#I mean was the anxiety and depression years after worth it? no but it's the small things in life ya know?

[spaghett-onaplate]

depression is really weird actually wdym i spent 2.5 years of my life in bed

[techramonic]

A Comprehensive Analysis on Eric Harris, 3.

Disclaimer: This analysis/psychoanalysis is limited only to analysis as a means to reflect and understand the people involved. It is strictly informative. Just like all of my posts, I am detached from the media I write about and solely focus on the people to understand their psychology, for others to gain insight. There is no room for me to romanticize or glorify anything I write because I am only here to explain. I understand and research, but I do not condone. Thank you.

note: This is all solely based on independent research. If I may be wrong with the medical aspects of this post, please correct me. I would appreciate it a lot.

Fluvoxamine Maleate

Just a few days before the shooting, Eric was promptly rejected from his application to serve in the marines. Despite his desirable qualities, he was rejected for the sole reason of being tested positive for consuming a prescripted drug after rejecting that he was off any medication. With a trace of Luvox in his system, theories speculate that the drug's side effects played a role on the events that have transpired. Luvox is a medication prescription drug that is used to treat mental illnesses such as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), anxiety, depression, and others. While there are positive effects, the downside are heightened sensations of dread, irritation, depression, and arising violent behaviors. It also has a chance to increase manic symptoms, especially if taken in particularly large doses.

Anti-depressant usage, effects of overdose, and detoxification

When taken over the prescribed dosage, Luvox can lead to increased agression and suicidal ideation and tendencies. Eric was in anger management therapy after being on probation alongside Dylan for attempting to steal a vehicle containing thousands worth of valuable electronics and tools. After getting caught, Eric openly expressed his difficulties in managing his anxiety and explosive anger issues that his counselor said, "he frequently blew up and often cried." Revealing that this influences his homicidal and suicidal thoughts, so he was prescribed Fluvoxamine, which is a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRIs). These drugs increase the capacity of the brain to receive serotonin.

According to an interview with Eric's friends, they speculate that Eric was off his medication completely for sometime. Abruptly stopping medication can lead to the development of a more violent response. For some people, drugs are able to fix their chemical imbalances, but it can also lead to withdrawal symptoms of taken for over the duration of 6 weeks. Abruptly discontinuing anti-depressants can lead ro rebound depression or relapse. Symptoms may return stronger than before. Furthermore, SSRI's such as Luvox and Prozac take about 5 days to linger in one's system before subsequently washing off.

In a period of 11 months, Eric and Dylan have been under a juvenile detention program at Jefferson County district — this was in 1998, just a year before the shooting. They were allowed to leave the program by early February 1999. After finishing, Eric wrote a letter contained in his juvenile diversion program file. He states, "I learned that thousands of suggestions are worthless if you still believe in violence."

After public demands for stricter regulations on SSRIs after the tragic shooting, Luvox was temporarily banned in 2002. By 2008, drug manufacturers had reformulated Luvox to a controlled-release version specifically designed to treat OCD, excluding indications for depression or anxiety. Subsequently, the FDA approved Luvox CR for the treatment of OCD. The label does not explicitly prohibit prescribing it to the pediatric population, it notes that the smallest dose "may not be appropriate" for children, without providing further explanation.

Eric was about 17 at the time of taking the medication, which means he is part of the pediatric population. Though it's still unclear if he was taking normal doses for a long period of time or taken more than what was prescribed, it is clear that there was negligence with prescribing a child a SSRI that has the posibility of worsening their already apparent symptoms.

Columbine was really a case that opened the public's eyes into the dysfunctional aspects of society and institutions, transcending even to the medical field.

[suuuupernovaaa]

txansngum

txansngum [English] n. desperation; feeling of great worry

Anonymous Request: Neteyam's mate from the forest no longer able to stand being away from him after a few year’s travels to meet him at the sea.

After two years apart, you are no longer able to stand being parted from Neteyam, and make the journey across the sea to reunite.

Adult Neteyam. TW: depression.

1,394 words.

I had not slept in two years.

Not really, not deeply, not the way I used to sleep - dreamlessly, peacefully, without worries.

Now, I tossed and turned, sometimes I cried, and mostly, I worried. Every night. I began to dread nightfall, knowing what would lurk for me there.

Dreams of him in danger, of him calling out to me to help, but I was too far away to do anything about it.

I was living a half life, doing only the bare minimum to keep myself alive, to make it through the days, weeks, months, and years until I might see him again.

Knowing he was waiting for me was the only thing that kept me somewhat sane. Sometimes I felt I might be pathetic or desperate, but what was I meant to do about it? I could not stop how I felt.

"I will come back for you, Y/N," he had told me before he left, clutching my hands so tightly I thought he might break them, a great sadness in his eyes, and that was the last thing he said to me.

Over two years ago.

"Y/N," my mother said, gently shaking me awake. Though I was old enough to have a hammock of my own to sleep in, it was too much to bear, and so I stayed with my mother and father. "Y/N, hurry," she said, and I noticed the urgency in her tone. My eyes flew open, and my mother knelt before me, holding a small pack and a poncho.

"You must go, now. You father has left for a hunt. You know the way?"

My mother pulled me into a seated position. "What? What way?" I asked, half asleep, hungry, sad.

"To the Metkayina," she hissed, "to Neteyam. I won't watch you live this way anymore. You must find him."

She shoved the pack into my hands, and pulled the woven poncho over my head.

"Go, now," she insisted.

Still confused, I stood up and exited our home. The clan was not quite awake yet, it was still nearly dark outside. As I breathed in the fresh morning air, my mind began to clear.

My mother was giving me permission to make the journey by myself, to leave her and my father behind, and to see Neteyam again.

My steps quickened, and my heart pounded in my chest. I began to run.

"Ta'ry," I called, clicking my tongue. "Ta'ry!"

Only moments later did I hear the flap of her wings, and she landed before me. "Good morning, Ta'ry," I said, running my hand along the neck of my Ikran. "Are you ready for a long ride?"

With my pack slung over my shoulder, I connected and mounted. I could feel her excitement, reflecting mine.

"Let's go," I whispered, and we took off.

---

The journey took many days, but my mother had put enough food and water in my pack to sustain me. In our down time, Ta'ry hunted for herself and we rested - but not much. I was determined to get there as fast as we could.

My stomach was in a knot the entire time. Though I had faith in Neteyam, two years was quite a long time. Did it mean something that he had not yet returned to me? Had he moved on, joined another clan, and found another woman?

It was not worth thinking about, I tried to tell myself. I would soon find out.

The Metkayina lived along a beautiful shore, on a sandy beach in front of a lush green forest. It was such a sight to behold, my anxiety almost melted away as I approached - but it returned when many gathered on the beach at my approach.

Ta'ry and I landed, and she took off again for the forest, hearing the cries of other Ikran that surely belonged to the Sully family. My heart began to hope.

The na'vi here looked so different from my clan at home. They were a lighter, more green color, and I noticed immediately that most were covered in intricate tattoos.

"Who are you?" a voice called, and I saw an imposing man coming through the small crowd that had gathered. His dark hair was piled on top of his head, and his eyes were narrowed.

"I am... I am Y/N, of the Omatikaya. I come looking for, for the Sullys."

"Y/N?"

I scanned the crowd for the voice calling my name, and through the crowd appeared Lo'ak.

"Oh my god!" he exclaimed. "It's really you! Wait til Neteyam sees!"

He approached me quickly, wrapping his arms around my shoulders.

The stress of the journey overtook me, and I fainted in Lo'ak's arms.

--

When I began to regain consciousness, I was too tired to move or open my eyes. I could feel that I was laying on a soft bed, and I noticed the sound and scent of the ocean near by, and that was enough to remind me where I was... but I was still too tired to move.

People were around me, I could feel and hear them, and then they began to speak.

"She looks so thin," a woman said, and I thought it might be Netyiri. "Look at her face, her hollow cheeks... she must not have been eating enough on the journey."

"Long before that," another woman said, and I felt someone touch my arm, turning it over. "She has been sick a long time. Sick of mind."

She placed something wet and warm inside my wrist, and turned my arm back down.

"She will be better when she sees him. We should have brought her with us, but she was not of age. He has suffered without her, as well, but will not admit it," Neytiri said, her voice full of regret.

"Your youngest boy, or eldest?"

"Eldest," Neteyam's mother said, and I drifted off again.

--

The next time I woke up, I felt more alert. Taking in a deep breath, I stretched my arms above my head and sighed.

"Y/N!"

My eyes shot open. Sitting beside me was Neteyam, and he looked so different.

He was a man now. He was at least a foot taller, with broad shoulders and long braids, but his eyes were the same, though I had never seen them so full of concern.

"Neteyam!" I sat up, and fell over into his arms. Eagerly, he wrapped them around me, holding me to his chest.

It felt as if I had not truly taken a deep breath for two years, and now my lungs were opening up, finally accepting air. He smelled of the sea, and I began to cry.

"You could have died, Y/N!" he chastised. "Ronal says it looks as if you have not eaten or slept in years. You were not taking care of yourself!"

I winced at his angry words. He pushed me back just a little, and took my face in his hands. "You must eat, and grow strong. You have to keep up here."

"Will they let me stay?"

Finally, his face softened. "You think they would send you away? Bah, of course not. I would not allow us to be parted again, Y/N. Not when you need me to survive." His scowl turned into a teasing smile, and I looked down, blushing.

"I tried. I ate! I just... couldn't sleep," I shrugged, embarrassed at the way I had carried on since we parted.

He pulled me to his chest once more. "Me either. I dreamed of you when I did." He pushed my hair out of my face, and pressed his lips to the top of my head. "I had my bag packed, Y/N. I was set to leave tomorrow to come and bring you back to me."

I sat away from him suddenly, staring at him. "No. Really?"

We were forced to laugh at the absurdity of our situation. "Dad said it was finally safe enough to go back, just long enough to get you and return. But you beat me to it."

He wiped the tears from my eyes, and we smiled at each other.

"You must never leave again, Neteyam," I reached up to grab his wrist. "Not without me."

He pulled my face to his, and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. "Never, Y/N."

[velvetures]

Helluuuu!! I saw your post about sending requests and mine is actually a really simple one cause I don't have a creative but I just though about a ghost hurt/comfort story

Little Secrets

A/N: So this is very self-indulgent... I hope you don't mind. I think there are quite a few people who struggle with taking meds for depression/anxiety or feel guilty for it. Me included. Hopefully, this helps everyone feel valid, seen, and supported. Summary: Task Force 141 is where you belong. But it doesn't make the work easy by any means. You finally get the help you need and try hiding it. Ghost notices and is the one who sets you straight. T/W: depression/anxiety themes, medication, guilt, insecurity of reader, fem reader, and I'm sure I've missed something, so let me know.

photo by: pedropcl

You couldn't keep fighting it for any longer.

Staring down at the two orange bottles of pills in your hands and the directions packets in the other, you felt like you'd failed despite the psychiatrist you'd spoken to reassure you that this was certainly not a failure. Your brain kept refuting that this was a step in the right direction. Working as a professional and legal murderer should've meant you had no feelings. No failures of regulating your emotions or having such miserable trouble falling asleep at night. That nice woman who'd put the prescription in for you said it would take two to three weeks to see a difference. It felt like no time, yet an eternity all at once. Relief felt so far away, but insignificant compared to other people you often compared your personal struggles with.

You weren't homeless, you could eat without worrying, you had clothes and shoes all of the time, and never needed to wonder if you would have enough money to take care of your responsibilities. Education hadn't been a problem, you were well-respected despite being a woman in such a male-dominated field and kept up with your work extremely well. At least, when your brain decided to deny that you had the ability to do anything. Or... repeatedly try to convince you that nothing you did was worth a damn or actually made you useful. Vicious cycles of fighting with your own brain, knowing that you shouldn't feel or think this way but have no strength or way of stopping. None of the "hacks," meditations, or affirmation bullshit touched that panicky feeling you had mere minutes after laying down at night.

The pills shaking around in your hands were your last resort. And they made you feel so fucking embarrassed as you tucked them in your pockets before entering back into HQ. Praying to god that none of the 141 would see you with them or hear that slight sound of them rattling in their bottles. By grace or luck, you were able to avoid all of them and got back to your quarters to stash them under your bed in a small ammo box repurposed for some personal belongings. The directions you'd thrown away on your drive back, just taking a picture of them for reference and ditching the paper copies so you wouldn't have to keep track of those.

"This better fucking help," You breathe out heavily to yourself.

Staring up at the ceiling and almost dreading having to take one tonight before bed and the other when you wake up the next morning. Daily reminders of how you couldn't be hard and cold like the others. Cool and collected like Gaz, confident like Soap, unaffected like Ghost, or just so very reliable like Price. It made you feel like the weak link needing support. You'd never needed it before, and within two years you'd suddenly realized that your own mind was winning in a fight you'd never even been aware of fighting in the first place.

Keeping all of them in the dark about this would be safest. If they didn't need to question your stability, then it wouldn't feel like such pressure to perform. And hopefully, after a few weeks, things might start to shift a little. Maybe enough to where you could begin sorting out the other problems without the image of a cluttered attic representing the state of your head. Taking care to not raise the alert of the 141 wouldn't be easy. Always noticing everything out of sheer training and sharpened instincts. Having no other good ideas... You just settled on doing everything you could to keep your little secrets under wraps.

In the following couple of days, you’d become adjusted to the routine of taking your medications on the surface level. While the one tasked with easing you anxiety and depression wasn’t going to take effect for quite a while longer the other -a sleeping aid- was definitely making a significant impact. You were able to actually fall asleep and stay that way, problem was, with a couple missions impending in the near future, you were getting concerned that if you took them when you were supposed to -on a schedule- that staying awake would be next to impossible. And if you didn’t take them at all… you didn’t want to deal with the consequences of breaking a much more healthy habit.

And the reason you were so worried about the missions was because of a reoccurring problem that the 141 began finding you falling victim to. Thankfully you were all on leave, making it a lot more acceptable, but they still began walking into different rooms around HQ to see you sleeping soundly. No matter the noise level, temperature in the room, or the space you’d fit yourself into. And no one was quite as intrigued with your sudden change in behavior was the Lieutenant.

Ghost liked things to have order, and often used regiment or habit as a very small form of comfort when he felt that his physical situation was one that could be trusted. And while the others just thought you’d found a new safety in HQ and enjoyed sleeping somewhere safe, Ghost could see that something much different was happening. Your sleeping wasn’t a new habit.

It appeared far too quickly, and you oftentimes didn’t look like you had much control over it. There had already been three times where he’d watched you fall asleep on one of the guys late in the evening without as much as a single attempt to fight the drowsiness. While Ghost didn’t like to think that he cared that much about you, he found himself paying even closer attention to you than he had before.

“There she goes…” Soap chuckled quietly, pointing to you on the couch; head laying in Captain Price’s lap, eyes closed and sleeping deeply with your arms tucked against your chest and lying on your side.

Price had a loving hand on your head, and had been idly petting your hair much like a father would despite being hardly of age to act it. Yet, Ghost felt that Price’s warmth towards you wasn’t the entire reason you had yet again fallen asleep before 11 o’clock. Purposefully he’d been keeping count, and this was the fifth time in a week. More than enough to raise alarm with the others… but he was still waiting silently for someone else to bring it up.

Price chuckled, glancing down at you. “I carried her to bed last time,” His pointed look at each of them was more than enough to guess what he was about to say. “Someone else needs to, otherwise you’ll be voluntold.”

Ghost internally groaned. Not only was that kind of behavior what made people soft, but it also made seeing through the mask of affection far more difficult. But before Soap or Gaz took initiative, the Lieutenant was up on his feet and approaching Price with every intention of being the one to take you back to your quarters. Looks got thrown around the room, and Ghost wasn’t stupid enough to not notice. It was the first time he’d gotten this involved, and there was certainly a spectacle of him picking you up carefully enough to not wake you.

Even though he was quite certain it would take a lot more to get you up than that.

Your door opened up into warm, glowing light from a little lamp you’d left switched on. He catches sight of your quilt on the bed and the little rug that made the polished concrete floors look so much less like the jail cell his own quarters resembled. The whole room smelled like you too. Sweet, and a lot like cinnamon rolls. Probably some type of candle or other smelly thing that you had thought was worth spending money on. Plenty more reasons added to the list of what separates the two of you. Debating your differences or the reason you preferred your quarters smelling like a bakery wasn’t his purpose for bringing you back to your room.

