#I think about it daily and have to take a seat and do those anxiety breathing exercises

[mid13s]

when you remember achilles and patroclus are separated again so you have to die

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

What are you trying to say? - Trevor Zegras

Word Count - 3600

Author's Note - I 100 percent projected my own dysleixia hardcore into this. This was 100 percent written for the dyslexic girlies and learning disability girlies only. Also not me accidentally maybe becoming a Trevor girlie after writing this oh no. This one is by far my favorite segment.

Warnings - light angst but like it ends happy shocking for this page, who am I becoming???

Summary - In the talking stage with Trevor Zegras you're not sure how his joking personality will respond to your struggles that you have with being an adult with dyslexia, especially since it doesn't affect you how media expects it to.

Let me love you masterlist main masterlist

This isn’t something new to you, you’ve struggled your entire life with the fact that you're dyslexic. It’s a lot more complicated than people may recognize. Many people assume that it only comes up when you're trying to read something like a textbook or an article, and that when you’re finished with school it won’t really affect your daily life anymore but that’s far from the truth. In truth, being an adult with dyslexia affects you in little ways daily. From having difficulty knowing your left and right when given verbal directions, your spelling being terrible when texting others, mispronouncing certain words and being easily embarrassed when it gets pointed out, or worse sometimes the word is literally on the tip of your tongue you can even physically see in your brain but your mouth can’t form the proper sounds, how certain fonts you struggle to read vs others, or that black ink on white paper is the bane of your existence.  Although all of these are “little” things, it does impact the way you communicate with others. It does feel extremely frustrating sometimes feeling like people think that you're using your dyslexia as an “excuse” when in reality your brain is wired completely differently because of it. 

Since you first met Trevor and started talking to him, you had that fear you always do in the pit of your stomach, will he pick on you the first time that he truly can’t understand a text or the first time he hears you mispronounce a word despite years of speech therapy where you tried to but still you can’t pronounce correctly. Although, part of you knew that your fear was extremely irrational, part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that was until proven otherwise the jokester in Trevor would make a joke about something you truly couldn’t control. 

That is until today, when it happened it’s one of those rare days when you were driving and Trevor was in the passenger seat. His car was in the shop, and he needed a ride back from the arena to his apartment. Originally he was going to take an Uber but since you both already had plans after the morning skate you insisted on picking him up. 

“It’s easiest if you take this right up here to get back to my place.” He directs you without looking up from his phone,you tell him okay, turn on your left turn signal and get in the left lane. Trevor finally looks up from his phone while you're waiting at the red light for it to turn green to see you're in the wrong lane. 

“Sweetie?” asking in a questioning tone

“Hmmm” 

“This is the left lane. I told you to take a right.” Trevor says in a concerning tone as to how you were five traffic lanes away from where you needed to be. 

“sorry I thought you said ‘left’. I can make a u-turn?” Deciding in the moment you didn’t want to admit that you heard him correctly but processed the direction wrong, you offered as the traffic light finally turned green. 

“It’s alright we can just take the long way. Don’t worry about a u-turn.”  Not seeming to care at all that it will add an extra 10 minutes to the drive due to the mistake. 

As you continued driving you ended up making another wrong turn, Trevor put his left hand on your thigh and subconsiously rubbed small circles into skin to comfort your growing anxiety, he could feel this odd tension that was built up in the car. “Can you point please?” your voice barely over a whisper as you felt extremely embarrassed all of a sudden and started feeling overwhelmed all of a sudden. 

“Yeah Y/N/N I can do that, we could also switch places. I can drive you the rest of the way if you need it if you're feeling anxious all of a sudden.” Trevor was being really sweet, trying to fix the problem at hand thinking it was just some anxious thoughts and not your brain processing audible information incorrectly. 

“No, pointing is good.” Forcing yourself to look straight ahead because you don’t want to accidentally catch his eyes as he looks at you with a worried look. He squeezes your thigh in a comforting way and drops the topic. The rest of the ride felt quick as he pointed and said the direction you needed to go until you reached his apartment. Finding a parking spot in the garage you parked your car, as soon as you felt your foot on the brake, and your right hand pulled the gear in park, you leaned back automatically and sighed grateful you were done driving. Trevor still had his hand on your thigh, he turned his neck so that his head was also resting on the headrest. 

Trevor patiently waited until you opened your eyes, turning to him with a soft smile. “You ready?” you ask him, as you start to unbuckle your seatbelt. As you grab your purse from the back, your hand on the door handle. His hand that was on your thigh is gone and immediately pulls you by the wrist back into your seat. As he takes his other hand and gently places it on your cheek forcing you to look at him. 

“Can we talk about it?” His voice was steady, calm, confident but soft, almost as if he was scared of your reaction. 

Smiling a little wider now, in a split second you try to decide what you want to do. Do you want to tell a boy who you’ve only been casually talking to and hanging out with a handful of times - one of them being this current moment - about being dyslexic. Although it’s not that big of a deal in retrospect, it’s something that you can never take back once you said the words. Even though it’s something so simple and common no one ever looks at you the same again. Were you ready to tell Trevor, and see his face change permanently or did you want to live in ignorant bliss for a little longer. 

“I’m fine, it’s just when I drive somewhere new I like listening to the GPS and not a person telling me directions, it helps me focus better is all.” sheepishly you admit. 

Ignorant Bliss. That’s the choice you made. 

“Okay well next time, can you tell me that so I don’t have to watch you stress yourself out please?” His hand that was on your wrist, going down to your hand playing with your hand. Taking your hand that he was playing with, fully grasping his you squeeze his hand as a silent yes, and nod your head. He leans over the middle console and quickly peaks your lips as if it was a last minute impulse and he meant the cheek. “Thank you, let's go inside.” 

—-------------------------------

Living in ignorant bliss was great for a few weeks, until you started to actually like Trevor. Talking to a guy for a few months and it not going anywhere vs meeting someone and potentially seeing at least an exclusive relationship with them were two very different things. Knowing that you saw a relationship with him in the future meant it was only a matter of time before he found out that your dyslexic which again isn’t that big of a deal, but the fact that you also lied to him a few weeks ago. Not telling him is one thing, but lying when he asked why you were struggling to drive that day is a completely different act. 

Trying to put off the inevitable you tried to push the thought to the back of your mind. Somehow convincing yourself that if you didn’t think about it, then the problem would disappear he would never find out. I mean when you didn’t know how to spell a word while texting, you just spoke it into your phone. As far as grammar no one really had perfect grammar when texting including Trevor to be perfectly honest he probably didn’t even notice half the time. Plenty of people kept all their devices in dark mode for plenty of reasons, he had no reason to ask, although you did it because it helped your eyes stay focused on the words in front of you, not for the aesthetic. 

Even so, with all of these excuses as to why he wouldn’t notice you failed to remember that certain words you truly can’t pronounce the correct way no matter how hard you try. It all came crashing down tonight when you were at Trevor’s apartment cooking dinner for the both of you. Dinner was almost done at this point, when Trevor came behind you just now re-entering the kitchen after taking an expected call from his little sister. Trevor wrapped his arms around your waist, his head resting on top of your shoulder. 

“Everything okay?” you ask your curiosity getting the best of you, even though you know it’s none of your business. 

“Yeah she’s fine.” Pressing a kiss into where your jawline and neck meet. “smells good.” He compliments your cooking as he teases you one more time with a small nip with his teeth where he just kissed you, before pulling away and resting his head on your shoulder. 

Answering shyly, you let out a “thank you.”

“Anything I can help with?” asking genuinely although you're not sure if it’s to be kind or if it’s because he’s hungry but either way you’ll take it. As he slowly unwraps himself from you, getting ready to help you in any way you need. 

Without looking up from the chicken that you're grilling on the stove, trying to concentrate on the task at hand you answer him. “Yeah actually can you grab out the mellk from the fridge for the mashed potatoes.” Not even thinking twice about what you just said until you heard a chuckle coming from across the kitchen. 

“What babe?” standing in front of a now open fridge, he could have sworn you tried to say milk but botched the word so badly, it couldn’t have possibly been.

“the mellk” finally noticing what you asked for, knowing this is one of the words people can’t help but point out how you butcher it. 

“What are you trying to say?” he asked, truly confused now that he heard it twice. 

“M - il - k “ you repeat slowing down your mouth trying to force yourself to pronounce it properly but also not speak too slowly. Hoping that it's noticeable as you force your tongue to the roof of your mouth to make the “il” sound.  

A small chuckle leaves Trevor’s lips but it wasn’t a malicious way, it was as if he chuckled because he found it adorable. “Here's the milk baby.” walking back over to you and placing it on the empty counter space next to the bowl of steaming hot cooked potatoes. Taking the chicken off the hot burner you moved to the island to where the potatoes were. 

“Sorry” you mumble as he stands beside you, his hip resting on the side of the island. 

“For what?” His eyebrows frowned, his eyes focused the side of your face the only thing he could see. Focusing on the task at hand, you used the potato masher and mashed the potatoes. Opening the milk and adding a little along with some butter that you set out earlier. 

Feeling the rise of some anxiety in your stomach, hoping that you could procrastinate just a little longer on admitting that you didn’t tell him the whole truth. Deciding if now was the time or if you were gonna dig yourself in a bigger hole by wrapping yourself in a thicker web of tiny white lies. 

Finally turning your head to the side to face him and taking a deep breath. 

For good measure making one more deep breath before you barely utter the words, your nerves getting the better of you. “I lied.” 

Trevor’s face immediately changed from confusion and concern. In an instant it became shocking and almost hurt, that the girl he thought was actually going somewhere a month in, is admitting to lying to him. Not when he told her in the beginning that lying wasn’t something he tolerated after his ex lied to him for months and manipulated him. Not when he just told his little sister not even ten minutes ago on the phone that tonight he was gonna ask you to be his official girlfriend. “What are you talking about?” his voice cracking before he could even get the word out, quickly clearing his throat to cover up his own insecurities about the possible tension that could slowly be felt brewing in his kitchen. 

“Remember a few weeks, when I was driving you to your apartment from the stad-” 

“What the FUCK does that have to do with lying to me? When did you lie to me Y/N” Not only has Trevor never once raised his voice at you in a not joking way, but he’s never cursed at you, and his tone made you close your eyes and flinch at the impact. Immediately, seeing you flinch he sighed his hand going to lightly crease her arm closest to him. “When did you lie?” asking at a much softer tone than moments before. 

“I’m trying to explain.” Trevor could have sworn he felt his chest hurt when he heard you struggling to speak, as if you were trying to get yourself not to cry. “Please let me explain.” 

“Okay” he softly let out, as he squeezed your arm not sure if he was trying to comfort you or himself as he felt the possibility of you slipping through his fingers. 

“A few weeks ago when I drove you home.” finally turning her body fully turning to face him. “I lied, When you asked me what happened. I told you I need the GPS because I get overwhelmed.” Pausing to make sure that Trevor was following along, he nodded along, “I lied, sort of,” your voice picking up in speed with each word you uttered out  “I mean I do get overwhelmed while driving but it’s not because of that it’s not that I” 

“Baby please take a breath you're scaring me” His other arm is going to cup your cheek, even though he was mad before as he heard you fixated on driving him home a few weeks ago. He knew it couldn’t have possibly been any of the terrible ideas that popped into his head, at least Trevor hoped not.

 “I sometimes get my left and right confused.” Looking up trying to gauge his reaction, watching as one of his eyebrows go down, as if to say ‘that’s all.’ 

“Okay. So that was the lie? Everyone gets confused sometimes and makes mistakes baby it’s okay” His famous smile slowly takes over his face. 

“That’s the thing is it isn’t sometimes, it’s kind of a lot when I’m driving when someone is giving me directions without pointing, and there are other things too. I mean they're small but they still affect me almost daily and I just.” 

Deciding to take a breath because if you don’t you will be more likely to trip up your words or stutter. “I’m dyslexic and it’s not really how they describe the movies.” 

His smile dropped a little and you swear it felt as if your heart felt as if it had just dropped a hundred flights down the Empire State building. “Dyslexic. Like you mix up letters when reading?”

“Yeah but it’s more than that.”

“Okay. But why didn’t you tell me when it happened? Why did you say it’s because you get overwhelmed.” 

“Because I do get overwhelmed when I make dumb mistakes like that. Plus, everytime I tell someone they never look at me the same. A lot of times they are shocked, and they also sometimes judge me because how does it not affect me the way the media portrays it? Why do I mispronounce words, why can’t I tell my left and right when someone gives me a direction, why I can’t read maps to save my fucking life but yet if I don’t have my GPS running I’m bound to a wrong turn, why does sometimes my mind decide I either can’t come up with a word at all or I can physically see it but I can’t say it and I can’t spell it because I’m such a bad speller.” 

“Shhh” not trying to cut you off but also trying to get you to breathe. “So you didn’t tell me cause you were scared I would look at you differently? Or judge you when something you can’t control comes out at random times of the day? That’s why you told me to point instead of just saying it because you didn’t wanna tell me in fear?” Not sure his tone is showing remorse for you thinking that at all or hurting that you ever would think of him in that way. 

“Yeah.” you embarrassingly admit.

Trevor spent the rest of the night listening to you and how your brain was different due to your own personal experience with being a dyslexic. The next morning you found him reading an article about the effects of different lighting and how dark mode was the best for dyslexics and certain fonts were better than others. It made you chuckle as you told him you knew and that’s why your phone was permanently in dark mode.  That day, he changed all the settings on his tv’s in his entire apartment for dark mode, even all of his own personal devices. Finding it adorable that he went on a tangent when he found out certain apps don’t support dark mode and how he said it was discriminating. Finding it harder and harder for yourself to hide your soft smile as you watched him continue his rant, your heart swelling at how passionate he sounded. 

“I really like you, you know.” you admitted when he finally stopped complaining about how Mirosoft finally started supporting dark mode it was still ‘white paper’ on black ink so they really missed the whole point. 

“Oh yeah.” as he grabs you, pulling you towards him on the couch, tangling your legs with his. 

“Yup” popping the p for emphasis.

“I really like you too. Actually I was gonna ask you.. Wanna make this official and let me call you mine.” The blush was obvious on your face, immediately turning a light red shade, nodding your head he pulled you into a soft kiss. 

—---------------------------------------------

A few weeks later you were out to dinner with a few close friends and Trevor. Currently trying to tell a story about one of your new coworkers and how you didn’t like him but mid sentence you froze. Trevor had yet to see you freeze because the word you planned to say completely escaped you. Of course this wasn’t new to your friends as they saw the familiar signs, the way in which you paused, your lips pursed in a questioning way, your hand coming up and shaking knowing it was on the tip of your tongue and you just couldn’t think of it or couldn’t pronounce it. 

What your friends weren’t used to was seeing Trevor respond to it. His response to you struggling made all of them share a glance in approval of his small action. He took your shaking hand and slipped it into his own. Immediately your small flustered expression on your face turns to him. Your friends couldn’t hear what you were saying between yourselves if you were even talking at all, but they could see the care in Trevors eyes and how your frustration seemed to melt away.

“Hi” he whispers only for you to hear after a couple seconds pass. 

A smile breaks out on your face. “Hi” 

“What are you trying to say?” repeating the same sentence that he asked you weeks ago when you asked him to get the milk out the fridge. 

“I can’t think of it.” a sigh leaving your lips. 

“Describe it.” His forehead resting on yours as you look into his eyes. 

