#Like I need to be up early for work depression!brain. Can we just not right now?

[averbaldumpingground]

It's not the city that it was, when you were 23 or nine or even 17. The plastic subway seats, those haven't changed. But there are buildings that don't fit right in the skyline. Like condos and bike lanes, a topographic shift.

Someone is pissing in the street; that hasn't changed. But all those neon lights, they're not as bright on 8th as you remember. The sidewalk feels too grey, a long walk home that you don't think is anywhere but here.

[dreamingofep]

Forbidden Love pt. 8💔❣️

Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Reuniting with Elvis was supposed to be the highlight of your summer, but with unresolved tensions between you two, things aren't what they seem. [Fem!reader]

TW: Cussing, angst, some tension

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: Hi everyone! Posting in Elvis hours again! Hope you like where this next part is heading! More to build upon and can't wait to share with you what's next! I Hope you enjoy!

*

July 8th, 1969

The next few days felt like an eternal hell. It almost felt like you had to start your life over. It was lonely and quite depressing. You were so mad at Elvis for how he’s treated you after all these years and the other night was your breaking point. You thought a person could change but you might have been wrong. You didn’t want to talk to anyone about what happened over dinner. You kept to yourself for the next few days and no one seemed to mind. John didn’t bring up once why you stormed out of Elvis’ house. It was a better idea for him to do that. You didn't want anything to do with him. 

You had to get yourself out of this funk. You can either let this define you or do something else to make a difference in your career. You started taking fewer hours at the diner which was a scary choice because you knew it wasn’t going to be easy getting new auditions and getting booked for them. It had been three years since you’d gotten anything remotely interesting. You were afraid you didn’t have it anymore. 

You tried to push that negative energy out of your mind and focus on some good. You had to try and go out there. It was still your passion and something you would tirelessly work for. 

For the next few days, you set out for any audition you could find. You'd wake up early to go to the diner for a few hours, then change into new clothes to go search for audition notices around the city. There were quite a few you found and it made you feel hopeful one of these projects could be yours. 

You hadn’t spoken to Elvis this entire time. It was almost strange after you were so used to this new routine you two had. You had too much anger towards him to speak to him about everything without yelling at him again. You were surprised that he didn’t even try calling you. Every time the phone rang, you always expected to hear his smooth southern drawl ring in your ear but you were left disappointed. 

After a few days of nothing but empty promises and bad auditions, you had to keep trying. You knew there would be a hundred nos before there would be one yes. You were about to head out for the day and go to another audition you had scheduled when the phone rings. You were home alone and wondered who could be calling this time of day. 

You quickly pick it up, “hello?” 

“Hi, may I speak with y/n?” A woman’s voice says on the other end of the line. 

“Speaking?” You say, not recognizing the woman’s voice. 

“This is Nancy from Paramount Studios. We’re holding open auditions today for a new production. Your resume was passed onto us from a friend and we were wondering if you’re free to come in today around one?” She asks you. 

You were a bit taken aback. This was unheard of for you. No one was calling you for auditions, you were normally the one on the phone begging them for a chance to be seen. But you had to push that self-doubt away and seize this opportunity now. 

“Oh yes, I can be there no problem!” 

“Wonderful, we’ll see you then,” she says. 

You were thrilled, this could be a new start for you. Your brain couldn’t help but spoil the moment with doubt. This all felt too easy. You had only been out looking for new jobs for a few days and this fell into your lap? It didn’t settle with you, right? 

It had Elvis written all over it.  

He did something to get you this. Sure, it could be just dumb luck but with Elvis around, that wasn’t a thing. He needed to stay away from you, you didn’t want him around screwing up anything else for you. 

You raced to the studio and got there early to get your hands on the script they wanted you to read from. The audition went really well. The scene they had you do dealt with a girl pleading for her boyfriend to tell her the truth whether he loved her or not. It wasn’t too far off from your real life you realize. You connected with the script and let your emotions over your whole situation with Elvis fuel your performance. You left the soundstage feeling positive but still not that hopeful you had the role. It had been a while since you worked so you weren’t sure if your lack of work would hinder you. 

The next day, you get a call and it just about makes you scream with joy. You got the part and you needed to be on set in two days. You couldn’t be happier. It was a shorter production for your character but you didn’t mind it. You get to be on set for five days and do what you love. It was going to be a new start for you, just like you hoped. You had a new sense of optimism. Things were going to be alright, and maybe you needed Elvis out of your life for it.

That thought made your heart cry.

*

The first day of shooting went well and the entire cast and crew were wonderful to you. You had some jitters at first but they disappeared when you started to work with everyone. Everyone showed you respect and appreciation for showing up and being prepared for the day. 

You’re always surprised how much waiting there was when you’re on set. Your call time might say for you to be onset at three, but you won’t start shooting til four. That’s Hollywood for you. It takes the crew a while to set up the new camera or change locations. Thankfully you had the patience for this waiting game.

You weren’t called onto set for another three hours so you had time to kill. They were kind enough to give you a small trailer to get ready in that you shared with another co-star. It wasn’t like what the big stars got but you were thankful you had a couch in there you could take a nap in if you wanted. Sometimes you have to take advantage of the downtime and get a few minutes of sleep. You were going to be on set late today for scenes that were going to be shot at night so you needed the rest.

You lay down on the small, two-seat sofa and try to get comfortable. A knock on your trailer door snaps you awake and you sit up. You couldn’t have dosed off for more than a few minutes and became fearful that you overslept and they were looking for you on set.

“Come in,” you quip, straightening out your hair and smoothing the dress you had on.

Sunshine pours into the trailer and a tall shadow walks in. Your heart stops when you see his face. That beautifully sculpted face that people dreamed about was standing in your trailer. 

Elvis.

He wore tan slacks and a white button-up, looking at you like he did when he first saw you a few weeks ago. He looked so put together and effortlessly beautiful. His hair fell down on his forehead, just how you liked it. He wore these gold sunglasses that had his initials on the sides of the frames. He takes them off and his blue eyes melt into you. God he was beautiful, it shouldn’t be that distracting but he was! You blamed it on not seeing him for the last week that you were jarred by his presence but who were you fooling, he was just too damn beautiful to look at.

Your mouth goes dry as you stare at him longer, not expecting him to be here. 

“What are you doing here,” you say a bit coldly. 

He continues to stare at you and doesn’t say anything right away. 

“How are you, honey?” He asks softly. His voice has you melting. You curse at yourself for feeling this way for him. Even after everything he did, you still feel weak around him. 

“I’m fine,” you say softly. 

He stays quiet and looks around your small dressing room. You didn’t want him here lingering, he came here for a purpose and you wanted to get him out of here as quickly as possible. You also had things to get off your chest. You didn’t want him to stall or try to do anything drastic. 

“How much did you pay them to get me in this movie?” You ask him, crossing your arms against your chest.

He turns around quickly, confusion covering his face.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, taking a few steps closer to you, and taking off his sunglasses.

“Oh come on don’t play dumb, I’m not an idiot. I haven’t gotten an acting job in over three years. Then all of a sudden I get a call that I was recommended to them by someone? It doesn’t make sense,” you huff.

“I didn’t pay them, honey,” he says calmly.

“Stop calling me honey,” you snap, “and stop lying to me!"

His lips form in a scowl and his blue eyes burn into you menacingly. He stands before you and takes a slow breath in while looking at you. He makes you feel on edge, being this close to him again was too much to handle. He was so provocative without even trying. His presence pulled you in so easily and made it hard to focus even when he was mad. He gently lifts your chin up to look into his eyes. His skin on yours again made you feel like a puddle. You defiantly look at him and wait for him to say something.

“From what I remember, you like me calling you honey quite a bit,” he teases, eyeing you up and down slowly. You hold your breath as you feel yourself crumble for him. He was right, of course he was and it pissed you off. 

“I’m trying to be civil with you. I just wanted to see you,” he says low.

You quickly push his hand off of your face and scowl at him.

“Did you think this would make up for what you did? Like I’d forgive it all?” You ask him.

“I didn’t do anything about this role. I didn’t pay anyone anything,” he says fiercely. Your heart gallops away at his tone and the way he continues to look at you.

“I did pass your information to producers here, yes, I did. I still know people here and met with one of them last week for lunch. They were saying they were having a hard time casting this movie. He explained to me the role and… of course, I thought of you. It’s like second nature to me… but I just passed on your information, that’s all. I helped you get the call sure, but you did the work. You were the one who impressed all the producers and director. You got yourself here, I just wanted to help from a distance, that’s all,” he explains.

You sit down quickly on the couch behind you, feeling the wind get knocked out of you. 

He was just trying to do something good.

He did something kind and stayed out of the way.

He’s letting you shine and do what you love.

Damnit he's impossible to hate.

You didn’t know what to say to him. You felt bad for snapping at him like this. You’ve had so much pent-up anger towards him this last week you couldn’t think straight about the whole situation. The sight of him on a magazine cover in the grocery store ticked you off. The sound of his voice on the radio put you in a foul mood for the rest of the day and you almost always drove in silence because of it. You still hadn’t listened to his new album even though it was everything anyone was talking about.

The guilt wracked through you the longer you looked at him. You couldn’t find the words to start to apologize to him. He still put you through a lot of strife. This wasn’t going to make it all magically disappear but it was a good start.

“I… I didn’t know,” you say timidly.

He stays silent, letting you find the words you want to say.

“I appreciate the help,” you continue.

“It’s the least I could do… you know I care for you don’t you?” He asks, taking a seat next to you on the sofa. “I’ve missed you terribly. I hate not seeing you.”

He looks at you softly, his eyes pleading for you to keep looking at him. He places his hands on either side of your face and gently rubs him thumbs across your cheeks, studying every detail of your face. It felt so good to be touched by him again. He was so comforting and intoxicating to be around. He keeps staring at your lips, parting his slightly as you’re both sitting there and he leans in a bit more. Both of you breathe in sharply as you get closer.

You were nervous for this to go any further. On one hand, you wanted him to kiss you like he used to, you missed how his lips made you feel on fire. You wanted to let your guards down with him. A part of you wanted him to hold you in his arms again and hear him say how much he’s missed you. What you would give to hear him plead for you over and over and over…

You let that fantasy wither away and slowly pull your face out of his hands. You take a sharp breath in, you were holding it the entire time he was touching you. He looks like he just got his heart ripped out of him. He was so physical and emotionally hurt by you.

“I want to believe every word you say, but you have to understand why I have the hesitancy not to,” you sigh. His eyes fill with hurt as he looks at you.

He gets up and runs his hand through his hair, clearly frustrated even though you can’t see his face anymore.

“Please come by the house after you’re done here, so we can talk. I just want to talk to you again,” he says firmly as he heads for the door.

“Elvis I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, trying to stop him.

“Y/n please, I don’t want to fight with you here. Just come to the house after you're done here okay?” He says sternly.

“No, I’ll go over when I’m ready to talk to you. I have to be back here really early too so I can’t come by,” you snip.

“Goddamn it,” he mumbles under his breath and goes to the door furiously, not taking another look at you. The sound of it slamming made you more upset at yourself. You didn’t know what to say to him. It was hard to have him look at you with those soft eyes that could make you do anything. You didn’t want to talk to him about everything you’ve been feeling these last few days. You wanted more time to process this all. It wasn’t going to be easy to stay away from him.

*

The next few days on set were wonderful and went by too quickly. You wished you had more days to work with all the kind people in the production. Elvis weighed in the back of your mind though. All you could see were those hurt, pleading eyes of his that begged for your attention. It had been over a week since the huge fight you two had. You still weren’t ready to talk to him. You knew it would go the same way when you saw him in your trailer the other day. You didn’t want to blow up on him again, you needed to have a civil conversation. 

It was a sweltering night in LA. The city was experiencing a heat wave and wasn’t letting up for a few more days. You were looking forward to being in your air-conditioned apartment and relaxing. It was well after midnight and started to drive home. There was no traffic this time of night but the lights of office buildings in town poured onto the darker roads, illuminating your way home. 

You unlock the front door and feel the warm, stale air hit you in the face. It was also pitch black in there and couldn’t see a thing in front of you. John had to be home, he didn’t stay this late at Elvis’. 

“John?” You say loudly. The flick of a match makes you stare into the darkness, trying to see who’s in there. 

He was in the kitchen and stepped out, “yeah?” 

“Why are all the lights off? Why is it so damn hot in here?” You say grumpily. 

“The powers shut off,” he says lighting another candle. 

“What do you mean? Was there a blackout or something?” You say confused. 

“The bill wasn’t paid on time,” he grumbles. 

You were taken back. John took care of the rent and the electric bill. He made more than you and that’s just how you’ve always done it. He had never missed a payment like this, even in hard times. He never asked you for the money even if you two were having a really hard month.

“What do you mean? Elvis paid you right? You’ve been working three weeks for him. I’m sure that’s been plenty to pay the electric bill,” you press. 

“Well it wasn’t, we’ll figure it out in the morning.” He snaps at you, taking the candle to the bedroom with him. 

You knew he was lying. The man was lying right to your face. You just about had enough of it with all the men in your life lately lying through their teeth when talking to you.

You follow him to the other room, needing to understand what’s going on.

“Please don’t walk away from me. I don’t understand how we didn’t have money to pay the electric bill. This has never happened,” you press.

“I said I’ll figure it out in the morning! Get off my back about it. Should probably get used to it if you’re going to be out there acting again,” he huffs.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Are you blaming this on me?!” You protest.

“Well you’re not helping very much,” he snarls at you.

You look at him in disgust, not believing this is how the man you thought you loved is treating you.

“How dare you. You’re unbelievable, you know that. I know Elvis is paying you more than you’ve made in a long time so I don’t understand where our money is going,” you seethe.

“I guess it’s none of your concern since it’s not your money,” he barks at you.

You had enough. You couldn’t be anywhere near him at this point. You needed to know where all that money was going but you didn’t have the patience tonight to go back and forth with him. It was ridiculous the way he was talking to you. It seemed the happier you were, the meaner he was to you, sucking all the joy out of your life.

You quickly push past him and reach under the bed for your duffle bag. You open your closet and pull articles of clothing off the hanger and shove them into the bag. You then go to the dresser and put more clothes in there before rushing to the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” John asks annoyed.

“I can’t be here. I’m going to stay at a friend's tonight,” you snap.

“Come on,” he says dumbfounded, pulling at the duffle bag, trying to get it out of your hands.

You quickly pull it back though and don’t let him get it out of your grasp.

“No, I’m going. I’m tired of your shit,” you yell, quickly getting out of his sight. You rush out of the apartment and get back in your car. You drive almost on autopilot, leaving your neighborhood and driving up to the Hollywood hills, towards Elvis.