But even with laying you down on your bed and pulling the sheet and blankets over you, Ghost wasn’t seeing any of the possible signs that could lead him to better understand what was going on with you. Nothing is out of place though. Your room is pretty much spotless save for a sleep outfit you’d laid out for tonight, but wouldn’t have the chance to get changed into. And right about the time Ghost decided he’d been looking into your business too much, he bumped into your nightstand.

It knocked something off into the floor, bouncing under the bed and clattering a bit.

Ghost sighed, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling and having quite the frustrating experience of dealing with the sudden responsibility of making sure you were cared for. And that meant picking up whatever shit he’d been too busy watching you, to not knock somewhere under the bed he’d have to fish around and find. So he knelt down and pulled his phone from his pocket and used the flash to spot a tube of chapstick near the bed frame foot.

That, and an ammo box with your initials spray-painted onto the side of it.

Compared to everything else, it didn’t look like it fit amongst the rest of your things. And damn if Ghost didn’t have a sudden gut feeling that it was the reason you’d been sleeping so much. Why you’d been so out of character; Setting his teeth on edge. Reaching out… Ghost grabbed the lip balm and got back to his feet and sit it down on the nightstand where it couldn’t be as easily disturbed again.

“G’night kid.” His whispers fell on your unconscious ears as your Lieutenant dismissed himself from your room and back down to his own space.

***

You woke up in your bed after falling asleep somewhere unintentionally, for the who-knows-which time. Just like before, left in whatever clothes you’d been wearing and all of your blankets tucked up tightly around you. It left a lingering sense of disappointment in yourself. A little pinch of sadness rested like a rock in your stomach. You couldn’t really remember falling asleep to begin with. If you ended up keeping this little habit going, there’d be no doubt you would risk everyone on a mission falling asleep at the drop of a hat.

All because of this damn medicine.

One that you needed to grab from under your bed, and sneak into the kitchen so that you could have some water and food. You'd seen one of the tens of sites -during your research of your pills- that it would help digest it better... whether it actually worked or not wasn't something you could tell. But either way, a doctor had said it, and plenty of people taking it agreed. So you grabbed the pill, shoved it in your pocket, and went out into the kitchen to find a glass.

The floors felt cold even with socks on. And while a steady rain poured from the sky, you were more heated with concern that someone would notice you. Notice your sleeping issues, the way you crawled around in the morning for the first couple hours before the pills began working, or the shady way you hid your face in the refrigerator while swallowing down your medication. Surely the stuff had to be working since you'd not been struggling to get your work done throughout the day. But maybe that was the hard part. Taking pills to fix your head, but needing your brain to recognize whether or not you felt better.

"Oh god help me..." You mutter quietly, searching past Soap's energy drinks and Gaz's revolting jug of green juice to find something you could make for breakfast.

A cabinet door shutting behind you nearly stopped your heart. Seeing Ghost's dark eyes evaluating your reaction didn't make your heart rate drop back to normal either. In his typical day-off wear, a pair of well-worn jeans hung low on his hips and an old SAS t-shirt you'd seen him wear countless times stretched tightly over his chest and shoulders. No doubt he'd been up since four. Quite certain he never actually slept, you wondered momentarily if he could benefit from the sleeping tabs you took. But quickly that got covered in anxiety when his eyebrows furrowed at your expression.

"Nothin' to eat?" He asked with a smooth voice, nodding to the refrigerator door you still held open dumbly.

"N-no... just a bunch of shit drinks." You reply, letting the door shut and noticing that he's got a brown bag with grease spots at the bottom corners. He just nods, looking off into the empty common room. Like he's trying to think of the right way to talk shit about both Gaz and Soap's bad choices in hydration.

"Sit. I've got enough to share." He jerks his head to the other side of the counter, turning that wide back to face you, leaving no room for argument.

You're swallowing down a thick bite of a bagel with god-knows-what in British style as Ghost brews tea. Silently making you a cup as well and standing stiffly with both milk and sugar on the table with the expectancy that you tell him how you like it. Not really unusual behavior from him... typically you get along just fine. But it's the fact that he watches so heavily.

"Just sugar, please." You say through a mouthful, covering your mouth with your hand.

He nods, but then starts putting the sugar in, mentioning something about fucking Americans before sliding the mug closer to you with a couple of fingers. Those damned eyes are just as observant as ever when you crumple up the finished sandwich before he even steeps his own drink. It made you nervous. Wondering if those pills were helping with your appetite too. The psychiatrist said it could; Something about feeling less stressed can give your body more opportunities to worry about being hungry. It was one of those facts on the medication packet you'd taken pictures of.

"Plans for today, L.t.?" You ask, sipping the tea, eyes grazing over the cup rim as you stare at the back of his head.

Mask rucked up high enough to eat and drink freely he nods his head. Leaning his lower back against the edge of the kitchen counter

and resting one hand back.

“Yeah, you?”

You shake your head uselessly, “No. Maybe some laundry, but I’m not really even due. Wouldn’t be worth the water in the machine.”

He hums lowly, taking a drink of his tea. You can hear his swallow and a steady exhale of air that follows. Whether it’s him cooling off the steaming cup or just breathing, you cant tell. But it’s so steady that you actually mimic the tempo of it. Feeling the way it expands and contracts your lungs smoothly. Almost settling. Much like L.t. himself in that way. Terrifying until you see just how easily you can be around him. He’s always quiet and composed, even when there’s plenty of reasons not to be. You wished it was something you could do too. Maybe it would help the task force if you didn’t have to spend your energy keeping yourself at an unnoticeable level of consistent panic.

“Know anythin’ about cars?”

“No,” You’re quick to add on. “But I can learn fast.”

You watch the way the back of his mask slides down further and how his head tilts from side to side to settle it comfortably. Seeing the rest of the tea get dumped into the sink and his own sandwich bag get crumpled up. He’s silent as he washes the cups used and methodically cleans up after the pair of you. Even reaching across the counter to swipe a couple of crumbs off your t-shirt with a subtle nod to his own satisfaction.

“I like to hear it,” His hand palmed at the back of your neck. Gently tugging you off the barstool, and grabbing your jacket to toss it to you. “You’re comin’ with me then.”

Learning about cars actually became quite easy… when Ghost was teaching.

He explained the parts clearly, what his goal was, and didn’t get pissed when you handed him the wrong size socket wrench on the first try. On the other end, you’d only been working next to him -well, sitting on the wheel well- for a couple of hours when you started getting tired again. Almost helpless to your own frustration, you yawned. Fighting the sleepy feeling valiantly, and taking as detailed of mental notes as possible while watching Ghost’s greased knuckles tighten a bracket holding his master cylinder in place. Surely it was a cosmic joke. L.t. was fixing his brakes, and it felt like someone had stomped on yours.

“Hand me that,” He muttered, head stuck down in a gap between his engine block and alternator, still effortlessly pointing at a pair of channellocks. “And get in for me.”

You did as he asked, yawning one more time. Trying to blame your sudden exhaustion on the rain pelting the metal roof above you. Sliding into the back of the car and kicking off your boots to let them rest on the concrete floor outside of it. Attempting to be polite by not getting any dirty spots on the mats of the -very original- DB4 GT Aston he’d given you trust to even sit in. The leather seats help you glide into the driver’s seat, giving you a very slim look at Ghost through the gap in the hood.

“What exactly am I doing in here?” You ask, loud enough so that he can hear you.

It prompts his head to pop up from inside the engine bay, giving you those same, observant eyes from earlier. He looks back down, reaches in and taps on something harshly, then looks back to you.

“Roll it over.”

The car starts effortlessly. Practically purring under you, and echoing in the metal hangar making it sound all the more ruggedly beautiful. The whole car hums, and as you watch Ghost go back to focusing on something in front of him, you feel the heat come through the dash. It’s a perfect storm that lulls you even closer to sleep. A dangerous thing, considering the one man who could figure out what was wrong with you was the only one close enough to see. Hell, you weren’t even sure he didn’t already have it figured out, and wasn’t planning some way to tell Price about it and have you removed from the task force.

Unfit for duty.

You could just picture it now. Red pen in Price’s handwriting detailing your medications and how it was grounds from honorable discharge. Perfectly common in the military, but it felt like death in your hazy mind.

Not that you could fight it for much longer.

Because by the time the Lieutenant had finished his little bit of work, he came into sight of you, slumped over in his driver’s seat with you lips parted and your arms wrapped around yourself. Nothing short of a pretty sight for sore eyes. His car had damn near rocked you sleep, and for once, Ghost felt his heart couldn’t take the feeling of waking you up. He’d watched you all morning. Gauging your reactions, your lack of conversation, and the way you tried to keep from showing him any sign of being tired. Initially he wanted to be angry. Mad that you were hiding something from the team… from him. But seeing you sleeping there, he knew there was a fight in your head. A fight he knew well. So he left you there to sleep.

Turning off the engine to keep from filling the garage with exhaust, but pulling up one of the small space heaters close to the open door to keep you from getting cold while he worked. Making small adjustments, looking over future jobs, and even entertaining the thought of adjusting you over in the seat a little bit so that he could drive-test his handiwork. But that didn’t come, because Soap arrived with a grin on his face and no idea that you were sleeping.

Until Ghost told him to lower his goddamn voice.

“Sleepin’ again bonnie?” Soap chuckled to himself, looking at you before back to Ghost. “How long’s she been out?”

Ghost shrugged, “Few hours.” Really he hadn’t been watching the clock; far too comfortable to concern himself with it.

“I know you’ve been tryin’ to figure it out,” He started back, resting his hands on the hood. “Why she’s doin’ this so much. Have ya’?”

Ghost shook his head. “No. Not yet, but I’m not concerned.”

Johnny laughed softly, slapping Ghost on the back and beginning to walk away. “I never took you for the type to be worried, L.t.. But since you’re so reassurin’ I’ll take it t’heart.”

Any way Ghost came at that statement, he felt himself on the end of a losing battle. Maddening. Losing a fight wasn’t in his nature. Even if that meant he had to take some of the most fucked up torture to reach it. But what bothered him more than Soap knowing he was concerned about you was the knowing you weren’t okay.

Days out in the field were bad enough. But when they got worse, you were always there. And maybe you didn’t feel much better than he did, yet you always held softness. For everyone. For him. A kind of understanding and acceptance that wasn’t required, or exactly approved of in this line of work. You could keep a secret better than anyone he knew, and while he didn’t burden you with a single one of his, there was always the foreign comfort in being able to come with them if he wanted to. Hiding your own feelings wasn’t right though.

Selfish maybe. Thinking it was okay to linger in his own issues and still demand you give him yours.

But hiding behind his rank and position over you meant he could make that kind of decision without any questioning. A type of don’t fucking ask why that saved him face when carrying you from his car back to your room after you still hadn’t woken up nearly seven hours after passing out in his car. Shouldering open the door just like the night before, he expected to see nothing out of place. The same lip balm on the side table, the same rug, and maybe a different night shirt since you’d mentioned doing laundry. But there was something out of place. And damn if it didn’t make his gut twist up in a ugly kind of feeling. One he’d not felt in years, but certainly recognized as soon as he spotted the orange pill bottle sitting on your bed.

It made sense.

The sleeping. The different behavior. The reason you’d practically swallowed a whole fucking sandwich for breakfast when a cup of tea would typically be all you stomached until afternoon. And thank god… you were finally starting to look a bit fuller. Getting prettier every day, and he finally had something to place the blame on. All hesitations about you being able to handle the upcoming missions faded once he got a good look at the bottle. A medication, funnily enough, that Ghost was well-acquainted with. It wasn’t part of his own personal line-up in his medicine cabinet, but it was one he’d taken for a while.

You’d been in need of some help, and luckily for you, it hadn’t been nearly as hard for you to get help as it had been for him. Actually asking for what you needed -and while frustrating- decided to try and manage it without anyone else’s knowledge. Ghost couldn’t think of a better scenario. Realizing that the only thing he needed to know about was your side effects, and how to best manage them alongside you. Thank fuck you weren’t sick… well… sick in a way that someone couldn’t help you with. A way that he couldn’t help.

So, he sit down in on the floor in your room and waited.

Your wake-up call came in the form of sleepy eyes opening to see the massive silhouette of Ghost sitting in your floor. Dark eyes much softer than you’d expected, and a much more concerning sight of your pill bottle resting in his massive hand. A sight that sat you up ramrod straight in your bed, gasping softly and staring at him with wide eyes.

“Don’t tell Price.” You sputter, rushing to get the words out of your mouth. Terrified that he’s going to get up and run out the door. Just sitting long enough to let you get a good look at his plan before exposing you to the Captain as some sick kind of satisfaction.

His eyes narrow a little, “Don’t tell Price?” His voice sounds hoarse. “Don’t tell Price?”

It sounds that much more broken and gritty when he repeats it. Standing up to meet you a bit more level, fisting the pills in his hand, and lightly making them shake. He can’t understand your fear. Completely blind to the fact that -much like him- you’re fearful of being shamed. Misunderstood for it. Or worse. Ghost can’t recognize why you’re looking at him as if he’s going to be the reason your life ends. When in all reality, you don’t see how he’s trying to figure out why you didn’t feel safe coming to him.

“You’ve been takin’ these… fallin’ asleep on everyone, and-and struggling for who knows how the fuck long…” It’s hard for Ghost to keep his tone even, thinking about it. “Why didn’t you tell me. you should’ve told me. Said something. Anything.”

Caving in on itself, your chest burns. Eyes locked on his and scanning every confusing moment of emotion and each shift as it comes and goes.

“You wouldn’t…”

Ghost takes a fast step closer, “I wouldn’t what?” His hand drops the pills on the bed and quickly grabs your face, soft fingers pressing into your jaw. “I wouldn’t get it? I wouldn’t do what you needed me to? Wouldn’t let you sleep on me?”

Your lips open in surprise at the softness in him. All of him. The gentleness of his fingers, how his eyes lay silkily on you. Even his voice, falling so softly despite it’s rough tone and deep sound, feels like he’s terrified of you being scared away from him. Like that gentle hold on your face is all he can manage, and he’d rather do anything other than let you pull away from it.

“You have to know…” he starts weakly. “You have to know that - that I would do… anything you needed me to. Anything to make this easier for you. Even somethin’ small, I’d do it for you, honey.”

reblogs & comments are appreciated 🤎

[igotanidea]

Be careful who you bring home : Morpheus x reader

part 2 is up

request/summary by anon: you know how people get pets for emotional support? reader with anxiety or fear of loneliness finds a big black cat in a park and she is just: yeah, you are coming home with me. cat happens to be post imprisonement!morpheus. he wants to argue, but she quickly takes him to her apartment which is conveniently close to the park. reader cooing to cat: who is my little baby and Matthew seeing it from the street and laughing at his boss. with 142 for reader (maybe he said something while being a cat) and 153 for morpheus.

142 was "it's just your imagination", 153 was "put me down" I might have changed the request a little bit but I hope you'll like it. Also thete is a bit of a twist/ crossover in the story. Wonder if you'll get it :D

***

„Have you ever considered getting a pet?”

The girl in her mid-twenties, dressed in comfy, black clothes sitting in front of the therapist frowned in confusion.

“A pet” she repeated “and why would I need that?”

“You know, it is proven that they have positive effect on people who suffer from depression and anxiety, so maybe this would be a good idea for healing process”

“Do you give such advice to all of your patients, doctor Raynor? Did you give such advice to Bucky, as well?”

“We both know he is not that kind of guy.”

“Really, why not?” the girl shrugged “he had some goats in Wakanda after all.”

“Stop joking around.”

“Jeez, fine. I won’t get a pet. In my current mental state I can barely take care of myself, let alone any other living being. Any other words of wisdom coming from you?”

“Not with this attitude. You may leave for now.”

“You know if I was paying you that would be the shittiest session not worth a dime.” She grabbed her coat and without a word, hands in the pocket left the room and not-so-pleased therapist.