“You know, like a red flag.” 

“Like in dating? So a slang term?” 

“I think.” Pausing for a few seconds for your brian to catch up. “But I know it’s not called a red flag, but it’s like it, I think, like when someone does something and immediately you're like ew.” 

“An ick?” he softly suggests. Immediately your mouth forms into an o-shape in shock, making his mouth twitch into the slightest smile. Kissing his check quickly and whispering a quick ‘thanks’ and turning back to your friends. 

“Okay so like this new dude thinks he can come in and just boss all me and my other co-workers around. That’s not even the worst part like not only is he lowkey sexist, he literally only wears highwaters, immediate ick…” Trevor sat there half listening to your story with a huge smile on his face, hand on your thigh drawing patterns subconsciously as he sipped on his drink. He loves listening to you talk, how you get lost in telling stories and he’s happy he was able to help you instead of you pushing it to the side like you did all those months ago. 

That’s how it is from that night on, anytime you text him and he can’t understand it, or you can’t think of a word, or butcher the pronunciation; he will simply turn to you and ask “What are you trying to say?” 

[sysmedsaresexist]

Today we're once again reminded of the levels of cruelty people are capable of.

I missed most of the drama with the bait accounts, but I want to offer some positivity and solace to those affected.

Many of you actually cared about the fake child behind the screen. You wanted to help, you sent kindness and support, and I watched many of you worry in private on discord-- everyone was very realistic about the claims. Obviously they were probably wrong, but goddamn, they needed help.

Don't be embarrassed or ashamed that you fell for it.

You are a good person, who sees good in the world.

You aren't gullible or easily manipulated.

You are still capable of trust, and you should be so proud of yourself for manging to hold on to that trait after everything you've been through.

Don't let this do further damage to you. Don't be angry with yourself, don't lose that faith in the good of humanity.

Don't let sick people trick you into thinking the world is full of only horrible people. Don't let yourself become more skeptical, because that's what they want.

Continue to believe survivors

In Canada, we have a saying.

"Better that someone abuse the system, than for someone who needs it to not have access."

Stay with me, I'm going somewhere with this.

When we talk about Universal Healthcare with Americans, this topic comes up a lot. "But people will abuse the system."

Yes, but more people actually need and use the system appropriately. You can't allow bad people to harm everyone. Everyone loses in that case.

As proof:

We pay less in taxes than Americans, and still get free Healthcare. I take home more money than you, and still get more out of it. The myth that our waitlists are months long is fake and orchestrated by American insurance companies.

Consider, for a second, how your background plays into your beliefs and skepticism regarding these topics. Maybe I was just raised to be more trusting, I don't know.

But I certainly don't think the mindset is harmful.

You can read interviews on the isstd website with clinicians that were working during the satanic panic. One interview stood out to me in particular.

Imagine for a second that you have a patient sitting in front of you. They tell you that they have dreams about being abused by a satanic cult. They give you details of these dreams and you talk through them together. For now, you're focused on how these dreams affect them. Are they losing sleep? Is their daily life affected? Anxiety? They begin to tell you about their paranoia, and how people they recognize are in the dreams.

You probe a bit deeper.

They wonder aloud if maybe it happened in real life.

How do you respond? Really think about how your response will come across.

This was the satanic panic.

The ISSTD didn't find their patients themselves. Doctors from across the world referred their patients to the ISSTD's treatment program in Chicago. The doctors at the ISSTD trusted the referring doctors, who had already done the majority of work and background gathering (meaning the ISSTD met these clients long after they had made their claims, rather than "implanting" those memories themselves). Police were involved trying to sort through all the information to find real culprits. Everyone was terrified. No one knew what was happening or who to trust or believe. It looked real.

In the back of every doctor's mind was the question, "What if they're telling the truth?"

Many doctors didn't believe their clients, but telling them that to their face would be bad practice.

This large scale hysteria was something no one was prepared for. They were flying by the seat of their pants, hoping for the best and that an answer would fall from the sky.

Yes, many of the claims were fake. Whether they were consciously made up, or stand-in pseudomemories for real abuse (a well-documented thing), and the rare cases mixed in that were genuine-- doctors tried to take their clients' claims at face value.

Imagine you tell your doctor about your abuse and they say, "that sounds a bit extreme, I don't think that's possible."

Programmed DID existed before the panic, it exists to this day. Just because you can't find the research doesn't mean it isn't there.

By claiming something specific isn't real, you also discredit the abuse leading up to it.

Let me put it another way, who cares if programmed DID is possible? Organized and ritual abuse is real. Trafficking, CSA films, war crimes, conversion groups, churches. DID is real.

Grey Faction and TST want you to stay in the mindset that it's more important to weed out fakers and malingerers than to trust people in the hopes you help just one person in a real way. They want you to be skeptical of everyone and everything in order to maintain their public image, because if you look too hard, you'll see the terrible things they have done.

GF has a bad habit of being like, "The TST doesn't take part in LARGE SCALE MURDER AND CANNIBALISM, that's not even real, it was debunked during the panic," as if to say anything less severe isn't worthy of note and also must not be real. It's surprisingly effective, and by connecting more absurd ideas with RAMCOA and the ISSTD, they manage to discredit huge swathes of the field.

Some people like to think they took the red pill, and that they've ascended to a higher level of intelligence with a new, better ability to look at things impartially, when they're really just assholes falling for bullshit. They hurt real survivors and still think they're in the right.

It's vile behavior done for cheap kicks and internet brownie points. Even 4chan types wouldn't go that far or be that pathetic.

Who else could look someone in the face and say, "I don't believe you."

They want you to think they're better than you, but which is better?

Outward and vocal skepticism and dismissal, or quiet, thoughtful reflection with the longterm goal of helping this person find their truth?

Some of you would make much better doctors than others.

The bad people aren't the ones "faking" or lying. Those people at mentally ill and still deserving of help.

The bad people are the ones who want to dismiss every claim because one person once lied about it.

Don't lose your faith. Don't let this set you back. We need more people like you.

I'm proud of you for caring about people.

What happened will further stigmatize survivors, it did real damage to people. You're not alone.

Don't let them win, you did the right things.

Stay safe, everyone.

We survived this kind of discourse once on a much larger scale. We'll do it again.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: Chapter Five

Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: You've got narcolepsy and have been visiting the Dreaming daily for years. Then its Lord and King finally return and he doesn't know quite what to think of you.

Warnings: Language.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Narcoleptic!Reader, for you dear @aralezinspace.

Word Count: ~2.4k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

You find yourself in the cold, sterile room of the sleep clinic. The bed beneath you feels foreign, the sheets crisp and unfamiliar. Electrodes cling to your scalp, chest, and limbs, tethering you to the machines that will monitor your every twitch and breath.

"You ready?" the technician asks, her voice breaking through the clinical quiet. Her eyes are kind but professional, revealing none of the potential outcomes of this study.

"As ready as I'll ever be," you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the anxiety gnawing at you.

The lights dim, and you're left alone with the soft hum of machinery. You close your eyes, willing sleep to come quickly, but it evades you for a while. Eventually, exhaustion takes over and pulls you under.

You drift into a dreamscape that's unsettlingly familiar—Mervyn's garden. The flowers bloom in impossible colors, their petals shifting like liquid in a breeze that doesn't exist. Morpheus appears again, standing among the blossoms, his expression unreadable.

"Why here?" you ask, more to yourself than to him.

"Your mind seeks comfort," he replies. "And yet it brings you back to chaos."

The scene shifts suddenly. You find yourself back in the sleep clinic bed but not alone. Matthew perches on the headboard, his dark eyes watching over you.

"You think they got what they needed?" he asks casually.

"Doubt it," you mutter. "Feels like a whole lot of nothing."

Morning arrives too soon, dragging you from restless slumber into harsh reality. The technician re-enters the room with a clipboard in hand and a neutral expression.

"How'd I do?" You force a smile, hoping for some clarity.

"We'll discuss it with Dr. Andrews," she says. Her tone is too measured to offer any hints.

You're led to a small consultation room where Dr. Andrews awaits with your chart spread out before him.

"Your results are... inconclusive," he says after a moment's hesitation. "We didn't find anything definitive."

You let out a sigh of frustration. "So what now?"

"We'll need to run more tests," he continues. "Your symptoms are real; we just haven't pinpointed the cause yet."

You nod numbly as he explains next steps—more nights in strange beds with electrodes glued to your skin, more waiting for answers that might never come.

As you leave the clinic, Matthew swoops down from somewhere above and lands on your shoulder again. It still astounds you that he can travel between realms, but you are eternally grateful to have his company during your waking hours.

"Guess it's back to square one," he remarks.

"Yeah," you agree softly. "But at least it hasn't gotten worse… you wanna get food?"

"Fuck yeah,"

"How about that diner on Fifth?" you suggest. "They've got outdoor seating. I can pretend that you're a pet"

Matthew ruffles his feathers in approval. "Sounds good. You know I can't resist those fries."

You make your way through the crowded sidewalks, dodging commuters and street vendors until you reach the small, retro-style diner. The smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee hits you as you approach, and your stomach growls in anticipation.

You find a table outside, under the shade of a striped umbrella. A waitress with a bright smile brings menus and fills your cup with steaming coffee.

"I'll have the breakfast special," you say, glancing at Matthew. "And can we get an extra side of fries?"

The waitress nods and scribbles down your order before disappearing back inside.

"So," Matthew starts, pecking lightly at a napkin for amusement, "how do you feel about all this? The tests, I mean."

You lean back in your chair, taking a sip of coffee. "Frustrated, mostly. It’s like being stuck in a loop with no exit."

Matthew tilts his head, studying you. "But you're not giving up."

"Never," you reply firmly. "I need answers."

The waitress returns with your food—a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and a generous serving of fries on the side. She places everything down with a practiced ease and leaves you to it.

You break off a piece of toast and hold it out for Matthew. He pecks at it gratefully before turning his attention to the fries.

"Here," you say, picking up a fry and holding it close to his beak.

He takes it delicately, munching away with visible delight. "Best part of any meal," he quips between bites.

You smile, feeling a small sense of normalcy amidst the chaos that has become your life. Sharing a meal with Matthew distracts you—no doctors, no tests, just the simple act of eating together. Even he is a bird.

"Want some bacon?" You hold up a piece for him.

"Nah," he replies. "Too greasy for my bird stomach, you would not believe how much I had to shit after snacking on measly strip…” You try not to think about Matthew having bird diarrhea while you chew your bacon eyes wandering over the bustling cityscape. People pass by in waves, unaware of your silent struggles. Matthew’s presence brings a small measure of comfort. The bird’s casual attitude toward your predicament eases the tension you carry like an invisible weight.

Matthew finishes another fry and cocks his head at you. "You think they'll find anything useful next time?"

You shrug, swallowing a bite of scrambled eggs. "I hope so. It’s hard not knowing what’s wrong. But at the same time, how many tests have I already been though? Pretty sure they're gonna start running out and just chalk it up to me being crazy."

"Well at least you’ve got me," he says with a wink—or as much of a wink as a bird can manage.

You chuckle, the sound surprising even to you. It feels good to laugh, even if just for a moment. "Yeah, I do. Thanks for sticking around…" Then you think about it. Why is Matthew hanging out with you while you are awake?

"Matthew?" You question, catching the raven mid gobble of another fry.

You look at Matthew as he swallows the fry, his beady eyes glinting with curiosity. “Why do you stick around when I’m awake?”

He pauses, feathers ruffling slightly. “Good question,” he says, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone. “Maybe I just enjoy your company.”

“Come on,” you say, leaning forward. “There’s gotta be more to it than that.”

Matthew pecks at another fry, taking his time before responding. “Alright, alright. The boss told me to watch you, okay?"

The boss? Why would Morpheus care about your well being?

You stare at Matthew, his nonchalance doing little to mask the gravity of his revelation.

"The boss? Morpheus asked you to watch over me?"

Matthew's beady eyes meet yours, and he nods slowly. "Yeah, he did. Said you were important."

"Important? To who?" You lean in, your heart pounding in your chest. Did he still think you were a threat? "What does he mean?"

Matthew looks around, ensuring no one else is listening. Then he leans closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Alright, but you gotta promise not to freak out."

You nod, the curiosity gnawing at you. "I promise."

"Okay," he says, settling himself on the table. "So, I think Morpheus has a crush on you."

Your eyes widen in disbelief. "What? That's... that's insane."

Matthew shrugs, picking at another fry. "Is it? Think about it. Why else would he send me to keep an eye on you?"

You try to process this information, but it's like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. "But he's... he's the Lord of Dreams, and Endless. He's older than the gods. Why would he care about me?"

"Hey," Matthew pecks at the table for emphasis, "he's more human than you think. Just because he's got all that power doesn't mean he doesn't have feelings."

"Matthew, he has the emotional intelligence of a rock."

Matthew cocks his head, a twinkle of amusement in his beady eyes. "Maybe. But even rocks get polished over time."

"Oh my god, this conversation is ridiculous," you sigh in exasperation, shaking your head.

Matthew chuckles, a surprisingly comforting sound. "Ridiculous or not, it's the truth. Why else would he send me to watch over you?"

"Because I am an interloper within his realm he can't control?" You offer shortly before chewing your lip. You take a deep breath, trying to make sense of everything. "So, what now? Do I just... pretend I don't know?"

Matthew shrugs, fluffing his feathers. "That's up to you. But you should know, he's not just watching over you for no reason. He genuinely cares."

You nod slowly, the gravity of the situation settling over you. "Alright. I'll think about it."

Matthew pecks at another fry, giving you a reassuring look. "Take your time. Just know that whatever you decide, I'm here. And so is he. I think."

He thinks. Hah!

" Great talk," You say, not knowing what else to say. "Thanks, Matthew."

"Anytime," he replies, his tone light and playful. "Now, how about we get back to those fries?"

You wander through Fiddler's Green, your eyes scanning the landscape for the perfect spot to set up your painting supplies. The rolling hills are lush with emerald grass, dotted with wildflowers that seem to glow in the afternoon sun. Trees sway gently in the breeze, their leaves whispering secrets you can almost hear.

A narrow path winds through the meadow, leading you toward a small pond. The water reflects the sky like a mirror, capturing every cloud and beam of sunlight. You pause for a moment, taking in the serenity of the scene. It's almost too beautiful, too perfect—like a dream within a dream. Enough about that dream fuckery, this isn’t Inception…

You walk a bit further and find an old oak tree with sprawling branches that provide ample shade. The roots twist and curl around each other, forming natural seats. You set down your canvas and easel, unrolling your brushes and paints with practiced ease.

The quiet of Fiddler's Green wraps around you like a comforting blanket as you dip your brush into a vibrant blue. You begin to paint the sky, each stroke bringing the scene to life on your canvas. The colors blend and dance under your hand, capturing the essence of this magical place.

"Nice choice," a voice says behind you.

You turn to see Gilbert standing there, his ever-present book tucked under his arm. His eyes twinkle with approval as he takes in your setup.

"Thanks," you reply, smiling. "It's hard not to be inspired here."

Gilbert nods, stepping closer to examine your work. "You've got quite the talent," he observes. "Capturing the spirit of this realm isn't easy with its ever shifting state."

You shrug modestly, focusing on adding detail to a distant tree. "It's all about finding the right moment," you say. "The way the light hits the water or how the flowers sway in the breeze."

He watches you for a moment longer before sitting down on one of the gnarled roots. "Do you ever feel like you're painting more than just what you see?"