*

*

*

Tagging: @loving-elvis @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis

@ccab @presleyenterprise @theresalwaysep

@sillybookmarks @dkayfixates

@ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog

@myradiaz @tacozebra051

@18lkpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873

@austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis

@everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers

@idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy-

@elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony.

@generoustreemystic @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley. @iloveelvis @rjmartin11 @that-hotdog

@louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8

@arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69

@mh777ep1938

@50sexyshadestashionista

@oldhOllywOod @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs

@sloppiest-of-jos @thisis-theway @gatheraheart

@aphroditebabygirl @faeolwen

[thought--bubble]

Taking a little breaky break

This is just a heads up for my small little group of people on here. I have come to call my friends. I just wanted to let you all know that I'm going to be taking a much needed respite from tumblr and probably discord, too. I am feeling lost, sad,overwhelmed, and confused.

I know it sounds silly or whatnot, but all of this stuff is overwhelming and depressing, and I feel sick when I open this app at this point.

The best word to use, I guess, would be winded, maybe?

I joined Tumblr in Sept 23, and at first, it was really fun, a much needed escape from my daily never-ending list of crap to do.

I unfortunately learned how crazy this fandom can get early on and the hard way. I had hoped that that was just a one-off due to my newbie ignorance and took it as a lesson learned for myself.

But it's starting to feel like the drama never fucking stops. It just keeps going, and nice people, kind people, just get dragged and ridiculed for seemingly no reason. I will pathetically admit that I am a sensitive soul, and the things I've read and seen have seriously negatively affected me.

When people are catty regarding people they don't like or that don't like them, I can usually reconcile that to a particular degree. People are, in fact, people. Not everyone is going to vibe with everyone, and people will make jokes at others' expense, and it isn't exactly mature, but it happens.

That is what I expected when I heard this was coming. Some catty shit slinging between people who don't like each other.

But that isn't all this was, and I'm having a really hard time with that. I even thought, "Oh maybe some moderately rude jokes here and there where you know cultural differences and stuff could account for that" like I'm from the northeast and we can be harsh out here. So something that may be offensive to someone from another area may be looked at here just as a joke made in poor taste.

I know I myself have made jokes or whatnot, but you would think certain things would be off limits.

I thought I could combat the negative with positives. Silly jokes, little messages filled with love, but even that isn't working at this point.

My heart hurts, and my brain hurts.

And all this stuff has made me question myself. I had a block list a mile long for the longest time. Filled predominantly with people I had never spoken to because I was scared, nervous, I didn't want to accidentally interact with a post of someone who would be upset that I did, I unfollowed blogs I liked based on this same principle. I just desperately did not want to make someone mad or uncomfortable and find myself back in some weird mean anon tornado.

I tried to sus out who would be bothered by my presence and who wouldn't. I can't even know if my thoughts on who may or may not be upset by me were based on my paranoia or a perception i developed or was potentially affected by outside sources.

Now, i just don't know what the hell is going on.

Sorry for the word vomit. Just wanted to be honest. There are some of us out here who are just standing around with question marks over our heads.

Maybe it's because I wasn't here for a lot of that other weirdness. Maybe it's because of early events that shaped my experience on this app, but I for sure 100% need a break.

I'm an odd duck and love this app mostly because it's the only site I've seen where others actively fan-girl over my favorite Ewan character.

But right now, not even my love for Will can keep me on this app, and for those who know me, that's truly saying something.

This post is not meant to badmouth anyone at all. Honestly at this point I couldn't bad mouth anyone because I'm fucking lost on who anyone really is or how they really feel about things, dude I'm just plain lost.

Thank you to those who have been kind. My apologies to those I may have judged or assumed things about based on who the hell knows.

I hope that when I come back, I can open this app without yet another person that I like having a post of them being torn apart. Or a post of a story that I had heard being told in a completely different way and throwing me for a complete loop.

For now I am going to watch Will edits on TikTok and maybe read via Ao3.

Love and healing vibes to all.

[carpememes]

10 Minute Power Hour Starters

"You gotta warn me because I was just about to yell 'Remember who made you cum?' and how embarrassing would that shit have been?"

"We've got ____ here. Can you believe it?"

"Alright, shut the fuck up, everybody."

"No, not the stegosaurus!"

"Oh! We're giving samples. I've done this before."

"Can you Urkel your way to a win?"

"I don't love this."

"Glug glug glug, now I'm drunk."

"WOO! Show us how it's done, baby!"

"It's what all the kids on youtube are doing."

"Where is this piece? Did you steal my piece?"

"Bro, I'm killing it."

"Am I right, the youth?"

"You didn't even savor the peelies."

"You just ripped it off like a barbarian."

"Sizzle sizzle, baby bitch."

"It's gonna be really dramatic and cool!"

"I don't want a pumpkin growing in my belly."

"What a fool he is, to get wood confused with food items."

"I told my mom to help me clean it up and she said 'no thank you'."

"___ said I look like the floor of an arcade."

"My heart is beating so fast right now."

"Spin the wheel, you bitch."

"We're visible to lots of people, but it feels great to be truly seen by someone special."

"Well, not like my BEST best friend but he's definitely in that class."

"That's too much plastic crap."

"You look like something they'd serve at 2 in the morning at iHop."

"I feel like i just came back from a mythical creature bukake."

"This is what the ladies are into. A big ol brain horn of goo."

"I'm an ex-man. Which means I used to be a man."

"Yeah you won. Everyone's great. Three people need to go to the hospital but hooray you won."

"Thanks for invalidating my win, dude. I worked hard for this."

"You popped which means you are legally obligated to not stop."

"Please. No laughter."

"I feel you should've said something."

"I has bro! Do you has bro??"

"Well, I think you get double points for that."

"You got a serious buttchin and you need to admit it and use it!"

"YOU DID THIS!"

"We're losin it. We're losin it! ___, we're losin it!"

"This shirt's better now."

"No don't! ___, fucking, god damn it!"

"That was the most legit anger I've heard out of you in so long."

"Why is it filled with chestnuts?! And a lemon!"

"Thanks for celebrating my birthday. This was really fun and not depressing."

"Hold on! I have to do some research."

"Jesus. Reginald. Christ."

"You did it! It's a nightmare."

"What do you think? You think i look sexy?"

"Am i out kissin vandals and vagrants?!"

"Imagine I'm rubbing your thighs."

"I'm going to open a tube of goo now."

"You're a sucky friend!"

"I'm doing all of the colors, you fuck!"

"I know what makes green! Magic and jesus!"

"Oh cool! It looks not that great!"

"It looks like somebody's pancreas exploded over here."

"Anyone wanna be on camera?"

"Drink it, you armadillo."

"Have you witnessed me?"

"Ew, ewww- EEEWWW!"

"Nooo, I don't wanna be the hulk anymore."

"There we go. That's a big boy."

"Are you gonna attack or are you too scared?"

"Admittedly you wield a lot of power that I was not aware of."

"It makes magic fun!"

"That's not what I wanted at all."

"I feel like a cat that just fell in the bathtub."

"YES! Eat the worms!"

"Early 2000s is retro?"

"What is the best time of day to shake a baby?"

"Oh no! It's making the connection that I'm it's mother!"

"We dont have all day. Im becoming sterile wearing these jock straps."

"So you can stick your little emoji faces in here when you write your diary about how much God has betrayed you."

"That is one of the worst shirts I've seen in my life. Put it on."

"What? Oh, I suppose you want to KISS about it?!"

"I dunno. I guess cuz I'm an asshole."

"What do you mean 'is that really what it looks like'? It looks magical!"

"In this world we must all tilt.... But we also a-whirl."

"Look around you. All you see is death and chaos... Here is a kirby."

"Every birthday is like the grim reaper moving one peg on the abacus of your life."

"Everytime I try to solve it i'm just making things worse. Which is just an analogy for my life."

"I was brewin' in the nutsack of an older man."

"It was like having Chuck-e-cheese right in your house."

"The ooze doesn't smell great."

"Parents killed each other to get this thing."

"I threw up a lot more in the 90s than I do now."

"It's about to erase your memory."

"____, Im so sorry, but there's something your mother and I have to tell you."

"It's not your fault! Don't ever think it's your fault!"

[himbeereule]

(please excuse my language. normally i don't swear, but i'm really not well right now.)

tomorrow is my birthday (fuck)

i also have a presentation tomorrow (i haven't started on it yet, and i don't have any powerpoint-esque software to begin with. fuck)

i also have two exams tomorrow (i wasn't present when we learned the stuff that'll get asked there, i haven't started trying to catch up, and there is no script or comparable materials to do that to begin with. fuck)

i went outside and there were too many people and my brain went "seems like a good time to start a major depressive episode!" (fuck)

i'll call in sick to school tomorrow because otherwise i'll 100% unalive myself (i already have trouble with my boss because of too many sick days - they were all during school blocs. idek why he cares as long as my grades are fine, but i might end up losing the job once my contract runs out. fuck)

i mean, i'm aware that i'm just whining, but seriously. how fucking unfair can the world be. with my set of issues, i should be dead or in a closed psychiatric facility. but because i happen to be really good at most things, people expect me to constantly overperform. which i can't. i barely function at all. i lost my last job because of too many sick days; two days later, they hired me back because the whole department fell apart without me. when my boss at my current job warned me about the number of sick days (even though almost all of them were during school blocs which i'll be done with next year anyway) he told me i only have a chance still because if i'm there 80% of the time i'm still way more productive than others who are never sick.

don't know where i'm going with this - again, just pathetic whining, feel free to ignore - but the bitterness has to go somewhere i guess. i stumbled through the entire school system, every single teacher/professor i had was like "oooh, you're really good, i expect great things from you" and then did EXACTLY NOTHING to help with that - on the contrary, they actively hindered me by insisting on petty bureaucratic bullshit. so now i'm stuck with a mediocre upper-level graduation paper that makes me a "specialist worker" but also bars me from studying any of the things i actually could get through despite my issues; and i can't keep any job, because, despite outperforming pretty much everyone in productivity in all my jobs, i can't get consistent attendence rates, and HR shift planners hate that.

welp, i'll try to work on the project(s) at least. don't want to disappoint everyone here as much as i'm disappointing myself and everyone else.

(also, it feels so fucking weird to add tags to this, like... my immediate reaction is "huh? i'm not writing this to get attention, i don't need tags!"; but then i realize i am absolutely doing this for attention, because note number go up makes brain give dopamine shot like one of these early 2000s coin machines where you'd get grimy 10 year old candy if you tricked the mechanism into working... still not adding all the diagnosis tags though this time, the guilt i'd feel over this isn't worth the potential extra readers)

[derp-the-arson-cat]

I failed in the system that set me up to fail. I was offered help as a neurodivergent kid, given a place to go to ask for help but because I had severe anxiety that came up when I was an early teenager, I didn’t go to seek it out.

I often blame myself for not sucking it up but when I was raised in a family and household where talking about your problems is taboo, an unspoken rule, unless it’s in a fit of rage where it’s pointed at someone. I have this problem but i just joke about everything, seeing my family react with eye rolls and exasperation stops me from speaking about it in a serious capacity outside of a single sentence mention.

I also suck at studying, always have. Put me in front of a boring subject without any distractions, my brain will become the distraction. Maladaptive daydreaming is the worst thing to happen to me, it takes over my life and means that I require constant stimulation to feed it, music, videos, skits. I need it to sustain it like a parasite but when I do, I start to stim. My main stimming technique is pacing, it’s something I can’t stop and I barely notice it happening so when I’m doing my chores it takes forever because I’ll pace around the room before going back to doing it.

I failed maths three times because of this. Three times I’ve failed my gcse and now I’m just out of college because I couldn’t handle the anxiety of the course I was on.

So with that context out of the way:

Parents! Please don’t just ignore your child’s issues! Whether that’s neurodivergent children or neurotypical.

I was never shown other methods to study, I wasn’t taught to have an incentive and I was just told to get off my phone after years of being let just grow addicted to it without being taught a balance or how to deal with such problems. I was told to just do it. And yes I don’t want to be coddled like a useless child because it only hurts me when you act like I should know everything.

I can’t put on a washing machine load and I’ve only recently learned how to use a tumble dryer. I can’t cook for myself as I was never taught outside of a year at school so I only eat unhealthy meals. I can make a mac n cheese. That’s it. I’m incredibly underweight and unhealthy and can only rely on sugary shit to try and fill the at calorie deficit which means I always feel ill or weak after an hour of work. I just get told that they feel worse than me so I’m invalid. Even if it’s unspoken, that’s the message.

Even if these things are supposed to come naturally to people, even if these things are the simplest things to get right it doesn’t mean that everyone can grasp it right. We need help to reach these steps because we can’t quite reach that high even when I stretch. We need someone to make that stool so we can reach and climb.

I’m now 18, almost 19, living at home in a family of 5, unemployed and out of education. I have no math gcse and I feel like crap every day. My family try but they don’t understand my needs and I don’t feel like I can reach out in a way they’ll understand.

I’m depressed. I’m lazy, I’m addicted to the screen and I don’t know how to stop any of it. Whats worse is that I feel like I deserve it. That I deserve to feel like crap because of everything, because I’m lazy because I didn’t try hard enough but it doesn’t hit like a punch it just… is. It’s a simple fact. I try one thing but it doesn’t reach far enough. I’m not explosive, I’m not loud. I’m quiet and passive with a rotten temper that I learned to deal with through being stuck with someone who had one worse.

Parents, cook with your children. Teach them how to deal with neurodivergence in a world where acceptance only goes as far as being only a fraction outside of the cookie cutter. Be gentle but never wavering, we need time and encouragement.

Maybe it’s just me, maybe I’m just one in a million or even one in a billion floating in a sea of clueless dismissal but that means that there is still at least 8 people like me in the world or maybe millions more.

Learning disabilities aren’t just in the school system they’re everywhere including life skills as simple as these and maybe I’m the only person in the world with this problem but that doesn’t mean that there won’t be one or more after me.

Don’t let your experiences impact your child’s. You may have been living alone at 16 but I could never survive like that so don’t compare you to me. Your depression may have been easy to push through but it isn’t mine so don’t compare your depression to mine. Your mind isn’t mine, so don’t compare the two. Stop comparing and start assisting, start being there when people can’t do things alone, even if it’s invisible, or difficult.

[oatmealdaydreams]

So, I Watched "My Roommate is Hades"

Here's some reactions from me as I watch the pilot episode. Maybe be a bit of rant/long post. Told and expressed in bullet points (list).

Trigger/Content Warning: nude/naked mention (vague), all-caps, cursed image, boomer, fire (fake, CGI)

Major Spoilers: My Roommate is Hades (MRIH) [Pilot Episode]

SIR, I HAVE THOSE SAME GLASSES, WUT-

his name is Homer. like the Greek poet, Homer.