A pet. Good joke. A four legged animal who would wake her up in the morning and at night asking for food or caress. A being that would turn her life upside down since it would require constant care and supervision to avoid destroying her apartment. Nope. Thank you very much. She was good enough by herself. Determined to get her head and broken soul back together and get clearance to get back to SHIELD and field operations. She missed that, but apparently beating up a bunch of bad guys leaves you in emotional trauma and in need of recover. Bullshit! She was an agent, for god’s sake, not a crying mess. Her attitude was far from cheerful and optimistic but just today she had to curb her murderous thoughts since one of her nieces were supposed to visit. Jemma was five years old and was still going through her princesses, pink glitter and unicorns faze. She was a challenge to be around, but definitely worth it. Her father, agent’s sister were supposed to drop her in straight to the house, but just a minute ago she got the message about the change in plans. Since the weather was beautiful and it was not often this time of the year, he took the chance for a little walk in the park and decided to meet his sister there instead of in the four walls. As she approached the park, she noticed her family amongst other walking people. Jemma was running around, picking leaved and jumping into the pools with loud, happy squeals. She could not hold back the tiniest smile on her face.

“She’s gonna get all wet and dirty and then who will tend to that?” the girl mocked while coming closer

“Hm, don’t know. I think at this point she would be someone else’s responsibility.”

“Hello, brother.”

“Hello sister” he hugged her tightly “how you’ve been? Life still kicking you in the guts?”

“I mean, when it doesn’t? You know my line of work….” Her brother was convinces she was just some regular office worker dealing with boring documents, since that was simply safer for everyone.

“Right, so mundane and ordinary…..” he rolled his eyes

“Auntie!” Jemma turned around and run straight to her favorite relatives not caring about the mud she left on her trousers while clutching to her legs.

“Hi, cupcake. Don’t you have to much energy?”

“I have so much to tell you! About the rhyme I’ve learned and some new letters I came across and my friends and everything” little girl jumped around in excitement “And I know a new magic trick dad showed me. But I still don’t quite understand it….” she frowned

“It;s ok, cupcake, we can work on that.”

“Oh, thank god. Like I said, your responsibility now. Good luck.” Girl’s brother was quick to get himself some freedom “just don’t give her too much sweets, you know how she gets after that”

“Yeah, too well. See you in a couple of hours then. Come on, Jemma” she took her niece’s little hand sticky with some mysterious substance “ let’s go home.”

If only it was that easy. They only took a couple steps when the little one broke out from aunt’s grip.

“Look, auntie, a cat!” she run over to the bench where unusually big and beautiful animal was soaking up the sun.  Before he realized what hit him, he was squeezed and carried by a little pair of still sticky hands and it was visible he did not like it.

“Jemma! Leave that animal alone. It may hurt you.”

Do not refer to me as “it”. I am a male personification. And put me down! Immediately!

She could swear she heard something in the back of her mind, but let it go. After all, cats do not talk and she was in therapy for mental trouble so it was probably just her mind playing tricks on her.

“Can we take him home, auntie, he’s so sweet, please” little girl pouted

“No. Of course not, look at… him. He is very good looking, so most probably belongs to someone. Not a chance he’s a stray cat. “

“I can’t see anyone looking for him” a couple tears showed up in Jemma;s eyes. “Please, auntie, please….” Great, now she was crying out loud getting the attention of few pedestrians.

“Ok, fine, fine, just please stop crying.”

“Thank you” Jemma stopped her actions in a second and smiled widely showing the jags in her mouth. “I will carry him so don’t worry about it, auntie” she held the cat even closer not caring about him writing in her embrace.

“Just be careful so he won’t hurt you” she warned following her niece, wondering what the hell she got herself into.

I will not hurt this little mortal.

At this point, the older girl was pretty sure she was going crazy. And to think that Raynor wanted her to have a pet to help her mental health, not deteriorate it.

***

��Auntie, look, I made him pretty”

“Mhm, great” she did not even bother to look up from some records she was currently reading “wait, you did what, Jemma?” a second later she came to realization what a five-year-old girl can mean by saying “made pretty”.

“Look, auntie” said five year old was quick to get the cat out from behind and proudly present it. Despite her rather gloomy attitude the older one could not hold back a laugh. Black fur was now embellished  with colorful glitter and was wearing a crown. If it wasn’t for the lack of resources at home Jemma would probably extend her imagination even more.

“Oh” she cooed “look who’s pretty boy” her grin was now getting wider and wider. She was no expert on animal behavior but the look on its face clearly indicated it was not happy with the situation.

“I wanted to give him a braid, but the fur was too short” Jemma saddened

“Don’t worry sweetie, it looks just perfect. Like a ….”

“Princess!” Jemma squealed and turned around with the cat still in her embrace.

“Don’t you both dare. This is humiliating”. Once again there was this little voice inside girl’s head.

“Ok, honey, why don’t you let go of the cat now. I got a snack for you.”

“Chocolate cake?” Jemma asked innocently while playing with her fingers and shyly looking at the floor

“Apple and carrots”

“That is boooooring. And I don’t like carrots” Jemma whined

“Well, too bad for you. I heard veggies give you strength. And then your skin looks healthy and shines almost like the cat’s fur. Wouldn’t you like to look beautiful?”

“I’d rather be smart” Jemma retorted taking her aunt aback with maturity of this sentence “but I guess beauty can help in future. I saw on TV that pretty girls always have what they want so whatever” she shrugged and rushed towards the kitchen where the snack was already waiting for her.

“Unbelievable” her aunt shook her head “but she’ll be busy for a while, so how about we get you all cleaned up, huh?” she picked the cat from the floor and walked towards the bathroom ignoring the writhing animal, who was not happy about forced wash.

Put me down! It demanded again and the girl stopped looking him straight in the eyes trying to check out if she was really going nuts.

“Oh come on, girl, get yourself together. It’s just your imagination.”

She walked straight into the bathroom and started gently combing out the fur. Surprisingly, her action bring the animal comfort because surprisingly to both of them he started purring.

***

Two hours later, tired and sleepy Jemma was picked up by her father and her aunt could finally let the cat out into the wild. It was impossible earlier since the little girl was checking on him every five minutes, refusing to drop this action.

“Sorry about today. “ she muttered opening the door “but hey, on the bring side at least you have a nice story to tell to your fellow cats. Besides, you really are a pretty animal.” maybe it was another impression or the flicker of lights, but it seemed like the cats fur became a bit reddish and he squinted. “go, now, find your owners, get home safe, fella.”

It was just a couple of hours, but the girls was actually starting to think that maybe, hypothetically, Raynor was right about this whole “emotional support pet” stuff.

***

Morpheus bristled and crossed the street. Only on the other side of the road he changed back into the anthropomorphic personification of dreams.

“Um, boss?” his loyal yet rebellious Raven perched on the branch, tilting his head slightly. If he was still human he would probably laugh himself silly.

“Not a word, Matthew. Not a single word about it. To anyone” he reached for his sand and completely ignoring further words of the bird transported them back to the Dreaming “Do I make myself clear” he made sure before entering the palace.

“Sure thing, boss. But it was funny don’t you think?”

“Hold your tongue, Matthew!”

@somest1 @pinksirensong

[rootlessly]

as i'm sure y'all noticed, i'm on a bit of a hiatus from posting right now. i haven't really been taking photos outside of work obligations mostly due to a lot of life stuff going on.

i'm still adjusting post-covid, wanting to get back to more my more active state but finding that my body is not quite ready for that yet. i also reached 6 weeks on wellbutrin and am getting used to my medicated disposition. i feel the most me i've felt in a long time, but i also forgot her after all this time and am getting to know her again. i'm also coming to terms with how badly i was actually doing in terms of depression and anxiety for several years before i took the leap and started on meds this summer. i wish i did this much sooner, but alas, such is life. at least i decided to do it at all, considering how hesitant i was.

on top of that, i'm very much in the throes of wedding planning and hating the process as a chronic people pleaser. currently figuring out a spot for our dinner reception and the logistics of all that (we're having a very chill microwedding). and we're in the process of choosing a photographer, which will be the bulk of our wedding budget by far (but worth every penny hopefully). we also decided to buy a second car after a good deal fell into our peripherals. of course, that process comes with its own annoying cluster of paperwork and other admin type things that my adhd brain (and N's, seeing as we both have it) don't fare well with.

so yeah, that's me. i'm occasionally active on ig/threads (see pinned post) if you're so inclined in the mean time. if not, see y'all whenever i'm back!

until then, love y'all and appreciate your interactions with my posts<3

[vidavalor]

hi again! rewatched the 1st season now. so first off thanks again for the excuse i appreciate it lol. but secondly hoping you wouldn't mind explaining the satan's obssession with crowley thing? cos he's obvs creepy as all hell pun not intended in the 11 years ago scene but i haven't found the bit that confirms it's a fixation on crowley and not just satan being satan. tysm!

Hi! Thanks for the ask. I can try and we can see what you think after, yeah? :) Christmas cookie? *passes plate and pours some tea*

TWs: discussion of PTSD, sexual assault, including rape, intimate partner abuse, anxiety, depression. We're looking at Crowley as an assault survivor here so it's a bit dark. Lindsay's abuse of Nina is also mentioned here. This will wind up having a companion meta at some point soon as I was also asked in comments on another post to talk about Crowley and intimacy issues which is then really also talking about Aziraphale as a trauma-informed partner so a less intense Part 2 at some point soon...

If you're the anon who asked me this (or anybody else) and you can't read something with these warnings but you'd like to see what I'm saying, PM me or throw something in my Asks and I'll see if I can do a version of this that gets the points across while omitting the darker aspects.

Meta on Lucifer and Crowley under the cut.

The Ask here was about why I see Lucifer as fixating on Crowley, in particular, and not just being generally evil as, ya know, he's Satan. It's a fair question since Satan's evil isn't exactly something that anyone would consider restrained as he's the devil. Some of this is inference here when it comes to Lucifer, since the show intentionally holds the character back a bit... but I also think that holding Lucifer back is by design to help illustrate some things that we'll look at here.

The first clue to me that Lucifer has a bit of a fixation on Crowley comes from Crowley's gigs in Hell. Before the end of S1, Crowley was high-ranked in Hell. He seems to go by quite a few names in his demonic world. By making himself Nanny Astoreth when he's looking after Warlock, it alludes the idea that Crowley is also the demon of that name, who is considered part of the "evil trinity" of Hell, along with Lucifer and Beezlebub, with whom Crowley used to spend time with pre-Fall and with whom he has history.

Astoreth is a genderbent serpent goddess in lore with an abundance of other Crowley traits so safe to say that Crowley is meant to be Astoreth as well. Aziraphale proposed in 33 AD that Crowley is also Mephistopheles and Asmodeus, which Crowley didn't exactly deny. Mephistopheles is one of the most famous demons to ever exist-- he of the Faustian bargain-- and Asmodeus is the demonic prince of lust. Crowley's already been shown to be a Bible figure in disguise-- Bildad the Shuite being a Biblical character-- so the idea that we are at the 2/3rds mark of the show and we've met all the high-ranking demons in Hell but several famous ones appear to not exist in Good Omens, despite more minor ones (Shax, Furfur) making appearances, implies that we probably actually have met demons like Mephistopheles and Asmodeus because they're all really Crowley.

Crowley retained power in Hell because it allows him what little freedom he can have in damnation. It means he likely won't be removed from Earth if he proves he's "good" at being a demon and that means he won't get stuffed in some cluttered, dark, cubicle in Hell for millennia. (Or destroyed.) More importantly, it means he'll be able to be on Earth with Aziraphale. That's easily worth taking credit for a bunch of human wars to fool Hell into thinking he's evil.

While we see that Crowley, when forced to come up with a demonic plot of his own, picks more annoying things than evil things and sells them as evil-- the M-25 design, taking down mobile phone networks, he's sometimes forced into doing things he doesn't want to do in order to not be outed as a demon who isn't super jazzed about being a demon and is really, secretly, a free-flying crow. He doesn't live to serve their Master Satan like some of the other demons do. He's going along with Hell as best he can and sometimes, he finds himself in a situation where he has to get creative because he's been tasked with something he disagrees with-- like we saw in the Job minisode. Other times, he might be forced into something he can't find a way out of, which is implied a little to be at the root of his terrible mood when he and Aziraphale meet up in Ancient Rome. He's wearing military garb that implies the temptations he's saying he's in Rome to accomplish are tied to Caligula, who wasn't exactly a swell guy.

What's interesting, though, is that Crowley is in this position of power in the first place. Other demons are shown in both seasons so far to be jealous of Crowley. He gets all the good gigs. Satan makes a bet with God that has both Upstairs and Downstairs in a tizzy for weeks and who is sent to whack the kids? Crowley. Who was sent on the first ever really Earth mission-- to get up into the Garden of Eden and "make some trouble"? Crowley, long before he'd cemented his big reputation. Who gets to deliver the antichrist baby and so kick off Armageddon, the thing that angels and demons basically "live" for? Crowley...

Across both seasons so far, Hastur, Ligur and Furfur are all given scenes of showing that they're jealous of Crowley being a favorite of Satan's and given the best assignments while they slum it in middle-management at best. What Crowley never says or admits to with other demons is that they actually don't want to be the favorite of Lucifer over here because he's the actual fucking devil and it's an absolute horror show. Crowley isn't about to admit that to them because he's supposed to want nothing more than to be Satan's slave and to express anything else is not demonic.

The other demons who are antagonistic towards Crowley are invasive and creepy but they stop short long before what we've seen Lucifer do. Hastur and Ligur pop up unannounced in Crowley's electronics-- the tv in his flat, on the screen at the movies-- and that's already disturbing. Imagine having your evil coworkers able to interrupt your r&r tv time in your own apartment... let alone the fact that Shax and even Beezlebub both pop up into The Bentley unannounced in S2. There's no evidence so far that Satan is out here "delivering instructions" like this to others in Hell the way he does to Crowley in 1.01 (and there's actually a scene in S2 that we'll talk about that suggests that he's not or, at least, that it's uncommon, which we'll get to in a second.)

He might well be but when you combine assaulting Crowley with giving him all the prime gigs in Hell and the other demons' jealousy of their Master's attention towards Crowley, you wind up with the impression that Satan is a bit fixated on Crowley.

The Bentley scene with Lucifer in 1.01 is analogous to rape. Crowley's sense of personal autonomy is violated. He doesn't consent to Lucifer forcibly entering his body. Lucifer does so by first penetrating through Crowley's two foremost metaphorical defenses-- The Bentley (enters through the radio and uses it to invade Crowley) and his sunglasses, which cannot shield his eyes/himself from Lucifer. Crowley already has these signature defenses mechanisms on in the attack scene and the horror in the scene is actually watching neither of them protect him. The scene is so early in the show that it's only the second scene we've ever seen Crowley wearing his glasses (and it's pitch black dark out, to add to it) so the glasses are basically introduced to us by showing us a situation that motivates Crowley's desire to hide his eyes from people he doesn't trust, even if they aren't human and know what his eyes look like. This is Crowley's third scene in the series itself and it's really arguably the second half of his second scene (the Hastur & Ligur in the graveyard one.) It's part of our introduction to Crowley in the modern era, with only Eden preceding it. Armageddon is new but the rest of this hell-- faking being evil, suffering violating attacks-- is thousands of years old for him at this point.

Crowley is driving when this happens.

Driving is the ultimate symbol of self-control because you're literally behind the wheel, navigating yourself through the world, in control of where you are going and the decisions you need to make to get you there, trusting yourself to make decisions that protect others on the road around you. Lucifer rips that from him by rendering him unable to drive while "delivering instructions" to his mind. Crowley-- a very powerful, magical being-- is unable to fight him off. When Lucifer leaves his body, Crowley had to grab the wheel and steer The Bentley away from hitting an oncoming truck with about three seconds to spare from a head-on collision. Crowley, The Bentley and the antichrist baby all would have likely survived that crash without issue because of their magic-- but the human driving the truck likely would not have. Obviously, Crowley would prefer not to kill anybody but Satan nearly made him against his will and rendered him unable to fight him, the powerlessness of which is then interesting when tied into things like Crowley essentially drugging himself to save Elspeth, trusting the present Aziraphale to help protect him while he did, etc..

As the attack happens, parts of "Bohemian Rhapsody" are underscoring it, picking up on a musical cue from when Crowley rolled up in The Bentley to see Hastur and Ligur in the graveyard. The graveyard scene sees Crowley arrive at the big crescendo of the song and what is it but the lyrics Beezlebub, has the devil put aside for me? and, prior to that, the eerie lyrics, especially on rewatch when you know what happens as a result of this scene: we will not let you go (let him go) x a million, not to mention the no no no no no no... bit.