You glance at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he says thoughtfully, "it's like you're capturing the very essence of this place—the dreams and hopes it represents."

You consider his words as you continue to paint, adding layers of color and depth. Maybe he's right. Maybe you're not just painting what you see but also what you feel—the peace and tranquility that Fiddler's Green offers.

As you lose yourself in your work, Gilbert's presence becomes a comforting backdrop. He doesn't need to say anything more; his quiet support speaks volumes. You don't notice when Gilbert fades, returning to his disembodied state as Fiddler's Green.

You lose yourself in the flow of colors and brushstrokes, the world around you fading into a blur of creativity. The air hums with the energy of Fiddler's Green, each breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers and fresh grass. It's as if the very essence of The Dreaming seeps into your painting, making it come alive on the canvas.

A shadow falls across your work, and you look up to find Morpheus standing beside you. His presence is as commanding as ever, his dark eyes studying your painting with an intensity that makes your heart race.

"You paint," he states, his voice a soft murmur that seems to resonate through the meadow.

You nod, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. "I'm not really that good," you admit. "But this place is too beautiful not to try."

Morpheus tilts his head slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Beauty often inspires creation," he says, stepping closer. "May I?"

You swallow hard and nod again, handing him the brush with trembling fingers. His touch is cool but not unpleasant, but rather than fully take the brush, he stands behind you, close enough that you can feel the faint rustle of his robes against your back.

"Relax," he instructs softly. "Let the moment guide your hand."

His fingers gently cover yours, guiding the brush across the canvas with fluid, confident strokes. The colors seem to blend more harmoniously under his direction, each line and curve coming together to form a more cohesive whole.

"See how the light plays on the water?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "Capture that essence—the way it dances and shimmers."

You try to focus on his words, on the way his hand moves with yours, but it's hard to ignore how close he is to you. His presence is overwhelming yet comforting, grounding you in a way you haven't felt in a long time.

"Art is not about perfection," Morpheus continues, his voice a soothing melody. "It's about capturing what lies beneath the surface—the emotions and dreams that shape our reality."

You take a deep breath, letting his words sink in as you follow his lead. The painting begins to transform before your eyes, becoming something more than just an image on a canvas. It feels alive, imbued with the very spirit of The Dreaming.

Morpheus steps back after a few moments, leaving you to finish on your own. His eyes meet yours, filled with an unreadable expression.

"You have more talent than you realize," he says softly.

You look at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. "Thank you," you whisper.

He inclines his head slightly in acknowledgment before fading back into the landscape, leaving you alone once more with your painting and thoughts.

The colors on your canvas seem brighter now, more vivid—a testament to the brief but intense moment you've just shared with Morpheus. Your brain glitches and a solid blue screen appears behind your eyes, serenity is replaced with panic.

Shit. Matthew is right.

Date Published: 8/7/24

Last Edit: 8/7/24

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[steventhusiast]

STWG daily prompt 27/11/23

prompt: first day

pairing/character(s): steddie

-

Eddie leans over the console to steady Steve's bouncing leg, and then watches the motion slow over a few seconds. When it eventually fully stops, he starts rubbing his thumb back and forth over the cargo pants gently, and pointedly looks up to meet Steve's eye.

"Hey, I gave you your ten minute freak out. Time's up, Stevie." He almost feels bad for saying it at the anxiety still lingering in Steve's eyes, but they'd talked about this. Eddie promised not to let Steve think himself into a panic.

"Right." Steve says, and takes a deep breath, "I got this."

"Yeah you do." Eddie agrees, smiling encouragingly as Steve looks out the passenger seat window toward the fire station. His new place of work. It seems that just looking at the building seeps all of the confidence back out of him, and his eyes dart back over to Eddie.

"I'm so fucking nervous about this, Eds. This is the first job I actually care about- what if I fuck it up?"

Eddie shakes his head immediately.

"You won't fuck it up. You did the training," Eddie starts counting dramatically with the fingers of his free hand, refusing to stop the reassuring rubbing over Steve's leg, "you passed the training, you aced the interviews, you said you think the station manager likes you, you're here thirty minutes early, and you're bringing donuts in with you. It's gonna be fine."

"Okay. I should probably go in, don't wanna.. don't wanna sit here long enough that someone notices that the van hasn't left yet." Steve actually unbuckles his seatbelt this time, and (after doing a quick scan of the parking lot for people) he leans over to press a chaste kiss to Eddie's lips.

"Go get 'em, baby. And see if they have any of those hot firefighter suspenders, 'kay? For me?" Eddie can't help but tease Steve as he pushes open the passenger door. In response Steve rolls his eyes, as expected, and poorly suppresses a smile, also as expected.

"You're an idiot." He says once he's (finally) gotten out of the van.

Eddie waits for him to reach back in to grab the box of donuts before speaking again.

"I'm your idiot." He claims, and Steve stops trying to suppress his gorgeous smile.

"I love you too. See you later, Eds."

"See you at ten, hot stuff."

And if Eddie waits around in the parking lot for another ten minutes, just in case things go horribly wrong and Steve ends up running back out of the station, well. No one has to know.

[knickynoo]

what do you think alternate 1985 Marty was like?

Ok, so, I LOVE thinking about 1985A Marty!! We see him for a bit in the "Biff to the Future" comics, but I've mentioned before that I feel like they sort of dropped the ball there. There was so much they could have done with Alt '85 Marty, and they honestly didn't do much. He was just...Marty. And while I like the idea that a lot of who Marty is remains the same no matter the timeline, I have a hard time believing such an awful upbringing wouldn't impact him in some way. Some thoughts!

• I do think there would be that element of "Marty is Marty," even with growing up in '85A. At his core, Marty is kind. He's protective of his loved ones, strives to do the right thing, and puts others first. I don't think that would change.

• However, I see '85A Marty maybe having to hide those characteristics under a bit of a hardened shell. This is out of necessity and a result of being exposed to a lot of horrible things from a young age. He was so little when George died, so likely all he remembers is a world where Biff is his step-father, his mother is miserable, and violence is a daily occurrence. That good heart is still there, but Marty figures out pretty quickly that he's got to keep it under wraps a bit if he's going to survive.

• It's interesting because while our Movie!Marty is a fairly anxious little guy, I don't see '85A Marty as really having any significantly higher anxiety levels. I mean, you would think he'd be a barely functioning anxious mess, but I actually think all the pressure and stress and fear would force him into a state of "I can't waste TIME worrying." He becomes a very take-charge person. Focused on whatever situation is currently taking priority while the anxiety takes a back seat.

• As Alt Biff says in part II, Marty is absolutely a "little hothead." He tries to be careful, and he's able to tread lightly when needed, but it's just not possible in certain situations. Mainly, these are situations involving his mother's safety and well-being. If she's being threatened or hurt, he just does what's needed to help, even if it means he's going to pay for it after.

• Though Lorraine does her very best to protect and care for Marty, there are times she simply can't. And when it gets to be too much and she's lost in the sadness and alcohol, Marty steps in to be there for her. In a way, he learns how to act as a parent of sorts from a young age, guiding and taking care of his mom when she needs it. With Dave and Linda's own issues (and the fact that they're rarely around), he's often all Lorraine has.

• The moment Marty was shipped off to his first boarding school, he started acting out and doing whatever he could to get himself kicked out. He knew it was Biff's way of getting rid of him—taking away Lorraine's main source of protection—and wasted no time in sabotaging the plan. In some ways, it was hard for Marty because he really had to do some bad stuff (and it tugged solidly at his conscience) but he had no choice. He had to get back to his mother. So, every time Biff sent him somewhere new, Marty immediately got to work making himself a Nightmare Student. He gets very good at causing trouble. I think he also forms alliances with other students who become aware of his situation and help him to get kicked out as well.

• So. I have this hc that just popped into my brain where Biff actually tries to like...mold Marty into taking after him when Marty is little? Because Marty is so young and impressionable when George dies and Biff enters the picture, I can see Biff being like, "Maybe I can get the kid on my side." And it's not even that he likes or cares about Marty, he just sees someone he can turn into an heir of his twisted empire. Even have it be a slap in the face to George's memory to have his youngest son turn into a mini Biff Tannen. But Marty is stubborn, loyal, and sees right through Biff, so he resists every act Biff tries to put on to impress him. In turn, this makes Biff hate Marty even more in the long run.

• In the comics, there's a secret resistance group that keeps trying to find ways to take Biff down. George and Doc were both part of it, and I like to imagine that Marty gets involved in some way as well. He's a source of valuable information since he lives with Biff, and I think Marty also does a whole lot of sneaking around to keep up to date on what Biff is up to. He doesn't tell Lorraine about his involvement, though, because he doesn't want to put her in danger if Biff grows suspicious, but Lorraine definitely knows. She just turns the other way and silently prays nothing bad will happen.

• Marty has a tough time in terms of how the citizens of Hill Valley see him. He's disliked by a lot of people automatically because he's Biff's stepson, and they're wary of him. They don't know if he can be trusted. Others simply assume he's a spoiled brat living a cushy life with a rich family and resent him for having it so good while the rest of the town crumbles. So, he has very few friends.

I'm sure I could go on, but I'll stop there. I'd like to write a fic someday that focuses on 1985A Marty because he really does fascinate me. Thanks for the ask!

[bluestar22x]

Clean

Summary: You give Javi a blowjob while in the shower

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x Germophobic F!Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Oral sex (m and f receiving), fowl language, excessive use of Spanish terms of endearment

Word Count: 1,830(ish)

Author's Note: This is one of the most spontaneous fics I’ve ever written. Just popped right into my head this morning when I should have been thinking about other things and didn't leave. I thought my idea fit Javi G so here's another Javi fic involving water smut. Oh, and this is my first time writing oral sex so keep that in mind.

xxx

Germophobe. That's what your friends and family had labeled you.

As far as you were concerned it was just common sense. The house wasn't truly clean if you didn't disinfect every surface during housework every week. You should use more than one old cloth when cleaning the toilet (the top of the seat having its own assigned cloth because that's where you sit). You should use hand sanitizer throughout your work day and wipe down your phone when you get home. You should always wash your hands after coming indoors from the outside. You should stay six feet away from strangers as much as possible.

You tried not to think too hard about how most people didn't do all those things. Didn't consider germ protection on a daily basis outside of washing their hands after going to the bathroom (and you knew many didn't even do that and it horrified you if you thought too much about it).

You weren't convinced you were a germophobe. You didn't have the high anxiety most germophobic people had over touching dirty items, but then again, if any part of your clothing touched a toilet you changed out of it as soon as you could, and you could only use a public restroom if there was a promise of a shower later in the day.

You weren't like this before Covid. Or at least not nearly as bad. But after the world quarantined you never quite left that space. It was still out there, after all, even if they were saying it wasn't that serious anymore.

You were bad off enough your family was convinced you'd never keep a man, wondering if you could even handle kissing anymore.

It turned out kissing and even regular ol' sex wasn't a problem with you, you were fine with that. The issue was all your house rules put in place to keep your space a safe zone, like no sitting on the couch if you've sat on any public seat beforehand, eventually wore them down.

After going through five different guys in a span of three years you'd begun to go to therapy sessions in secret, but your therapist said it would be slow going to get you comfortable with typical exposure to microbes even though it was considered completely safe (when was the last time a person got sick from just sitting on the average couch?).

Funny enough, the therapist's office is where you had met Javi seven months ago, striking conversation in the waiting room several times before he finally asked you out. He was there because he'd been manipulated by his toxic family for so long that he was having trouble figuring out his sense of self, and when you'd explained why you were there he was nothing but understanding.

Javi was always considerate of your needs. If you were trying to get past an urge you had to clean something that didn't need cleaning he'd get your mind off it. If you weren't ready to do that, he'd indulge you and even help you clean it. He was never pushy about you making progress. He was just supportive.

He was the same in bed, always letting you take the lead and decide what you wanted when you were trying something new.

It was kind of unspoken that oral was off the table, the mere idea of having your mouth on anyone like that making you highly uncomfortable. And as far as you were concerned, if you weren't giving back, you didn't feel right receiving it. You were sure Javi wouldn't mind if things were one sided, you knew participation during sex wasn't supposed to be some kind of competition, but you were all about taking only as much as you gave. You didn't feel right otherwise. You weren't really interested in any kind of oral sex anyway.

Until you were. Over time, as your relationship grew stronger, after "I love yous" were shared and your love making felt less novel, you started to get curious about it. What would it be like?

So many of your friends had mentioned it before, and it was in so many of the books you read, it was an unavoidable question.

Would it be so bad after a shower? You thought you could handle that. As long as you both showered there would be nothing to worry about, right? It's not like you were unfamiliar to each other. You knew Javi was a clean person and you knew he'd never tested positive for any STDs. There was literally no reason for it to trigger your anxiety.

So one lazy Sunday morning you asked Javi to join you in the master bathroom's shower and started washing with him, not telling him your plans just in case you chickened out.

You both started with your hair, taking turns under the shower head to rinse first the shampoo out, then the conditioner.

After that you both took your fresh washcloths off the bar in the roomy shower and squeezed a palm sized amount of the same unscented body wash onto them. But before he could start rubbing himself down with it you halted Javi, grabbing him loosely by the wrist.

"Let's wash each other," you suggested.

He beamed at you. "Oh? Where would you like me to start, cariño? Here?" He lightly swiped the cloth over your left shoulder. "Or here?" He slid the cloth across your chest, above your breasts, and you grinned before guiding his hand lower, to the top of your right breast.

"Here."

Javi was very thorough, taking his time to soap up your breasts, sweeping under them, and paying special attention to both of your buds until your breaths quickened and your eyes fluttered shut. When your first gasp escaped your lips you felt the cloth in his hand move over your shoulders and back before being dragged down your belly, and between your legs.

"Javi," you choked out as he softly stroked between your folds with the cloth. The friction of the cotton felt good. Very good.

"Beautiful," he whispered, soft eyes on your face.

You opened yours to stare into his lust filled chocolate ones and forced yourself to start wiping him down, starting at his expansive shoulders, pausing at times to kiss him, sliding you tongue against his, exploring his mouth, and to breathe while he continued to seek new places on your body with the cloth in the name of getting clean and so much more.

You reached his dick and balls and took your time to clean every crevice and fold to be found, taking him in your empty hand to gain better access.

The almost innocuous way you were paying attention to him still made his length grow and caused him to groan lowly, almost painfully.

"Sound so good Javi," you praised him. "Wanna make you feel even better, guapo."

You knelt in front of him, discarding the cloth to grasp him firmly in your bare hands as the shower water rinsed away the soap.

He gaped at seeing your mouth so tantalizingly close to his cock, the wanting expression on your face, and sucked in a deep breath. "Are you sure, mi luz?"

"You're clean," you replied. "And I'm curious. If you're okay with it?"

"More than, cariño." Whatever you wanted to give him he would take, no matter how little or how much, it was always intoxicating. But if you wanted to try something different, he wouldn't dare say no. He could never say no to you.

You tentatively swept your tongue over his tip, knowing from all the times you'd given him a hand job that it was really sensitive, and you were rewarded with a hiss and the sight of his jaw clenching.

He leaned forward on one hand against the tiled wall of the shower above you as you licked an experimental line up his well-trimmed shaft and squeezed it with your hands before dipping your head back down to suck on his head.