FUN FACT: Lehrer means "teacher" in German

Homer Lehrer -> Greek poet name and also surname means "teacher"? oh f*ck yeah

Matthessy? like... like Odessey? or am I just a nerd.

nice theme song ya got there - catchy

"yeah, that Hades" what other Hades would he be, your main audience are all queer as f*ck, we KNOW Greek Mythology

second time to college - good to note

first degree in chemical engineering but went nowhere? love me some "Thomas projects on his characters" content

Homer is a sweetheart, look at him in his little videos on campus, he's ready to learn, a curious poet man

over 10 years since he last went to school, m'kay

"oh sheesh" -> I laughed at his reaction to how long it's been since he was in school LMAO

yeah, some adjustment period, huh?

Homer's lighting is warm hue and Hades' lighting is cold/icy hue

"HEy-" ffs, Hades almost scared me, jfc

why does Homer look scared in Hades' POV but in his own POV, he just looks annoyed?

^hmm, interesting...

ALSO: NEW MEME/REACTION IMAGE UNLOCKED

^I'm laughing, omg-

"doughy mortal" my dude, you make him sound like a pastry

Homer says "mortal rights"

just love the interaction of Homer thinking doughy means he hasn't been working out or something & Hades is like "no, I mean you're soft" and goes on a mini tangent about how he'd die to the easy-feat crocodiles back in Ancient Greece

I have a feeling Hades is gonna talk about Ancient Greece a lot throughout this series - cause it's home

"again with the crocodiles" -> man has talked about crocodiles before, hasn't he?

Hades is an early sleeper, I guess??

^also, 3pm? my dude, that's the afternoon, no need to sleep that f*cking early

love how Hades can just whoosh into visibility from the shadows - excellent for stealing pizza from roommate

"I like my money" OKAY THEN, RICH BOI.

wait, wtf are you doing in college, you f*cking snobby pizza-hoarding mf?

Hades is just walking around with very little to no clothes on, and Homer just closes his eyes and takes off his glasses like "this f*cking dude" in annoyance

"In Ancient Greece, everyone was naked all of the time!" -> everyone in Ancient Greece was also very gay and queer, shut up

^"puppet shows-" WAIT WUT

"You keep bringing up the meaninglessness of mortals' lives." // "To be fair, you're pretty good at bringing it up yourselves."

^I HAVE PERISHED (/pos)

"that's gen z" // "I'm a millennial, I can only be depressed-"

^gonna cry, omfg LMAO

Homer being surprised at Hades' confession that he doesn't want to be here either is something to note; perhaps they both don't want to be the situation they're in, for different reasons

^something to connect over?

Hades misses his doggo

ah yus: brother Zeus says "ya kinda weird bro" and then yeets him into mortal college

"f*cking community college-" I DIED, H A-

mm, love it when Gods get yeeted by their siblings into mortal bodies to learn a lesson - very delicious trope

"yes I did, Benjermin Franklin" // "what the f*ck-"

HE CALLS HIM BENNIE - I'M SOBBING

Bennie is my favourite, omg

never pause this video - oh god

HERE, HAVE A CURSED IMAGE

^suffer with me :3

"college is useless, death is inevitable" -> you would get along with gen z, wouldn't you?

"fate worse than immortality itself" -> using this every time I have a mild inconvenience

Homer has an existential crisis - relatable

"So, upon seeing the ghost of Benjermin Franklin, something broke inside my brain."

^HADES, STOP BREAKING YOUR ROOMMATE'S BRAIN. MORTALS ARE FRAGILE; THEY BREAK EACH OTHER'S BRAINS ALREADY ON THEIR OWN, DON'T ADD TO IT

Homer being like "learning that Gods exist was a shocker, but hey - worse sh*t has happened" is my fav thing about him

^this is him upon learning the Afterlife is real

RIP Homer's Sanity, never had a chance, 2023 to Never

ah yus, Greek God eats grapes like he's posing for a statue made after him. classic Gods behaviour

FLORAL SHIRT - the flower motif continues

love how chill Hades is about the Afterlife/explaining it as if Homer didn't just have his entire worldview and reality break in half

5 rivers, Tartarus, Rive Styx - love all of this Greek Mythology knowledge

^the true gayness comes out when GREEK MYTHOLOGY

Hades doesn't know Beyonce - a true Greek tragedy

"is any of them, idk, nice?" // "eh-"

^that's not reassuring

Homer's Existential Crisis, Part II

scales of judgement, mm

...can we please give Homer a hug? he needs one.

Hades has teal/light blue fire- neat

Homer studied Greek Mythology in school? that's very gay of you, sir.

Afterlife has Purgatory and Cool Kids Club, confirmed

Hades not putting people in places cause grey areas and "too much paperwork" - relatable lmao

I just realized Hades is basically like "back in my day" with Ancient Greece

^is Hades a boomer-

^^OH GOD, HE'S A BOOMER

Homer really said "um morals tho-" and Hades gets angy

Hades complaining about the weird deal between Zeus and Menelaus(?) is funny to me

wait, Hades complaining about Orpheus is funnier, omg-

I sense some "no one listens to me or heeds my advice" angst from Hades

"f*cking artists-" laughing, crying, TIME TO PERISH

"not even mortals listen to me" -> I WAS RIGHT

hmm, a wager? interesting...

this is gonna get so gay, oh dear lord

"little man" -> Homer is short, confirmed

THE FIRE-WHEN-MAKING-A-DEAL TROPE - YUS

Immediately recognized Hermes, the casting is brilliant

gay-ass Hermes, yep

THEY'RE ALL HERE - uh oh-

Persephone is mentioned and then Hades is like "skjhfkajs- I mean, oh really? haha, how is she?"

Hermes being like "I have no f*cking clue" is funny to me LMAO

Hermes is a flirt, confirmed

^he literally winks/flirts with Homer lmao

Zeus heading a fraternity? most canon thing in canon

"if there's one thing I care about less than humanity, it's my family"

^LMAO Hades is an emo edgelord with a literal God Complex

"a living hell... in a bad way" -> why is that funny-

"I JUST WANTED TO GO BACK TO COLLEGE"

the best ending line, lmao

mm, outro

===

Some Overall Thoughts

Because this is the Pilot episode, and Thomas had admitted somewhere that he's not entirely sure how to do what he intends to do, I didn't expect perfection. I was right not to. This is still a very good pilot episode, even with the random things I noticed. It does sound a bit more scripted in an obvious way. Which can be a bit... just eh. We'll see how this goes.

The different lighting choices for Hades and Homer was a nice touch. I appreciate the blue/icy lighting for Hades, as he is portrayed as a cold character. I also appreciate the orangish-yellow/warm lighting for Homer, as he is portrayed as a kind and moral character. There's even some colour themes with them, evident in their student cards. Homer has that beige theme, and Hades has the light blue theme. Hades' fire is even teal/light blue, which is a nice little detail.

The generation jokes were funny (to me, at least), but I can recognize how they'd be kinda blah with other people. Hades seems to be a bit of a boomer (always talking about Ancient Greece in the back-in-my-day fashion), while Homer is a millennial (literally says so in one of his generation jokes). Even then, still funny to me.

^But still, can be a bit flat in the humour department.

I love everyone's distinct personalities already. We have our protagonist, Homer Lehrer, who just wants to go to college and make something of his life; Hades, a Greek God who's "out of touch" with the real world and thus has been sentenced to community college; Hermes, who's a flirty, flamboyant mf with no clue who tf sent the letters or where tf they came from (even though he's literally The Messenger); and we have everyone else, yet to be seen on screen.

The family banter already (between Hades and Hermes) is 100% my fav part about the Greek Deities. Them just bickering like mortal family members would. I love it!

Some lore/theories to think about! Who sent the letters that knocked all of the Greek Deities out and sentenced them to mortality and community college? Why did this happen? Where did the letters come from? How tf did Hermes send himself a letter and then blackout like his amass of siblings & family members? What's the deal with Persephone and Hades? Why won't she talk to him? What happened between them?

What is Homer's purpose of being there, sans him going back to college for self-fulfillment reasons?

How tf did Zeus head an entire faternity so fast?

Homer being roomies with Hades is the funniest sh*t about this entire series.

I do both love and feel weary about the sitcom vibes from this. Sitcoms are funny in their own corny, classic way. It's scripted in a sorta obvious way, but there is a good amount of natural flow to it.

===

Anyway: that's all my thoughts for now. Hope everyone enjoyed this lovely lil pilot. Feel free to share your own thoughts and theories!! I want to hear them.

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

hi moon, just wanted to let you know that your fanfiction and other's artwork who i follow here have inspired me to make fanfiction. i've written tamer stories but i've also written nsfw stuff as well about eris and drifter. i don't run out of ideas but i run out of steam and motivation to write, even when it involves characters that i love to either draw or write about. do you have any tips to keep going if, for example, you run into an art block of some kind? how can you filter out junk ideas for a good one to write about? also dialogue, it is my weakness but you pick up their mannerisms really well based on some of your work i've read. any tips to get them right in fanfiction? thanks for your time

I cannot express how delighted I am that things I have written have inspired you to write - especially things with Eris and the Drifter. I hope you will consider posting them somewhere and sending me a link either on here or in DMs (or if you are not posting it and still want to share, I invite you to email me - my ID for gmail is the same as it is here, on Discord, and on Ao3.)

Regarding motivation: Writing is a muscle and creativity responds well to routine use of it and sustenance. Motivation is also like a small child and sometimes needs coddling and protection.

I have found the most effective way through blocks is to freewrite through them, By this I mean set a timer, get a pen and paper (not keyboard unless you need one for accessibility reasons) and write whatever comes into your head for five or ten minutes (the number of minutes can vary - I often go up to 20 but even five can be hard at first). Your job is not to actually write, and the words don't actually matter, you just need to keep the pen moving and are not allowed to stop writing words, and then you want to try and do this every day. The point is not to write creatively, it's exercise. Most commonly this begins with phrasing like:

I must write words. I must keep them appearing on the page. I must not stop until the timer ends. I must write. I must write words.

And eventually you get very bored of writing the same thing over and over again and start including other things. For me the most common thing I start to write is lists of things I need to do that are not done yet or lists of things that are emotionally bothering me.

Eventually you run out of things and/or get tired of writing the same problems over and over again and your brain gets bored and starts dreaming up new things. That is good. Let your mind get bored. You want that. Let it play. Grammar is not important. No one else needs to ever see this, including yourself. Ethics/morality is not important. This is pure brain-vomit straight from within. You are teaching yourself to have a conversation with your mind in a nonjudgemental manner. If critical thoughts happen you can write them down, but try not to focus on criticism because that is the enemy of creativity.

For when you're not completely blocked and trying to avoid becoming so, write full first drafts before going back and editing them. Editing engages a different part of the brain from creation and engaging too early can divert your focus and sometimes make it hard to get back into the creative mindset again.

Take breaks. Play games (if you're writing D2 fanfication, this counts as research!) or step away from the computer (or paper). Eat a food. Drink a water. Human bodies were not designed to write for long periods of time. Too much and we start to cramp up and have bad posture and this eventually leads to being distracted by pain.

Protect your creativity. This may be more of a depression thing than a writing thing but few things strangle creativity more than immersing ourselves in toxicity. I curate what media I ingest very stringently. I've had to block people who I still consider to be fantastic artists and writers, whose work I genuinely respect, because it's just not healthy for me to interact with them. Constructive criticism is healthy and good to engage with, but when you encounter a person (or a group) who makes you feel bad routinely, ask yourself if you're actually getting anything out of that relationship. Are they making you a better writer (or a better person) or are they just shitting on everything you love? Sometimes we stay in places (especially online places) that are hostile to us because we feel socially obligated to do so and it harms, not just our creativity, but also our self-esteem. Remember to evaluate these things routinely. Sometimes the reason you're creatively blocked is simply a symptom of something larger. Sometimes your unconscious mind is trying to tell you that it's being poisoned and you need to change your environment so it can breathe again.

Regarding how to filter out junk ideas:

There are no junk ideas, only poor implementation. And even poor implementation is better than no implementation. Write them anyway. You can always edit it later. If your mind thinks something is shiny, pursue it, no matter how 'junk' you think it might be. If your mind thinks something is junk, put it aside, but keep it. It may become shiny later. It may be useful in another form.

Do not filter your ideas. Pile them in a giant heap like a dragon and lie on them. Roll around. Kick your feet. Play. Let your brain be a two-year-old magpie and just pick out whatever is shiniest at the time. Be indulgent. Be decadent. It is your mind. You can have favourites. You can get bored and pick up something else. It's allowed.

You are also allowed to force yourself to finish something when you are unblocked (if you wish) but you may find that doing so causes you to be blocked. Be careful of that. Human unconsciousness and creativity is very cat-like. It gets bored easily and will often be contrary just to fuck with you. It will sit in front of a door, demand you open it, and then begin to lick its ass. It didn't want to actually go through the door. It just wanted you to open it. And that's fine. Let your mind be flighty. You are not on a time limit (unless you are being paid - then it gets more difficult).

In my experience, when you are blocked, or close to it, the restrictions need to come off. Let your mind play and pick up shiny things and get distracted by something shinier or different or otherwise weird. Treat your unconscious like an unruly child, give it breaks. Let it take naps. Give it a cookie when it's done eating its vegetables (but also let it have cookies just because). If you end up with 300 unfinished things that's fine. I, myself, have oodles of them. I look through them and often later find them shiny again. This is fine. Keep your half-done things. Allow yourself to make them and to have them. They are part of your horde. Go looking for more. Shuffle them around. Mix them. Throw them against different walls periodically to see if they stick. Sometimes two things are not interesting but when you put them side by side a third thing appears, within or between them or in reaction to them, that is more lovely than either of them could have been on their own.

When you are writing something and feel bored with it, ask yourself if maybe it's just that you need something else happening at the same time. Maybe this part could use some foreshadowing of something dramatic that isn't yet stated. Or perhaps another scene could be woven into and happen simultaneously with what is happening now.

I work very hard at my dialogue. I am delighted you like it. Some voices (such as the Drifter) come to me far more easily than others and for some (like Eris) I need to immerse myself in them to get a good feel of them. Yet others I simply copy and paste some of their in-game dialogue into a notepad file and then replace individual words until it is saying something else. Or I splice two in-game lines together to make a new one with existing phrases. I often work with a notepad of just copy-pasted dialogue from the game along side what I'm writing so I can use it as a reference for how the character talks.

Conversations also don't tend to begin at the beginning and end at the end. If more context is needed later, you can fix that when you're editing. You're allowed to just skip to the fun parts. You're allowed to have external things interrupt.