By the time we're back in The Bentley and Lucifer has shown up, parts of the song play through it. I see a little silhouetto of a man plays as Crowley is literally seeing the driver of the oncoming truck in front of him, just as he loses the ability to control The Bentley. When Lucifer leaves him and Crowley grabs the wheel, we hear thunderbolts and lightning/very, very frightening/me and the Galileo segment of the song. Thunderbolts and lightning is interesting since God makes it a point to point out that this night is not dark and stormy but then that type of weather is what Crowley does in S2 that causes the power to go out and his parallel, Nina, to be trapped. It's also what demons in general can do so you could say sending a storm-- like in the Job minisode-- to be demonic and of Satan. (If it's not Crowley doing it to play Cupid, anyway.) The thunderbolts and lightning of Satan/Hell is very, very frightening to Crowley...

...Me/Galileo/Galileo/Galileo/Figaro... Galileo is arguably the most famous astronomer to ever live. He was a polymath, really, like Crowley was. Crowley, as an angel, made the stars and invented gravity. The scene with Hastur and Ligur that precedes this and ties into it has Hastur mistranslate the Italian Crowley spoke during it. Crowley said "ciao", meaning "goodbye", which Hastur correctly said was Italian but he claimed it meant "food" (mistaking it for "chow" because he's an idiot.) So a scene that ends with Crowley speaking Italian then connects directly into the scene of this attack, where Italian is spoken in the song scoring it, as Galileo was Italian and figaro in Italian is "fig tree".

While Eve does eat an apple in Good Omens, the Biblical 'fruits of knowledge' that tie to the Serpent tempting Eve in Eden are interpreted in different ways throughout different religions and at different periods in history. In Good Omens, Crowley got Eve to eat an apple and the pleasure of food opened a door to sexual pleasure. Eve shared the apple with Adam and they were *Aziraphale's hilariously judgemental voice* "expecting already" with Eve about 8 months pregnant later a day later because Eve's biology is atypical of other humans and all that. It's debated as an apple, with other different fruits and sometimes even wheat mentioned as possible things Eve ate-- if she ate food at all, as some people take the entire thing as a sexual metaphor. Figs are one fruit that some people believe it was instead of an apple, so this is a reference to Crowley as the Serpent of Eden.

Me/Galileo/Galileo/Galileo/Figaro... Crowley holding onto himself while under attack and just after it, which speaks to activation of a plan, which speaks to this not being the first time he's endured something like this. Galileo and Figaro = The Starmaker and the Serpent of Eden. The things he's done that he is proud of, that make him not evil, in his mind, and not deserving of this. Things he likes about himself. Things Aziraphale loves about him.

The song is narrating for us Crowley through the attack as he's basically frozen there enduring it, seeing the driver of the truck coming at him and Scaramouche/Scaramouche/Will you do The Fandango?

A scaramouche is a kind of mischievous scamp-- so, Crowley; The Fandango is a Spanish couple dance. Historically, one version of it is done between a pair of men who try to outdo one another with skill, in a kind of homoerotic competition. It's also slang for fucking during a concert and I have the feeling that Crowley would probably enjoying doing that Fandango a lot more as that would be consenting with a partner of his choice at a live concert rather than being mind-raped to Queen by the devil in his car. Regardless, it's another allusion to sex in the scene, adding to the rape overtones.

There's also something that is pretty horrifying about the fact that these scenes of Crowley and Aziraphale being separately reintroduced to us in 2008 after we first met them both together in Eden are intercut so that Lucifer's attack on Crowley scored by "Bohemian Rhapsody" ends with the Italian sung and cuts directly into Aziraphale speaking Japanese to the chef at the sushi restaurant.

He'll try to explain to Gabriel that eating sushi is "what humans do", which is the same phrase he'll use to try to explain to Michael and Uriel in S2 what falling in love is. During the bookshop attack, Shax will bully Aziraphale about his humanity-- about the same two things (food and love) in the two previous, connected scenes. (Gabriel, initially the one repulsed by tea in 1.01, leaves the scene after Aziraphale tells him to hide by asking if anyone wants a hot chocolate, in a pretty hilarious turnabout.) Shax calls back to the food-related and the love-related "it's what humans do" moments for Aziraphale by asking if she should "send up the sushi" and by mocking his relationship with Crowley ("What are you? Crowley's emotional support angel?"). Crowley and Aziraphale are the ones in love and it's tied together throughout multiple scenes in both seasons to sushi, in reference to the night Armageddon began in 2008.

The point then is that, making this all even worse, Crowley is actually supposed to be at a back corner table in a dark sushi restaurant sneaking a date with Aziraphale when he's attacked by Lucifer in The Bentley-- and then forced into helping start Armageddon, which could bring about the end of his and Aziraphale's relationship... and that's our grim introduction to his world in the modern part of the story.

As we go learn what Aziraphale is like in the modern era and contrast him with his head office's mentality via Gabriel's arrival, we also are given clues in the scene that suggest that Aziraphale was actually expecting Crowley, as he looks to the side Crowley comes up on when he hears the miracle sound that actually signals Gabriel's arrival instead. Aziraphale will then explain that he's there, doing "what humans do" and enjoying it, to Gabriel, and it will be only eating sushi in this moment, just as Crowley will not be present when Aziraphale explains that falling in love is "what humans do" while objectively talking about Maggie & Nina but, ultimately, talking about himself and Crowley beneath it-- his real motivation for keeping Heaven off their backs is Crowley. The writers then have Shax combine the two "it's what humans do" scenes around love and sushi and throw them back at Aziraphale while Crowley is once again not with him because of Heaven/Hell but is present in his absence in the moment.

All of this happens in the first scenes of Crowley in the modern era, all the way back in the first episode, and it's done to give us an understanding that he is a survivor of attacks like this and how that impacts his behavior, his choices, his relationship with Aziraphale. It's to give us a finer appreciation for his strength and his humor and his capacity to love in the face of it. It's to show that while some of the demons are just kind of amusing idiots, if dangerous, and that there's a lot of humor to mine there, some aspects of being a demon are not at all amusing. Crowley is really just doing the best he can to survive the absolute horror show that is an eternity of damnation as Satan's favorite over here because there are very dark, very violent aspects of it that he cannot permanently avoid.

While the attack we are shown is a mercifully short, if horrifying, scene, the implications of it are even worse. The assault we are shown had a plot purpose in that moment-- Satan giving instructions on delivering the antichrist baby to the satanic nunnery-- and since everything was in motion, that was the extent of it. Armageddon took precedence. What we are left with, though, is the impression that this type of demonic assault with its massive rape overtones is something that Crowley's experienced before and that the implication is that Lucifer attacking him is not always just to deliver a message related to an assignment but to deliver one of forcible control over him and that this is something that Crowley has been dealing with periodically for the 6,000 years he's been on Earth. It's akin to a kind of rape in 1.01 and that is already way more than enough to see how that would affect Crowley in the story... but then S2 takes this scene and both alludes to it in a key moment and gives it a whole paralleling subplot, highlighting its importance and continuing to expand upon the meaning of it. Both things together then suggest that while we saw a rape-coded assault in 1.01, the feeling that the scene was alluding to other instances where it was rape itself was definitely the implication of it.

In S2, in the group scene at the end, Crowley is out of the bookshop taking Maggie and Nina away from the angels for their safety when the subject of Satan comes up for the only direct time that season. Shax demands that Gabriel and Beezlebub be taken to Hell to be given "as gifts for Satan, our Master" and Head of the Dark Council Dagon replies that "he wouldn't want them-- maybe as hors d'ouerves." On the show obsessed with food symbolism and that codes different types of food with relation to sex-- in particular, because of Serpent of Eden Crowley-- and with the brothel owner named "Mrs. Sandwich", to say someone would want a being as a "hors d'ouerves" implies sex and if we're talking about Lucifer, then we've already established that consent isn't exactly a priority. Rape isn't about sex-- it's about power-- but the show is coding Lucifer's behavior in line with its coding of sex to highlight that his violation of Crowley isn't just of the heavily rape-coded variety that we saw in 1.01 but has actually, at other times, been rape.

Dagon's most significant line in S2 is essentially to point out that Satan's a rapist-- but it's also to point out that not everyone in Hell has been through that horror. Satan's choosy. Satan's a bit fixated. Dagon's comment is actually surprising. Your first thought when Shax suggests giving Gabriel and Beez to Lucifer is that he's the devil so they'd be in danger and what you've seen of what he's done to Crowley was skin-crawling and you don't want that to happen to Gabriel and Beezlebub. You assume that it might because we're talking about Satan but then Dagon puts a check on that and says-- to not a single bit of even implied disagreement in the room-- that Satan wouldn't really care that much about getting Gabriel and Beez.

Think about how truly kind of crazy that is.

Satan would not be that interested in being handed over his old friend and the Grand Duke of Hell who betrayed him and the Supreme Archangel of Heaven? He'd maybe rape 'em, sure, possibly, casually posits Dagon, but they aren't what he's really after. They'd just be hors d'ouerves.

Not a single being in the room even so much as signals disagreement with that assessment that the not terribly subtle Dagon chose to voice aloud, which means they all agree with her. They all know who Lucifer's fixated on.

*Gabriel* and *Beezlebub* would only be fucking *appetizers* to Satan.

That implies the existence of *a main course*, does it not?

Who else but Crowley (and Aziraphale) could be on that menu? No one.

We also have that Crowley is conveniently out of the bookshop for the moment that Shax and Dagon have this exchange about Lucifer. He comes back in on Dagon saying "hors d'ouerves" but was outside when Shax was referencing Satan so he didn't hear any of it. This seems very deliberate on the part of the writers, as if Crowley had been in the room, it would have prompted some kind of response and changed what happened in the scene afterwards. Instead, the only reference to Lucifer is specifically when Crowley isn't in the room, probably because this conflict is on-going and going to continue into S3.

Prior to Dagon's line, the show also paralleled Lucifer assaulting Crowley in The Bentley in 1.01 with Lindsay abusing Nina, which adds another layer into this. You could even make an argument that one of the reasons why we never see Lindsay and we just see their abuse of Nina via the text messages they send Nina is to draw an intentional parallel to how little we've seen to date of Lucifer/Satan in the series.

It directly ties to the 1.01 scene in The Bentley because, prior to Lucifer coming through the radio and assaulting Crowley, Crowley was trying to call Aziraphale (the Maggie to his Nina in this parallel, though obviously much further along in that relationship) to tell him about Armageddon but he'd taken out the mobile phone networks earlier in the night to have something demonic to share with Hastur and Ligur. This parallels Crowley knocking out the power in S2 accidentally and Nina getting locked in the coffee shop with Maggie. Lucifer and Lindsay both attack through electronic communication devices-- The Bentley's radio and Nina's phone-- and unleash a torrent of abuse. The difference is that Nina might be more easily able to escape Lindsay and live a more peaceful life after S2 while Crowley has yet to be truly able to evade Lucifer.

While Lindsay's abuse of Nina is at least psychological and emotional in what we are shown and Lucifer's abuse of Crowley is that with physical and sexual aspects that may or may not be present in Nina's relationship with Lindsay, the type of abuse doesn't matter to the parallel as it's all terrible and that's the point. Lucifer's abuse of Crowley is paralleled with the intimate partner abuse Nina is suffering in her relationship. This is objectively pretty interesting since it sort of suggests that Lucifer is Crowley's Lindsay, in the sense that they might have once been involved pre-Fall, which might add another element to why Lucifer is fixated on Crowley.

So, while Crowley can encourage his parallel Nina all he wants to take a risk and trust more and to trust him when he promises that it will be worth it, Crowley himself can't really extract himself from his own Lindsay-ish situation yet. He does know how to survive it, though, and it's not all about the defenses he and Nina put up-- it's about learning to shed some of those defenses enough to have a sense of intimacy with a kind person you can trust to love you and help you feel safe.

[notdefendingtaylor]

the most worrying thing to me about the asylum aesthetic

aside from the clear co-opting of mentally ill and disabled people's historical abuses under a broken, underfunded, and at times deeply unscientific system....

is that mental healthcare available NOW can be a profound help, life changing AND life saving.

but the asylum/love made me crazy/'female rage' imagery of ttpd is provoking a lot of discussion about historical abuses and the actual benefits are getting somewhat lost in that discussion. (scientology, THE anti-psychiatry organization, must be thrilled.)

here are some facts about recovery under appropriate and professional help:

bipolar: "Shorter duration of illness, higher social class, and treatment compliance were associated with higher rates of recovery and more rapid recovery." (source)

borderline personality disorder: "One study found that 77% of participants no longer qualified for the DBT diagnosis [of borderline] after one year [of DBT treatment]" (source)

major depressive disorder: "Clinical and functional remission was achieved in 70.6% and 56.1% of the MDD patients, respectively." (source)

hospitalizations: "it can reduce the stress of daily responsibilities for a brief period of time, which allows you to concentrate on recovery from a mental health crisis. As your crisis lessens, and you are better able to care for yourself, you can begin planning for your discharge. In-patient care is not designed to keep you confined indefinitely; the goal is to maximize independent living by using the appropriate level of care for your specific illness." (source)

what is my point here? contributing to the STIGMA around psychiatric care, trying to couch mental illness in language of romantic shared mania (folie à deux) is not just giving 2005 myspace, it's inherently irresponsible. a 'recovery is possible' mindset is what saves lives and in the US, her home country, the stigma against seeking help works hand in hand with the systematic defunding of mental health care to dissuade people from achieving the recovery that can lead to abatement of suffering and transition into a life worth living.

here's my mental illness cheat sheet:

it's not romantic. it can be associated with creativity, but that's not guaranteed or inherent and may largely be a cliche that sidetracks real functional improvement: "Romanticizing the 'mad genius' myths surrounding bipolar disorder can also be harmful, and have negative consequences on your wellbeing and productivity." (source)

it's expensive as hell to treat, but under certain income thresholds in the US, Medicaid can pay for most if not all of the treatment you might need.

it generally leads to lower employment rates or underemployment but treatment leads to the best outcomes for employment and housing: "undertreatment can have a negative impact on occupational functioning" (source)

substance abuse is a conversation that can't be unlinked to mental illness and for some reason the US seems more ready to talk about that than the underlying mental health issues - because then an element of blame can be assigned to the individual for self-destructive behavior. but addressing the core mental health issues can certainly lead to recovery in other areas, when the substance use is linked to depression, anxiety, etc.

the US loves to talk about mental illness when gun violence occurs, but that doesn't mean those same legislators will vote to expand access to mental health treatment (source)

my #1 tip i have is this: if you don't have insurance or your insurance only covers a fraction of your psych inpatient bill, CONTACT PATIENT FINANCIAL ASSISTANCE AND FILL OUT PAPERWORK TO SEEK A WRITE-OFF. instead of that $3000 bill you can leave owing $500 (or less). literally cannot emphasize this enough! the write-off is based on income so they will need to see your financials to assess what write-off(s) may be appropriate in your case.

peer support groups like National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) may hold meetings in your area where you can discuss your problems and relate to others' who may share some of your struggles. this is basically peer-led, FREE group 'counseling'. seriously, it's effectively nearly as good as the group sessions you might have to pay for, and the frequency is often weekly. (find support)

yes, we can talk about past historical psychiatric abuses and ongoing abuses today, which tend to disproportionately affect the socioeconomically disadvantaged. but the conversation needs to also include the benefits of access to scientifically-informed mental health treatment as well.

[missywritesfor7]

❤️‍🩹Lifeline | MYG❤️‍🩹

Synopsis: It’s long been controversial for idols to date, but idols dating each other can be really beautiful or a complete nightmare. When Yoongi's relationship with another idol is discovered, he decides maybe it’s time to break the taboo and show people it’s ok for idols to date. Instead, they find themselves caught in the midst of one media frenzy after another and struggle to keep their relationship as strong as it had been the past 2 years. Yoongi finds a self destructive way to cope, and it causes even more problems than it solves. As they fight for their relationship and their careers, they discover that sometimes, the only way to truly be free is to let go.

Pairing: idol!Yoongi x idol!OC

Warnings: nsfw, alcoholism, cheating, depression, anxiety, Yoongi goes through a bisexy ho phase, Yoongi is also in his alcoholic phase, post-military BTS

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Ch. 25: Approval

Yoongi’s first week home came and went and before he knew it, Hyeri was heading off at 6 in the morning for her first day of work on her new drama. He woke up to see her off feeling full from her excited smile as she bounced out the door in glee. A few hours later he grabbed his things and took off for his studio.

