talking about the fluid aspiration sessions they did at the hospital right after Niki's accident. Even though doctors said it was not recommended to do the procedure so many times in a row, he insisted, saying that it would help him recover more than waiting for his body to do the work on its own. Niki had already suffered so much in hospitals that the idea of seeing him return was agonizing, not to say desperate, for Elisabeth.

— Liesl — Toto murmured, placing a hand on her leg — Is everything okay?

— Yes, I’m just — she hesitated, placing her hand over his — Worried.

— Did your mother give any details about how he is?

— No, she just asked me to go to the hospital — Elisabeth said, before remaining silent for long seconds — What if he's really sick? What if he's dying?

— Your father isn't dying, Elisabeth — the team principal said, emphatically — He just had a setback, that happens.

—Toto, coughing up blood is not a setback.

— Setback or not, doesn't matter at this moment — he replied — What matters is that you need to stay calm, not just for yourself, right?

Looking at her own abdomen, Elisabeth took a deep breath, pursing her lips. The baby definitely didn't deserve all that load of tension, even though it was the only thing she was capable of feeling at that moment.

After going around the AKH complex, Toto found a space near the hospital entrance, parking the silver Mercedes with caution. As soon as he turned off the vehicle, Elisabeth unfastened her seat belt and opened the door, placing her bag on her shoulder and walking towards the front door.

The automatic doors opened and she headed towards the reception, where a woman was typing something on the computer, her expression not very interested.

— Hi, I would like to see a patient.

— Name? — she asked, without looking up from the screen.

— Oh, it's Andreas. Andreas Nikolaus Lauda.

The woman made a few clicks and typed something on the keyboard.

— Relative?

— I'm his daughter.

— And I'm his son-in-law — someone said behind her. Looking over her shoulder, Elisabeth saw that Toto had arrived, still a little out of breath.

— The patient was admitted to the emergency room and is currently being treated — the woman said, without any emotion in her voice.

— Can I see him?

— Visiting hours are from three in the afternoon — the employee replied, without looking at her. Suddenly, Elisabeth felt her throat tighten, the anguish of not being able to see her father for so long making her eyes fill with tears.

— My mother is inside, she asked me to come — she stammered.

— I am not authorized to allow visitors to enter outside visiting hours.

— But…

— Sorry, these are the hospital rules and…

Toto stepped forward, interrupting the woman.

— Look, my fiancée is pregnant, her father was admitted coughing blood and the only thing we want is to have access to her mother and the doctors who are taking care of my father-in-law — he said, in a serious tone — If you don't want to have problems with barring Niki Lauda's daughter from seeing her father, I suggest you let us in.

The woman looked at Toto in surprise.

— Sir, I…

— Will I need to talk to your boss about this?

Pursing her lips, the employee picked up the phone and dialed in some numbers. After a quick conversation, she went back to typing on the computer, printing two labels with the word 'visitor' written in bold letters.

— The emergency department is right ahead, it's marked with a sign — the woman said, holding out her fingers with the stickers towards them.

— Thank you very much — Toto said dryly, taking the stickers.

As she put her identification on her blouse, Elisabeth couldn't shake the horrible feeling that had come over her the moment the hospital employee denied them entry into the emergency room. It was as if all the fear she had managed to keep bottled up inside her was released at once, causing her hands to feel cold and her lower lip to tremble.

Following the signs that hung from the ceiling, she was already imagining the worst-case scenario when her eyes caught a woman with her hair tied in a somewhat familiar way sitting with her back to her.

— Mom? — she said, causing Marlene to turn her face back. Upon realizing that it was her daughter who was there, she jumped up, going over to her and hugging her tightly.

— Elschen — her mother stammered, as the tears finally ran down Elisabeth's face — I'm glad you're here, so glad...

— What happened?

— Your father — Marlene began, her voice becoming too choked to continue for a few seconds. After taking a deep breath, she managed to speak — He has a serious problem with his lungs.

— But, how? He was fine, mom, he was at the race with us...

— It seems that his lungs were already weakened and the cold he caught made everything worse. The doctor said something about bleeding, but I didn't really understand, I was so nervous. He was out of breath, Elschen, completely out of breath...

The description of the moments before her father was hospitalized made Elisabeth's stomach turn. She couldn't imagine the despair Marlene had felt when she saw Niki feeling bad, much less when she received the news that he was in fact sick. It must have been like reliving everything that had happened at the Nürburgring, but with the added factor that she was the one who needed to save him.

Drying her face, Elisabeth allowed Toto to greet Marlene and question her about Niki's health. Upon realizing that she didn't have a lot of information, he decided to go after the doctor in charge of Niki’s treatment, while the two sat in the waiting room, hand in hand, facing the agony of waiting for more news from Niki.

— Mom? — Elisabeth murmured.

— Yeah?

— Do you think my father will…

— No — Marlene interrupted her sharply — You're not going to finish that sentence, Elisabeth.

— But…

— I've seen your father in a worse situation than this. I saw your father completely burned, his skin swollen and blistered. I saw him ask for a priest and tell him to fuck off when he heard the man praying over his bed — she said, seriously — Your father is strong, Elisabeth.

She lowered her head, sniffling. It wasn't the time to think the worst, but she couldn't help it, especially when she thought that maybe he would never meet the granddaughter he had dreamed of so much. When she felt her mother's free hand wipe a tear from her cheek, Elisabeth raised her head.

— Don't worry, darling — Marlene said, caressing her face — He's going to come out of this even stronger.