Sometimes I go stand by a character in-game that has idle dialogue (both the Drifter and Eris are lovely for this) and I just listen to them while I do other things in an attempt to absorb their speech patterns through osmosis. Sometimes I look up transcriptions of their voice lines from the game, or find quotes from them, or play scenes from the destiny lore vault on youtube in the background, or look up transcriptions on the ishtar collective. I read through them and analyse them. I look for patterns and note them down for use later.

Distinctive character voices have distinctive quirks. Eris, for example, tends to use poetic language, and often uses a bigger word when a smaller one will do, but only when the meaning of the bigger word is actually more precise:

"We do not seek to exculpate the Witch Queen."

Her humour is subtle and pointed, often a little creepy or mean.

"Ikora and Zavala are dear friends. Even if we don't always see eye to eye… to eye."

She is also very blunt, not only in not sugarcoating anything but also in being forthright with her feelings and her tendency to state the obvious, sometimes uncomfortable things no one is talking about:

"Did Zavala send you? He does not trust me." "You give me hope."

Drifter loves colourful gritty memorable metaphors and his humour ranges from self deprecating and flirty to bleak as fuck - sometimes one after the other or at the same time for shock value.

"Otto does it so beautifully that, when he's done, you're standing there holding your guts in your hands and thanking him for the show."

But he's also prone to dispensing unrequested, often highly practical (but a bit unnerving) advice:

"The bullet always comes when you're not moving." "Ever headbut a Kell? Don't. You'll break your neck. Use bullets."

Dialogue also works best when something else is happening at the same time. People rarely talk to each other with their full focus unless the situation is emotionally charged and/or the conversation is extremely important. Figuring out what each one of them is doing in addition to talking can be very helpful even if it never shows up directly in the dialogue at all.

Dialogue also tends to work well when each character has a reason for having the conversation. The reasons don't need to be complicated. The Drifter can be hungry and want to eat dinner. Eris can be busy and want to finish the conversation quickly so she can go back to what she was doing. But having what the character wants in the background of what is being said can really give weight and context to what's being spoken.

Not all responses need to be verbal and many characters have distinctive non-word responses to things. Drifter often laughs, says 'Oooh!' or 'Huh.' Eris often says 'Hmmm…' or sighs. These are as important to their distinctive voices as the words they use.

Dialogue between two people may not need attribution if the voices are distinct enough but any more than two people in a conversation and attribution is usually needed or the reader will become confused. The goal for dialogue attribution is to make it as invisible as possible unless you are using it for a specific effect (for example, I often use attribution as pacing or to achieve a specific rhythmic effect). So anything that might confuse the reader and make them need to re-read or otherwise ask who is speaking is to be avoided. This means that 'said' is not a sin, and neither is 'growled' as long as whatever you choose doesn't stick out and draw attention to itself.

I hope this is useful to you. I love writing, and reading, and delight in sharing stories and ideas. I very much look forward to anything you write and, while I know it is challenging to show your work to others, it's also very rewarding. I hope some day you will be willing to share your things with me, especially if they include Eris and/or the Drifter. I tend to be a very sympathetic reader and will delight in your words and cherish them as expressions of joy and care.

Let there be more love in the world. Let us write it into existence. Let us sing our songs to the universe and delight in the songs we hear in return.

Aiat.

[chroniclesinlavender]

ENTRY 001: Dreams (Part 1)

Isaiah has an alarming dream.

Transcript below:

[Avlin nłzēwok'un nar īdsēravn aryú pi-lizt'n. Má ēzyi'ōf fl cni-lizt'n. (These are the stories known only to the Seraphim. Let not these events be forgotten.)]

???: [strained] Have to... keep it... together... can't stop... need to s-stay... need to foc... focus... have to keep it togETHEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRR!!

ISAIAH: ...and then everything fades away, and I wake up.

[Chronicles in Lavender. Art & Story by Koishi. ENTRY 001: Dreams (Part 1)]

[December 12, 2019. 3:40 PM]

ISAIAH: My heart's always pounding out of my chest, and I can't sleep for the rest of the night. Every single time, it always goes exactly the same. The same place, the same people... and it never feels like I have any control, or I'm really acting on anything. I'm sorta just... watching it happen, I guess.

DR. GARDNER: Do you feel like the date in which you have the dreams could be significant?

ISAIAH: I dunno, your guess is as good as mine. I just happens every month on the full moon. I don't know why or how, it just does. It's been so consistent that I can anticipate it coming. Sometimes, I would stay up all night from the anxiety, then the minute I fall asleep, they happen anyways. I've always had vivid dreams. They feel so real, and I can control them too. Like, like lucid dreaming. But when these dreams happen, I just feel... powerless. Got a pill I can take for that?

DR. GARDNER: I could, but stepping away from medication, I think this might be related to another significant topic we've yet to come back to? Specifically the topic of Tara? And I know it's uncomfortable, but I think at least addressing it may give a better understanding of these recurring nightmares. I think a lot of the themes you've described to me in your dreams; the lack of control, the sense of urgency, the need to "keep it all together", could all be tied to your trauma regarding your sister's disappearance. A way for your brain to process through the guilt you feel and the grief you're experiencing. Does that sound about right?

ISAIAH: [shrugs]

DR. GARDNER: It's hard, having to go through that. It feels impossible to carry that weight on you all of the time, but it's important to remind yourself that Tara's disappearance is not your fault. It may seem selfish, but some things are out of our control. So it's better to grieve and find a way to move forward. At the end of the day, your own mental health is something that you have to put first, or things like this will keep affecting you. Of course, we can move on if you'd like. How have your exercises been going?

ISAIAH: Oh... uh... I've been trying, and I've been goin outside more, too.

DR. GARDNER: That's good to hear! Tell me more about how that's been working for you.

ISAIAH: [in journal] Log date: 12/19/2019. 4:28 PM. I've just concluded my therapy session for this week. We talked about the usual stuff, depression and meds and self-affirmation. I brought up the dreams, but that ended up leading back to Tara. It's been four years since she disappeared. I've been trying not to think about it. It's jut too much right now. I though by now I'd at least be better about it. That I wouldn't feel so awful. I guess I don't, but I just feel nothing instead. I dunno if that's better or worse. Rather not dwell on all of that now. Either way, I'm hoping that this night'll be over soon. I hate these stupid dreams, it's like a puzzle and I'm missing a billion pieces to it. If I go to bed early, I can at least get the dreams out of the way. Or I'm hoping to. Not much to hope for as of late.

[some time later]

ISAIAH: Yo LiLi.

AMALIAH: Yoooo Isaiah, me and Andre gonna be stayin out for the night. We're hangin w/ some friends.

ISAIAH: Yeah sure, aight. How come you didn't text?

AMALIAH: Cuz I'm drivin? fuck you mean?? And you take, like, hours to text back.

ISAIAH: Yeah yeah nah, good point... Okay, I'll text if I need somethin-

AMALIAH: Whoa hold up, you good cuz? You sound like shit. Still gettin them weird dreams? I know it's a full moon tonight.

ISAIAH: yeah, but I also had therapy today, so I'm like, emotionally-drained.

AMALIAH: Goootcha gotcha. Well if you need me, just text. Aight I gotta watch the road. See you in the mornin, kay?

ISAIAH: Night, LiLi.

ISAIAH: Is anything going to be different? Anything at all? I thought bringing it up at therapy would shed some light on why I keep having these dreams, but of course it all goes back to Tara. I thought I would be fine by now. That I'd find a way to not let what happened mess me up. But I'm still here. Everything around me keeps going, but I'm still here. Still empty... why does it even matter? Maybe this is just it for me... just emptiness and guilt... walking through a haze as life passes me by. I'm so sick of it being this way. I just want something to change... I just want to change.

BUTTERFLY: Why Do You Chase After Me?

ISAIAH: I don't know. I can't remember anymore I've just been... running for so long... Why were you running?

BUTTERFLY: I Was Running From Something As Well, Something Too Hard For Me To Bear. But I Feel As If You Can Help Me Face It.

ISAIAH: How would someone like me be able to help? I'm empty...

BUTTERFLY: You Are Not Empty. You Are An Endless Multitude. And If You Help Me, I Promise To You What You Yearn For The Most.

ISAIAH: ...okay. I can do that.

BUTTERFLY: Then It Is Time For You To Wake Up, Isaiah.

ISAIAH: Something... changed.

[Ēzm̄fl īn-hōn pi-jalzègxa olsl... (To be continued in the next entry...)]

[enbyleighlines]

Damn I had a long, rough weekend.

(exasperated ramblings under the cut)

Actually, it started before the weekend.

I recently switched insurances because I now make too much for medicaid, a process that took several months because why not?

But finally I had insurance and I could go see my doctor, yay me!

They upped my dosage of zoloft, because I’ve been super irritable lately and I think it’s mostly burnout from work, but it had been a long time since my dosage had been adjusted, so I thought it probably wouldn’t hurt.

I start taking a higher dosage, work still sucks, but I feel a bit better, so yay.

Then a few days later, I get a letter from my insurance saying that they will not pay for my zoloft, because it’s not on their list, and I will have to find a different anti-anxiety medication.

My doctors receive a similar letter and message me, asking me to schedule a time for another apt so that we can work on that.

Fuck that, I do not want to go through the emotional turmoil of trying a different anti-anxiety med. It took a long time for me to find one that works for me, and I don’t want to go thru that process again, esp with all the stressors currently in my life.

So I tell them, pls just let me stay on this for now, I will pay out of pocket, I don’t have the time or energy for this at this moment.

Flash forward, and it’s time for me to get a refill of zoloft. I’ve already been paying for it out of pocket for those months I didn’t have health insurance, so I knew it was gonna be costly, but I think it’s worth it. I ask my doctors for a refill, as per usual.

That was on Thursday.

Unfortunately, due to my adhd brain, I forget to go grab my prescription from the pharmacy. But that’s okay. I can go one day without zoloft. I’ve done it before.

But by the end of Friday, I knew I needed to pick up my prescription. I don’t want to go two days without zoloft, or else I start to feel funky: brain zaps, headache, nausea, etc. And of course there’s the anxiety and depression coming back, stronger than ever.

So I remember to go to the pharmacy on Friday afternoon, after work.

Except… they don’t have my prescription.

I call the on-call doctor, and ask them what happened to my zoloft.

They say they sent it to hannahfords.

I’m at cvs.

I haven’t used the pharmacy at hannahfords in the past 4 years, because I moved, and now cvs is closer.

Weird, but fine.

I could go to hannahfords, but I would have to take the bus, and it’s raining super hard, and I don’t want to walk from the bus stop to hannahfords in the pouring rain.

I ask cvs if they can transfer my prescription. They say sure but not right now. We can do it tomorrow.

Alright, well that’s fine. I can pick up my meds in the morning, and then I will still have only skipped one day. No biggie. Feeling relieved, I head on home.

The next morning, I return to cvs.

They say it’s too early, they just opened. They can transfer my prescription later in the day. They will call me when it’s done.

Alright. So it looks like I might be skipping another day of my meds. It sucks, but okay.

The hours go by. I don’t get a call. I focus on drawing and watching anime, and I try not to think about it.

The evening finally comes. My head is starting to hurt a little bit.

I get a call.

Good news: cvs successfully transferred the prescription.

Bad news: they are out of stock of my medication and will need to have it shipped in. It may take a couple of days.

I can’t wait two more days.

I have a panic attack.

I calm down. I tell myself I can go to cvs tomorrow and see if they can help. Maybe they have some zoloft in the back? Idk, I just need enough to tide me over until the shipment, and I’m desperate.

I go to cvs. I tell them my predicament. They are sympathetic but their hands are tied. They have no zoloft. They tell me to maybe check another pharmacy. Except it’s Sunday, so the closest pharmacy that’s actually open is…

Hannahfords.

Well, okay. It’s a beautiful day, no rain, so I don’t mind taking the trip.

I get to hannahfords. I say hey can you please transfer my prescription back here so I can have my medicine.

They say, sorry. They’re out of stock, too.

They’re also all out of zoloft???

Except, no. The woman at the desk explains they have plenty of the 100mg tablets in stock.

I say great, I take 2 of those a day, per my doctor’s instructions.

But that’s not what is on my prescription this time.

The prescription my doctor wrote says to take 1 200mg tablet a day. And yes, that amounts to the same, the woman explains, but because your prescription asks for the 200mg tablets, I can’t give you the 100mg ones.

I can order the 200mg tablets for you, she tells me. It will take a couple of days.

Now that’s just infuriating.

I ask her, please, is there any way I can get my zoloft sooner?

She tells me I can call the on-call doctor and have them change the prescription from 1 200mg tablet a day to 2 100mg tablets a day.

So I do.

And finally, finally, on 2pm on Sunday afternoon, I get my medication.

God fucking dammit.

Why was all of that so complicated???

[blackjackkent]

Time to party with the tieflings!

We have a new camp location - no longer in the ruins but somewhere out on the road, and there is nice music playing. c: This is nice.

Time for more social interaction!

Rather concerningly, the first thing I notice is this, lying on a table in a side tent:

????

There's no indication of who it belongs to and no option to follow up on it. This seems...like something we should be more concerned about. Hopefully Zevlor hasn't been putting a massive trick over on us this whole time.

Anyway, onwards...

The tieflings are all very happy and very drunk, and it's cute. They're being nice to Hector too and it's really doing a lot to brighten his mood; after everything that happened in the temple he was starting to feel way out of his depth, but this - he helped these people. That means something. A bard tiefling offered to write a song about him but Hector dissuaded her; so far he's proved very uninterested in being memorialized.

Companion circuit, starting with Halsin:

"Go on now. Don't waste a night like this talking to me. We'll discuss your problem tomorrow."

Poor Halsin is still covered in goblin blood.

The game (perhaps left over from the early access, when I believe Halsin was not a companion option but just a dude you could help and also flirt with) mostly only gave options to be super direct - "There's other things we could do besides talking..." - and even when I thought I was saying I just wanted to get to know him it ended up turning out that Hector was trying to come onto him. I think we can all safely assume Hector is not at that point yet. So I had to reload this conversation a few times. :P

"Take your own advice, why don't you? Go on - mingle a little."

"Later, perhaps. Don't worry about me. A night under the stars amidst nature's creation is just what I need after being locked up in the goblins' dungeon. Go on. Enjoy yourself. Seek out some wine before it runs dry - there are a lot of thirsty people around here."

---

Wyll, apparently, has been sort of lurking off to the side of the party.

He's depressed because, no matter what we did to help these tieflings, they're still going to be in danger because of Karlach and other monsters of the world. Hector didn't necessarily disagree, but tried to cheer him up a bit, which did seem to work.