There’s a chill that shoots through Yoongi’s body when he takes his first steps into the company building. He’s trying to remain optimistic as he steps on the elevator and gets hit with a storm of anxiety. The fear starting to cloud his mind before he even makes it to his floor has him feeling suffocated. Once he realized how truly afraid he was of being back in his old tempting environments, he couldn’t seem to shake the dark cloud creeping in telling him that he’d end up falling back into the same shit he was in before.

When he steps into his studio he’s immediately hit with the memory of the last time he was there. It’s actually a bit of a fuzzy memory, he was pretty fucked up at that time. He shudders then takes a look around. Everything in his studio has remained largely untouched. He can tell a few things were moved a little, likely from someone searching for any hidden bottles. Other than that the place is spotless.

He takes a seat in his chair and lets out a deep breath. It shouldn’t be this difficult, but just getting started takes him about 10 minutes of idly sitting there spinning slowly in his chair before he finally powers his computer on and gets to work. It’s rocky at first, keeping his focus for more than a few minutes at a time is proving difficult. But just like the glass of water in the desert that she is, he gets a text from Hyeri that gives him the boost he needs.

[Hyeri]: My first day is going great so far! I don’t have much time, I just wanted to tell you I love you and I’m proud of you 😘

Yoongi takes a deep breath and smiles. Somehow she’s always there at the right time.

[Yoongi]: You give me so much strength, my love. I’m proud of you too and I’ll never stop loving you ❤️

That’s all it took. One of seven people he has the deepest love for is cheering him on. He can do this. He cracks open his bottle of iced coffee and dives head first into his music.

Minho suggested he start easy when he returns to work. If things start to feel overwhelming then he should call it a day and allow himself time to relax and recharge. Hours fly by and Yoongi is nowhere near stopping. The anxiety he felt coming into the building has been washed away in a decaffeinated wave of confidence and determination. He’s got 2 months worth of music to go through and polish and he’s fired up getting through song after song. He’s only pulled out of his tunnel vision by a knock at his door.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Namjoon says when Yoongi opens the door for him.

“Yeah, I’ve been here since this morning,” Yoongi says inviting Namjoon to take a seat on the couch while he returns to his work chair.

“This morning?” Namjoon asks confused. “Like a few hours ago?”

“What? I mean early this morning. I got here around 9 I think.”

“Hyung,” Namjoon chuckles. “It’s 3 am, you’ve been here all day?”

“I have?” Yoongi questions looking at his phone that confirms it’s currently 3:15 am. “Shit,” he chuckles. “Yeah I guess I’ve been here all day.”

“Rainbow didn’t call you to come home yet?” Namjoon jokes.

“She usually doesn’t bother when I’m here,” Yoongi laughs. “I guess I should probably go, huh?”

“You’ve been here all day, hyung. Get some rest.”

“What about you? Why are you still here?”

“The usual. I was about to head out now though. You should come.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi swivels in his chair to start saving his work and shutting his computer down. “Need a ride?”

“You know I do,” Namjoon laughs.

Yoongi finishes gathering his things and the pair head down the quiet hall to the elevator. The building is mostly deserted at this hour aside from the two or three night owls quietly working away in their own spaces. They make it out to Yoongi’s car and take off.

“It’s good to see you back, hyung,” Namjoon says during the ride. Ever since they all got together for dinner upon Yoongi’s return Namjoon has been quite amazed at the difference. For two months the last image of Yoongi that was left in his mind was of him wreaking of alcohol while they hit him with an intervention that all of them had hoped wouldn’t have to happen. Now he looks like he’s back to his old self and smells like sweet lemon and ginger tea instead of booze.

“It’s good to be back,” Yoongi smiles. “And thank you.”

“I told you the other day you don’t have to thank me. You’re my bro.”

“I know, but I mean Hyeri. Thanks for looking out for her.”

“I always look out for her,” Namjoon chuckles. “She’s my sis.”

“I know that too,” Yoongi chuckles trying to find his way to the point he’s trying to make. “It’s just that you know I worry about her a lot and when I felt like I was so messed up that I couldn’t be there for her, I always felt better knowing you were there.”

“Of course,” Namjoon reiterates. “You’re both my family, if I can ever do anything to make sure my family doesn’t hurt, then I will.”

“That’s why you’re our leader,” Yoongi smiles. “I just know I can trust you with my life, and that includes Hyeri. She doesn’t have any siblings so you fill that space for her.”

“Hyung,” Namjoon says sensing some bit of nervousness from Yoongi. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“What do you think about…marriage?”

“Marriage?” Of all things Namjoon could have guessed, marriage isn’t one of them.

“We talked about it and I can’t get the thought out of my mind. I might just be thinking crazy, but I’m not sure. What would happen if we got married? I’m crazy right? But if we did…would you be ok with it? Would everyone else be ok with it?” Yoongi is rambling as he tends to do when he’s nervous. Beads of sweat are starting to form on his forehead and he’s trying his best to hold his breath steady.

“Slow down.” Namjoon shakes his head. He’s a little endeared by how flustered Yoongi is when trying to discuss the topic, but he also feels he may be getting ahead of himself. “You’ve only been back home a week.”

“I know, it’s crazy.”

“Hyung chill. There’s a lot you need to think about first, like how no one even knows that you two are even dating. If you two show up married out of the blue what do you think people will think? Or maybe you could stay a secret, but you’ve already expressed how upsetting it is for you having to hide now, how long can you keep hiding when you’re married?”

“You’re right,” Yoongi sighs pulling up to Namjoon’s building.

“I’m not saying you should never do it, if that’s what you really want to do. I just want you to think about it. You can’t rush into this because there are some things you won’t be able to undo, you know?” Namjoon gives Yoongi a look that tells everything. A look telling Yoongi that regardless of how he feels, he has to think about the fans who could feel betrayed if he doesn’t approach things carefully.

“Yeah,” Yoongi nods. “I understand.”

“Get some sleep.” Namjoon opens the door to exit the car. “I’ll see you later.”

Yoongi nods and watches Namjoon shut the door and enter his apartment building. He appreciates Namjoon’s input, and as the only person that knows both he and Hyeri the most, he’s happy he could get those feelings out to a knowing third party. Still, as he drives home he feels a little disappointed. He wanted Namjoon to be more on board with the idea, although his advice was absolutely correct, he just hoped to get a more solid vote of approval. Yoongi parks his car when he gets home wondering why he suddenly felt the need to get Namjoon’s approval, not as a fellow group member who would no doubt be effected by this, but as a close friend of Hyeri’s. As her family.

Yoongi isn’t surprised to see Hyeri still awake in bed when he gets home. He could hear her mumbling lines to herself as soon as he walked through the door then entered the bedroom to see her sitting up going over her script.

“You’re home?” She asks somewhat surprised.

“You didn’t think I would be?” Yoongi chuckles. He drops his things near the door where he’ll pick them back up in a few hours after he gets some sleep and heads right back to the studio.

“Usually you stay the night in your studio when you stay this late,” she says putting her script aside and rolling towards him while he removes his clothes.

“Did you want me to?” He lays next to her and wraps his arms around her.

“No,” she chuckles. “I like it better when you’re here.”

“You can thank Namjoon for that. He talked me into coming home for some rest. I didn’t even know it was this late.”

“Of course Namjoon was there too,” she jokes. “What’s he been working on?”

“I’m not sure, we didn’t even talk about music.”

“The two of you not talking about music? That’s crazy!” She jokes. “What did you guys talk about then?”

“Well…” Yoongi hesitates unsure if he should tell her he brought up getting married. Maybe now isn’t the time. Namjoon was right, he should slow down. “Just a little bit of everything.”

“Right,” she nods unconvinced.

“Why are you still up anyway?” He asks trying to change the subject. “Don’t you have an early call tomorrow…or today I guess?”

“I just wanted to run through my lines one more time.”

“At nearly 4 in the morning?”

“I didn’t get home until two,” she giggles. “Now that you’re here I can get some sleep.”She snuggles closer to him and he kisses her forehead.

Through the course of the week the routine stays the same. Hyeri leaves extra early, Yoongi leaves hours later. They both get home at incredibly late hours, usually within a couple of hours of each other. Then they wake up hours later and repeat the process. Yoongi likes the routine, it gives him a new alcohol free normal.

The following week Yoongi has his session with Minho. He’s in brighter spirits this time talking about the songs he’s been working on, the plan he and the guys are working on for their next comeback, and his excitement for the future. Of course Minho brought up marriage and going public and Yoongi told him about the talk he had with Namjoon. While Yoongi spoke about how he felt Namjoon was completely right and he should slow down and really think before doing anything drastic, Minho noticed a slight shift in his tone. Even though Yoongi doesn’t realize it, he began speaking softer and almost as if he were a child talking about how he wanted something for Christmas but his parents said he wasn’t old enough for such a thing. Yoongi quietly commented that he was a little let down that Namjoon wasn’t 100% on board, and that’s when Minho made the realization.

“Have you brought this up to the other members?” Minho asks.

“No,” Yoongi admits. “After talking to Namjoon I figured it’s not really necessary for me to bring it up to everyone.”

“Why did you decide to tell Namjoon about it?”

“He’s the one who knows me and Hyeri the most,” Yoongi shrugs. “If he thinks it’s a good or bad idea when it comes to her, then I trust him.”

“Right,” Minho nods. “Why did you feel let down though?”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi mumbles looking down at his lap.

“What would have been a less disappointing reaction from him?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats. “I just thought he’d be a little more…excited? Supportive? No, he is supportive. Everything he told me was right, but something still felt like he wasn’t sure about it.”

“Sure about what?”

“Sure about…” Yoongi pauses to think. He knows he keeps talking in circles because he’s struggling to articulate what he’s really feeling, but Minho finally helps him out.

“Would you marry Hyeri if Namjoon was not ok with it?”

Yoongi remains silent.

“Would you continue dating Hyeri if Namjoon didn’t approve of it?”

Yoongi closes his eyes with his lips pressed shut.

“It’s not about the group, because you haven’t even brought it up to the others, so why do you feel you need Namjoon’s approval over anyone else’s?”

Yoongi sighs and opens his eyes. “He’s her brother. If I were to propose to her I would want her family’s approval first. He’s her family.”

“Do you feel like he disapproves?”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi groans. “He wasn’t really clear whether he approves or not, he just told me I should slow down, which is fine I understand his point, but I was hoping he would be more…enthused.”

Minho cracks a small smile. He only wanted Yoongi to say it so that he could face it. Yoongi knows that too and as much as he grits his teeth, he knows he won’t stop feeling a bit down about it if he doesn’t acknowledge and work through it. He knows he’s done a lot of things to betray everyone’s trust, so he feels Namjoon is just cautious not wanting Hyeri to get hurt. This thought only turns into a self depreciating cycle in his mind where he has visions of every drink, every stranger, every lie he told that chipped away at everyone’s trust in him until he became nothing but a heavy burden and a liability. He did this to himself.

He thought he had worked through a lot of these feelings, but as one wound was treated, there was another that had been ignored.

Sometimes you have to hurt to heal.

All of the nights Yoongi did everything in his power to ignore those feelings only caused those wounds to go untreated and get infected. Now he’s having to feel the pain he tried to avoid as the scabs are ripped off and the wounds are treated the way they should have been in the first place.

Yoongi goes above and beyond with everything he does these days. Healing doesn’t happen overnight, so in the meantime he’s just trying to get by. Trying to get by, by overcompensating for every fault that exists in his mind. He assists in any project he can when discussing the group’s comeback plans. He gets home in the wee hours of the night and finds the energy to make Hyeri a small breakfast that she can have on her way to work in the morning. He then wakes up with her after only a few hours of sleep to see her off and give her a loving start to her day. When he’s at the studio he entertains anything the members bring him and offers whatever time he can to doing whatever they ask. He feels it’s the least he can do for times that can’t be undone.

Yoongi has been home a month now. He’s been back on his regular work schedule for three weeks, and he’s been slowly dissolving into a self deprecating yes-man. The good thing is that no one is looking to take advantage of him so he’s not being used or abused, however he’s not getting much sleep and it’s starting to show on his face. No one seems to notice though, except Minho.

Deadlines are approaching, track lists are being finalized, behind the scenes cameras are everywhere, and dance practices are starting up again. The new routine Yoongi molded into has been blown away and now he finds himself in the chaotic whirlwind of the comeback schedule. There’s no set date for the album yet, but as always there’s still a lot to be done before the public even knows a thing. Recordings, promo videos, photoshoots, endless meetings to discuss concepts, album designs, merchandise, and tour dates. The dreaded tour that Yoongi finds himself stressed out about. Thankfully there’s still quite a bit of time before he has to face that head on. For now, another of his past demons is returning to haunt him.

“Stay home? Why?” Yoongi asks his manager through the phone. He received the call at 7 am, just before he was about to leave for the studio. Suddenly being asked to stay home has his heart racing.

“The media is at the entrance,” his manager solemnly says. “It’s seems someone has caught wind of the lady who stole your Black card in LA. She was convicted and somehow a reporter here learned that you were one of her many victims. There’s….a lot of buzz right now and we just want to look out for your safety.”

“Fuck,” Yoongi groans. “It’s that bad?”

“We’ll be putting out a statement soon asking for privacy at this time, but until things calm down staying home would be best for you right now. If you need anything at all we can make sure you get it, but you should lay low.”

As if being secluded in a cabin for two months wasn’t enough laying low. How bad could the media be right now? And why? He’s a victim in this case, what do they want him to say? He sighs heavily and lays across the couch clutching his head. He had an entire day planned, what about that? With deadlines getting closer he can’t afford to lose time like this. Is it so bad that it’s worth this? He decides to check socials because he knows the trending tags will tell him.

The trending tags told him a lot.

[Yoongi]: Call me as soon as you can

[Yoongi]: Or come over

[Yoongi]: You should definitely come over

[coldercreation]

PSA: 

If you have related to how I have described Nathan’s struggles with his mental health and some experiences with life; emotional, physical and social etc (ignore the story/his fam background for this; I mean if you have been able to relate to his feelings/anxiety/negative physical sensations etc.)

Might be worth it to get your blood checked. 

Especially B12, Vitamin D, Iron levels and Ferritin (ferritin should be 100+).

Building on top of the character, character background, and my research into trauma / mental health etc, I have always used a lot of my personal experience when describing emotions, feelings, and how mental health issues can feel like or present. It’s my attempt to make the writing feel realistic, had I experienced the things in the story or not. Aka even if the story was high fantasy and thus not realistic, I’d source my own feelings to make it ‘real’.

So. Regardless of what's causing it in the story: If you have ever related to how Nathan FEELS or describes his experience with the world and his brain… (Anxiety, depression, chronic fatigue, feeling like an outsider/in a fishbowl, easily overwhelmed or over tired; social withdrawal, social anxiety, heart palpitations, chest pains, breathlessness, dissociation, irritability, issues with cognitive function; memory, overthinking, insomnia, brain fog, panic attacks, slow recovery from physical activity, etc etc et fucking c) 

Turns out bish has been chronically deficient of many things for a very long time due to stomach issues that stopped nutrients from absorbing. Antidepressants have never successfully worked for me, and it’s now looking like that’s because my mental health stuff could've largely been a physical symptom, instead of just purely mental health?? 

I have been on a pile of supplements for a bit now and uhh… It’s like night and day? Even with the other health stuff I've been getting treated for, it's been... So much better?? Like. Life changing amount of difference?? And I’m only just starting out fixing these deficiencies, which could take a long time. But...

Holy shit, “Better” might actually be a real thing after all?? There was a reason I've been so "stuck"???

Kind of mad… And sad. Because if this is true and I keep feeling like I have been recently, it means I’ve lost a lot of time to this. I try to focus on how good I’ve been feeling though, and stay curious for this journey of what literally feels like a second chance at life.

Just… Wanted to post this in case it could help someone else. This is a highly personal experience, mental health issues absolutely exist on their own too and there's possibly often overlap as well. But stuff like this can make existing mental health conditions worse too, so either way it’s worth checking. 

Yeah. So.

Happy new year?