To your pleasant surprise he didn't taste like much of anything except maybe a hint of remnant soap. Mostly he just tasted clean, and felt firm and warm.

Giving oral probably wasn't going to be your new favorite thing, but when you took as much of him as possible into your mouth and a loud moan tore out of him as he reached to cradle the back of your head, you decided this wasn't going to be the last time.

The sounds he made, the way he shuddered at your every touch and lick, made the threat of gagging worth it and pushed away any thoughts of sanitation out of your brain.

And, you thought, if he was reacting to you like this when you'd never given oral before, how would he react once you were more experienced and smooth about it?

You definitely wanted to find out.

For now you drew on what you knew about him already and what you could recall from the books you'd read. Maybe they weren't the most reliable source, but bobbing on him like they described sure seemed to get a positive reaction.

You could see him fighting an urge to move his hips for your sake, and it drove you to show him your appreciation all the more, to thoroughly put your mouth and hands to work.

His knees trembled and you felt yourself leaking at the sight of it, at the guttural groan he released, the sensation of your hot, wet mouth and hands on his cock clearly overwhelming him.

It took one gentle tug of his left ball with your hand and he was pulling away, freeing himself from your mouth. You watched as his cock jerked with his release, his cum spurting onto the shower floor, and he shouted his pleasure out along with it, panting heavily after.

"Shit."

You smiled up at him, proudly as you gripped his thick thigh tightly, wishing you could replay the noises he'd made over and over. "Not bad for my first try?"

He helped you up onto your feet and kissed you feverishly, so intensely you were gasping when you broke apart. "Good then?"

He laughed lightly, sounding almost delirious. "Mi amor, I don't deserve you."

"It's not about deserve," you told him.

"But you are about keeping score, si?"

"Equality," you corrected.

"Please let me, preciosa," he murmured into your ear heatedly, and the next thing you knew he was guiding you back against the shower wall, kissing his way down your body as he sank to his knees, and hiking up one of your legs to gain better access to your pussy, using one of his huge hands to help you keep your balance.

He waited for your yes then ducked down, licking a long strip from your front to your clit. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head with the jolting pleasure the pressure of his tongue sent through your body and you opened up wider to him as you arched against the wet tile behind you, a drawn out moan slipping from you.

Yeah, oral was definitely growing on you.

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed

xxx

Main Masterlist

xxx

[mackichu]

I had a realization during my meditation this morning.

(TW: abuse, mental illness)

I have been working on myself a lot lately. I want to improve my mental and physical health, so I've dedicated myself to routines, checklists, playing music loudly on speakers, taking up hobbies I used to enjoy when I was a kid, physical activity (albeit not that much, but more than nothing which is what I've been doing a whole lot of lately), and of course, meditation.

When I woke up to start the day, I noticed that I spent longer in the shower than I normally do. I noticed that I was doom-scrolling instead of carrying on with my tasks as part of my daily routine. Being observant of myself, I have come to understand that this means my mental health is slipping.

Being able to recognize this about myself has become easier with the use of journaling and tracking my mood throughout the day.

Not only did I recognize this mood, but I actually did something about it.

I made myself a cup of green tea with honey, walked over to my bedroom, sipped my tea and placed it on the nightstand, then sat on the ground cross-legged. I pulled up my self-improvement app, tapped on a meditation session, threw my phone on the bed and did as the instructor told me.

Deep breaths.

Inhale. Exhale. Slowly.

Recognize that our emotions, even anxiety, are there to help us. What is your anxiety telling you? Give yourself space to understand it and make room for it.

From the fog of my meditative mind, the word "family" appeared.

I have a problem with family.

"Family" for me has not been a happy word for me for most of my lifetime. A source of stability for others is the very storm that has knocked me down over and over and over and over again.

The wounds I've suffered at the hands of this monster is something I've been trying to heal for almost my entire life. Just when I think I've got a grip on things, it rears itself into my life again.

Years of therapy, and yet I am still here; this terrible weight inside my belly that keeps me down every day of my life.

But this time is different, I think.

After the smoke has cleared from years of fighting and making truces and fighting again, I have ended with something different than what I started with.

I have stopped talking to my mother, probably for a very long time. I talk to my brothers here and there and my father slightly less.

My greatest family has come from those that are not related to me by blood.

I am beginning to accept that more and more each day.

It comes from those who have chosen me from day one. It comes from those who have taught me forgiveness. That an argument isn't a death sentence; that you can actually still talk to one another and make amends and still love eachother. That you don't have to hold eachother emotional hostages, which is something that I was for almost the entirety of my life.

Even if my family wasn't in the midst of a fight, I didn't feel (or was not made to feel) that I belonged. I was the black sheep of the family. I mostly stayed to myself when I was growing up. I locked myself away in my room, which had become a magical escape from reality.

Leading up to my parents' divorce, the ferocity and frequency of fights really amped up. The most recent memories I have of all of us sitting together was in a small living room, lined up on the couch; an audience picked by hand for front row seats to the shit show; silence so heavy it could choke you; eyes red and puffy from the salty sting of tears; the inability to stand up and walk away.

This was what "family" meant to me. This was "togetherness".

Which is why I felt so awkward and and out of place the first few times I visited with my now-husband's family. How they all just sat around watching TV together, just enjoying eachother's presence. I couldn't understand why they wanted to spend so much time together. Why they make Facetime calls every single week, sometimes multiple times a week. Not about anything major, just to talk and shoot the shit with eachother. "Do you want to talk to them?" my husband would ask. "Why?" I would reply. I have no major news to speak about. They have no news for me. What could possibly be the point of talking to one another? To be honest, I was annoyed at first. Why did they keep asking so much of me? Why did they need so much time together? Don't they know that time spent together is only supposed to be the tiniest bit of bare minimum?

My, how things have changed so much in these last few years.

I feel less awkward now. I am starting to understand my place in this new pack I have found myself in. I play my role pretty well, I think. But it does, at times, make me feel out of place. This feeling makes me feel ashamed and embarrassed, broken and fraudulent. This gives way to that heavy feeling under my ribs.

And yes, the heaviness keeps me down a lot of days. It has for a while now.

I just want to feel... lighter.

Maybe-- hopefully-- I will achieve that.

[h1mmel]

houkai gakuen 2; aiki fanfic

a short modern au college fanfic of aisha and kika <3 in my heart they are alive and happy together

--

It was the kind of rainy day where things seemed colorless amid the bustling streets of the city. People came and went about their busy lives, not paying much mind to the dull weather and dim, lifeless chatter of passersby.

A tired college-age student by the name of Mushoku Kika was hurrying along, walking at a brisk pace in hopes to keep the laptop in her bag from getting wet. Eventually, as the downpour filled the streets and only continued to get worse, the girl opted to stop and attempt to find shelter while she waited for the rain to pass.

Of course, definitely not a factor of Kika’s own biased selection, the shop she slipped into happened to be a cafe. It also, of course, definitely wasn’t as if she’d almost used up her school meal pointcard only a month into the semester and knew the location of every cafe and bakery in town by now. This particular one, however, she was yet to visit, so it couldn’t hurt to have a treat while she was waiting, right?

While there was a brisk chill to the outside air that had seeped through Kika’s jacket, the sudden warmth of the cafe was a sudden but welcome encounter. As expected from a cafe, it smelled delightful, and the girl’s eyes instantly drew to a large case filled with pastries.

Among the trays were cookies frosted to look like various animals and designs, slices of neatly decorated cake in many types, and a collection of danishes and malasadas in multiple flavors, among other things. Kika was so engrossed in her choices that she hadn’t noticed the strawberry-haired barista behind the counter, waiting patiently to take her order. Several very long moments of deliberation passed before she had somewhat made up her mind and glanced up to find she was being waited on.

“Ah, hello… could I please have one cherry turnover, one maple doughnut, and one birthday cake pop?”

“Of course!” the bright-eyed barista pressed a few buttons on her screen, then cast another glance upwards. “Do you want something to drink as well?”

“Hmm,” Kika paused for a moment. Normally, she’d order a hot chocolate, as caffeine wasn’t something she preferred to have much of on the daily, but it seemed like a waste to visit a coffee shop and not try any coffee. “I want… something sweet. Would you recommend anything?”

“How about…” the pink-haired girl pursed her lips together in thought for a moment. “An affogato! It’s like, a coffee root beer float. I think you would like one of those if you have a sweet tooth.”

Kika had never heard of this before, but it couldn’t hurt to try something new. “Sure. I’ll have one of those as well.”

“Alright-y, and can I have your name please?”

Kika accidentally made brief eye contact with the girl, who offered her a friendly smile, and she felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment slightly.

“It’s Kika.”

“Aww, that’s a pretty name! Okay, it’s gonna be a couple minutes for the coffee, alright? You can have a seat and I’ll bring it out for you.”

Kika’s flustered emotions were quickly replaced with a moment of anxiety while she passed her point card over to the girl. One day, the university was going to put a stop to her daily snack breaks and the card was going to decline, but it seemed today was not going to be that day, thankfully. She breathed a silent sigh of relief as she slipped it back into her wallet and headed to take a seat.

The girl draped her damp jacket over the back of her chair to dry, taking a seat and setting her bag on the table. If she wasn’t going to make it to class on time, she might as well try to catch up, as much of a pain as it was.

However, Kika’s attention wasn’t easily held by her schoolwork, and she quickly found her eyes wandering back to the cute barista who was now busy at work behind the counter, making espresso. She hadn’t noticed initially, but there was a name tag attached to the girl’s pink apron, though it was too far away for her to see now. Kika waited patiently until the girl finished, coming out carrying a coffee mug and plate of pastries.

“Here you go! I hope you enjoy~” there was a singsong note to the pink-haired girl’s voice as she set Kika’s sweets down in front of her.

“They look so good,” Kika couldn’t tear her eyes away from the plate. “Did you make these?”

“Yep! I bake most of the stuff here,” the girl replied with a smile. “I’ve gotta get back to work now, but let me know what you think, alright?”

Before Kika could remember that she was going to ask the girl’s name, she was already gone, lost behind the sea of people who had suddenly lined up at the counter. However, when she glanced down at her plate, she saw a note written on the napkin.

Aisha ❤️ 0865317365

She'd left her phone number? The cute barista had given her her phone number, and Kika thought she might die on the spot.

Needless to say, Kika didn't get through much of her schoolwork as usual, and didn't return home until there were several missed calls from her parents as usual asking for her whereabouts, and the cafe finally closed for the day.

[indyhypnosis]

The Dark Side Of Success (and A Silver Lining!)

You are an ambitious professional, small business owner, or goal-oriented achiever, right?

And YET, what if:

You still feel like you’re not as far along in life as you know you should be by now? 

And, maybe it also seems like, 

Even though you’ve never shied away from hard work ever;

Always invested in yourself & dreams (i.e., paid your dues); and

Made the tough decisions (and made the even tougher sacrifices because running into the fire is simply how you’re wired.)

However, when it comes to making those big, meaningful dreams come true? Well, that’s an entirely different story, is it not?

It’s like you got hit with the unworthy stick?

Because you can’t seem to outrun those deep-seated insecurities, no matter what you try or do?

You might also think you’re alone in this.

Like it’s just you, but after 35 years (and my work with clients in over 15,000+ individual sessions), I can tell you with absolute certainty…

You’d be stunned to discover that the majority of success-driven people (especially the ones you think have it all figured out), struggle daily with those same feelings of anxiety, self-doubt, and imposter syndrome because they feel unworthy deep inside, too.

Most of us have dreamt of living the good life one day, haven’t we?

I’m sure you want more than to only dream about having a successful career that makes the meaningful impact you know you’re supposed to (and are called to) have, right?

And the promise of being able to leverage automated systems to deliver the results you want, with predictable certainty, would be a dream come true, yes?

You want the time freedom to enjoy the fruits of all your sacrifice, devotion, and work without worry.

And, yet, there are so many obstacles, aren’t there? 

Why is nobody talking about the dark side of success or teaching Coaches & Consultants (people-leaders) to regain control of our freedom and independence?

Why does being an entrepreneur have to equal working 24/7, continually having the pressure to figure things out on your own, and wrestling with self-doubt, procrastination, time pressure, money pressure, and confusion about what to do next?

It’s gut-wrenching when gifted people who have an intense desire to make the world a better place feel like they aren’t progressing towards their goals regardless of how hard they work or contribute.

There’s also a myth that you always have to present a “positive attitude” and never show weakness, even to your family.

Said differently: Fake it till you make it!

Otherwise, it will cripple your business (or so “they” say).

“Clients will lose faith in you unless you always appear to have it all together.”

This creates tremendous stress and anxiety that must be shoved down, so it doesn’t prevent you from pushing forward.

What do ambitious, success-minded people do in that situation? 

What we always do: 

We seek out a magical marketing plan, an automated sales tool (since most practitioners don’t like selling), a new funnel-building software, or a coach/partner who will come in and save the day!

Or, we drive ourselves into the ground working 15-hour days, 7 days a week, never taking breaks, always on someone else’s schedule (emails, clients, business deadlines)…

We even feel guilty watching a 90-minute movie or celebrating a holiday with family because we should be getting more stuff done for strangers we don’t even know.

We are so devoted and dedicated that our health, happiness, family time, and mental health are sacrificed so we can get one more item checked off the never-ending To-Do list. 

Why? 

Because if it doesn’t get done, we might miss out on that life-changing opportunity, everything will fall apart, or the ultimate payoff for all the sacrifice will never occur. 😭

Also because we’ve been taught that this is what it takes to succeed. 

“Never give up… 

“Never surrender, never quit…no matter the cost!”

After years of chasing dreams and seeking out the newest sales, marketing, or social media strategy to make all my dreams come true, I realized this was keeping me from getting what I wanted. 

I just couldn’t see it at the time. 

A few entrepreneurs were living a fulfilling life without killing themselves or sacrificing their families for fame and fortune.

Seth Godin, for example, personally told me he doesn’t even use social media and has made a great living doing what he loves.

There is a different way to play this game where you can have the money, time freedom, quality experiences with your family, and the space to care for yourself.

Luckily, as you may not realize until now, this is exactly what my One Belief Away™ Method Certification and OBA Practice Amplifier™ projects are dedicated to doing for Coaches & Consultants in the personal and professional development space.

As you may already know, I’ve been a business owner for 28 years.

Through hard work and lots of coaching, I have built and run one of the country’s top Hypnosis coaching practices. 

During that time, my entrepreneurial brain kicked in. Through trial and error, I figured out how to develop multiple streams of income, like:

Operating a Hypnotism school;

Becoming an award-winning motivational speaker;

Being a top corporate leadership trainer;

Writing bestselling books as an author;

Interviewing industry icons as a podcast host;

Developing into a TV personality;

A publisher of online training programs;

Launching popular virtual Summits;

Winning multiple industry awards for my contributions and;

A whole bunch of other exciting collaborations, too.

You’re probably more than familiar with the routine, right? Do whatever it takes and see what sticks.

I once asked Dr. Joe Vitale what he did to become so successful. He said, “I did EVERYTHING!”

Anyway, it’s certainly been a privilege to help thousands of people attain goals, make impossible dreams come true, and experience a more profound sense of self-love, acceptance, and confidence.

Many of my best clients are also entrepreneurs who serve the world as life coaches, hypnotists, healers, business strategists, marketing experts, speakers, authors, wellness experts, small business owners, and more.

Although they came in for different reasons, the problems (and solutions) were always the same. 