(It seems as if all these conversations might be the initial entrance point for romance, because Hector had the option to ask Wyll to dance. Hopefully I'm not cutting myself out of anything by not taking any of these options right now.)

---

Gale...uh. offered to show us something magical.

Hector, assuming he meant some spell, agreed. "I like the sound of 'magical'. What do you have planned?

"A lesson. And trust me when I say - few have experienced the pleasure I offer to teach. However, it's something best experienced in more...intimate surrounds, once the revelry has ended and the stillness of the night has been restored."

Um. What did I just agree to?

I am legitimately unsure whether this was flirtatious or if Gale is ACTUALLY talking about some magic ability. Given Hector's general lack of facility with the nuances of conversation, I think he is taking this completely at face value. I almost reloaded, but you know what, we're going to lean into it. Come the end of the night, we'll see what was actually intended, I guess.

---

Astarion is not having a good time:

"You know, I never pictured myself as a hero. Never thought I'd be the one they toast for saving so many lives. And now that I'm here..."

"...I hate it. This is awful."

Hector, in spite of himself, grins. "You did a good thing," he says, lounging back on his heels. "Suck it up and enjoy yourself."

"Enjoy myself?! There's a worm in my brain, I'm surrounded by idiots, and all I've got to drink is wine that tastes like vinegar."

"Relax, all your problems will still be there in the morning."

"That means I have to survive tonight. And this party. All I want is a little fun - is that so much to ask?"

"That had better not mean 'I want to kill something'."

"Not at all! I was hoping for companionship and - well, maybe a little death. Figuratively speaking."

"Not with you, just to be clear. I mean...can you imagine? Ugh. No."

Lmao. God. I really went into this game being like "I am sure Astarion's fine but I don't imagine I will get the MASSIVE hype around him" but you know what. This is a great character. His dialogue has so much personality, his voice acting is on point, he should be completely insufferable but I am grinning every time I talk to him, and even with the scraggly hair which is not normally my thing, that jawline does wonders for his attractiveness. Even Hector doesn't seem to fully dislike him and by all accounts he really should.

And there's most definitely more lurking under the devil-may-care facade. I am 100% romancing him on a different playthrough.

For now, though, Hector will be satisfied with making sure he stays in camp and doesn't go completely off the rails.

---

Oh my god. Moving on to Lae'zel, who is looking at Hector with an entirely new expression that resembles nothing so much as a dog staring down a piece of meat.

"I have seen the kith'raki tear a screaming neogi's legs from its belly to fashion into blades. Yet they could not match your nerve today. It was enough to drive me to madness."

"A pity for us you have promised your body to Gale. I've no doubt he is as seductive as he is succinct."

:LKJSD;fljkaS;LDKJFAPOSIHDFPOAISJDFPAOISJDFPOIASJDFPOAISJDPFOJIE WHAT

Okay first of all - Hector is all O.O because he seriously thought Gale was going to show him a magic trick. Second of all - you weren't even THERE while Hector was showing all this nerve. Third of all - we have GOT to get you a better outfit to have these conversations in. And fourth - a;lsikjdf;aslokjdf;paolsdikjf;ap.

Help. My face hurts.

Hector, as awkwardly as humanly possible, squeaks out, "I"m grateful for your aid. You really are a gifted warrior."

She sneers at him. "Vlaakith demands of me no less." Her eyes sweep over him and a twitch of frustration tugs a muscle in her jaw. "Mm. If only I might lay claim to my proper trophy. Come morning, you will wonder. You will wonder how my lips might have tasted. How my fingers on your skin might have felt. Oh, but do enjoy yourself this night. I intend to, myself. Wyll looks particularly tempting."

a;lskjdf;alsdjkf;alsjdf;asldkjfds;sjd MA'AM?!?!?!?

Hector staggers away from this conversation feeling a little dazed, his skin about four shades darker, and not sure how to meet anyone's eyes.

---

Shadowheart is kneeling in apparent prayer in a completely different part of the map, way off from the party. She may be a Shar cleric and he's not sure how to talk to her, but at least it's quiet over here.

She smirks slightly, looking up at him, and raises a glass of wine from where it's sitting at her side.

"Everyone seems to be in high spirits. I saw you with Gale. You two looked...cozy. Far be it from me to judge. Blood must still be running a little hot, after everything."

Oh my god. Apparently EVERYONE except Hector knew what was going on in that conversation. Poor boy is definitely BRIGHT red now and flustered as hell.

They actually had a nice little conversation - Shadowheart talked about how she wouldn't have expected to care about the refugees (and Shar wouldn't approve of anything that distracted from her worship). And Hector had a drink with her.

"There - some liquid courage. And try to get some rest too if you can; tomorrow's another day."

[23raccoons]

high infidelity

Sakura x Sasori (Sakura x Sasuke)

Away at college in Sunagakure, Sakura’s life is slowly spiraling out of control. With a boyfriend who barely talks to her and courses she can’t seem to make herself care about, she can’t help but feel she’s made all the wrong choices to get here. Will some spilt wine at a party change everything for her?

----

18+ Alternate Universe - College/University, Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol, Marijuana, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Cheating, Sexual Situations.

----

Part 4- out of the woods

Sakura makes up her mind.

high infidelity masterlist

---

The party upstairs has started to dwindle, the music off, stragglers finding their way out. 

Sakura and Sasori are curled up, spooning, on the couch, in the safety of the basement. Some stoner movie plays on the tv, with teens running amok, smoking and drinking. 

“What’s your biggest regret?”  Sasori breathes softly into the shell of her ear, fingertips just barely dipping down into the waistband of her pants. Sakura gasps, and he stills, waiting for an answer or perhaps permission to continue on. She curls tighter into herself, turning her face away from those soul searching eyes.  Sakura’s heart is pounding now. She’s sure he can feel it through her chest, the way he’s curled around her like a cat. She’s tired of pretending to be happy while becoming more heartbroken by the day. But lying here, in a dreamy daze, in Sasori’s arms, she somehow feels safe to express her deepest thoughts. Things she is too scared to tell anyone.

What’s the worst that can happen?

“I have a boyfriend.” It’s barely a whisper, hardly louder than the small tv playing in the corner of the room. Sasori’s fingers still, but he does not remove them, pressing gently down on her hot skin. He is silent, for so long, Sakura is worried he’s fallen asleep.

“Aa.” It's less of a response than she was expecting. She’s nervous that he has misunderstood what she meant, that he will be disgusted with her, kick her right back out into the raging party, dressed in his clothes, to suffer a walk of shame that she definitely deserves.

“Do you like him?” Sakura twists in his arms, to get a better look at his face. It’s passive, eyes hooded, like he’s scrutinizing her. Her mouth falls open, but no words come out. 

Does she like him?

If you had asked Sakura at the beginning of the year if she liked Sasuke, she would’ve said yes with no hesitation, but now? She’s unsure. Hesitant even. A bit of anxiety creeps up through the brain fog, words spinning around as she tries to organize her thoughts to even begin to answer him. Her eyes sting in the way that she knows she’ll be crying again soon. Some distant part of her mind thinks that he is too pretty to cry in front of, she’s an ugly crier, for sure. 

“It’s complicated,” he supplies simply, answering for her. Sasori must be able to read it on her face, or he’s gained mind-reading powers. The way he looks at her so intensely, either could be likely. Sakura doesn’t know what to say, so she just nods. He hums softly, tucking her back in his arms. They lay like this, long after the movie has finished. 

Sakura is sure he has fallen asleep this time, his grip has loosened, snoring softly. Slowly working her way out of his arms, she turns and places a small, soft kiss on his forehead. She gathers her things, shoving them in her bag as quietly as she can.  She lets herself succumb to the urge she’s been fighting all night, to run, flee, escape, up the stairs into the darkness of early morning. 

Ring-ring. 

Ring-ring

Ring-ring. 

The pink tinge of the sunrise casts the small kitchen in a warm glow. Soon, it will morph, twisting itself into the sweltering heat of a Suna day.  Sakura twirls the phone cord around her fingers, nervous. She’d practiced the words the whole walk home, preparing herself. 

Ring-

“ ‘Ello?” His voice is soft, sleepy. It’s the first time she’s heard him in weeks. 

"Hey, Sasuke, it's Sakura. We need to talk.”

---

Six days later

It’s Friday evening, Sasori’s moping about the record store. It’s full of whiny high school kids, the kind with stupid questions, ones he doesn’t have the patience to answer. His shift will be over soon, closing time fast approaches.  The bell dings as he’s checking out a pimply teen. He glances up, and it's her. 

She’s beautiful. 

A dream, all pink and perfect. Sakura’s looking around, admiring the artwork hanging on the walls. A low-cut red halter top, light-washed jean shorts, and chucks, it's reminiscent of the outfit from the picture he had stolen and hung on his wall. When her gaze lands on him, she smiles. It’s spring, sunny and fresh and new. 

“Hi,” she says softly, biting her lip. He can feel her nervousness, as she approaches the counter. 

“Hi,” he says back, feeling just a little stupid, high off her company alone. She smiles again, looking down, cheeks tinting prettily pink. She kicks the front of the counter lightly with her shoe a time or two.  “I, I…umm,” she starts before taking a deep breath. Peeking up at him through her eyelashes,  “I’m single now.”

Sasori can’t help the grin spreading across his face, he had spent the whole week in a state of melancholy, a stark difference from the way he felt that night with her a week ago.  “I have something for you,” he says. “Give me just a minute.”

He pretends to dig in his backpack for a minute, what he’s looking for is right on top, after all. He returns to her, presenting his gift, a carefully folded piece of white fabric. 

“My shirt!” Sakura’s in awe, gently unfurling it as she picks it up. It’s whiter than it’s been in years, no signs of the blue or red that had stained it the last time she’d seen it. She beems, if she was spring before, she’s summer now, making him feel sweaty, a bit claustrophobic under his clothes. “How’d you get it so clean?”

He’s still smiling as she brings it to her nose and takes a deep sniff. He chuckles, and that makes her blush even more.

“It’s Deidara’s birthday party tonight,” he starts, “if you’d like to go with me?”

She giggles, it’s heavenly. “Yeah, yeah, I’d really like that.”

[blooming-violets]

Pinky Promise Rewrite || Ch. 3

Summary: The fate of the one she loves most is put into the hands of a masked stranger, forever entwining their lives.

Major Overall Series Warnings: 18+ smut, mental health triggers (ptsd/depression/panic attacks/a suicide attempt from a child/trauma), a retelling of forced sexual assault and manipulation, kidnapping of a minor

Chapter Three Warnings: symptoms of anxiety/panic disorder and ptsd, vague references to a past trauma of sexual assault in the work place

[Chapter Index] 

Chapter Three || The Job

Peter.

Peter.

Peter.

Spider-Man’s name was Peter.

Lucy repeated his name in her head as she laid on her bed and stared up at the cracks in the ceiling. 

“Peter,” she whispered into the dark, smiling to herself. His name sounded nice on her lips. 

-

He had taken the bus back to her apartment with her. Just her and Spider-Man, sitting side by side, on an empty bus, while the driver gave her confused looks in the rearview mirror. Peter gave her the window seat and she stared at his masked face in the darkened reflection as the rumble of the bus lulled her into a trance. She studied the way his gloved fingers would fidget against his thigh like he never stopped moving. His leg bounced anxiously against hers. She wanted to reach out and steady it for him but resisted the urge to touch him any further. They sat in an awkward silence the entire ride home until it was her stop. He followed a step behind her the rest of the way, never speaking a word, as she lingered at the building door. 

“This is it. You don’t have to come inside. I’ve got it from here,” she had said to him. She was embarrassed about the state of her apartment. On a good day, the place was run down and falling apart. On a day like today, she had no idea what they’d be walking into. She hadn’t cleaned in a while. Her job was to clean people’s houses. She didn’t want to come home and do the same thing. 

But he hadn’t accepted her answer, “The deal was I saw you curled up in a blanket by a heater, remember? You pinky promised me. You can’t break those.” 

She guessed that he was afraid if he left too early she would run back to the hospital. He didn’t have to worry. She had no intentions of going back out in the cold. Not tonight, anyway.

He followed her up the steps, kindly refraining from commenting on the permanent smell of urine in the stairwell, and waited patiently while she unlocked the door. When it swung open, Lucy strode inside and turned to watch him hovering the doorway.  The sight of Spider-Man with one foot in her home and one foot in the hallway was a unique picture. She wanted to care more than she did but found herself unable to muster many emotions. Her body ached and her brain felt fuzzy. 

“Happy now?” She asked, her tone anything but friendly. “I’m home.” 

He shook his head, “I don’t see a blanket and heater. Is it always this cold in here?” 

She shrugged, “Yeah. The heating is terrible. Liv and I usually pull out the space heater if it gets too bad. It’s in the bedroom. Do you actually need to see me turn it on or can we agree on a compromise?” She wasn’t sure why she was being so snippy with him. He had done nothing but save her entire life. She should be worshiping at his feet for what he accomplished today. Instead her gratitude came out as a tired annoyance. 

“I guess it’s fine,” he mumbled, picking up on her impertinent tone. His masked eyes looked around the tiny room until they landed on the bucket of her cleaning supplies she had tossed down right before she got the call. “Are you a maid?” 

Lucy narrowed her eyes, she hated not being able to read his expression to know if he was judging her or not, “Personally, I prefer the term house cleaner but yes.” She stared at him, refusing to invite him inside any further, as she slowly took off her jacket to reveal her uniform and pointed to the embroidered logo. “Meticulous Maids, at your service. It’s no superhero job but it pays the bills…kind of…”

“Superhero-ing doesn’t actually pay the bills either.” He shuffled his foot awkwardly against the floor, avoiding her gaze by looking around the little room. 

Their conversation was stalling. She didn’t want him to see any more of her apartment then was necessary so she kept him hanging by the door. He seemed reluctant to leave, almost like he didn’t want their meeting to end, but refused to step in any further without verbal permission. Lucy was not going to be the one to give it. 

She cleared her throat, “Well it was nice meeting you, Peter.” 

He perked up at the sound of his name like he had forgotten she knew it, “Is that my cue to get outta ‘ere?” 

She gave him a tight, forced smile and shrugged, “I guess so? You did what you came here to do, didn’t you? I’m no longer in the cold. I’m home safe. When you leave, I’ll get into some sweats and climb into bed. I promise I’m not going anywhere else tonight. Your job is done. You did it. You played the part of the hero perfectly today. Good job. I’d give you a gold star sticker if I had one lying around.” 

He had laughed then. It was a pleasant sound. She found herself wishing she could hear it again some time but refused to verbalize her desires. 