From someone who might be pulling a whole Phoenix moment???? xx

[meeludrawz]

I can't

I've been writing this for a while now, I rewritten and rewritten it again and again But now, it is officially done And I love how it turned out!!

At the dojo with Leo, she began to warm up her muscles with his help. The warm-up only lasted a few minutes, but she was already running out of air. It seems she wasn't as fit as she thought. Still, this didn't bother her friend. In fact, he was more than happy that she asked him to train her to become stronger. Martial arts was a big part of the four turtles' lives and if Leo got to spend more time with Bulan then that was a bonus he wouldn't turn down. “It’s great you decided to train! Just don’t listen to the others, it’s not torture and with you, I’m sure it’ll be more fun” He smiled at her. “Really? It’s that fun to be around me?” She smiled back, amused. Leo’s face went a little red, but she didn’t notice it. “Well- You are fun to be around, but I meant that training with someone is more fun” Her smile faded a little at that, it wasn't the first time people told her they felt good around her. And yet, she had never kept a single friendship since her childhood. Most left after a year or less. Maybe it was them, maybe it was her, but each time she found herself believing that it was clearly her fault. She even began to believe that she would end up alone with an army of cats or dogs. But now that she was a snake… Even dogs and cats avoided her now. Of course, she didn’t want to ruin the mood with all that so she shook those thoughts out of her head and only thanked him. With a smile that hopefully hid her sadness. Seemed like it worked because he returned the smile. “Are you ready then?”

About twenty minutes later, they were practicing for combat. But she sucked. “Not like that, here like this” Yes, she knew. He didn't need to tell her. She observed him with great attention, but she couldn’t reproduce his movement. So Bulan tried again. “You need to be faster Bulan” She. Knew. It. But she couldn't do it, and she seriously started to believe that she wasn't good enough to do it. And the more he repeated it, the more she felt like she was worthless and that he would soon lose his patience. The minute her brain imagined him getting angry, the tears came. She could already imagine the look of disappointment crossing his face. Soon he was going to stop helping her because she was too weak, she sucked, and because she wasn't worth it. He asked her to try again, but she couldn't do it anymore. She collapsed on her knees. Bulan closed her fists and the tears fell on the floor. Leo froze, he didn’t understand what was going on. Was it the training? Was he too harsh?? He hoped not, or else he’d have to apologize to his brothers and ask his father for help so he could become nicer. Suddenly, the conversation he had with Donnie a few months ago came back to his mind.

Donnie had silently walked inside the dojo, Leo was always there somehow, when the blue masked turtle was meditating. “Hey Leo? I know you’re busy, and I really shouldn’t bother you, but it’s… About our new “roommate”…Bulan “ Leonardo's eyes shot open. He worriedly looked at Donnie. “What is it?” He asked as he stood up. The purple masked turtle crossed his arms and sighed with a little smile. “Well, I saw how you seemed “curious” about her” Donnie smirked a little. “But I also observed something else” Leo raised a brow, ignoring his younger brother’s smirk. “Which is?” “Well, you see, I was reading some psychological books at some point, and it ended up being more interesting than I actually thought. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I think you should be careful around her. I think she’s um, well…” The purple masked turtle hesitated. “She’s what?” Insisted the leader. “Unstable… And not in a crazy way… More like- Uh… I mean, she’s showing lots of signs of depression and anxiety” The blue turtle nodded, a finger to his chin as he thought. “Careful, noted” Donnie also put a finger to his chin. “I mean I could be wrong, which is rarely the case because I’m quite observant, but maybe it’s just because she recently mutated, and she isn’t used to all this yet"

Coming back to reality, he bent down next to Bulan and put a hand on her shoulder. Since that discussion with Donnie, Leo had been observing Bulan from afar. They were all making sure that she was okay, but it was mostly Leo, for totally not obvious reasons. With that, he actually learned a lot about her and in a way, it was kind of fun. It was like discovering new things about your favorite subject. Like how Donnie and Bulan were total astrology nerds. Like how Bulan and Raph looked a lot like each other but whenever he’d get angry, she’d avoid him at all costs. And how Bulan and Mikey shared this strange relationship that looked like an older sister with her younger brother. They hugged and cuddled a lot. Luckily, Mikey was head over heels for Elina or else Leo would have thought he had feelings for the snake lady. Which wasn’t bothering him at all, no. Him, the leader, jealous? Psh nah, that’s stupid. He looked at the snake lady as he patted her back. Maybe it was too overwhelming? It hasn’t been a year since her mutation, well almost, but still, his father one day told him that some people took more time to heal than others.

“I’m sorry I-” He blinked at the sudden sound of her voice. “For what?” “I- You’re- Because…” Leo sighed with a soft smile, knowing where she was going. “Let’s say you’re right, doesn’t that mean it includes you too?” “But I’m… I’m strong, I can do it” Her voice cracked again which made his heart sink, he didn’t like seeing her cry, but he gave her a comforting smile anyway. “I know you can, you ARE strong but no one ever said you had to do it alone” This time she couldn’t hide it, she couldn’t shut her mouth, she had to speak. “How do I know you’re not lying…? How do I know you won’t leave like all the other friends I had?” She hissed, but she was sadder than actually angry.

Leo turned his head away from her, he scratched the back of his neck before taking a deep breath. “I didn’t want to tell you that this soon or not even like this but… It has been what? 8 months since you’re with us now?” The snake woman looked at him with that kind of glance that made his heart melt. He wanted to hold her close and tell her anything that would make her feel safe with him. Because she was looking at him with a mix of fear and hope. “I-” He grabbed the side of her face and gently rubbed his thumb against her scales. How could he announce that? Man, at that moment he wished he had seen more episodes where a character confesses to another. Maybe he’d know what to say now. “I- I have feelings for you” Crap. “B-But more than friends! In a “I want to marry you” way! I mean not now- But maybe in a few years?” CRAP CRAP CRAP, WHAT THE SHELL WAS HE SAYING. HOW COULD HE BE SO STUPID?? HE NEVER SHOULD'VE HAD LAUGHED AT DONNIE ABOUT APRIL WHEN THEY WERE TEENS! “I mean- In a few years if we’re still together! Or if we’re even together to begin with-” She looked at him with such a confused expression. He sighed, man, he sucked at this. “Or we could just stay friends- I mean- I’d be okay with it. But I’d never leave you, friend or… uh more” Bulan didn’t answer, still shocked. Like what the hell was going on?? Her crush just revealed that he liked her too?? WAS SHE DREAMING?! If so, it was a horrible dream. She didn’t want to wake up. But staying in a dream wasn’t healthy, she’d had to go back to reality at some point. Which is why it was horrible because she’d wake up and realize it never happened. Leo’s anxiety rose as she stayed silent. He screwed up, didn’t he? MAN HOW HE WISHED HE COULD HIDE.

He opened his mouth. “I’m sorry I-” The snake lady jumped and hugged him tightly. The turtle let out a yelp of surprise and fell on his back, Bulan on top of him. “I- I love you too” Leo blushed hard at her response and hugged her back. Raph walked in the dojo when he stumbled upon that scene. His face became red and he quickly turned around. “GET YOURSELVES A GODDAMN ROOM OR SOMETHING” “W-Wait Raph that’s not-!” Leo laughed, letting his brother go. Oh, well. The new couple couldn’t wish for anything better than this. It was perfect.

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

Hope you enjoyed!!

pspspspspsppspsps @ackalice

[aureutr]

Health update, featuring: DIAGNOSIS

I have been a chronic pain patient for a few years now. It's difficult to fully articulate how much pain changes your life, unless you are someone who has lived it or had a loved one live it.

Pain sucked away my energy and brainpower. I found myself sleeping more and more, first in naps after work then I was regularly calling out half days just to sleep. All the while, I was seeing doctor after doctor in hopes that someone would have an answer.

No one did. At first, it was almost a relief. It wasn't cancer, after all. But then the relief turned into disappointment and quickly into resignation. Labs were fine, X-ray was clear, CT was good. It should have been good news, except I still hurt all of the time and no one could tell me why.

The pain got worse. It peaked in Autumn 2022, when I finally got my first sliver of relief. Gabapentin kept the pain in control enough that I no longer had to regularly sleep half of the day, but it made me foggy. Still, it was easier to manage than the brain fog from pain, so I took it.

I still take it, and I’m on quite the high dose. It’s given me a semblance of a life back, but it’s not the answer or a cure. I still napped, I still hurt too much to even walk around a store for more than an hour or so. And, if I did, it would be my only activity for the day.

I lost my job late last year. I don’t believe it was because of the time I had to take, it was a mass layoff, but I’m certain it did not help. That, at least, ended up fine. I found a job I prefer with far better pay within a few months. And they’re, so far, understanding that I’m working through health problems.

But being unemployed was still a stressor, and I had learned that stress was integral to my pain. When I was stressed, it was worse. When I was calm, it was bearable.

I’ll skip describing another round of tests and hypotheses that went nowhere. In October 2023, my husband and I went to the Mayo Clinic or the Cleveland Clinic or John Hopkins (I am being intentionally vague here). This was our second time visiting, the first gave us absolutely nothing.

A nurse practitioner took a very quick look at me, too quick for our comfort, and declared the issue muscular. She recommended physical therapy. It seemed too simple, really. After all of that, all that money spent and time invested? It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried some exercise, but when moving makes your pain worse and worse pain zaps your energy, that’s difficult to maintain.

Still, I wasn’t going to turn my nose up at anything at this point. And it’s a damn good thing I didn’t.

The physical therapist I ended up seeing told me I had the strongest pelvic floor she’s ever seen. And that’s not a good thing. I have apparently taken literal decades worth of anxiety, depression, self-loathing, and any other negative emotion you can think of, and held them taut there, keeping my pelvic muscles almost constantly tensed.

And when you tense that much for that long, dysfunction arises.

My official diagnosis is Pelvic Floor Disorder. All of my PT has been focused on stretching, no strength training or cardio. I’m retraining my body to relax, to let go.

It has been amazing.

At the time of writing, I’ve been going to sessions for about six weeks. Already, I am eager to walk our dogs every day. I’ve gone out on my own or with friends to move.

The pain is not gone. But it is so much less that my pain clinic doctor is discussing reducing my gabapentin in a couple of months. And with decreased pain comes decreased brain fog.

Decreased brain fog means not only an improvement in my professional work, but space for fandom. I’ve written more than I’ve shared, lots of short private stuff for friends, but I haven’t had enough organized thought to re-approach the stories I put on hold.

I can’t promise anything, of course, but I hope that can change soon. I’ve been dabbling in Distant Echoes again, and it’s fun to be back in that world.

I’m not well. But I’m better. I’m so, so much better.

[annaloveshjp]

dream girl•♡

muggle!au

post-war (19yr)

pairing: Harry potter x fem!reader

word count: 3k

!warnings!: a few cuss words, emo Harry.

a/n: this is a little story I thought of a while ago. if you listen to any cigarettes after sex song, that’s basically what the vibe of this story is.

(This is kinda short, let me know if you’d like a part two <3)

summary: harry, the boy who works at the local cafe has been having one recurring dream of this mysterious girl, until one day he finally meets her.

————————

Opening his eyes, he sits up, groans, and drags his hand down his face, questioning if he’ll ever get a new dream.

Harry has been having the same recurring dream for the past 2 weeks: a girl with Y/H/C hair who is always lost in her books comes up to him and asks his name, but he never gets the chance to answer before he wakes up yet again.

At first he thought nothing of it. Just a dream, no special meaning. until he continued getting it for 4 more days, then he became confused. Does this mean something? Should he research recurring dreams?

•~

Many theories agree that recurring dreams are related to unresolved difficulties or conflicts in the dreamer's life. The presence of recurrent dreams has also been associated with lower levels of psychological wellbeing and the presence of symptoms of anxiety and depression.

•~

Great. Harry thinks to himself. Just what I wanted to hear.

He wondered if he had seen this girl before, but anytime he racked his brain for a familiar face, he could never find her.

Harry has never been the type to believe in soulmates- Well, he used to be. love is stupid. he thinks to himself when he sees happy couples enjoying eachothers company.

He had one relationship in the past. Ginny Weasley was a kind, fierce, confident girl, Harry loved her and truly believed they belonged together. That was until she unexpectedly decided they didn’t.

“Harry, there isn't any easy way to say this, but i think we should stop seeing each other,” She said, avoiding eye contact with the 17 year old boy.

“I- What?” He stuttered, “Why? Did I do something wrong? Tell me how to fix it i swear i will—“

“You did nothing wrong Harry,” She reassured him “It's not you, it's me. I Promise, It's just—My feelings have changed, I Don’t know how to explain. I’m Sorry.”

With that said, and nothing more to say, she walked away, leaving him sitting in the Coffee shop alone.

And since then, he decided that love wasn’t his thing anymore. Not worth wasting years on something for it to just fall apart so easily. He truly didn’t want a repeat of his last relationship.

But deep inside, he wishes to have the kind of love that puts you at ease, the love that makes your breaths easier each time you hold your lover in your arms, the love that he almost had.

Each of his days are the same: Wake up, go to work, go home, question life, is any of this worth anything in the end? Will I just be stuck in this loop of nothing forever? go to sleep, and dream of that girl.

These dreams tend to annoy him when they occur several nights in a row, he always feels her right at his fingertips, his name on the tip of his tongue, waiting for its escape into her ears so she can finally find him, but he always has to wake up.

Little did he know, the girl in his dreams is real, living in the same city, having the same dreams, about a boy her age with raven hair and beautiful jade eyes, from her point of view, waiting to hear his name, never succeeding.

Unlike Harry, she believes in soulmates. She believes that the boy in her dreams is the one for her, waiting somewhere for her out there, longing to meet his one just as much as she is.

And also Unlike Harry, she has never been in a relationship before. But instead, reads about love… And Heartbreak, but mostly love.

Every time she has this dream of this mysterious boy, she wonders. Will I ever meet him? Have I already met him?

She sighs, lying on her bed shortly after waking up from that dream.

Getting up, she walks over to her bathroom to start her day, shower, get dressed, brush teeth.

Looking up from her bathroom sink, she looks into her mirror examining her appearance.

Calm but energetic resting face, ghost of a smile always lingering on her lips. When upset, her frown is prominent, but Beautiful. light freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and cheeks, which are dusted with a dark rose color.

Her makeup, light but noticeable, consists of dark mascara, lipgloss and concealer.

Lately she has found concealer very helpful, as she has been waking up in the middle of the night to write about anything slightly different that happens in her dream.

For example; the first night she had this dream, it was sort of a blur, just a boy and a girl —the girl being her— sitting next to each other on a bench, a simple wooden bench. You might expect this bench to be somewhere like a park, or a sidewalk, but this bench was nowhere.

A bench sitting in void, the ground, walls and ceiling all white, no emotions radiating from the room except from the boy and girl. The girl calmly reading another one of her romance books, the boy, with headphones in, occasionally glancing at the girl and her pages.. Until she looks over at him and taps his shoulder. When he gives her a questioning look while taking one headphone out, she asks his name, then it ends.

The next few nights of having this dream were the same, except she started to notice some of the boys features more, like his eyes, which were an enchanting shade of green. Or his lips, pink, soft and slightly chapped; he was beautiful.

She wished everyday that she would see him soon, or even at all. He was the one. She could feel it.

She grabbed her bag then left her bedroom to have breakfast. She opened the fridge and got some strawberries, washed a few and threw them in a plastic bag, then made her way outside to walk to her bus stop.

I wonder if he likes strawberries. she thinks of him. if he doesn’t, then we definitely aren’t for each other. She thought, plopping a strawberry into her mouth as she waited for her bus.

The bus pulled around the corner, and made a loud hiss sound when it stopped. She entered once the doors opened, and found a seat by the window.

She pulled out the book she was currently reading, put her headphones in and began to read.

She liked the bus, it was a nice way of traveling. She sometimes just has her whole day consisting of riding the bus. She sees so many interesting people.

——-

I hate this job, why do I still work here? Harry thought to himself as he handed a warm latte to one of his customers. “Have a nice day,” he told her.

Right, it’s the only job that would take me. He remembered. “Hey, Harry,” one of his coworkers called to him.

He whipped his head around. “Hm?” He questioned.

“Could you work the register for a bit? I have to go do something,” his coworker said hurriedly.

“Yeah sure, whatever,” Harry replied, walking over to the cash register and straightening his name tag.

His coworker left for the bathroom. Harry watched as he saw another person follow them into the bathroom.