They were struggling in their business because of holding back, procrastination, self-doubt, feeling like a fraud, lack of focus or clarity, overwhelm, and high anxiety.

Other clients had attained a high level of material success. 

Still, they struggled with trusting others, achieving work/life balance, chasing approval, communicating with honesty, turning to pot/alcohol/sugar to cope, breaking lifelong bad habits, and trying to avoid a divorce.

You can see where material success, happiness, or inner peace always breaks apart, right?

It all comes down to our mind’s OS (Operating System).

And more importantly, beginning to see the mental malware that’s unknowingly been downright attacking most (if not all) of the upgrades we’ve made to our mindset over the years.

Because it’s only after you begin to see the malware that you’ll be able to start the removal process.

However, all mental malware infects us at the unconscious level.

The problem here is obvious, then, right? 

If it’s UNCONSCIOUS, how will you ever know the root issue and resolve it?

That’s when you hear people say, “I’ve been doing the work for fifteen years but still feel like I haven’t gotten deep enough to the real issues.”

Well, here’s the thing: In the beginning, it’s damn near impossible to see it in yourself, BUT it’s rather easy to see it in others.

In fact, once I show you how to spot it, you’ll probably start recognizing it in yourself and seeing it in others almost automatically.

And that’s why starting tomorrow, I’m going to share a few case studies from my client files so you can get a feel for how to begin to evaluate if there’s any mental malware mutating away in your unconscious.

Now, although I won’t use their real names (to maintain confidentiality), the stories and struggles you’ll get to see are very real.

Chances are good that you will be able to relate to the issues my clients were going through (heck, I could personally relate to almost everything they faced).

So if you feel like one or more of these stories fits and describes you to a tee, don’t be surprised. 

This is the dark side of being an entrepreneur. 

Yet, when you learn what happened as a result of them going through my One Belief Away™ Method to find their solutions, you’ll realize the rewards are nothing short of miraculous.

We’ll kick things off tomorrow, where you’ll meet, John.

John is a successful business coach whose mental malware infected him at the age of 10. And little did he know, it was severely holding him back from taking his business to the heights he wanted.

And, strangely enough, you’ll discover how the same malware also almost destroyed his 30-year marriage.

See, it almost always controls every area of your life.

Yet, that’s the best news! Why? Because by cleansing the malware from one area of John’s mind, he was able to regain his freedom across the board.

Plus, you will find the speed at which he did so was staggering. 

More on that tomorrow.

🙂 Tim (Making the Unconscious Conscious) Shurr

[alistairian]

(In reference of the previous post as well)

Also "potential threat" is such a nothing term that you can't really build any meaningful discussion around, and it doesn't make any sense to label anyone a "potential threat" unless they already have a history or you're just labeling every single person a potential threat no matter their gender presentation. And what kind of threat are we even referring to? Are they a threat to your life? Threat of harassment or assault? Threat of outing you? Threat of making you feel uncomfortable? Threat of giving you the cold shoulder/not taking your side in a seperate hypothetical situation? Threat of getting that promotion instead of you? We're using this reactive language in the most vague all-encompassing manner possible of course people are going to get worked up about it.

I only really see this discussion in my peripheral, and I'm guessing it largely stems from the tradition of women generally "needing" to be cautious around men, even more-so for trans women, but there's a point where people are just not being reasonable. I don't believe for a second that the people tossing the word threat around are extending that sentiment to every man in their life, and I would also bet that they know at the very least a handful of women who also pose a threat (whatever that may be).

Like yeah as a trans man, cis men do "pose a threat" and I am sharing spaces with cis men all the time. Cis women also pose a threat and a number of them are using their own gender and history of oppression to push back against ALL trans rights. My partner is transfem and yes they've been harrassed by men (they've also been harrassed by gay men while presenting masc) but it was women who cost them their job several times over and it was girls who bullied them/spread photos that got them banned from using the restroom at school when they were a teen. (I know this is more of a cis/trans dichotomy than masc/fem but I still think it counts)

Like in real life, not the hypothetical one where everyone adheres to rigid systems whether they like it or not, I know plenty of girls and plenty of trans guys and I just do not buy that most women (trans or cis) see all trans men as being just as threatening as cis men every time. It's just gender essentialism 2.0 where instead of the terfy penis=bad vagina=good we have the "progressive" masculine=bad feminine=good. If you zoom out rreeeaaalllyy far and only look at numbers and power structures most of us will never genuinely be part of, there's some merit there, but on an individual level it completely falls apart.

If a trans man doesn't feel that he is as threatening as a cis man then that's probably backed by his lived experience and daily interactions. And like, he's probably right! I will generally trust a trans man to be able to guage where he stands with the women in his life. Why the hell shouldn't I?

Idk, it feels like another one of those online philosophical discourses that are just completely useless, and on top of that using it to feed your own anxieties and widen the gap between yourself and the people around you is just all around destructive for both sides. "Institutions of power predominantly favour masculinity"=/="this male presenting person in a progressive space who is doing nothing wrong is putting me on edge because I've convinced myself that masculinity exists solely as an oppressive force."

Idk if we're on the same page here or if I'm just rambling nonsense, but I agree that the sentiment that trans men in queer spaces should know their place, take a back seat and listen because "society" just sees you as another man is just incredibly reductive if not also disingenuous. And then when trans men have their own discussions about their own experiences it's somehow acceptable to derail and either criticise them over the most minute specifics/terminology/etc or remind them of their priviledged status. It does remind me a lot of the ace discourse and "straight passing priviledge" and how all of that played out.

(And omg I don't want this to come across as a trans man vs trans woman oppression olympics thing, anyone who knows me knows I am not about that shit but this is the internet afterall)

Like I know I'm a threat! I know I have to go out of my way to make sure cis and trans women around me don't have reason to be scared of me! I don't have any community with cis men and I don't have any community with anyone else! Can't you see how lonely and dehumanizing it can start to feel? I haven't felt like a part of the queer community since ace discourse took off and I still don't feel welcome now. I'm in the double demographic expected to show up shut up and not take any resources for ourselves because we're only here on the technicality of not being heterosexual and not being cis.

And I keep my mouth shut about it because I know what people will say and they'll probably be right but I don't feel welcome anywhere and sometimes that really starts to hurt.

[meanwhileinstasiville]

Dear Musk, Ashland in not a company town, per se

Clark: A house my grandfather was associated with, because town founding family, and he owned many. Now there's an SNK grocery employee staying there, driving a Latin King colored car she parks prominently out front. A Mexican landscaping team demolished all of the landscaping, mulching it "to be sure" soon after. As it had stood since the 1960s still healthy as planted to match the climate zone. I think maybe it's because a friend tied to one of the more powerful (and related to your industry) families in the region, had visited Greece. Dryads, you know. And being the Danes, Shakespeare's "last bastion of witchcraft" his mom is wont to make potions now and again (the real thing is like baking, and sometimes concoctions).

A door handle at MoC: Market where a single item can run well over seventy dollars, has a broken door handle that has been mended with a loop of bailing wire. They can't come up with the money to fix it, I guess. There's a fabrication plant right here in town, and they have franchises all over Oregon.

A roof that leaks at the Co-op: Another market with financing problems, and one that contains a better restaurant than the hotel downtown, where a meal can run a hundred dollars. 100k and up *before* the inflation surge, on a daily take, same as MoC. (Ashland has like 30k people living in it).

Ashland Library: The giant addition with a roof matching the style of my childhood home, having spent the *entire county budget* in it's construction. As present, I'm seated between someone on the sex offender registry, sitting to my left. A street import for Latin King demoralizing purposes to my right, eating cup-o-noodles at the computer and washing it down with cherry coke, decked out in camo clothes of course. A social anxiety case who resembles my former boss's son (from SNK) breathing heavy and wearing a shirt with a giant eye on it, sitting kitty corner, "oh yeah ese, I'm a giant ojo!" that would seem to say, from an organization renowned for killing first responders. Opposite corner sits an ambiguously asian woman in Eddie Bauer being "helped" staging a conversation with an expy of my old boss (a drug kingpin masquerading as a "white" guy) while sitting in the far corner. Snoring is coming from the vet heavy guy who attempts suicide now and again to get the EMTs to show up and fawn over him, with his "snap-el" bottle of "Thanos" (named Phil, works at SNK while being my former boss's prized liutenant)threat. Any attention is good attention, right? (Ashland is down the road from Medford, the west coast drug production and export hub, and why a Japanese firm *really* bought Harry and David.

Reference Ken Burns: Is milling around, well past retirement age, because he's like the documentary guy in name only, and to make Ashland Library "worthy" of my best friend's family.

Strawberry Lane: Yes, *those* kinds of strawberries, to go with the sex offender who beat a hasty retreat (maybe shoulder surfing what I was typing), where human trafficker extraordinaire acquired *another* of his homes. Some three different ones out on 66 adjacent addresses, and Clark, and South Mountain, and Hargandine some forever ago, also Granite. Arizona later, after scouting (and being run out of there by Native Americans and their spirits) Lake Havasu. Ashland's first church and first bank were founded by his family. And all the cemetery stone was cut by his *female, one of only two in all of North America* relative's stonemasonry. And and, the reason I'm so insistent about Musk is evil, is because this Carnegie Library, added onto with this giant structure, was because of his family's extremely prominent position in the period KKK, and whose membership *also* contained Andrew Carnegie.

Something to do with: A certain 900-odd-years long war with the English. Good Irish, evil Irish, some very terrible things but necessary in light of (then 1500-2000 population super rural Ashland Oregon) growing America's "Other elizabethan shakespearean theater" in the whole United States. Campaign Kennedy made a stop here in the valley because "representing Wexford county" so long ago. And family fortunes took a nosedive after the Kennedy assassination. (we're getting to the company town part)

Another sort of curious situation: Easton Hardy's The Ethical Slut, about polyamory, references a couple with three people while getting one of the names wrong. Celia was indeed a Harry & David heiress. My grandfather was indeed a hermaphrodite and walking aristocrats joke (of whom I'm a sort of clone, and why I react to Telsa the way I do), but it was his *first* wife, who died young, that made the throuple. She married someone like her father Roy, who was also in a throuple (the three even traveled together) with AJ and Virgina Bayless (the family that merged store with Safeway so long ago, and also set down the money to buy the SNK store out of a catalog) of the Bayless family department store chain and sort of precursor to Walmart, from Arizona.

Company town Ashland ok: Ashland was a Dexter's Lab for human trafficking, money laundering (if you could call it that, because the state just used the money; did I mention grandpa was best friends with the chief of police? Yeah, anyway) and mob resort activity that "gifted" Ashland a sort of Golden Gate to The Golden State, park (and WAY out of profile for a community so rural; did I mention we had not one but *two* Olympic swimming pools? One heated, one not. Anyway...) and all-around one-stop shop for setting unwilling guests to "sleep with the fishes" on the way to Grants Pass where the mob used to table meetings. Consider it a sort of layover between Sacramento and Grants Pass during the bootlegging years. As said, family fortunes tanked after Kennedy was assassinated, and coronation of the Latin Kings DBA Chicago as "America's representative city" and who began running Ashland from the shadows in the late 1960s.

When a certain automotive: Wholesaler began to get footing, South African well occupation style. Cars being like water that stunts American lives where there's lack of them. Also linked to Chicago. Anywhere their real estate interests exist, expect to find "Metropolis" like period art deco Chicago architecture and trim. And they grew like a weed, aggressive "acquisition strategy" they call the current CEOs activities, and whose actions are little departure from operating practices dating back to the sixties/seventies.

Ashland lost timber dollars: But they had automotive, and drug production hub down the street, and marijuana tourism written in the books as regular tourism. From rich Californians on drug vacations. Strawberries were still big business around the time of the dotcom boom about town, too.

Ashland lost theater proceeds: Automotive donated, and donated, and donated. And became shareholder of note for securing actors (and housing them), and scripts, and structural renovation where buildings weren't "keeping up with the times". No word on what they were doing with the slush fund in the millions, back when they still had it, as Ashland's owned and operated tourist trap. Collegiates (did I mention we had that, too, a college?)

Ashland's school: For making housewives into teachers became Southern Oregon State College (to be worthy of interests operating in Ashland, then as now with solvency problems and low academic high water line, to say the least) became Southern Oregon University. Worthy in name only (and still regionally regarded as a "party college) of a certain Latin King associated family member's attendance there. And also famous and infamous for campus coed rape problems (now seldom reported but certainly still ongoing because Ashland convened a Campus Public Safety unit). Safety officers selected by Latin King and associates, driving vehicles provided by none other than a certain automotive wholesaler.

And they can't seem to keep: Administrators of any kind on staff; a college presidency like taking lead role in a Batman movie. Suicide suicide.

And yet: Coeds sex work is Ashland's secret not secret, and college is the *reliable way* to keep them flowing in (should mention concentrations of hotels all around Ashland, to the point of being across the street from one another, and a complex of them on "this end" of Medford to soak up some of the prostitution proceeds.

Company because town: A sex shop prostitute outfitter can't go out of business, because it's carried by Eugene. Chocolate shop up the street can't go out of business because automotive family favorite. Car quest. NAPA. Gas stations in blocks (Great grandpa Roy owned most of them way back when, and also all the school busses; see where I'm going with evil and emerald mine based car companies?). Caricature of itself, Ashland has become, because special interest cartel and otherwise are carrying everything out of pocket; theater owned most of the craftman and beyond houses on the historical register, in order to house super-high-caliber actors in the style to which they're accustomed. Some hard times year after year leaving the theater bankrupt. Cartels need sex workers, charitable giving appeals to automotive. There's no there, there, and to the point of literal "Phantom Security" running around, and themselves reminiscent of Homeland Security. Soaking up the wages to stand around where no security cartels couldn't do a better job, could possibly exist. Ashland's theater was among the safest spaces in Oregon. And there's nothing there.

Ashland cannot: Even explain how it manages to be solvent, at all, let alone running deficits as it does without furloughs. And "eme" (ms13) having taken over emergency services (because EMS gets to hear encrypted band civil transmissions), saw *two* additional fire departments commissioned. A total of three. For something like 30,000 citizens without a fire disaster (Oregon has the best firefighters in the world) to show for it.

Ashland's: Twin Plunges Olympic swimming pools were covered up by the Co-op. Ashland's "first real shopping center" was built around Bi-Rite "your local market" now MoC (like eme and also Moctezuma) Oregon regional. Ashland's department store sits next to SNK, which itself sits next to a housing development where my Sicilian great-grandmother's yard used to be. And her family friends are on the lease of where SNK sits. Connecting the Bayless remnant family business and Sicily where no one can see it. Since they themselves do not know. Arab extraction, the brown skin of the Bayless family came from. Sicilians being of Arab Muslim extraction themselves (it makes sense in context). And yeah, they were all about the money laundering. If you could even call it that.

As for me, I'm a clone of my grandfather: Where genders and sexualities and all the fonts of the underworld met. Ashland Irish and Sicilians run out of Los Angeles by the Latin Kings who followed them up here, against British empire interests. And the Swiss with the Irish, too.

I recognize that in Tesla: Apartheid. War with the Boers. An alliance of a lot of kinds of evil around one person with all the good intention in the world. While simultaneously housing literal centuries of generational violence, specific to a place and time Americans know nothing about.