She limited herself to a smile, as she saw Toto walking towards them with a serious expression on his face. As soon as he sat down, she questioned him about Niki's situation, as well as when they could see him.

— You know that Niki's lungs are not very strong due to the smoke he breathed in at the Nürburgring. And because of this, the flu he caught in recent weeks evolved into inflammation in his lungs and airways. That's why he was short of breath and coughing so much — the team leader explained.

— When are we going to see him? — Elisabeth asked.

— When he is stabilized — Toto replied, brushing a strand of hair away from her face — But doctor Idzko is very optimistic, he said that cases like this, no matter how delicate they are, are simple to solve.

Nodding, she just hoped the doctor was right.

A few hours had already passed when a man with white hair and thin-rimmed glasses approached Elisabeth, who was alone in the waiting room, as Marlene was in the bathroom and Toto was in the hospital cafeteria, looking for something to eat.

— Miss Lauda?

— Yes, it's me — she replied immediately, jumping up.

— I'm doctor Christian Hengstenberg, head of internal medicine at the hospital and responsible for the team taking care of Mr. Lauda.

— Did something happen? Is my father okay?

— No, I mean, beyond the obvious, no — the doctor said, smiling — Mr. Lauda is responding well to our interventions in these first hours, which is good news.

That was a relief for Elisabeth, who put her hand to her chest as she let out a heavy sigh.

— Is he breathing better?

— Yes, with assistance, of course, but he is stabilized.

— Can I see him?

The man hesitated for a few seconds.

— Well, I believe we can make an exception for you, but, due to immunosuppression therapy, we will need to take some precautions. Can you come with me?

Elisabeth waved, following the doctor through the hospital corridors with her heart pounding in her chest. After putting on a mask and washing her hands, she was finally led to the door of her father's room.

— A moment, please — Doctor Hengstenberg said, before putting on his mask and opening the door — Mr. Lauda, there is someone here to see you.

She walked in slowly, finding Niki lying on the bed, a catheter in his nose to provide oxygen and an IV access in his arm with medicine slowly dripping out. Without the red cap on his head, Elisabeth's father looked like a different person, much more fragile and delicate with the scars exposed on his head.

— Mauslein — Niki murmured hoarsely. That word was enough to make her eyes fill with tears, while the doctor said he would give them space to talk.

— Hi, dad — Elisabeth replied, approaching the edge of the bed. She wanted to hug him, kiss him, scold him for scaring her. However, she simply took his hand, caressing her skin with her thumb — How are you?

— For a half-dead man? Pretty good.

She giggled.

— Mom said you felt bad last night.

— Yeah, I coughed a little.

— Coughed up blood, I mean.

—That's just a detail...

— It's not a detail, so much so that you're here — Elisabeth countered.

Her father just gave a small smile.

— You know I've been through worse, right? — he asked softly.

— Yeah, I know, dad.

— Then, don't worry. This is a vacation in comparison to those 42 days.

— But that's precisely why you should be more careful — she said, looking at their joined hands — We still have so much to live, dad.

Niki squeezed her fingers lightly.

— And we will, Mauslein. Don't think I forgot I have to take you to Toto next month.

Elisabeth smiled beneath her mask.

— So, about that… It won't be next month anymore.

— What do you mean by that? — Niki questioned, the beeping of the machine that monitored his heartbeat becoming more frequent — Did he break up with you? Or was it you who ended it all? If Toto did anything to you, Mauslein, I swear I will...

— Dad, please, Toto didn't do anything — she said, trying to calm him down — Actually he did, but it's nothing like what you're thinking.

He blinked, confused.

— But…

— When I said that we still have a lot to live, I wasn't just talking about the two of us — Elisabeth whispered, bringing Niki's hand to her belly. As he pressed the skin lightly, he felt the firm spot under Elisabeth's shirt and raised his blue eyes to hers.

— Are you serious? — her father stammered, looking shocked — You mean you two finally decided to give me a granddaughter?

Elisabeth nodded, the words catching in the lump that had formed in her throat. However, it was not the time to cry, not when there was nothing but joy on Niki's face, as she stared at her belly in an enchanted way.

— We still don't know if it's a girl — she finally managed to say.

— Too soon to know? Or is she not cooperating?

She laughed.

— We decided that we will only find out on the day the baby is born.

— Why?

— Because we don't want you to be upset if it's not what you want.

Niki gave her daughter a loving smile.

— I won't be upset — he explained — I'll just be even happier if it's a girl, but what matters is that I'm going to be a grandfather again and...

Her father's voice broke, partly because of the hoarseness and partly because of the emotion that had finally overflowed in his eyes, the tears shyly running down her face. And seeing Niki so moved by the new addition to the family made her sob, tears wetting her mask.

However, there was no sadness. Just happiness.

That moment ended up being interrupted by doctor Hengstenberg, who stated that he needed to take her back to the waiting room to allow Marlene to enter. Looking at her father, Elisabeth ran a loving hand across his forehead, feeling the texture of the scars beneath her fingers.

— You know we can't keep Mrs. Lauda waiting, right?

— Indeed, we can't — Niki smiled at her daughter — Take care of my granddaughter, okay?

— I'll take care of it — she replied, laughing — Any messages for Toto?

— Tell him I'll keep an eye on everything and that I'll be in touch. Oh, and it's better for him to have made a girl, otherwise I'm going to rip his balls off.

— You can't rip his balls off, how will he be able to try to make a girl again if it’s a boy?

Niki was thoughtful.

— Yeah, you're right. But I'll give them at least one kick.

— No, you won't.

— Let's see if I won’t, Mauslein.

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