Ah, that’s what they meant by ‘go do something’ he rolled his eyes, turning his head back to the register to find a customer looking curiously to where he was previously looking.

“Sneaky little guy, eh?” She joked, turning back to order.

When Harry got a good look at her face, he swore he almost pissed himself. Is that actually her? No way no way no way-

Her eyes went a bit wide too, but Harry assumed it was because of the look of shock on his face.

“Uhm-“ she cleared her throat, “could I have a pumpkin latte with oat milk?” She ordered quickly.

“I uhm- yeah sure,” Harry stuttered, tabbing in her order, his hands shaking slightly.

That definitely looks like her. Her hair is the same, her eyes, she even has the same bag.

Harry saw out of the corner of his eye that she was examining his face for a second, only to stop when he turned back to her.

“2.13 is your total today, ma’am,” he said, watching her search her purse for her wallet.

“Here,” she handed him the money.

Just as she was about to walk away, he quickly said, “Oh and- sorry but, could I get a name for that order?”

“Oh, yeah sure,” she was a bit confused since this cafe didn’t usually take names for orders, but told him anyway. “Y/N,”

“Thanks,” he said, giving her a nod and a smile.

She smiled back and walked over by a window to wait for her order.

That’s a nice name. he massaged his temples. If that’s actually her, I don’t know what I’ll do.

After a few minutes, Harry saw her drink was done. He quickly rushed over to another coworker of his—who had the drink—and said “Hey, I’ll do this one,”

“Okay…?” He responded, before handing Harry the drink and starting to make the next one.

Harry quickly took the drink and walked over to the counter. “Pumpkin latte with oat milk for Y/N?”

She looked up from her phone and walked over to the counter. “Thank you, Harry,” she said, grabbing her drink.

He gaped at her with his lips slightly parted, wondering how she knew his name. She seemed to have noticed his shock, and said, “Your name tag,” she pointed to his chest.

He looked down at it. “Right, yeah,” he laughed awkwardly.

“I’ll see you around, Harry.” She said, giving him a smile and walking away.

“Yeah, you will,” he said faintly.

He stood there for a good minute, taken aback by the whole situation before he heard someone clearing their throat. Harry looked over and saw his coworker nodding his head toward the register where a customer was waiting.

Oops. he thought to himself.

After his shift was over, he started to clean up the store. While he was wiping down tables, he noticed a book was left on one of them.

Hm, I wonder who forgot their book. He thought, picking up the book and examining it.

Romance, ew.

He decided he would store the book in his bag for now, just if the person who lost their book came looking for it some day, he’d return it.

He went home that night thinking about Y/N more than usual. She’s fucking real? He thought while he brushed his teeth. or I’m going insane.

I’m probably going insane, how could I dream about her for months when I only just met her today? He thinks as he lay in bed, biting his nails out of habit.

What the fuck just happened. She thought, walking out of the cafe with her pumpkin latte.

Universe, when I said I wanted to see him soon, I didn't mean today!

I could be going crazy… but his hair was the same! Even his eye colour!

She was so deep in thought for so long, by the time she was back on the bus to go home, she didn’t realize she had forgotten her book at the cafe.

Shit. she thinks, searching her bag for her book. I forgot it at the cafe.

She decided she would just go looking for it the next time she went back to the cafe.

Finally, she was home. She kicked her shoes off, put her bag away, then headed to her room.

Walking to her dresser, she picked out a pair of pajamas, then brushed her teeth, then got into bed.

See you in a minute, Harry. She thought to herself. If it’s even you.

——

“Hey, what’s your name?”

“Oh uhm- it’s Harry. What’s yours?”

“Y/N,”

——-

“HOLY FUCK!”

Both of the teenagers shot up from their beds right when they woke up.

It’s him

It’s her

Y/N didn’t know what to do now. She knows where he works, his name, and what he looks like. But she didn’t feel ready to get to know him yet.

I’m just going to avoid the cafe for a few days. Maybe I’ll cool down and he’ll forget my face. Yeah, that’s a good idea.

I have to see her. Harry thinks, pacing around his room. I have an idea. I’ll just ask her if it’s her book today and then we’ll talk about something. Easy.

He started his day happier than usual. He decided he would have a healthy breakfast. Some oatmeal with fruit.

Ugh, I hate fruit. Why do I have to hate fruit? He thinks, looking at his empty fruit drawer in his fridge. He looked closer and spotted some blueberries. Jackpot.

After he ate his oatmeal—which wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be—he took his bag, which contained the romance novel, and made his way to work.

The whole ride there, he tapped his fingers anxiously on his steering wheel, and glanced at his bag every few minutes.

It’ll be fine, she came in late last time, it’ll be a while before she comes in again.

His day went by as normal. Making drinks all day, occasionally stealing a cookie from the dessert case, and becoming extremely bored. Except today, all he could think about was her.

By the time eight o’clock came around (closing time) he hadn’t seen her come in.

Maybe she’s busy today. He thought to himself as he finished washing the dishes, and closed the store.

He took his bag and got into his car, sighing as he turned on the radio. Maybe tomorrow.

The next few days were the same. No sign of her whatsoever. Harry wondered if she was scared of him. No, that would be weird… right?

He began to lose hope, slowly, but surely. His routine cycled back to normal. Wake up, go to work, go home, question life, is any of this worth anything in the end? Will I just be stuck in this loop of nothing forever? go to sleep, and dream of that girl.

Only his dreams had stopped since that night. I finally told her my name. He thought. I wonder if she’s having the same dreams, maybe that’s why she’s avoiding the cafe.

A week later

Maybe it’s safe to go back now. Y/N thought to herself one morning as she showered. I’ve been wanting my book back…

After arguing back and forth with herself for maybe ten minutes, she finally decided she would go back to the cafe.

It’s fine, it’ll be fine. You were the one who wanted to meet him so badly anyway! Y/N argued with herself again as she rode the bus to the cafe.

He might not even be at the register this time. She took a deep breath. Just get your coffee and go.

She walked into the cafe and got in line. She didn’t see Harry at first glance towards the counter, but she played it safe still and kept herself distracted with her phone until it was her turn to order.

Her turn soon arrived, and she shut her phone off and looked up at the worker who was taking orders.

Phew. She breathed out. “How are you today?” The worker asked.

“I’m good, thank you.” Y/N replied.

“What can I get for you?”

“I’ll just have a pumpkin latte with oat milk, please.” Y/N said politely.

The worker tabbed her order in. “Pumpkin latte with oat milk? Is that all for today?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.” Y/N thanked the worker, then walked over to an empty table to wait for her drink.

See? It wasn’t so bad, you didn’t even see him. She thought, cracking her knuckles. And even if you do see him, he probably won’t even see you, he’ll be working. It’s fine—

“Pumpkin latte with oat milk for Y/N?” A voice interrupted her thoughts.

I- I didn’t give them my name—? She thought before she looked up and saw Harry holding her drink for her behind the counter.

He had a nervous grin plastered on his face, looking at Y/N. Her eyes widened, then she walked up to the counter to collect her drink.

“Hi again, Harry.” Y/N smiled at him, trying to suppress her shaking as she reached for her latte.

“Hi. I noticed you hadn’t come in for a while,” Harry said, “something happen?”

“Oh- no,” she waved him off, “nothing happened, just busy is all.” She lied.

“Hm, Alright,” he said.

“Oh and by the way,” she suddenly remembered her book, “have you stumbled across a book that might’ve been left here a bit ago? I left mine here,”

His eyes brightened, “actually, yes I have,” he grabbed his bag and pulled out the romance novel.

“That’s it!” She smiled wide, “thank you, Harry.”

“No problem,” he handed her the book and grinned. “enjoy your latte, Y/N.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, then began to walk out.

“Sweet dreams,” Harry called to her when she was ten feet away from the counter.

She froze. Oh my god. With a sudden burst of confidence, she turned around and replied, “you too,” with a wink.

Harry’s face flushed with colour as he watched her walk out of the cafe. It's definitely her. Maybe this job isn’t so bad after all…

It’s him. She thought, grinning as she walked outside. Maybe I’ll visit here more often.

———————

[nerdygaymormon]

A few excerpts from this essay by Lisa Torcasso Downing:

————————————————————

Nothing has spurred more spiritual growth in me than developing lasting friendships with LGBTQIA church members. They’ve suffered, they’ve been rejected, they’ve been misunderstood. Some stay in the Church, others leave for their mental health. But their goodness never changes.

—————————

Every day, I think about LDS children who will someday come out after years of experiencing church leaders, church teachers, and family members insist the “gay/trans agenda” is an affront to God’s plan when it is God who planned them. All of my LDS-raised, LGBTQIA friends–every one of them–have suffered severe self-loathing, depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation. 

—————————

I want to reflect the love God feels toward them in their interactions with me. I want them to know I see their immense worth, and that I recognize their orientation and identity as divinely appointed. I want them beside me.

—————————

Have you noticed that Jesus is regularly confronted with the accusation he hangs out with sinners, and yet he never calls anyone a sinner? Those around him do, including his disciples. He didn’t divide us the way we divide ourselves. Some at church insist the world is getting more evil every day, and maybe, in some ways, it is. But the people I see around me–LDS and not–are becoming less racist, less sexist, and less classist.

—————————

The Lord uses “love” as a verb, not as a noun meaning emotion. 

—————————

Love requires certain behaviors of us. This is why Jesus modeled service, inclusion, and open-heartedness. 

—————————

My experience sitting at the feet of my LGBTQIA friends has proven to me that the Church isn’t feeding them like it feeds cishet members. It denies them marriage, both here and hereafter, and other things as well. The covenant path is broken for them, not by them.

—————————

The Jesus I meet in the scriptures actively deconstructed the societal tiers humanity created. He embraced all kinds. He ate with us, spoke with us, loved us, and showed every one of us a higher way to live. 

[aces-spade-palace]

A story for those that need it. (TW for depression, suicide, SH, and abuse talk) Life has gotten insanely better since I was younger. When I first found Tumblr, I was a depressed, suicidal pre-teen. Tumblr actually made my life so much worse. I got into the dark side. The self harm side. I would compare myself to others and wish I could do worse. I would starve myself and now I'm paying the price for it. Now I look back and see how bad it was. At the time I had no idea half of what I was doing needed medical attention. Now I look at my scars (since I worked in healthcare for 6 years) and see that I probably should have gotten stitches for many of the things I did. I had attempted. I had wanted to end it all. That continued through high school and into adult hood. I had wanted to end it so many times. I thought I hated my parents when they were trying to do the best for me. I screamed and cried myself to sleep most nights because I just hated being here. I had 7 therapists in 5 years. One trip to the psych ward. I have been in abusive relationships and friendships. Lied to and cheated on. I made terrible decisions that could have killed me and I didn't give a damn. Up until a few years ago, I had thought I would be better off dead. I was also close-minded. I was an asshole and genuinely just a terrible person. Now, I'm 25. I found that I am an agender, queer being who enjoys pole dancing and theatre. I also was diagnosed with clinical depression and anxiety. I am getting married in just a few months. I am working job that I make 50k in without a college degree. I have three cats and we are going to start looking to buy a house after we get married. I am genuinely happy and content with my life. I learned to love myself. Yes, I have my days where I look in the mirror and get dysphoric, I get insecure, but more often that not anymore, I am starting to love myself again. It takes time. A lot of it, but at the end, it is really worth it. YOU do have to put in the work, even if you don't want to, even if you're being forced to, but I promise you that life can be so so worth it. I lived my dream job. I moved out from my parents house and our relationship got better. People have told me they look up to me and that they are proud of me. Yes, boundaries had to be set, my heart had to break on multiple occasions, and I got hurt countless times, but that is a part of healing. The hardest part of it all is doing the things you have to do for yourself. Cutting ties with the people who are genuinely causing you harm, with the things causing you harm, even if you don't realize it. You might feel like you're being selfish, taking care of yourself, but that's because you haven't done that yet. And when I say taking care of yourself, I don't mean go live in the woods in a cabin and hibernate. I mean confronting what is causing you harm. Taking care of your body and mind. Have the difficult conversations, and actually taking steps to improve your wellbeing. No I don't post this to brag, I post it to show that life can change for the better, and it is possible. It just takes work. You got this. My situation is not like everyone else's and I know that. But it is possible to get better, and if no one reads this, that's okay. If only one person reads this and realizes that life can get better, I would be ecstatic. I just want you to know that it is okay to not be okay, and this feeling is temporary. You can do this, and I believe in you. Stay Safe, Stay beautiful, Stay Handsome, Stay Wonderful, and be the best version of you that you can be. You are loved and you are cared for. If you need anything, reach out. I'll be here, and if im not, someone will be here for you.

[randomshyperson]

Mystery Club - Chapter Three - Wanda Maximoff x Reader Series

Summary: Returning to your hometown five years after leaving everything behind, including your best friend, is no easy feat. Getting involved in a secret club wasn't in the plans either. Or the one based on Life is Strange.

Warnings: (+18) high school au, best friends to lovers, mild/heavy angst mentions with happy happing, use of legal substances (alcohol, marijuana), violence, verbal aggression, explicit language, smut, triggers regarding sexual assault, mentions of death, grieving, hints of depression and anxiety, panic attacks, a lot of domesticity.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad || Series Masterlist

--//--

Chapter Three - Tavern, Tattoos, and Trust

Westview is a small town, which means there are few places to hang out. Odin's Tavern - yes, like the Norse God - is one of them. 

But old Odin died before you left Westview. His kids inherited the business, and together with their mother Frigga, transformed the place from a pool bar to a more family-friendly environment, yet considered funky with its good food and cheap beer. It was not the kind of place that the fussy folks from the Institute would go, for example.

And even if Wanda was a troublemaker now, she was still the daughter of rich people and lived in a house worth more than a year's salary of all the employees in that place. 

Maybe that's why the waiter was in such a bad mood when he attended to you.

"Maximoff, nice to have you here again." He greeted sarcastically. "Are you going to pay this time?"

Wanda didn't mind the rudeness, smiling mischievously as she walked past him to sit down. You cleared your throat awkwardly. "I left the money on the table, Bucky, if someone took it it wasn't my fault."

He buffs incredulously, shaking his head. "You really expect me to buy that one?"

But Wanda made an innocent expression, shrugging as she opened the menu. That Bucky guy sighed in defeat, turning his face to you to welcome you to the place as he pulled a small pad and pen from his apron pocket. 

As soon as you ordered your food, Bucky angrily warned Wanda that he was going to include the latter's price, and left dragging his feet. She rolled her eyes but didn't insist. 

You stared at her, your eyebrow raised in surprise.

"What?" she questioned.

"You have to pay for your food, Wanda. The staff members are the ones who pay for it when you don't." You reprimand her, but she snorts almost guiltily.

"Yeah, I know." She retorts, her fingers moving impatiently around the table - tapping, pulling napkins. "Charles had cut my allowance and I just needed a burger to make me feel better. Damn, I've been coming here since I was six, can't he hold a tab for me?"

You don't buy the story. "Why, because you're so special?" You retort with mild mockery that makes Wanda lock her jaw. Sighing, you move your unhurt hand to hold her anxious ones. "You can't take your frustrations out on others, Wands. And you can't expect to run from the consequences when you do things like this. Bucky could have called the police."

"Can we stop talking about this?" Wanda asks impatiently, pulling her hands away into her own lap. You swallow dryly, but don't take it personally. She never liked straight confrontations anyway. 

"What do you want to talk about?" your question makes her face light up softly.

"About us, of course! We have five years to catch up." She retorts. "I want to know everything you've been up to, and how you ended up back in this shithole that is Westview."

You chuckle, propping your elbows on the table before you start telling. You reminisce a little about Tony's heart disease, about the decision that you were better off living with Peggy and Steve in England, but that when your father's health deteriorated you returned to New York and stayed with him until he passed away. And then you mention the admissions letters for the student programs, and that when you saw the application to the Xavier Institute it seemed right to you.

Wanda chuckles at that.

"You should have picked a fancy academy in Paris, kotenok. Anywhere is better than this hellhole." She says, and you smile at her soft grimace. 

"Or maybe a Sokovian Exchange program, where I'd finally learn the language and be able to understand what so many nicknames mean." You retort but Wanda laughs mischievously, looking at you in a way that makes your face warm.