[lonely-teddy-bear]

Could you do an Alpha Harry unintentionally scaring human y/n and now she is scared to go around the pack and nervous with Harry’s wolf? Maybe Harry tried to show her his wolf isn’t always mean an scary? Some fluff?….maybe some smut 😅

A/n: scaring human!y/n is my fave lol hope you enjoy it! NO SMUT IM SORRY. I wanted to keep it nice and sweet :)

warnings: a/b/o dynamic, anxiety/panic attack

——————————————————

You were on your daily walk, most specifically a walk towards the nearest pack, the one where your dearest friend lived. It wasn’t the first time you had visited the pack and it sure won’t be the last. There wasn’t many humans that were welcomed to packs, it was all with invite only and Harry was the one to invite you.

Harry and y/n had met in a park. They were both young but Harry sensed something about her, he wanted to meet her, know her and so he walked up to her and introduced himself. Y/n knew about werewolves, was not a secret in the world but werewolves only could shift on their own land. It was all to protect the human kind which the wolves thought was bullshit but they didn’t fight against them, didn’t want to cause any problems. Harry and his pack didn’t have much of a problem and yeah there was those that wanted to break the rules but because Harry is an alpha he has set a strict rule on it, so anyone who breaks the rule they would get punished. The woods was the furthest place werewolves could shift but most of the time humans would know before hand in case anyone wanted to take a walk on the trails. It was all strict rules around shifting but it worked for the most part. Since Y/n is one of the few humans that gets to go around the pack without the need to announce herself, walking into the pack was no struggle. Everyone greeted her like always, smiling at her and even some would bow down, still making you confuse as to why they did that.

You were heading towards Harry’s house, not really paying much attention around your surroundings since you have always felt safe. No one has ever bothered to mess with you or tried to scare you in any way. So when two giant wolves appeared out of no where, fighting each other and growling at one another, you screamed. The fear of seeing wolves fighting was one of your fears but seeing one of them looking at you as if you were their next meal was at the top of the list. The only thing that you could think about was to run and to the nearest place, Harry’s house. You didn’t bother to look back, all you did was run all while feeling someone following you.

Arms wrapping around you caused you to almost pass out of fear, screaming so loud and you couldn’t help but to cry.

“Shh, its okay its me. Y/n its me, Harry.”

Harry held you tightly to his chest, his arms holding both of yours pinned to your body while trying to calm you down with hush sounds and light kisses to the top of your head. You tried to stop crying, the small hiccups appearing while you tried to talk and breath at the same time.

“Don’t talk, love. Just relax and take a seat.” You did as told, Harry mostly taking you to the couch on his living room and placing you on your favorite side of the big couch which had a fluffy blanket— which he covered you with. Looking at Harry who was seating on the coffee table in front of you, he looked at you concerned, regret in his eyes. Sniffing and rubbing the blanket over your nose and eyes you took one last big breath and sat up, feeling slightly better. “There was wolves fighting,” you said, your throat feeling dry from the screaming and crying. Harry gave you a sad smile and without a word he got up and walked towards the kitchen.

You were going to ask him what he was doing but saw him walking back with a cup of water. “Here, its cold, I know you don’t like cold water but it’ll help with your nerves and sore throat.” You didn’t quickly drink it because like he said, you didn’t like cold water but drank it after a while just to make him stop looking at you a certain way.

“I’m sorry about that.” You looked at Harry, confuse at what he was apologizing about. “The wolves, that was me and a pack member training. I didn’t know you were coming and when my wolf saw you and heard you scream he thought you were in danger. He didn’t mean to go after you like that, I swear. You should have called me before you came over.”

That’s the thing, you had never called before hand. So after a couple of days later, after purposely ignoring Harry for scaring you, you texted him about going over to his pack, just like he had said. You didn’t want to run into his or someone else’s wolf, let alone get chased by one.

Go to my backyard when you arrive, I’ll see you there. xx

The text caused you to question his intentions, didn’t know what he was up to but obeyed his request. The walk over was no problem but the walk into the pack was scary. You could feel the anxiety and the fear creeping in, looking around the pack waiting for a wolf to jump out and attack you but got to Harry’s place in one piece and full of sweat, hands still shaking.

Walking inside his place you let out your breath, finally relaxing. After many years you had never thought you’d feel unsafe in the pack, in your best friend’s pack but here you are, hyperventilating and regretting leaving your house.

Heading over to the kitchen, slowly walking in order to try to get your heart to relax. Your hands were clammy and you felt tense but knew nothing will happen because Harry knew you were coming over and just like he said, he was outside waiting for you. He was standing in the middle of the yard but he was only in a pair of shorts which confused you for a minute. Opening the door to the back yard, his head snapped up at the sound of the sliding door, a smile appearing on his face which quickly dropped after seeing you tense.

“You okay hun?” Closing the door behind you, you nodded, trying to act as if you were cool with everything.

“I haven’t heard from you, thought you had ran up to the hills this time.” That caused you to chuckle because it was something that you had always joked about, running up the hills if you ever got chased by a wolf. You smiled at Harry and walked closer to him, making him see that you were okay but the little sweat on your nose told another story. “I considered it a few times but I’m here aren’t I?” Harry’s chuckle gave you goosebumps just as anything else he did when you were near, let alone when he was standing in front of you in just shorts, at this point you were probably on the verge of passing out.

“You are, but next time send me a text to let me know you are okay and safe at home. Almost had me go raid your place.” He walked the rest of the way to you, placing his hand on your cheek, causing you to close your eyes and relaxing on his hand. With a whisper he spoke, “but I am glad you are here and not 600 miles away on a beach.” Even in serious situations he tried to make you smile with some silly joke. Opening your eyes you saw Harry looking at you, he was admiring you but you didn’t know why and you didn’t really question him on why he was looking at you the way he was.

“So I actually wanted to show you my wolf.” At the mention of his wolf you pulled away from his hold and shaking your head quickly you started walking backwards towards the sliding doors.

“No, no, no, no, no.” You could already feel the sweat dripping down your neck and your forehead. Your hands were getting clammy and you just felt trapped while you were outdoors, how could that be fucking possible, you thought.

Harry walked up to you quickly, grabbing both your arms in a way to get you to calm down. “Listen, I want you to see it, get to know it. He is not mean, in fact he will be so gentle with you I promise you that.” Its not that you didn't trust him it was that you were officially scared of wolves and it didn't help that you were in their territory, maybe you should have listened to all the warnings that your family gave you when you were younger. Like always you were stubborn and wanted to be friends with everyone, that was one of the things that Harry liked about you, you gave everyone chances.

Your stomach tightened when you saw the facial expression he had. He looked betrayed and he didn't only look like that but he felt hurt because he knew you were scared to get hurt. All he has ever wanted was to care for you and protect you but instead here you are both in a situation that might change things.

That was the last thing that Harry wanted to happen. In fact the only thing that will change between them is their relationship status because he was fucking tired of being just her friend and that is the last thing he needed; lose his mate and best friend.

Fuck it.

Harry's thoughts left his head and figured that showing her his wolf could wait, but he couldn't wait on marking her. Just the way she was standing in front of him, looking scared and vulnerable, it just made him feel some type of way. He needed her now, no more best friend bullshit and she will have to deal with his werewolf side.

Harry moved his hands toward her waist and pulled her to his chest, his breath getting shorter the more he looked at her.

Meanwhile Y/n was feeling nervous, confuse, lost. You didn't know what to do or feel, one minute you were scared and feared that you would be attacked by a wolf and the next moment you are looking into your best friends eyes. The same green eyes that seem to change from green to black. Its as if they were playing a game on who would be decoration his eyes. You had know about the eye color changing, Harry having explained to you right after it had happened for the first time when he had shifted for the first time. Yet, seeing them change this close to you made you look at them with awe, they looked unreal and you just wanted to look at the different colors of them.

“Y/n.” Harry whispered, leaning closer to you but you didn’t really notice because the dark green, almost black eyes had you hostage. The swirls that were going through them were fascinating and enchanting.

“Baby.”

That caught your attention. Harry never called you baby, in fact he would only say love or hun but in a friend way, but baby? Didn’t help that the way he said it was in a way that he sounded desperate. He wanted your attention and even though he already had it, it wasn’t really to his words.

“You never call me that. Why are you calling me that, Harry?”

The close proximity was now obvious to you and your hands were in between both of your bodies, not being able to move away from him.

“I’m calling you that because I have always wanted to call you that. I’ve also wanted to call ya mine but I didn’t want to freak you out.” Mine… those words were something that mates said to their mat-

You quickly shook your head, not wanting to believe what you were thinking, because if you were right, if you were his mate, than that meant you would be loosing your best friend. “You can’t be. Please tell me we aren’t what I think we are.”

Harry’s hold tighten around you, his features darkening. It should have scared you but his eyes were back to green, which comforted you in a way.

“You are my mate, Y/n. You are mine and I want you know that I will never let another wolf, or me, to hurt you. Accept me as yours, as I accept you as mine, Y/n.”

Having come over to just visit him and get over your fears, you didn’t think this was going to be part of the night. Slowly, you raised your hand up to his cheek, caressing it and moving your thumb over his cheekbone causing his eyes to close and lean closer to your hand. He had always done it, lean at your touch, whether it was when you were running your fingers through his hair or hold his arm when walking, he always leaned towards you and you never questioned it.

Looking at his relaxed features, you asked, “why do you always lean towards me?” His glowing green eyes appeared when he opened them, he looked calmed like always. “Because its you who brings comfort and peace to us. You’re like a magnet and we can’t help but to react to that pull. You are what completes us, love.”

[deunking]

In A Long Time

You x The MoonKnight System

Rating: T

Warnings: Eating disorder not specified 

A/N: You are a part of the Mk system ! Have fun! 

Summary: You’re starving.

Word Count: 2,992

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

You can’t remember when it was the last time you ate. 

The body is never really up for grabs; the other alters seemingly switch in and out on a specific system, which leaves you little or no time at all to front. It hasn't been that big of a deal in the past- the few times you've taken the body being because of silly things, like grocery shopping or going to the bank- but it's become rather annoying recently. 

Ever since your strike with death, the outcome of it all has made the others grow. . . Quite close. Even the mysterious third one that the other two and yourself haven't seen since childhood. They talk daily, they work together, and have arguments over petty things. 

They act like a family, which is excellent! What little memories you have of your family generally. . . Uh, lack sentimental value. So to experience your alters live with one another instead of amongst themselves is. . . Is cool. Really. 

You wish you could be a part of it. 

Which brings you back to now; you’re hungry. 

It’s the middle of the night, and, from what you can tell, the rest of your party is asleep. All tucked inside their metaphorical beds— ‘metaphorical’ because the last time you dived into the headspace, you found one of them sleeping on the floor— and gone with the sun. The body is still tethered to the last alter that fronted, but with a simple nudge, you can slip in unnoticed. 

The feeling of being something, someone, makes your heart twist. It’s been too long since you’ve fronted, and the body knows this. All those days, sitting back and watching through hidden reflections hits you like a truck. Loneliness sweeps through you, cold and unforgiving. 

You panic, thinking the release might stir one of the others awake, and hold your breath. Ten painful seconds tick by, yet nothing happens. Not another soul shoves you out of the driver's seat. You’re left unbothered, free.

And that might hurt more than you know, but the abyss crumbling in your stomach swallows that thought up and leaves nothing else. 

You’re hungry. So terribly— stupidly— hungry. Whatever foods the body last consumed fade off your tongue in seconds, trying to remind your brain that the bodies already eaten a failure as the absence of taste makes you feel sick. Though not ill with a cold but a morning sickness that comes with a reminder of the day's future events. Anxiety- you guessed- that made you repulsed by the idea of food. 

Yet you were so hungry. 

Throwing off the thin sheets, you stand up from the bed. A pile of sand greets your feet, yet the grains do nothing but shift beneath you. 

“ What the fuck,” You say out loud to yourself.” Do these guys not clean? I could’ve sworn. . . Hm.” You weren’t exactly there for the conversation. Still, a faint argument about who was responsible for cleaning up another alter’s mess— the very ‘clever’ ring of sand around the bed- does feel very familiar. Those arguments, who’s in charge of what, sometimes make you feel grateful for the lack of inclusiveness. The body may be an athletic mess; you’re not much of a go-getter. Yes, you enjoy a morning run every once in a while, but besides that and a few push-ups, you mostly like to relax. Do your own thing. 

Whether planting random things in your headspace or eavesdropping on others- your routine has never included chores of any kind. And it most likely never will. 

 You smile to yourself thinking about it. There’s been a handful of times- maybe once or twice- that a mess you’ve made was blamed on another innocent alter. 

Precisely one time- before you or either of them were consciously aware of one another- you tracked a nasty mess of mud into the apartment. An unfortunate result of taking a shortcut through the park on a rainy day after dropping off some bills at the bank. 

You didn’t even notice you’d done it before doing your second lap around the kitchen. Already munching on a pickle and your body sore from walking around the city, you casually shrugged and finished your snack. The mess was something that made you feel guilty for the poor alter that fronted a moment later, but the real kicker had to be watching them wash the pickle taste out of their mouth. 

Then, the memory made you shrink in shame. Your time with the body dwindled to practically nothing. It was a type of punishment for yourself that you subconsciously never confronted. The last time you were fronting was almost a month ago— just enough time to water the wilting plant in the window- you knew there was a problem. 

But you never took much time out of your day to think about it. Whenever the topic of your self-isolation reared itself in your head— you let it go. The thoughts would come and then leave just as fast. 

You thought of it as a type of amnesia, the kind that sucked any thought of anxiety out of you until you couldn’t remember what it was that made you feel upset in the first place.  It’s a pretty cool feature to have- thinking so much that you forget— but some side effects that you’ve come to discover haven’t been as savory. 

For one, your childhood was full of those types of thoughts. A few years ago, you might’ve been able to recite every horrible thing that you could remember, but now. . . You can’t remember much of anything. Maybe a few flashes of rain followed by the thundering strike of a belt. . . and darkness.

But nothing else. 

Nothing particularly happy or unique to yourself. 

“ Fuck.” You shake your head. The lingering thoughts turn into fuzzy memories you’ll probably forget the next day. You massage your temple and take a deep breath, the sand an unknown calming agent as the grains sink between your toes. 

Once you think you’ve sat around long enough, you’re hoisting yourself off the mattress. A slight itch tickles at your ankle, but you ignore it trying to focus on not making any more footprints in the sand—a careless mistake. 

Just as you’re stepping over the sand, something pulls tight around your ankle, and you end up face first on the ground. 

You grunt on your way down. The lack of time to brace for impact forces a strained breath out of your chest, making you cough and sink into the vibrating pain. 

Before you can process what happened— a burst of muffled laughter forces you to freeze. 

“ Qué idiota.” The Spanish accent is one you’ve heard multiple times outside of the headspace. The alter it belongs to being an annoying, sings in the shower, type that also loves to yell at the other two. 

“ Eso fue muy est��pido. No puedo creerlo.” You roll your eyes at the clear amusement in his voice. 

“ Jake! Shush! We’re supposed to be quiet!” Your face flushes red at the second voice, the British accent making you turn your head away from the mirror beside the bed. A pitiful attempt at trying to hide from the alters. 

This wasn’t how you wanted them to find out about you. 

“ ¡Qué! ¡Fue divertido! ¡Admítelo!”

“ I— Well, yeah, I guess it was. . . But still! Quiet!” 

Ignoring their continuous argument— the one you weren’t supposed to be aware of- you harshly rip the ankle restraint off and throw it on the bed. 