“It was nice meeting you, Lucy Miller. Olivia will be okay. Give her some time. She’s not lost to you forever.” He gave her a quick wave, not waiting around for her reply, before stepping out into the hallway and shutting the door softly behind him. 

-

Peter. 

Her smile lingered as she curled into her pillows and closed her eyes. Her body was exhausted, her limbs heavy, and her brain foggy. 

She wondered what he was doing right now, if he was replaying back his day just as she was. Her emotions were in turmoil. The guilt kept desperately trying to make itself known but it was repressed by the sense of peace that he had given her. 

Olivia would be okay. Tomorrow, Lucy would call out of work. She would get the apartment in perfect order. She would visit her sister. Then she would call back the woman from social services to give her a proper interview. 

No one was going to be taking her sister away. They would get through this. Together. 

Her heavy yawn filled the quiet room and she closed her eyes. 

Sleep called out to her and she graciously answered.

Five thirty in the morning was not kind to her. 

The sun wasn’t even awake at this hour. Lucy rolled over in bed to flick on her bedside lamp. Her eyes felt like they were glued shut. She estimated she only got about three hours of sleep last night. Her body ached and shivered with chills. Despite her claims to Peter, she had opted not to turn on the space heater. Electricity costs money. Running it all night was a waste, especially if Olivia wasn’t here to benefit from the warmth. 

Her heart dropped. 

Olivia. She was too tired to fight off the sudden invasion of tears clawing at her tired eyes. Any hope she had the night before was lost in the new day. Lucy threw the blankets over her head and curled up in the dark, letting the tears flow. It was her first night in a long time that she had slept in this bed without her sister. There was only one bedroom. They didn’t have the funds for another bed. Sometimes she would sleep on the couch if Olivia kicked too much but, even then, she was still only a room away. 

Lucy took a shuddered breath to calm her silent sobs. Tears were a waste of precious energy. She didn’t have time for crying. There were things that needed to be done today. Important things. And they started with a shower. 

After every terrible day, a shower was needed to wash away the events. A fresh start. Clean and hopeful. That’s what she was going to aim for. She could regain some of that hope Peter had left her with last night. Repress, repress, repress and move on. 

Her knees stung as she stretched out her legs and kicked them over the side of the bed. They were crusted with dark, dried blood from when she had fallen to the icy roof. She let out a low, grumbling, groan as she pushed herself from the tangle of warm blankets. 

“My life sucks,” she mumbled, her bare feet dancing up and down on the chilly hardwood floor. 

Lucy made her way quickly to the bathroom, practically jumping onto the bathmat to keep from touching the floor longer than she had to. With a flick of the switch, a tiny, yellowed light bulb struggled to life in a pathetic attempt to illuminate the small room. She avoided the mirror while bending down to turn on the shower. The hot water in this building was always unpredictable. Someday’s it would start off icy and suddenly spike to inhuman levels of heat, other days it struggled to even warm up. She hoped this morning it would reach scorching levels. She needed her body to thaw out. 

Her hand danced in and out the weak stream. Once it was lukewarm, she stripped off her clothes and eased herself inside. It wasn’t the scalding heat she wished for but it would serve its purpose. The sting of her knees as the water washed away the dried blood helped rip the lingering sleep from her mind. She felt like she was floating, her thoughts were foggy, and her skin tingled like she was still on high alert. Even as she lathered shampoo into her hair, she took notice of how badly her hands were shaking. The anxiety from yesterday had yet to disappear. There was still so much left to do. The constant threat of the social worker hung over her head. This apartment would need to be spotless for her. Olivia was out of her control, at least while she’s in the hospital. She would have to trust the doctors to be the ones to help her. The best Lucy could do for her sister would be make sure everything behind the scenes was in perfect order. 

She quickly finished her shower once she felt the water start to get cold again. It hardly heated up at all this morning. The stream was weaker than usual too. This entire place was a dump. Lucy grabbed a fluffy pink towel and dried herself off before wrapping it around her slim body. She wiped what little condensation had formed on the mirror and took a deep breath, looking up to meet her wary reflection. The dark bags under her bloodshot eyes were deeper than usual. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were blotched crimson from windburn. Her face looked hollow and pale. She looked older than she remembered. Seeing Olivia fall had probably taken years off her life. At least the way she felt matched her outward appearance. A walking corpse. Lucy huffed, diverting her eyes from her bleak image, and grabbed her toothbrush instead. She sat on the closed toilet lid, slouching against the wall to help her hold her up, while she brushed her teeth. Today was going to suck but she would get through it. She always did. 

As she spit out her mouthful of minty toothpaste, she turned on the faucet to wash it away. The water sputtered out in quick, jerky bursts before dying out completely. She turned the handle again. Then the other one. Nothing. She tried the shower. Nothing. Lucy chewed on her chapped bottom lip, wondering if she forgot to pay the water bill. That’s all she needed. Having no water was not going to go over well with a social worker home visit. At least she managed to get in her shower before they cut it. She’d have to add dealing with her landlord to her growing list of responsibilities. 

By the time 6:30 hit, she was dressed in a thick cozy sweater, slathered on a layer of makeup to mask her true appearance, and had dried her long, wet hair. She sat cross legged on the floor in her bedroom in front of her full length mirror while she parted her hair to start two french braids. She tapped on her phone to call her boss, Patty, putting her on speaker. It only took two rings before the older woman picked up. 

“What’d’ya want?” Her annoyed, sleepy voice cut through the silence of the bedroom. 

Lucy took a deep breath to ground herself back to reality and away from her tumbling train of terrible thoughts, “Hi, Patty. This is Lucy.” 

“Yeah, I know, we have caller id at the office,” she huffed, her response snippy and unfriendly. “The question still stands. What do you want?”

“I-” She hesitated, Patty always made her nervous. “Could I have the day off? It’s a family emergency. My little sister is in the hospital. She had an accident. I need to get a million things done to make sure everything is okay for her.” 

Patty laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh. “Absolutely not. I already had two girls call out this morning and you have no more time off. You used up your limit. Besides, we got a new client. They stopped by at the crack of dawn this morning to drop off the spare key. I hadn’t even managed to get in my first cup of coffee before they were bangin’ on the damn door. A young man. Kinda scruffy lookin’, one of those disheveled types, but they live off in the nice part of the city. Probably have a big house. One of those rich folk, I bet. I bet his parents were doctors or something. A trust fund kid or one of those young prodigies who make an app and suddenly their swimming in money. Imagine the life I could have had if I was a trust fund kid. I could of been payin’ some poor sap to clean my mansion instead of trying to round up a bunch of lazy bitches who never want to do any actual work.” 

Lucy flinched, “It’s not that I don’t want to work. You don’t understand. Olivia, she had an accident. She fell off a roof. She-”

She was cut off with Patty’s loud, bored sigh.

“I know! I watched the news last night. If I recall, she was saved by that Spider-Freak. She’s not injured. You can visit her after you finish your duties. Or not. I don’t care what you do on your off hours as long as you get my jobs done. The answer is no, Lucy. You’re already on thin ice with your previous track record from working here. You should be lucky that you still have a job at all after what I caught you doing a few months ago. This client asked for you specifically. No idea why they wanted you. My guess is they probably heard about all your extra services. I swear to god, little girl, if I catch you getting on your knees or giving more than you should to another client, you will be so screwed. If you do not show up on time this morning to get the key to this house then you are fired. No exceptions.”

“But!” The line went dead.

Tears welled up in her eyes but refused to fall. A piercing, fiery rod felt like it was stabbing through her skull. Her hands trembled as she finished off her final braid. Lucy did her best to pull herself together. She tried to pretend like Patty’s words didn’t cut straight into her soul and rip her to shreds. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been allowed to take the day off. She knew, deep down, that she would be denied. It was the events of her past that Patty brought up which ripped through her. She loved to throw them back in Lucy’s face whenever she could. She held them over her head, taunting her, using them like strings attached to her fingertips to puppet her around into doing what she wanted. 

And it worked every time because she needed this job and Patty knew it. 

Lucy grabbed a tissue off the bedside table and blotted any wetness from her eyes. No more crying. She had to get moving. She couldn’t be late. Being fired would be the final nail in the coffin for Olivia to be taken away.

Luckily, her bucket of supplies was still next to her front door. She tossed on her apron over her cozy outfit, grabbed appropriate attire for surviving the cold weather, and left her apartment. As she locked the door behind her, a red envelope taped under the peephole caught her attention. Olivia’s name was scrawled on the front. 

She frowned and pulled it off the door, immediately opening it. She was smart enough to know not to deliver strange mail to her little sister without vetting the contents first. A lot of creeps lived in this building. 

The letter was written on a graph notebook page and haphazardly torn out, the frayed edges still clinging on. Scratchy, penned doodles of the Spider-Man logo dotted around the margins of the page. For the first time this morning, a tiny smile tugged at the corners of her lips. 

“Dear Olivia,

Hi, this is Spider-Man writing to you. Don’t forget the hyphen. A lot of people forget the hyphen between the Spider and the Man. It’s very important. 

I wanted to check in and see how you were doing. You really scared me the other day. I don’t want to see you get hurt. You would be doing me a big favor if you could keep your feet firmly planted on the ground from now on. I’d never want to see anything bad happen to you. You’re too special to get hurt.

I talked to your sister a little bit. She told me all about you. I heard that you won every science fair you ever entered. I used to win at my science fairs too. Maybe when you’re older, you can be my trusty sidekick. I need someone smart and strong to help out. Until then, stay safe, keep learning, and stop climbing onto roofs!! 

From, 

Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man

P.S. I hope you know how much your sister loves you. I think she would do anything for you. Remember to tell her you love her from time to time. 

P.P.S. When you get back home, I hope I’m still invited to dinner.”

Tucked into the letter was a polaroid picture of Spider-Man squatting in front of the hospital she was at, giving a peace sign to the camera. The sun was just barely starting to peak over the horizon. It couldn’t have been taken that long ago. Peter must have just dropped this off. She glanced down each end of the hallway in the fleeting hopes of catching him and gave a mournful sigh. He would probably be long gone by now. Spidey could move fast when he wanted. 

Lucy studied the picture, the fondness for their new friend growing. Even if she never saw him again, she’d always remember him with love for everything he did to save her family. She gave another heavy sigh, stuffing the items back into the red envelope, and tucking into her bag.

The fresh snow that had fallen in the night was already turning to dirty slush on the sidewalks as the sun rose higher over the tops of the buildings. Snow in the city never stayed beautiful for long. Lucy poked the toe of her old boot at a clump of heavy slush as she waited for the cross light to signal her to cross. When the crowd of people began stepping forward in unison, she followed in a blind daze, her mind elsewhere. She called to leave a message with the woman who answered the phone at Olivia’s unit. She was told that a doctor would call her back later to give her an update and that visiting hours ended at five tonight. If she wanted to see her sister, she’d have to get there before five or else she could schedule a call to speak to her on the phone. As long as Lucy could finish cleaning this new house early, she thought she’d be able to make it. 

The subway was crowded with the morning workload of city dwellers trying to get to their respective buildings. All the seats were taken and Lucy ended up standing, squished, in front of a man who had far too large of a leg spread, failing to be considerate of his neighbors. The older woman stuffed beside him was forced to shrink into herself and angle her body away from his to avoid his leg invading her space. Lucy rolled her eyes at his ignorance and clutched tightly onto her large bucket of supplies. With her hands full, she had no choice but to brace herself with only her legs as the train car lurched forward. The last thing she wanted to do was accidentally tumble into that man’s lap. 

As they tumbled through the underground, the man’s phone loudly rang, causing him to get a few glares from those nearby. She tried to drone out his one sided conversation but something in his words peaked her interest. It wasn’t the crude tone in which he was speaking but how his story seemed oddly familiar to her own morning. 

“I got a call from my secretary at work an hour ago,” he boasted into the phone. “She told me the water in our office has been shut off. The entire building. No water. Meanwhile, my wife was bitching at me all morning-” He hesitated to listen to whatever the person on the other end said and followed it with a spiteful, booming laugh. “I know! It might be time for wife number three. This one is losing her touch. Anyway, she was nagging me all morning because our water broke in our house. She blamed me for not paying the bills. You know me, Carlos. When have I ever not paid a bill on time? She’s out of her damn mind. That’s when my secretary calls to tell me about the water at the office. That’s weird, right? It can’t be a coincidence that both my home and my work are being targeted. So I gave my cousin Jim a call. You remember Jim? You met him at the Christmas party. Yeah, yeah, the fat one with the mole on his cheek. He works down at the police station. I give him a call because I’m startin’ to worry that this is a direct attack on me and my business. One of our rivals pullin’ some kind of shit to mess with me. But Jim tells me that it’s not just me. It’s half the freakin’ city! They don’t know why! Half the city has no water and these dumb fucks at the station are running around trying to figure out what’s going on. He told me he’d give a call back when they find out the issue. I’ll tell ya right now, Carlos, if I get home tonight and I still don’t have water, you better believe I’m going to start suing people!”

His voice faded into the back of her mind as she mulled over his conversation. Half the city, without water. She wondered what would cause that. They’d had electricity blackouts before but never everyone losing water all at once. Lucy hoped it wouldn’t affect her work and that the house she was going to was one of the lucky ones. It would be hard to clean without a sink. At least she felt comforted in the fact that it wasn’t her fault. In instances like this, that rich asshole and herself were all in the same waterless boat.

“Excuse me! Pardon me!” Lucy shouted as she pushed her way through the crowds of Hell's Kitchen. 

The Meticulous Maid’s headquarters ran out of the back section of an old building. The floor above them was dedicated to an up and coming law office and Patty often had to redirect lost citizens looking for their lawyer to the proper staircase. She never missed the opportunity to hand them each a business card as they were ushered in the correct direction. 

“You’ll need someone to clean your home while you’re on trial. Don’t want to return to a messy house!” She’d often be heard yelling after them. “We’ll even clean crime scenes for the right price!” 

This morning was no different as Lucy heard her boss’ usual spiel following a confused man walking out the front door. She gave him a sympathetic smile, knowing what it was like to be bombarded by Patty, and shuffled past him. She had made it just in the nick of time. 

The office was small. It had enough room for a desk which Patty sat behind most days, operating the phones, and orchestrating where each girl needed to be every day. There was a small closet in the back that held a bunch of vacuums and mops. It was the only supplies the employees didn’t have to purchase on their own. All the rest of the cleaning supplies came out of Lucy’s own pocket. She tucked her bucket, rattling with her things, under her arms and flashed a forced smile at her boss. 

Patty looked up from behind her desk with an unimpressed stare and slid a single key on top of a sticky note over to her, “You’re almost late.” 

Lucy gasped for breath, the cold air stinging her lungs, “But I’m not. I’m here.” She reached for the key and paper, an address scribbled onto it with a purple pen. “Did you hear half the city doesn’t have water? That’s crazy, right?” 