"Oh, don't be silly, my dear friend, you don't need an exchange program. I'll tell you now what they mean. I call you all the sweetest things, like kitten, sweetheart, darling, cutie..." 

You narrow your eyes at her with distrust because Wanda has a very suspicious little smile on her lips.

"I can't tell if you're mocking me now or not." You say to her, making her giggle. 

“I would never.” She guarantees without stopping smile, and that makes you even more suspicious than before. She seems ready to add something else, that funny look returning to her eyes, but your orders arrive next and Wanda forgets the subject when she sees the food.

You have the first bite at the same time, exclamations of satisfaction at the taste.

"Damn, I can hardly believe Frigga is still cooking so well." You comment as you finish chewing, reaching out for a napkin. 

Wanda smiles, murmuring in agreement as she chews. 

You eat in silence for a moment, but soon, you are stealing glances at each other, teasing and challenging one another in your gaze as to who will ask the first question of the afternoon. 

Wanda takes a sip of the soda, bites the end of the bio-degradable straw, and holds the glass with both hands, at least one ring on each finger. 

You only realize you are staring and absorbing every detail of her appearance because she lets out a short giggle, and you clear your throat, diverting as you are caught.

"I have to ask you something." You tell her as you regain composure, trying to transmit determination in your tone of voice even though your fingers are trembling from the way Wanda is looking at you as if she's going to eat you alive and enjoy it.

"Shoot." 

You clear your throat again. "Right. Wanda, why did you reactivate the mystery club?"

She frowns slightly, leaning over to take another long sip of her soda before shrugging. 

"What the hell are you talking about?" She retorts with confusion that you don't buy in the least. Not that Wanda isn't a good liar - she is, in fact, she used to be the best at it among the three of you when you were younger. - Now, she's barely trying. She seems interested in tormenting you for fun.

You huff softly. "Come on, Wanda." You insist, to the girl who has started spinning the rings on her fingers. "I know the club is back, and I also know that only you would have the audacity-"

But she cuts you off with a dry laugh. "And do you have evidence to back up that accusation of yours, milashka?" She challenges, and you stare at her in disbelief, biting the inside of your cheek.

At your hesitation, she smiles, pushing her tongue behind her teeth and looking absurdly beautiful with her eyes glittering with mischief. 

"I don't need to prove anything."

"Oh, but you do." She insists provocatively. "Have you forgotten how that works? If you have an accusation, you need proof. So the board can evaluate your statement."

You don't back down, leaning your arms on the table and staring back at her. "So you admit it? That the Club is standing?"

"I never said it wasn't. You accused me of being the person to reactivate it, and for this, you have no proof." She retorts with a little corner smile, and you roll your eyes impatiently, laughing with disbelief. 

"If not you, who else...?" You begin, but Wanda's gaze hesitates, and you understand. "Oh." Swallowing dryly, you try to meet her gaze again, but she pretends to be suddenly very interested in the fries. You clear your throat, and try more gently, "When did he do it?"

She shrugs, but you reach out for her forearm, and Wanda swallows dryly. It takes a moment, but she finally sighs and tells you, "As soon as we got into the Institute. Pietro always said it was meant for all three of us to be there, as we imagined it would be. He reactivated the club so we'd have something to remember you by."

"That's sweet..."

Wanda pulls her arm into her own lap, chuckling sadly. "It used to be." She says almost bitterly. "But we were growing up, Y/N. Our friends no longer wanted to participate in any silly scoter activities, or solve some childish mystery. They lost interest, and so did we. Pietro wanted to be popular, wanted to be captain of the team, and well, nobody wanted to be friends with the weird detective and his sister's little witch."

You frowned, shocked by the story. Wanda sighed, pinching her fingers in her own lap. "What happened then?"

She gives another sad laugh, "What do you think? The club was pretty much extinct, and Pietro figured it wasn't worth showing up for one last meeting. Instead, he went to a party with the soccer team. And well, the rest you already know."

"Fuck." You exclaimed in shock. Wanda cleared her throat, forcing a smile at you.

"We don't have to have these sad conversations at lunch, okay? I'll put on some music."

"But Wanda..." You started, but she was already getting up and walking away from the table toward the jukebox in the corner of the restaurant.

Since she was taking much longer than was necessary to choose a song, you glanced outside.

You saw Bucky putting out the trash, and smoking a cigarette with a blonde girl in the uniform of the gas station next to the restaurant. The name tag read 'Sharon Carter’. You looked forward to your table again, but you were no longer hungry.

Wanda kicked the jukebox softly, cursing low, and you sighed.

You searched your wallet for something to cover the bill, plus a generous tip before you got up and walked to the cashier.

"Hey, table 13." You said to the clerk with his back turned. Once the person turned, you choked softly. "Thor?"

"Y/N? Oh my god, look at you! All grown up!" He comments excitedly, moving a little closer to the cashier, gesturing. "I didn't know you were back in town!"

You giggle awkwardly. "Yeah, I'm studying at Xavier Institute for senior year. I got in last month."

"What? That's incredible!" Thor comments impressed. "But a month? I'm almost upset you didn't show up here sooner."

Your cheeks blush softly with embarrassment, and you give a lopsided smile. "Sorry." You mutter, but Thor chuckles, clearly not really angry. "But tell Frigga I came by, and compliment the food, it was incredible as I remember it."

"Oh, of course. Maybe next time you'll see her, just come on the twins' shift. You were lucky to see me here, I hardly ever stay at the bar, only when Loki has some unexpected event." He counters, pressing the cashier's button to open and check out your table. You hand him the money.

"And how are Loki and Sylvie?" 

Thor shrugs, smiling. "They're fine, when they're not running away from this job, they do some weird plays at the municipal theater."

You exclaim softly. "Are they still into magic?"

The blonde nods with a light chuckle. "Definitely, but magic shows don't pay as well. After they graduated, they went into theater. Sometimes they present stuff at your fancy school."

"I hope to see them there then." You say in a farewell tone, and Thor thanks you for coming one last time before you head back to Wanda.

Your cell phone vibrates midway, and you push the receipt into your pocket as you grab the device.

Kate has sent you dozens of messages, Yelena too. All about the fight. Peter tried to call. All wanted to know where you were and comment on what had happened. 

You could barely see the messages before Wanda reappeared, throwing an arm around your shoulders and almost making you lose your balance.

"Dude, will you get off your cell phone? Five years of not seeing me and you want to be typing with your rich friends." 

You laugh incredulously, placing a hand on her stomach and pushing her gently away. "You're my rich friend, grumpy." You mock and she grimaces but steps away. "My very possessive rich friend." You tease, though you put your cell phone down. "They're just looking for me because in case you've forgotten, I dashed off campus without notifying anyone after a bloody fight in the middle of the parking lot."

Wanda rolls her eyes softly. "Come on, who cares? No one saw you but me and Hill, and she didn't text you, I figure. The only person you owe an explanation to is me, and I'm right here, telling you to put down your phone and enjoy the afternoon with me." She bargains, blinking those lovely green eyes at you.

You don't know why Wanda is being so needy, but you don't really mind. You reach out your hand and pinch her nose in a way that makes her chuckle.

"Okay Maximoff, let's have some fun."

She leads the way outside, and you fail to realize that the music playing in the Odin Tavern is your favorite.

–//–

The leaves of the trees made sounds under your feet as you walked. The rays of sunlight streaming through the tall branches of the Municipal Park pine trees warmed your skin.

Wanda's jacket had been abandoned on the front seat, and her tank top didn't do much justice to covering the tattoo on her back, and you were biting your lip to keep from asking about it.

"I got it for my birthday last year." She declares without needing to explain why having caught you staring. "Not as nice as yours, though."

You snort in false indignation. "And I really believed that you weren't staring at me changing-"

"I wasn't staring!" She defends herself with a mischievous smile. "Although it was very difficult not to."

You chuckle shyly, patting her on the arm as you walk along the old Bear Trail - as you named it when you were kids because you could swear some of the bigger trees were shaped like that.

"I can't believe Captain Rogers took you for a tattoo, too." Wanda mutters.

You chuckle short, denying it with your head. "It wasn't him. It was Tony, before, you know. He wanted something for me to remember him by."

Wanda kicks a small stone on her way: "Kind of morbid, not gonna lie, the heart thing. But I suppose it's symbolic. And I didn't get a good look at it to judge-"

"My God, are you asking to see me shirtless?" You cut her off, stunned, and Wanda almost tripped on the way.

Her cheeks burning, she retorted indignantly, "What? I didn't mean it like that!" She defends herself, but you are laughing, and she sighs. "Oh, are you mocking me? Very funny, Y/N. Mature too."

She grimaces, and you step forward to mess up her hair, earning a loud grunt in return. Before Wanda can get her revenge, you were already running away from her.

You know the way like the back of your hand, and the trees begin to open up until you end up in an open plain, on the edge of what is both a park and an off-limits area. There are some old danger signs, and you bite your lips as you reach the low wooden fence.

" Slow down, Y/N! I smoke now, did you forget?" Wanda asks breathlessly a little further back, but you giggle, jumping over the wooden fence to continue the run.

The forested area gives way to dirty asphalt, but it is just as empty as the park area. You come out into a yard, and there is a row of houses ahead, all with thick timbers covering the windows and doors, with damaged and graffitied paint. 

A neighborhood nameplate lies destroyed on the ground, covered with mold and grass growing all over the place.

You stop walking to stare at the tall house in front of you, a half-breathless smile leaving your lips.

Wanda appears beside you, giving you a gentle nudge on the shoulders.

"You don't have to rush, you know. Your old house isn't going anywhere." She complains, stepping out in front of you, and you sigh before following her.

"Of all places, why did you bring me here?" You ask curiously, but Wanda limits herself to a short laugh.

She guides you along the yard, past the musty pool to the driveway. You notice that the lock is new, and you are not surprised that Wanda takes the keys from the car keychain there. 

The inside of the garage doesn't look anything like the rest of the environment. It's practically all renovated, like a cozy, very comfortable lounge. Wanda put leather armchairs, bookshelves, and even a television that you had fun imagining her carrying there. There was a mini fridge, soccer table, and even a washing machine.

"How...?"

"Before the renovation, we could bring the truck around." She clears your doubts about transporting heavier items. You look around in complete shock as Wanda closes the garage door. "But then those idiots at Bishop Security got the warrant to destroy the bridge and now I can only access this place through the park."

You trace your finger through some lost belongings, loose magazines, decorative objects, and more traffic tickets. And you recognize the blank mystery club cards just like America and Kamala's.

"No one has ever tried to go back to this neighborhood?" You ask with your back to her, continuing to look around. 

Wanda laughs wryly. "After all that? No chance. Someone tweeted the news of the radiation evacuation, and the mayor kind of declared this area uninhabitable even without the reports from Osborn's people, who insisted that it was okay to live here. Just like your family, all the rich people fled these houses overnight."

You chuckled humorlessly, reaching out to reach for a picture frame on the bookshelf. It was the Maximoff twins on Halloween of their 8th birthday, adorable in their costumes.

"And let me guess, Pietro thought this was a perfect hiding place." You commented, looking at the mischievous expression on your friend's picture. 

Wanda smiled, moving closer. "Actually, it was my idea." She counters, and you look away from the photo to her. "Pietro wanted to do that in the attic of our house."

You laughed. "Your father would have found out in a week." You comment, but to your surprise, Wanda's chuckle is short almost sad.

"If he paid attention, of course." She mutters, and you don't know what to say about that, so you say nothing.

She reaches up to move something on the wall, pulling out a bulletin board hidden behind the washing machine. She places it on top, and you watch her cross out yesterday's date with a pen on the calendar.

Before you can see more of the scribbles there, she hides the item back, and as she stares at you, she has an eyebrow raised in your direction. "For members only, malyshka." She teases.

You snort in indignation. "I founded this club."

She leans against the machine, shrugging. "You've abandoned this club."

You roll your eyes. "That's not true! We came to an agreement for its demise, and it's not my fault if you and Pietro decided to bring it back on!" You defend yourself, but Wanda has a mischievous grin and shrugs again.

"Really, Y/N, it's just protocol..."

"My god you are ridiculous!" You complain approaching to pick up the board but Wanda steps forward into your path and doesn't move out of the way. "Wands..."

A gentle nudge on your shoulders, and then another and another until you have taken enough steps backward to trip over the carpet and fall into the armchair.

"Dorogoya, here's what we're going to do." Wanda begins, raising a finger to her chin as she circles the armchair. "If you want to have membership privileges, you need to be recruited."

You huff impatiently. "I literally founded the club..."

"And as you remember, there are rules to being part of the group." Wanda ignores you completely, a mischievous smile on her lips as she circles the armchair. "Rule Number One, you need to be recruited by someone on the inside."

You make mention of getting up, but Wanda grabs your shoulder from behind and pulls you sitting on the leather again. Your speech about how ridiculous that was dies in your throat as she brings her mouth up to your ear level.

"But don't worry about that one, of course, I'm dying to have you all over me again." She teases huskily in your ear, and you shudder from head to toe. "Let's focus on rule two then."

Despite your nervousness, you handle retorting, "I got the rules out of an action movie, I highly doubt they mean anything..."

Wanda chuckles softly, pulling away to return to your field of vision. "Very little, but it's fun to watch you struggle with it. Consider it a welcome gift."

You roll your eyes. "Tormenting me is your gift?" You question, to which she only smiles. "I just want to know why our club is running again. Why don't you just tell me?"

You expected a smart or rude response, but Wanda stares at you seriously, and slowly leans in, giving you no choice but to back away until your back is against the seat. She rests her hands on the armchairs, her face at the same height as yours.

"You and I, detka, had our trust in each other shattered." She begins to explain, you swallow dryly. "So if you want to know my secrets, you're gonna have to prove yourself worthy of my trust again."

You stare into her green eyes and find no hesitation in them. That is until you let your gaze fall to her lips. But it only lasts half a second, and you are already staring Wanda in the eyes again.

"My apology wasn't enough for you?"

Wanda licks her lips. "Forgiveness and Forgetfulness are not the same thing." She retorts, clearing her throat softly when she almost leans in too far. Her gaze softens. "I want to trust you again, completely, like before you left, before the club ended."

You move a hand to hers on the chair. "Then just trust me, Wanda." You tried, but she shook her head.

"I need more than words, detka." She whispers. "You made promises you didn't keep, and I know it wasn't your fault, but I can't stop hearing them in my head. I need your actions to speak louder."

You swallow dryly, but nod in understanding. "Okay, Wanda, tell me what to do."

To your surprise, she chuckles, her frown frowning in fake confusion. "Tell you? Detka, have you forgotten how this works?" She teases, stepping away and standing properly. "It's the Mystery Club, baby. You solve a mystery to get in."

You bite your tongue, watching Wanda walk away to a locker. She stands on tiptoe to pick up a metal box at the bottom between the timbers, and it has to be on purpose the way she bends her butt toward you. You look away, your face burning, and she has a satisfied smile as she comes back to you.

She drops a card in your lap and crosses her arms. You take the item without opening it. "And what will you do for me?"

She sighs thoughtfully. "We could make out..."

"Wanda!" You exclaim in shock, blushing heavily. She laughs innocently.

"What? I'm sure you're a virgin..."

You grunt indignantly, getting up. "Fuck off if you're gonna keep making fun of me." You grumble angrily, making your way to the exit as Wanda tries to control her giggling.

You pull the garage door open, but before you can get out, she calls out to you.

"What do you need to trust me again?" She asks.

You sigh sadly, putting the letter away in your jacket pocket.

"I never stopped trusting you, Wanda."  You retort, and her posture breaks completely. She uncrosses her arms, and looks ready to say something, but loses her nerve. You hold the garage door open. "I'll be at school, call me if you need anything. Any time, any day."

A lump forms in Wanda's throat. She has a flash of memory - It's you at about eleven years old in her bedroom window, having gone to say goodbye to her on summer vacation because Wanda broke her arm and her father wouldn't let her travel. You are many centimeters shorter than you are now, but you look at her the same way and say almost the same thing: "I'll borrow my Dad's phone. You can call me, Wands, any time, any day."

The memory is gone at the same speed it came. You blink at her, and Wanda swallows dryly.

"See you soon, punk." It's your goodbye before you pull the door down.

Wanda thinks she's stupid for crying when she feels the tears on her face, but in five years, it's the first time it's been from happiness, so she doesn't really mind.

–//–