You hiss through your teeth, standing up. A sharp pain spreads around your knee before retreating into a dull throb. It’s not enough to stop you from trotting to the kitchen, but there is an evident limp to your walk. An embarrassing thing that makes you feel old as the joints in your hips pop when sitting down. 

“ Fue tu idea, ¿por qué estás tan enojado?”

“ Of course, it wasn’t my idea to bloody hurt them, you dolt. And I’m not angry!”

“ Parece Que estás enfadado.”

“ But I’m not mad. Do I sound mad? Cause I’m not.”

“ sólo Alguien Que está loco diría eso.”

“ I’m not mad! You’re just pissing me off-“

“ ¿Así Que estás enfadado?”

“ No! Would you stop saying that? I’m not-“

The more the two argue, the more a sharp pain increase behind your eyes. It stings with every little shout and burns an irritation through you. 

You don’t know if they could feel it— could tell that you were feeling this way- but even the most oblivious person would be able to see that you were upset. Hungry, hurt, and bitter. 

“ ¡Estás muy loco! ¡Es gracioso!”

“ Stop it! This isn’t helping, and you’re just being childish!”

“ Dice el niño enojado.”

“ Don’t call me that!”

Yet, you had to guess that neither of them had the same awareness.

“Lanet olsun.” You curse.” I just wanted a quick sandwich— is that too much to ask!”

You don’t realize you’re shouting until the silence of the apartment rings in your ears. The two alters arguing was replaced by the wind rattling the windows. You’re quick to try and find traces of them hiding in the sink's reflection. Not too keen on being watched, you’re relieved to see your reflection the only thing looking back at you. 

A simple thing that makes your shoulders relax and the knee pain bearable.

You huff. The hunger in your stomach pushes you to ignore a faint tug behind your eyes. “Want something to eat. . .Just a small snack.” The cabinets great you with little to nothing— a few packets of crackers, some peanut butter- but the sight makes you all the more hungry. 

“ Hm. . . Ah, here we are.” You lick your lips and reach for the empty bread bag at the very back. “ Perfect.” 

You throw down two slices of bread on the counter before pausing. The bag has two pieces of bread left- the two butt ends that no one wants and someone will surely throw away later- but their sight stirs your stomach. You shrug and throw the last two pieces out on the counter with the rest. 

The empty bag lays forgotten in the sink while you reach for the peanut butter. You generously cover each slice of bread until the ratio is outrageously ridiculous—the white bread is now nothing but a thin slice that breaks when you squish the pieces together. You lick your fingers clean of the peanut butter— same with the knife- and put away the jar. 

You don’t care to get a plate out and put both sandwiches on a paper towel on the table. You hum and lick the knife clean before putting it in the sink on your way to the fridge. 

“ Please, please,” You mumble, searching the fridge.” I know they’re here; I just saw them- aha! Yes!” You pluck the jar of pickles out from behind a bottle of milk and shut the fridge. A huge grin spreads across your face after cracking open the pot on the first try, and you stumble into your seat. 

“ Damn,” You lick your lips; the salty pickle smell makes your mouth water. Before you could savor the taste, one pickle disappears down your throat in a flurry of quick chomps. You bang the table and throw your head back dramatically.” Damn!” Your pink tongue licks leftover juices dripping from the corner of your mouth. The taste is enough for you to bite into another pickle- this one juicer than the last. 

“ Mm. Jesus Christ. Lezzetli.” You kiss the last bite of your second pickle. Not worried about anyone seeing you this way, the food haze clouding your shame- you throw it into the air. It bonks your teeth a bit but successfully makes it into your mouth. A satisfying crunch follows its way down into your stomach. 

You recline in the chair and take a deep breath. You’ve only had two pickles, but an annoying fullness is already pushing against your stomach. 

Which, is reasonable. . . To some degree. 

Once an acceptable amount of your hunger has been dealt with, you find out through the vanishing of your food haze- it has been many months since your last proper meal. Almost a year or so... 

You tilt your head at the thought. The idea of you not eating anything for almost a year is already concerning- for many reasons- but how you were able to ignore it is one thing entirely. 

Maybe you’re not as ‘educated’ as you thought about your own body. As the other alters eat enough for two human beings altogether- you thought your hunger wouldn’t be a problem. In the headspace, you don’t even have to breathe, let alone eat. And with you being in there for so long primary human nature shouldn’t be as. . . hurtful. It shouldn’t make you cry because you’re finally able to taste something.  

But it does just that. 

You let a few tears openly slide down your face. The cold chill a sizzle against your skin. You sniff, hesitating, before sticking your tongue out to lick up one of the drops. 

“ oh no,” The taste of salt brings more tears, and you lean forwards to hide your shame in your hand.” No. No…Neden tadı böyle? Neden.. . tuzlu?” You let a sob jerk your chest while reaching for one of the forgotten sandwiches. The disgusting ratio of bread and peanut butter helps shock your taste buds into forgetting about the tears. You push the food around in your mouth until it’s soft enough to swallow, but even then, a sob keeps it from going down. 

You let the sand which falls from your hands. The creamy peanut butter taste feels like gooey slime, coating your mouth and throat in a thickness that hurts. Your tongue pushes against bits of bread to try and soak all the peanut butter up, but all that does is make a giant mouthful of muck. 

A sticky, peanut and bread crumby mess. 

Your shoulders shake— the sobs growing more and more as unwanted thoughts try and force the bite down. 

Yet, you won’t swallow. An unwillingness feeds you to savor the taste for as long as possible. The thought of betrayal- being shoved back into the headspace- raging a storm in you that makes your stomach hurt.

They know you’re here. They know you’re here— they know. 

They’re going to throw you away. They’re going to starve you; you will never eat again. You will never be free. You will never be one of them. 

You will-

“ Hey.” 

Startled, You choke down the mess in your mouth. It goes down without much fight, but the aftertaste leaves you craving a nice sip of water. 

“ The sink.” You’re not one to take orders from others- especially people from Chicago- but the soft command nudges you towards the sink without argument. As if someone was guiding you by the shoulders, rubbing slow circles into your arms. 

You don’t realize it is- in fact- your arms until they move on their own to make you a cup of water. 

Your hands- no- your alter hands bring the cup to your face. Through tears, you stare at the rippling reflection on the surface of the water, visibly not your own, as the eyebrows twist in a way you know yours aren’t. 

Angry. . . But you have a feeling it’s not directed at you. 

“ Drink. Small sips.” The Chicago accent comes alive to cup your jaw. You lean back and let your hands tip a bit of water in your mouth. They hesitate as you swallow before allowing you two more generous sips. 

“ Ok. Feel better?” 

Still, it is spaced out, your throat recovering from the sticky peanut butter, and you nod.

“ Good. That’s good. Can I. . .?”

A gentle prod phases you out of the front for just a second. But it’s enough for you to sober up and shove back into place. Your heart is racing twice as fast now, trying to keep the alter put. 

“ Don’t-“ You shrink back at your shout.” Don’t, do that. . . Please.” 

You feel a pair of eyes on you and turn. The same eyes you saw in the cup stare up at you in the faucet reflection. It’s a bit hard to tell- your poor eyesight making you squint- but when the reflection moves up into the mirror a few inches away from the sink, everything becomes clear. 

“ Marc,” You breathe, the familiar eyebrow slit a sign as to which alter you were dealing with.” How. . . How are you?”

Marc- clearly uncomfortable- folds his arms. 

“ Could be better,” He looks down at the floor and then backs up to you.” Who are you? How long have you been here?” 

You couldn’t answer that question. Technically, you’ve been here as long as the other two- Jake and Steven- but the lack of good memories skews that. 

You decide to bullshit it.” Don’t know. A— a while. As long as Jake or Steven, probably”. 

Marc raises a brow.” Probably? Why’s that?” 

“ Um,” You look away.” I don’t— I can’t remember. My, my memories are. . . I can’t remember a lot.” 

You lick your lips with a sigh. Looking back at Marc, your shoulders hunch over your chest.” I’m sorry for all this… I was just-“

“ Are you ok?” Your lips tremble. The soft look in Marc’s eyes is like a punch to the chest, the pity making you feel all the more shitty. “ Do you, do you need something?” Marc eyes the forgotten food on the table. A pit of shame opens in your stomach. 

“ No, no. . . I’m good,” You give a quick smile, your head bowed.” I’m just going to— need to sleep. I’ll; I won’t bother you again. I’m sorry. Sorry.” 

You catch Marc’s eyes widen.” Wait, no-“ 

But it’s too late. You fade back into the headspace, a lingering taste of peanut butter replaced by the tasteless wetness of your tears.

[yukieyy]

°*{Insecure}*°

{Obey me x Fem Mc}

{Replaced Mc Au}

TW: Anxiety, body insecurity,mention of self-harm,

{A/n: Remember, you're beautiful just the way you are}.

Part 2

Part 1 → ♡

Song : (✿ ♡‿♡)

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

"Oi Ayla! Hurry up will you? We're gonna miss the match!!" Mammon shouted.

You were seated at the living room, with a book in your hand. Listening to them.

"eh?! Ayla didn't you say we were going shopping today?!" Asmo shouted from his room upstairs.

"Ayla, can you buy me the book I told you about before while you're out?" Satan said passing by the said girl.

It's been a month. A month. And this is your daily life now. Ayla this, Ayla that. You don't hate her. No, she's an angel, absolute sweetheart. It's just getting tiring now.

When she arrived, she came in a better state than you did. Didn't freak out, smiling, excited, and very motivated, even the brothers that were concerned eased up.

When you were showing them around... At least that's what you thought you were doing, she knew. a lot. Almost everything. Every history. Kinda made you feel like an idiot.

You never really were good at studying or taking care of yourself. But when Ayla arrived for some reason, you found yourself trying..harder. A good thing. Right?

Maybe.

Ayla hit it off with the others so well, she's amazing at magic which sparks Lucifer's pride, she's mischievous, making her a great companion for Mammon, She got immaculate style, which Asmo absolutely adores, She probably reads as much as Satan, making her a great friend to talk to for Satan. She's amazing in cooking and she cooked food from the three realms. How amazing was that for Beel? No one could believe it but she actually was also an otaku, those long, mouthful titles to an anime Levi was talking about? That had 7 seasons and 3 movies in total? Yeah. She knew every single one. Not to mention she could sew. She made a pillow. For Belphie. That's another win.

You were happy. Yes, you were!! She's not having any trouble which is a good thing, those lower-level demons didn't try to eat her anymore. Everyone loves her. A little too much you think.

Back to the current time, you sighed. Getting up from the couch, you walked to the door.

"Mc? Where are you going?"

You turned to the voice.

"oh, Lucifer. I'm just gonna take a walk and meet up with Solomon to help him make these shady potions he found in a book. Why?"

Lucifer walked up to you and place his hand on your head. Then something glows around you, he ruffled your hair and stepped back

"Stay safe and don't go too far in the forest alright? Come home before midnight okay?"

Your chest warmed up. "Of course! See you!"

"Don't forget to eat too!" He shouted again as you walked away, you turned back and waved at him.

"Wow."

Lucifer turned back to the voice.

"what."

"Didn't know you were THAT protective. That barrier is the one you always put on Lilith wasn't it? The one where even Diavolo would lose breath to crack?" Satan questioned.

Lucifer sighed, "yes, I'm just keeping her safe. She might not notice but since she arrived here till now for some reason those lower-level demons keep following her. I wonder how strong Ayla is to shoo them in just two weeks," He chuckled

"well, Ayla is amazing that's what I'll tell you, She managed to memorize this long spell in a day. I can do it because I'm a demon. but she's a human! She's amazing, I don't know why you and Diavolo decide to summon Mc first before Ayla," Satan rambles with a shrug.

"Satan. Enough. Don't say that to anyone. Especially Mc. " Lucifer frowned.

"what? It's the truth," Satan said.

You hold your breath. You turned back a minute ago because you forgot your D.D.D. but ended up eavesdropping. Your heart clenched. Tight.

You took a deep breath and shook your head and walked out of your hiding spot.

"oh hey, Satan!"

Lucifer was shocked," Mc? When did you get back?"

"just now, I forgot my D.D.D. there," You said pointing at it on the couch. Satan walked over and picked it up and threw it to you.

You caught it and thanked him. He just smiled and walked away.

"Mc, did you hear what me and Satan talked about earlier?"

You act innocent, "Huh? No, I told you I just got here, why? Is it another secret?" You wiggle your eyebrows and him with a grin.

He scoffed, "nonsense, now move along, Solomon will be waiting,".

"aight, see ya Lucibaby!!"

"I told you not to call me that!"

You laughed from afar and gave him a flying kiss.

Another week pass by, an exam was coming up. And you were freaking out. Even though you've studied like hell, you tend to forget a bunch of stuff. Which led to you being anxious most of the time.

Exam week passes. Oh, would look at that! You passed!. That's all. You just passed. Thank god you did. Well, it's better than Mammon at least.

Not until Lucifer called you to his room that night.

You entered his room with a sorry face.

Lucifer looked at you, saying nothing.

You sighed. "I'm sorry.."

Lucifer sighed, "come here. Sit down first and we'll talk."

You sat down, hanging your head low and fidgeting with your exam paper between your fingers.

"here, let me see your paper"

You took them out and place them on the table. Not looking at him.

"Mc" he called while patting your head. "I'm not gonna scold you, let's see where you're weak in and work on it together. Okay?"

You looked up slowly and nodded. The two if you then started discussing stuff that is hard for you to score in and after a few hours you were allowed to leave.

"Mc?" You heard a feminine voice called out.

"yes Ayla?"

She walked towards you, "Why were you in Lucifer's room?"

"oh we were discussing my exam marks,"

Ayla arched an eyebrow, " can I see it? Maybe I can help you?"

"oh no no it's okay, Lucifer said he'll help me study from now on, so it's okay, I don't wanna disturb you." You said with a smile.

She frowned, "Mc, just study with me. Lucifer is busy as it is. Helping you will add more burden to him. Decline it and I'll help you study okay?"

You got quiet. It's true, Lucifer is always swarmed with paperwork. How could you just accept his offer like that?

"yeah, you're right. I was too sad to remember who Lucifer actually was,sorry " you chuckled.

Ayal didn't smile, she just looked at you and sighed. "Okay, we'll study Tomorrow with Solomon and the angels, now go to bed"

You nodded and watched her walk away.

What the fuck was that?

The next day, you were huddled up in a study group along with Ayla, Solomon, Simeon, And Luke.

You were doing okay listening to Ayla but you were getting distracted now.

"Mc!" Ayla snapped. Shocking everyone on the table.

"y-yes?!" You answered

"pay attention, will you? We need to get this chapter out before going to a harder chapter!"

"Sorry Ayla, can we take a break? I can't focus anymore." You said. Solomon rubbed your back, comforting you because he knew you can't focus for a long time.

"break? We just took one like an hour ago. That wasn't enough?! Come on Mc, you've been here way longer than me, you should be better than me don't you think?" Ayla snapped

"hey hey now, that's out of the line, Calm down Ayla," Solomon frowned.

"But Solomon just look at her and us. How was she chosen?" Ayla snickered

You were speechless. You couldn't even bring yourself to say anything because you knew she's right. You knew. You just never admitted it. Afraid of falling to the dark side of your mind.

"Ayla, we should continue this another day, Luke's getting tired too, I'm sure you have other things too, let's continue this later okay?"Simeon said.