Patty responded with a grunt, “Don’t see what that has to do with you.” 

“Well…it’d just be difficult to mop someone’s floors without a bucket of water, I guess…” 

“Figure it out,” she turned towards her computer, angling her back away from her least favorite employee. 

Lucy shuffled the toe of her foot against the stained carpet, taking that as her sign the conversation was over before it even began. She awkwardly turned to the closest to pull out an old vacuum and mop. 

“It was nice seein’ ya, Patty. Hope you have a good morning,” she mumbled before hauling the heavy equipment out the door. 

It was always a struggle to maneuver her way through the city and subway system with her arms full. The weight of all her equipment combined was probably just as heavy as herself. The addition of the snow only made it more difficult but she managed to shuffle her way into the neighborhood of Forest Hills an hour later. Her back already hurt and she hadn’t even begun to start any actual labor. 

Anxiety twisted her stomach into knots the closer she got to her destination. Patty’s words rang in her ear. This client asked for you specifically. She wasn’t sure why anyone would specifically ask for her. She had no idea who would even know who she was. The majority of houses she cleaned were always empty. The ones that weren’t…

My guess is they probably heard about all your extra services.

Her heart lurched, feeling heavy in her chest. She didn’t do that stuff. That wasn’t her. The lump in her throat was making it hard to breathe. She tried to take deep breaths, letting the cold air fill her desperate lungs, as she trudged down the street. These people requested her. It wasn’t like she was a cleaning god. She didn’t do a better job than any of the other girls. She was average, at best. It was preposterous to think that someone would look at her cleaning job after she left and recommend her highly to their friend. Someone must have known her. 

My guess is they probably heard about all your extra services. 

“Stop,” she whispered to herself. Her heart was starting to race. She didn’t do extra services. That wasn’t her. It wasn’t. Not anymore. There was only one group of people who would have requested her. They’d done it before. They’d passed her around between their friend’s houses like their personal cleaning girl. Their eyes would follow her around as she made her way through each room. Leering. Undressing her with their minds. 

Until it wasn’t just their minds. 

“That’s wasn’t me,” she swallowed, speaking the words out loud so she could hear them. “You don’t have to do this. If it’s them, you leave. If it’s them, you walk out. If it’s them, you lose your job…” 

If she walked out, she would lose her job. Patty made that clear. If she lost her job, that would be another strike against her from the social service perspective. Olivia needed her here. They needed this job. No matter who was on the other side of that door, she would have to stay. For Liv. 

Lucy blinked the film of water tears from her eyes and fished the yellow sticky note out of her jacket pocket to double check she had the right address. It was a cute brick townhouse with a white front porch. A garden flag stuck out the snow in what little yard they had. It waved at her in the wind. Two striking red cardinals sat on a white birch tree against a deep blue background. Red pom poms lined the bottom of the flag. Something about its presence helped quite her nerves. The kind of people who had cute, seasonal flags were not the same kind of people who she was dreading. If she had to guess, the quaint home would belong to someone older. Patty mentioned a young man requesting her services but it was possible he worked for the older couple. Or maybe they were a nice, young family? A husband wanting to do something nice for his pregnant wife. It was their first child and she was struggling to clean being as pregnant as she was. Her mind made up fantasy clients but, whoever they were, they couldn’t be the same people who frightened her. 

Lucy climbed up the stairs and gave three loud raps against the sturdy door. When no one answered, her nerves continued to shrink. Maybe someone really was impressed with her cleaning skills and recommended her to a friend? She stuck the key in the lock and opened the front door. 

“Hello!” She called out, just to be sure. “Meticulous Maid cleaning service! I’m coming in to work!” 

When no one answered, she let out a deep sigh of relief. This house was safe. She was safe. Everything was okay. 

The first thing she did was remove her snow crusted boots and hang her jacket up on an empty hook by the entrance. Then she wandered deeper into the home. This was always her favorite part. There was something voyeuristic about walking through someone else’s house when they weren’t home. She liked to see the way different people lived. Even if she never met the person, she could gather a decent picture of who they are. It was a peek behind the curtain. A sneaky look at a stranger’s life. Over the years, she’d gotten very good at picking up on different details. 

This was a real home. It wasn’t perfectly tidy or showcase worthy. Sometimes she would get to walk through the elite millionaire’s lives. Their houses always felt like a museum. Cold and untouched. The people who lived there reminded her of ghosts floating through a space without ever interacting with their own belongings. Not here though. A family lived here. Small and quiet. There was a couch in the living room with the pillows stacked up on one end by someone who would lay across the entire thing. Next to the couch was a single, overstuffed, soft pink chair. It had a warm, knitted blanket draped over the back and footrest propped up in front. If Lucy had to guess, she’d say two people lived here. Maybe an older couple judging from the dated decor. She pictured a gray haired man laying across the couch after a long day and his wife curled up on the armchair beside him as they watched tv. There were stacked magazines and various clutter around the room. The living room looked well lived in and cozy. This was not the house of anyone bad. 

Lucy walked into the kitchen, taking note of a singular mug and plate left in the sink. The mug was white and decorated with colorful flowers. Light red lipstick was pressed against the rim. A staining of brown coffee ringed around the bottom. Two people might live in this house but only one of them ate breakfast this morning. She tried the handle on the faucet and was pleased to see the water come shooting out. At least this street still had access to water. It would make her cleaning job much easier. She got to work washing the dishes. It was usually where she liked to start. A sink void of dirty dishes was always a pleasant sight to behold. 

As she washed, she heard a creak coming from the ceiling above her. Lucy turned off the faucet to silence the water. She closed her eyes to focus on enhancing her hearing. Another creak. It didn’t quite sound like footsteps walking overhead, more like someone rolling over on an old, springy bed. She wasn’t as alone as she initially thought. The anxiety started to claw its back up to her throat, blocking the air from finding its way down to her lungs. She felt the sudden urge to turn and run. Panic surged through her body.

Lucy tried to focus on her breathing to quell the rising hysteria. Slowly. Deeply. Gently. In and out. This was not that house. These people were not a part of her past. She was safe. They were nothing but an elderly couple. She conjured up the image of the supposed homeowners. She focused her sights on the soapy mug clutched tightly in her hand. The red lipstick. The coffee stains. The flower patterns. She imagined the wife sitting at the breakfast nook, staring out the window, while drinking her morning coffee. Her retired husband slept soundly above her. She’d spend the day out shopping with friends. They’d go out to eat, maybe purchase something for their grandchildren, and then she’d return home this afternoon to a beautifully clean house. Her husband would be dozing on the couch and the tv volume would be up too high. She’d smile to herself as she shuffles inside to place her purchases from the day on the kitchen island to sort through later. They were nothing but a sweet, old couple. That was all. They meant Lucy no harm.

She finished cleaning the two items with a new found sense of peace. The nagging, anxiety fear still lay crouched in wait in the shadows of her brain but she could hold it off for now. Whoever was home was sleeping. They didn’t hear her call out when she entered. They were either dead asleep or hard of hearing. Either way, she would be safe. No one here was going to harm her. 

This client asked for you specifically.

“Get your shit together, Luce. You’re becoming unhinged,” she mumbled under her breath.

A new plan of action formed in front of her eyes. She would clean the upstairs first. This client asked for no bedrooms to be cleaned, only the upstairs bathroom and entire downstairs. If she cleaned that bathroom quickly and quietly, hopefully whoever was up there…the sweet, gentle old man with kind eyes…probably…would stay asleep or stay in his room and not bother her. 

She grabbed her bucket and mop before silently ascending up the steps. She’d mastered the art of stealth as a child. Tiptoeing around parents with severe anger issues and crappy foster homes became a means of survival for her young self. It helped her now as she climbed the creaky wooden steps making as minimal noise as possible. The longer the stranger slept, the easier her life would be. She could be in and out of the bathroom in twenty minutes tops. Then the entire upstairs would be left for her stranger and she could work on the downstairs in peace. 

The second floor of the house was simple. There were three doors along the hallway. The only open one was the bathroom. She plopped her bucket on the closed toilet lid and started removing her things. Usually she’d be throwing on her headphones by now but she wanted to have all her senses on high alert. If the stranger came out of their room, she would hear it. Lucy closed the bathroom mostly shut, leaving an inch crack so she could hear better, and started to fill her bucket under the bathtub faucet. While it was filling, she started wiping down the sink surface with some bleach wipes. When she finished, she tossed them her trash bag and turned to check on the bucket. 

“Oh!” She gasped when she noticed the change.

The water coming out had turned brown and thick, almost resembling mud. She quickly turned it off. Inside her bucket was a mess of watered down earth. Bits of brown, dead grass floated on the surface next to chunks of dissolving soil. It looked like something she’d make on a hot summer’s day as a child. She’d call it Special Mud Soup and try to serve it to her friends while they sat around in their bathing suits and sprayed each other with the hose. She had no idea how something like this would come out of the pipes. Her best bet would be that there was a major leak underground somewhere. She was no plumber but even that felt like a stretch. 

Lucy leaned over to poke at the bucket. Perhaps this house wasn’t as lucky as she originally thought. Something was messing with the water in this city and the results weren’t pretty. She thought about dumping the bucket out into the tub but decided against it. It wasn’t like she’d be able to wash the dirt back down the drain with water. She’d be left scooping it out with her hands. 

She gave an annoyed sigh, grumbling to herself, “Guess I’ll dump it outside.” 

Lucy hoisted the heavy bucket into her arms. She kicked her foot through the door gap to pull it open. As she shuffled out into the hallway, desperately trying not to spill the sloshing liquid, the door beside her flung open. Before she could even turn her head to catch sight of the culprit, a heavy force sent her flying. The bucket launched from her protective arms. She heard it smash to the ground as she fell with it, sending the contents splattering across the floor and walls. Freezing cold, dirty water doused her leggings as she caught herself from hitting her face against the ground with her hands at the last second. A surprised yelp fell from her lips from the shock. 

Her survival instinct kicked in, not allowing her any time to process the spilled bucket or the fall, and she spun around onto her bottom, crawling quickly backwards away from the assailant and onto her feet. Lucy pressed herself against the dripping wall, her eyes wide with fear, as she locked onto the man who pushed her. Through her panic, her eyes focused on the face of a disheveled, half asleep man. His chestnut hair stuck out at all angles. His eyes matched her own wild gaze. His hands were stuck out in front of him, still locked in the position he had shoved her with. 

She knew this man. 

“Peter?” Her voice raised an octave in surprise.

He blinked, realization flickering across his face as his brows tugged together in confusion, “Lucy?” 

She responded with a slow nod, continuing to take him in. The lower half of his face was darkened with a thick stubble. He was wearing an old shirt, the print on the front so faded it was no longer legible, and covered in more holes than fabric. His legs were bare apart from his black boxer briefs clinging to his thick, muscular thighs. He looked like he had rolled out of bed and decided to choose violence this morning. 

“What the fuck?” Her voice was breathless and barely more than a whisper. 

She looked around at the mess he had created. Dirty water stained the white walls, leaving streaks of brown dripping down to the baseboards, and pools of it puddled along the hardwood. Her pants and socks were soaked through. 

Peter looked out of it. His eyes darted around the room like he was struggling to focus on just one thing. He resembled her father when he was searching for his next fix. The sight didn’t sit well with her. At least her racing heart was beginning to settle. While he looked slightly psychotic, she didn’t think Spider-Man posed any actual threat to her safety. 

“Why are you in my house? I thought you were…I don’t know…someone bad…” His voice trailed off, along with his attention span. He ran to the hallway window, completely ignoring the puddles he ran through on his way, and peered outside. Peter spun back around to zero in on her face after not finding whatever he was searching for, “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to shove you. I-” He hesitated, finally taking note of the mess around him, his shoulder’s sagging. “Well, shit.”

“Yeah. Well, shit.” Lucy crossed her arms. “Are you okay? You look…not all there. You’re making my job harder than it has to be.” 

“Is that why you’re here?” He asked, ignoring her inquiries about his mental state. The realization dawned on him and his lips parted into a silent ‘O’. “When I requested you to come clean our house this morning, I didn’t think it would happen today! I thought they would send you in, like, I don’t know, a week or something…” 

“Uh, nope. They sent me in today.”

A bashful look reddened his cheeks, “I wasn’t stalking you, if that’s what you think. But you showed me your name tag where you worked on your apron last night and I just figured that, uhm, it might be the only way to see you again. So I thought I would, I dunno, request you? No, that doesn’t sound right. I’m, uhm, I don’t know what I’m saying. I’ll stop talking now.” 

Lucy blinked, trying to process what he was saying, still reeling from her fall and the new mess, “What? You hired me to clean your house so you could see me again? The morning after my sister fell off a roof and was placed in psychiatric care?” She could feel the anger replacing her initial fear and confusion.

Peter shuffled his big toe into the floor and shrugged, looking ashamed, “I didn’t know it would be today! I was on my way back from walking my aunt to work. I don’t like it when she has to go in early and the suns not even out yet. I don’t like her walking around in the dark by herself. I went with her. And on the way home, I thought, ya know, I could stop by your work and request you. Then I go home, go back to bed, and next week you would come over and…clean…my house….it sounds terrible when I say it out loud!”

“You know where I live! You were literally at my apartment this morning! You left a note! Why not just ask me then?”

His shoulders were up at his ears in shame, “I don’t know! I’m bad at this stuff! Stop yelling at me!”

“No! Look at what you’ve done!” She waved her hand wildly in front of her to gesture at the mess. “Look at this. Your water is broken. I have no way to mop this. How do you expect me to clean this? I’m going to have to be on my hands and knees with paper towels and bleach wipes. I have no water to mop, Peter! You just added another hour onto my shift! I wanted to get done early so I could go visit Liv!” 

“I’m sorry!” He whined, sounding more and more like a scolded child the longer she berated him. “I didn’t mean to. I fucked up, alright? I’ll clean it. And what do you mean our water is brok-'' He stopped mid sentence, his face paling and eyes flashing to alert. His head snapped around as he turned in a full circle like he was searching for something again. 

Before she could ask, he shoved past here and ran down the stairs. Lucy looked around in confusion. There was nothing out of the ordinary that she could see. Whatever he could sense was beyond her plane of reality. 

“What’s going on?” She yelled down, following after him. 

Peter stood in the living room, remote control clutched in his hand. Despite whatever impending danger he seemed to sense, her eyes couldn’t help but travel down his tight boxer clad ass. His calf muscles stood pronounced against his toned legs. He looked like he couldn’t care less to be running around with no pants on and she had to admire the confidence. She gave her head a quick shake and focused her attention on the television screen to divert it away from her wandering, debaucherous thoughts. He had turned it onto the local news station. A woman was frantically reporting down by the East River but it looked like a disaster had hit. There were floods of pooling water and debris scattered everywhere. It resembled the aftermath of a hurricane. She was in the midst of yelling something as Peter turned up the volume. 