Ayla huffed and gather her stuff before stomping off.

"what just happened?" Luke asked.

"I'm pretty sure she's just moody, she's always busy these days." You explained to Luke.

"busy? But she's an exchange student too. We aren't as busy as she are we?" Luke replied.

"well..no. she's just.. busy with the brothers.. they're always looking and asking for her..."

Solomon noticed the change in tone of your voice. He hugged you, "don't mind her, she was always like that, wasn't she? Now let's go get some food. I'm starving,"

Simeon pat your head, "You're doing great, don't let what she says get to you okay?"

You nodded, sorry Simeon, it's way too late to ignore it.

You went home after dinner with them and upon entering you were greeted by Beel who were excitedly dragging you to the kitchen.

"uhh beel? What's wrong?" You asked while watching him took out bowls, eggs,flour and a lot of other stuff.

"can you teach me how to make those cream puffs you made last time?" He asked with twinkling eyes.

You can't resist but to cup his cheeks,

"aaaa you're so cute!! Of course, I can!" And then you found yourself, stopping beel from eating a raw egg, and uncooked batter including hot oil.

An hour and a half later, you were both covered in flour, but you managed to finish.

Beel asked you to pack it prettily for him, so you took out a box and some ribbons.

"Are you giving this to someone?"

Beel smiled, "yeah, Ayla, she said if I give her cream puffs she'll bake that amazing chocolate cake again for me!"

You froze. Oh. Oh... "I- I see, Well good for you now you get to eat that chocolate cake again. Here. All done, go wash up first, I'll put this in the fridge okay?".

Beel nodded and ran off to shower. You were cleaning the kitchen when Ayla stepped in with Asmodeus talking about a perfume that you don't know about.

"Mc?" She called out.

"Yes, Ayla?"

"Didn't you just get back from dinner with Solomon?"

"yeah? Why?"

Asmo laughs, "oh sweetheart you just got back from eating and you're still cooking?"

Ayla chuckled " don't eat too much, you gain weight easily don't you? And avoid sugary food too,"

"oh no I wasn't-" you hurriedly try to explain.

"no need to explain Mc, I didn't know you were a glutton like Beel too," Asmo said after grabbing an apple and walking out with Ayla.

You stood there. Frozen. Dark thoughts continue clouding. And this time. There was no stopping them.

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

To Be Continued

← →

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

[ghoul333]

serial lover

chapter one(?)

pairing: billy x f!reader

wc: 2.8k

summary: billy wants to kill you, but you change his mind last minute.

warnings: angst, murder, swearing, fluff(?)

a/n: i used both their point of views so i hope it came out alright. i definitely want to write another chapter. hope you enjoy! <3

He looked at you from afar. Lurking in the bushes, watching your every move. It was pretty much turning into a daily routine. He wanted you, bad. Billy was heavily debating when to break in one of these nights to kill you. Lucky for him, tonight might be the night, your parents weren't home and your siblings were nowhere to be seen. Just you, sitting pretty on your bed and staring at the ceiling.

You were the perfect victim. It had been a few years since the first killing spree in Woodsboro. Everything for the most part had gone back to normal. They thought about it for a while, and considering they had succeeded the first time, Billy and Stu decided to give it another go. Only for this job was Billy on his own, Stu being with his girlfriend.

A kind, innocent girl like you? That would be fun. Though you had never wronged the pair, you were somewhat of a loner. Quiet but willing to help when needed. Might've been a distasteful move, but damn was Billy eager to hear what your screams sounded like.

And now that you were alone, it was the perfect time to play a game.

Only you weren't.

Your brother in law, Ian, was in the living room, watching a hockey game.

Billy got into a stance when he saw you getting up from the bed, figuring you would leave the room. Instead, you paced in circles. He looked down at your hands, you were flicking your index finger against your thumb, as if it was out of anxiety. You seemed to be contemplating something.

You looked at yourself in the mirror. Billy having to duck down so you wouldn't spot him. It would be a different story if he was dressed up as himself, you two were acquainted after all, having one or two classes together. But he wasn't exactly 'himself' right now, he was Ghostface. Though he and Ghostface were one in the same, you didn't know that. You would only see a masked psycho hiding in your bushes.

He was about to pick up his cellphone to call your house phone, but something stopped him. His hand was frozen in place. When he looked back to you, he noticed a change in your expression.

You were crying in the mirror.

Billy cocked his head. What the fuck was this? One minute you're fine and seemingly calm. Then the next minute you're crying as if something traumatic happened.

He raised his brows, surprised when you stopped crying immediately, as if on cue. Your eyes had been glossy but were now completely dry.

Holy shit. Where did you learn that? He thought.

You didn't look sad anymore. In fact there was no emotion at all and for some reason, Billy loved it.

—

You wiped the tears off your face and stared at yourself in the mirror. Taking a deep breath.

Was that believable?  I think so.

A part of you wished you had someone here to let you know, but this was something you needed to do by yourself. You didn't even know if you were gonna go through with it, but the urge wouldn’t leave your mind.

Hearing a loud cheer from the other room, you groaned in disgust. You had a hard time believing your family would leave Ian here with you. Especially after all the shit you've taken from him.

You could confidently say that you hated your brother in law. Your sister disappointed you, putting up with trash like him and you resented your family for tolerating it for as long as they have. For over a year, he had lived in your house. Being nothing but a bum. Always being a fucking asshole to you and your family, then making you feel like shit when you call him out.

He could get away with it too. The fact your father was rarely in town made it easy and you hated it. You hated him. You wanted him gone, for good.

You knew there was only one way. No matter how many fights, he wouldn't leave. Refused to.

If he was gone, everything would be fine. It'd take time for some people to heal, but this was for the best.

Thinking about it put a smile on your face. Even though the inhuman thoughts ashamed you, you couldn't help but let them excite you at the same time. Never in your life had you wanted to do something like this, but you craved to see that piece of shit suffer. This would be the only time, and hopefully you wouldn't get caught.

You opened up your drawer, pulling out some scissors, studying them for a few seconds before putting them back.

You weren't ready to get blood on your hands. You looked around your room, trying to find something easy and simple. You looked down at your rack of shoes. Suddenly, an idea popped into your head.

You pulled the lace from one of your old sneakers, you'd have to dump them afterwards but you wouldn't miss them. While you wrapped the string around both your hands, something came over you. You didn't even realize you were walking to the living room, until you were standing right behind him while he watched his game. At that point, your body was doing the talking. Fuck what was actually right. Fuck morals.

Billy watched all this, following your every move. He cursed himself for not noticing the other obvious person in the house. How stupid. If he decided to pursue you there was a greater chance he wouldn't get away. Stu would've had to come. You kind of saved him there.

Seeing the single shoelace in your grip and standing so close behind Ian, he was actually anticipating your next move. Which surprised him, you had him on the edge of his seat. You had opened his eyes in those last few minutes. You had him so confused.

He had been watching you for days, basically knew your day and night routine. So, where did this come from? You put on an act, even for yourself?

He couldn't deny he thought you were, somewhat, adorable. Many victims had been adorable, but being adorable doesn't mean shit to Billy. If he wanted to gut you, he would.

There were times where you would just sit and stare into a void, but he didn't really think anything of it. He didn't realize how fucked up in the head you really were.

He couldn't kill you now, definitely not. You were turning out to be just as insane as he was. Billy felt drawn to you. He was rooting for you.

You stood there long enough for Ian to notice your presence behind him. Not even turning around, he opened his mouth.

"What the fuck do you wa-" He didn't even get to finish his sentence before you wrapped the shoelace around his neck, attempting to strangle him.

Hearing him speak irritated the fuck out of you. You'd rather cut your own ears off, but why do that? He should just simply stop talking.

He was strong, but you gave yourself props for not wearing socks, your feet were planted firmly on the ground, and they weren't going anywhere. His arms were violently swinging, voice coming out in gargles. How long did I need to do this for? Maybe a plastic bag would've been easier.

It felt like forever until he quit moving. Eventually, his arms fell limp and his breathing stopped. You stood there for a moment, the lace still wrapped around him. Had you killed him?

You decided you wanted to be sure, jerking the shoelace against his neck just one more time.

Suddenly his arm flew up, grabbing the shoelace and trying to jerk your body forward. You begin to struggle against him, pulling the lace as tight as you could so he couldn't grip it, but he was able to overpower you within seconds. Yanking you over the sofa he had been sitting on, you groaned in pain as your back hit the floor. The air being knocked out of you.

Where did that adrenaline come from?

Watching you flip like that, for some reason, worried Billy. Even he thought you had him. He couldn't let this happen, he felt the strong urge to come to your rescue. Sure, some random guy dying by the hands of ghostface didn't fit the route they were trying to take, but Billy was going to protect you tonight. He needed to.

He quickly got up from where he was crouched, beginning to creep his way towards the house. He figured he needed to move fast considering how much smaller you were compared to the man you were trying to murder.

"You little fucking bitch!" Ian managed to seethe, voice extremely hoarse. He got up from where he was standing and grabbed you by the hair, making you cry out pain. Billy heard the commotion from outside, and the sound he'd been wanting to hear. He didn't like it. Why?

Why did it make him angry to hear you in pain?

You wanted to avoid eye contact with Ian, but he yanked your hair again, making you face him. The look in his eyes seemed hungry, and not in a good way.

He gave you a vile smile, before slapping you across the face, making you tumble to the floor once again. You slowly reached up, touching your cheek. A single tear threatened to fall but you quickly blinked it away. It burned, almost vibrating from the impact. You knew the slap was hard enough for blood to come through.

Fuck.

You figured you were screwed, if you knew he was gonna grab you like that you would've just duct taped him to the coach. You really did not think this one through, even though you had been thinking about it for months on end.

You felt his body heat centimeters away from you. Looking up at him, he hovered over you.

"Thank you for finally giving me a reason to do that." He said, his tone spilling venom. "I'm gonna enjoy this."

You just stared at him, you weren't scared or upset. You couldn't even be mad, you just attempted to strangle your sisters husband. What could've been expected? You probably didn't have a great chance of succeeding anyway, but you couldn't fight your urges anymore.

People like him deserved death.

You didn't have time to process another thought before Ian picked you up, throwing you against the wall. You yelped as your side impacted harshly against the wood floor. You didn't even want to look at him anymore, you had failed and were probably gonna die, or get beat into a coma.

You didn't feel him grab you again. You didn't feel him pin you against the wall. You didn't feel the corner of the table next you digging into your side. You didn't feel anything. Not even the tears falling from your eyes.

"Don't cry now darling," He whispered in your ear, you shuddered in disgust. "This is what you wanted."

His voice made you want to vomit. Cigarettes and cheap beer leaking off his tongue. Even with him up to your ear, you could smell it. He was so fucking close. Everything about this man made you sick. You couldn't understand how your sister slept beside this thing at night.

He held your body against his while he shifted his hands. They wrapped around your throat and squeezed, very hard. You couldn't breathe. You wanted to just let it happen but your body was thinking ahead of you, once again. You grabbed his hands, trying to pry him off.

You actually couldn't fucking breathe. You were going to die, staring into this mans lifeless eyes, hearing his heaving breathing...his body pressed against yours. You would rather get stabbed to death. Or burned alive. You just didn't want him to be the last thing you saw before you died. You didn't want to die.

I fucked up.

Maybe you were selfish too. You were better off just hurting yourself to ease the pain. You couldn't get him off you and it was painful. Your vision was starting to blur.

You used your feet to try and push him off you, but your attempts failed.

Unexpectedly, you fell to the floor with a thud. You quickly inhaled a large breath of air, a small coughing spell following. You couldn't hear or see anything in that moment, just trying to get up, desperately trying to regain your strength.

Breathing had never felt so good.

Weak and in pain, you used one hand to guide your way up the wall, while the other one held your throat. As you regained your vision and started to focus on your surroundings, you began to hear struggling. Lots of struggling. You were confused, you thought it was just the both of you. As you looked up, you noticed a cloaked figure on top of  Ian.

Billy had gotten into the house from your laundry room window, finding the entrance a few days ago when he was planning how he would kill you. He crept in, being as quiet as a ghost. When he turned the corner, he saw Ian pressing you deep against the wall. He watched you struggle and fight, a few tears falling from your eyes.

He tackled your brother in law to the floor, making him lose his grip on you. Billy managed to gain the upper hand quickly, getting on top of him and wrapping his hands around his throat. Ian kicked his legs, but it did no good. Billy was too far up on his chest, sinking all his body weight onto him.

You stood there and watched. You were confused and shocked on what was happening, on where this guy came from. You looked down, noticing a knife next to the person in the black cloak. You begin to panic a little inside, wondering whether this person was saving your life or here to take you both out.

It only then hit you that the knife and the black costume seemed way too familiar.

Oh shit...It can't be.

Was this, The Ghostface?

From what you and the rest of Woodsboro knew, that killer who committed all those murders years ago was supposed to be dead. So what was he doing here?

You snapped back into reality when you heard Ian trying to speak. Looking at the both of them, you saw Ian's arms swing violently once again. Billy had managed to dodge most the swings, his arms steadily pressing down on Ian's throat. He did take a few hits to the face though, but he had been through worse.

It wasn't until he started reaching for the mask.

Billy could only lean back so far, if he tried anymore Ian would gain the upper hand in a matter of seconds. He usually didn’t care, since they were going to be dead anyway, but he wasn’t going to kill you.

You noticed what was happening, even with Ghostface's back turned to you. You slowly crept your way towards them, until you could see Ian's face again.

His eyes were wide as plates and his skin looked tight as the killer pushed down on his throat. Ian's eyes snapped to you, making Billy turn his head a little to see you in his peripheral vision. You could tell by the look in Ian's eyes that he wanted your help.

Tough shit.

You slowly walked around the two, Ian was convinced you were gonna help him, beginning to reach for the mask again, fingers brushing the mouth, trying to find a grip. You kneeled, grabbing Ian's arms, pinning him down. Your gazed flickered towards the mask killer, to find he was already looking in your direction.

You decided to flash him a smile. Though you couldn't see behind that mask, Billy had the same expression.

You lowered your body down, until your mouth was leveled with Ian's ear. He was trying to fight against you, but he had no more strength. He was done for.

"See you in hell, fat shit." You spoke into his ear.

Gargles could only be heard, and the hockey game playing on the tv was basically non existent. The life Ian once had, was now gone. You slowly stood up, ghostface doing the same. You both looked at his lifeless body.

“I don’t know whether I should say thank you, or start running.” You said, letting out a laugh. It hurt like hell to speak. Your eyes moved to the masked killer and once again, he was already looking at you.

You both stared at each other for a few seconds, before he took a step closer to you. You didn’t back up, and for some reason you didn’t feel afraid. Billy reached out his hand, lightly touching your throat.

You weirdly didn’t mind the feeling, you weren’t scared of his touch, in fact, it was very gentle.

His hand trailed up, cupping the cheek that had been slapped. His thumb lightly rubbed your cheek and you couldn’t help but sigh.

“Thank you.” You told him, but he didn’t say anything. You knew he couldn’t speak, he wasn’t gonna let you find out who he was. If you recognized the voice or didn’t there was still a chance.

A car pulling up into the driveway made you and Billy snap your attention to the front of the house. He looked at you once again, seeing the fear in your eyes. He had to help you out some more, and you couldn’t be awake for it to work.

“I’m sorry.” Billy lowly mumbled, before knocking you unconscious.