“-completely draining the river! He was last seen making his way towards the center of the borough! The mayor has urged Queen’s residents to stay inside their houses! It is unknown what kind of damage this creature is capable of causing. Be on high alert and stay inside!” 

While she spoke her last sentence, recent video footage from a few moments prior began to play. Lucy took a step closer to get a better look. A giant man-like creature was rising out of the water. He seemed to be made entirely of water but was in the vague shape of a man. As he grew, he sucked up all the water around him, making him bigger by the second. He towered over the river. People ran screaming as a tidal wave of dirty water crashed down on them, sweeping them off their feet, and out the frame. 

“Holy shit,” Lucy breathed in quiet horror. “What is that thing?”

Peter didn’t answer. He turned and dashed back up the stairs. She could hear him dart into his bedroom, banging around up there, as she turned back to the tv. The creature’s attention was now aimed at the camera. He knew it was there and he was deliberately putting on a show, about to send out a direct message to the one man he wanted to find. 

“Get! Me! Spider-Man!” He boomed, flecks of water splattered over the camera lens before the footage went black.

The woman returned onto the screen, continuing to urge residents that the creature they dubbed as Hydro-Man was heading this way and to stay inside. 

“Lucy!” Peter called from upstairs. 

She pulled her attention away from television and towards the windows. Peter’s street looked normal. Quiet. There was nothing going on outside to indicate potential doom or inevitable destruction. It looked like a beautiful, peaceful winter morning. 

“Lucy!” He yelled again, more demanding this time. 

She tore her eyes from the windows and jogged up the stairs towards him. Her foot slipped out from under as her wet sock skidded through a puddle. 

“Shit,” she cried, grabbing herself on the wall before she could fall. “What!?”

When she rounded the corner, she came face to face with a maskless Spider-Man. Peter gripped his arms on either side of her shoulders. His face held a look of determination but she could sense the fear being pushed down under the surface. 

“Stay here,” he ordered. “Don’t worry about cleaning up. It’s fine. My aunt doesn’t even know I hired a house cleaning service. I’ll tell her I spilled the water. I need you to stay here. Lock yourself in my bedroom. Sit on the bed. Read a book. Twiddle your thumbs. I don’t care what you do but do not move. Got it?” 

The urgency in his voice was enough for her to know not to argue with him. She had no intentions of leaving his house with that creature on the loose. 

Lucy nodded in response, her eyes wide with alarm, “What are you going to do?”

Peter shrugged, releasing his grip on her, and tugging his mask over his face, “I’m going to go fight him until he’s no longer a threat.” 

She swallowed, the uncertainty clear in her voice, “How are you supposed to fight water? Won’t you go right through him?” 

He didn’t answer. 

Instead he turned around, threw open his window, and jumped out. A single web shot out to attach to the glass and slammed the window shut behind him. 

Silence filled the room. 

Lucy’s chest heaved with short, panicked breaths. She hadn’t even realized how close to hyperventilating she was becoming. Her panic wasn’t even because of the threat of a monster. Stuff like that was freakishly common in the city. Her panic stemmed from being attacked from behind earlier. Her fingers shook as she raised them to her face, rubbing her eyes. This was not the morning she had prepared for when she woke up. 

“You’re safe,” she muttered to herself. Talking out loud often helped. It was like there was another person whispering comforts in her ear. “It was just Spider-Man. He won’t hurt you. Peter is not them. He is not a part of that. He fights against people like that. You are safe.”

While she struggled to calm her racing heart, Lucy tried not to think of Spider-Man going up against a giant water monster. What had the news woman called it? Hydro-Man? Spider-Man and Hydro-Man. A man with spider abilities fighting a man with water abilities. She hopes their fighting skills were better than their naming skills. The thought made her give a breathless, nervous chuckle. If he was going out to risk his life for the city first thing in the morning, the least she could do was clean up the spill in the hallway for him. Lucy turned out of Peter’s bedroom, disregarding his plea to stay put, to walk across the hall into the bathroom. She pulled open the free standing linen closet tucked into the corner and started piling some towels into her arms.

A loud rattling sound coming from behind her grabbed her attention away. 

Lucy spun around to come face to face with the bathtub, the towels falling from her grasp to her feet. The shower head was violently shaking. The pipes tucked inside the walls began wailing as they shook back and forth. It was like an earthquake was happening inside the plumbing while the rest of the house sat perfectly untouched. A weighty feeling of dread sunk into her stomach.

“Peter?” His name fell from her lips as if she could summon him with merely her voice. 

In a perfect response to her cry for help, the shower head forcibly shot off the attached pipe and landed with a deafening crack against the bottom of the tub. A rift split through the porcelain in a spiderweb of tiny fissures from the force at which it landed. Water rushed out of the exposed pipe. Heavy pressure like a firehose coming to life before her eyes. Her face was pelted with the icy shards of sharp water drops as they bounced off every surface. 

Lucy let out an involuntary scream. The shriek was immediately drowned out by the sounds of rushing water. A wave washed over the side of the tub in a cascade of dirty, brown water filled with bits of earth. She tried to push her way towards the safety of the open door but the water was faster. The force of it slammed the door shut, locking her in. The frigid water started to pool over her feet, numbing her already cold toes, and clawing up her ankles. Two large hands formed around her calves as the water took shape. They jerked her feet out from under her. Her balance was lost. Lucy came crashing down hard onto the solid bathroom tiles as the water continued to rise. Her head momentarily went under, her scream silenced as water flooded into her lungs, before she broke through the surface once more. 

She sputtered and gagged. Her brain went numb. Her lungs constricted from the polar shock of being suddenly submerged under the frigid water. Uncontrollable, gasping breaths took over any rational thought she could have. Lucy pulled herself up onto the toilet in a desperate attempt to get out of the rising water. Her blueing lips chattered and her wild eyes caught sight of the creature taking shape amongst the sloshing. 

A man started to form in the middle of the room. His body sucked in the water as he grew. The creature was featureless in appearance but it was clear that this was man. A dark, open watery hole widened where his mouth should be and twisted into a deranged smile. His face towered over Lucy as he leaned in closer like he was curiously inspecting the person in front of him. 

“And what do we have here?” His gargling voice sent the hairs on her arms to stand on end. 

Whether from the cold or fear, she couldn’t control her body’s violent shaking. 

“Peter…” She cried in desperation once more.

Chapter Four

[Chapter Index]

A/N: Oh look, I come out of hiatus to give you all something literally no one wants or asked for! But I enjoy rewriting a director’s cut of this story and that’s what matters. You gotta write what makes you happy even if it doesn’t spark interest for others. Write for you and no one else...I tell myself daily to keep from sticking my head in an oven. (jokes) 

[sungielvr]

Nervous Young Inhumans

1장

Warning - smoking, weed, mention of anxiety and depression, talk about not wanting to live anymore

w.c. 1064

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Seoyoon's day began as it usually did – with a joint in hand, her morning ritual on the bedroom balcony. The wisps of smoke curled around her, creating a cocoon of tranquility as she savored the moment. It was her way of finding peace, at least for a while, before facing the world that seemed to follow her everywhere.

Once she was finished she headed back into her room where she continued to get ready for her first class. She wasn't to sure why she chose a class so damn early in the morning. perhaps she just needed that reason to wake up in the morning.

Once Seoyoon made her way onto campus she made a b-line straight for the library where she could be alone. Because although they were in college the bullies seemed to still follow her.

She was surprised when she saw a squirrel like boy sitting in her usual seat. She found him absolutely adorable and that kind of pissed her off.

Seoyoon was way too shy to tell someone they were in her seat so instead she opted for sitting at a table across from her regular one. A little more out in the open than she was comfortable with but what can you do.

Breaking the silence, Jisung invited her to share the table, revealing his kind-hearted nature. Blushing and stuttering, Seoyoon introduced herself and cautiously took a seat across from him.

"Oh! Um are you sure I don't want to be a bother" Seoyoon spoke so quietly that if the library wasn't already silent he would have never heard her.

"Of course I don't mind, I'm Jisung by the way" He giggled to her, she thought that giggle was the most cutest and addicting thing she's ever heard.

" I'm Seoyoon, Park Seoyoon" She almost stabbed herself after hearing herself stutter. Putting her laptop as a makeshift barrier, yet her attention kept drifting back to Jisung.

Instead of going onto her laptop to study like she should be doing she instead opened up twitter...

Seoyoon occasionally looked up to see what Jisung was up to. At one point she was nearly immersed into her staring till he cleared his throat. she let out a small squeak which made him chuckle slightly.

"I'm so sorry, that was so creepy! I swear I was just lost in spaced," she easily lied. Her face was bright red and her heart pounded slightly. It was at the moment she wished her attempt last month worked.

Before she could get lost in her dark thoughts Jisung spoke up.

"Hey class is about to start... we both have economics, right? Why don't we walk together? It can give us time to chat more" He spoke with the sweetest smile ever, it was almost as if he genuinely wanted to hang out with her. But who would want to hang out with the quiet girl who was too rude to acknowledge the people around her. That's what everyone told the 19 year old.

"Yeah I'd Love to" She replied with the kindest smile she could muster yet if you knew the girl close enough you'd know right away it was slightly awkward.

On the way to class Jisung noticed Seoyoon pulled her hat a little more over her face and walked slouched almost as if to seem smaller. He knew this poster all too well, Seoyoon was anxious. He decided to start conversion with her in hopes to get her mind off of whatever was eating at her.

"Hey Seoyoon, what's your major? I realized I never asked you." He ever so gently pulled on her sweater sleeve to get her attention. She looked up at him with slightly panicked eyes trying to piece together an answer.

"Oh, um um I major in music theory and minor in psychology, weird mix I know" She very softly laughed. Jisung nearly grinned when he realized talking to her worked; she was now focused on him, not the thoughts tearing her beautiful brain up.

" I major in music theory too.. hence why we share the class" He ever so awkwardly chuckled after, because even though he was leading the conversation he was still the same old awkward Jisung.

They were now inside the class and both had decided to sit next to each other.

Jisung bravely asked for Seoyoon's Instagram and number, expressing his genuine desire to stay friends beyond that day.

"Um, is it okay if I get your Instagram and or your number? I'd like to continue being friends after today" She couldn't believe her ears; someone wanted to be friends with her, the quiet girl who had always been misunderstood.

"Yeah! it's p-k dot s-y-n!" She spelled out for Jisung as he typed it into his phone. She pulled out her phone as she got the notification of him following her. She followed back immediately, also saving his number in her phone

hanji has started following you.

She looked up at him with a big smile to find he was already looking at her with a fond look, She tilted her head to the side with her eyebrows furrowed,

"what.."

"Nothing, I just like your smile"

She felt her face burst into the hottest flames imaginable, she looked down at her sleeve and started playing with the hem hoping he wouldn't see the effect he had on her.

A few seconds later the professor walked in and Seoyoon had gone into work mode. It's funny for someone who doesn't try in anything she surely does pay attention in class.

After class Sooyeon bid Jisung goodbye both promising to meet in the library again the following day.

Back home in her apartment, Seoyoon allowed herself to release all her anxieties and emotions in tears.

She made her way to her room, still slightly shaking. She sat in front of her mirror and laughed,

"You're so fucked up in the head Park Seoyoon. You make me sick." She laughed once again but there was no humor behind the laugh.

Sung imessage (1)

She faced the harsh truth of her inner struggles but found comfort in the thought of meeting Jisung again the next day.

Lying in bed with mixed emotions, Seoyoon realized how much she enjoyed talking to Jisung, how he made her feel seen and appreciated. The memory of his chubby cheeks brought a smile to her face as she drifted off to sleep, looking forward to the next meeting with the boy who had unexpectedly brightened her day.

next

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

Will I be projecting this into a South Park fanfiction at some point probably very sorry in advance to either Kyle or maybe Tweek but tbh I gotta rant real quick about my supremely awful day

(Cut for both severe anxiety and possible eating problem triggers)

So like I act and stuff right. Low budget independent shorts, projects for the local film school, things of that nature. And I had a shoot today for a class that’s essentially focused on filming an 8 page script in 12 hours, teaches the students professionalism, all that.

I woke up anxious for reasons I couldn’t pinpoint, wore Kyle socks under my costume for powers, figured I’d be okay once I got into the swing of the shoot. I was not. There was this chunk of very specific scientific dialogue that I just COULD NOT get to come out in the right order, and what did my bitch ass brain do? Fucking spiraled with it. Which made talking harder, which made the “YOURE A FAILURE YOURE A FAILURE” internal dialogue worse, and it continued. And I had a goddamn panic attack on the soundstage.

I wound up shaking in the green room literally crying, someone had to go get my husband from the editing suite because they didn’t know what to do, I could HEAR the professor talking to his class about “when talent has emotional problems during production it’s important not to let them know they’re holding up the shoot”, and the worst part? This was less than an hour before we broke for lunch.

And I’ve vagued about this before, but I’m a recovered anorexic. About five years ago, I did the whole outpatient thing or whatever, was in therapy for a while for it, almost had to drop out of college for it, all that shit, and for the most part I consider myself to be fine now. But that mentality pops up every once in a while, and that shit is AWFUL.

The AD called for lunch, and my first fucking thought was “you don’t fucking deserve to eat you worthless piece of garbage”, and like NO BRUH TF?!? Having a goddamn stroke on set is literally no reason to punish yourself, like if anyone else was having a gnarly anxiety day I would absolutely be encouraging them to take it easy on themselves, hydrate and eat, whatever they need, so how fucked up is it that I couldn’t do that for myself. I did wind up having a slice of the college film student set staple that is little cesars cardboard ass pizza bc Opposite Actions, but it was a huge mental struggle.

It’s definitely worth noting that NO ONE was nasty to me about my breakdown, at least not to my face, even though I was completely fucked in the head afterwards for the remainder of the shoot. I’ve worked with a lot of these people before, they know me and know it was just a bad day, and one of the girls I worked art department with on a previous feature was script supervisor for this one, and she came into the green room and sat with me, stopped me from biting at my fingertips because I hadn’t realized I was making myself bleed, kept me from hyperventilating until my partner got there. The director got with his team to work out what footage they could get until I was more steady. The AD checked in constantly for the rest of the shoot. The other actor was incredibly sweet and shared anecdotes from his stage acting days to cheer me up whenever I’d get anxious over a missed word in a take. No one was a dick to me. At all.

Except myself.

I don’t like to consider myself mentally ill, despite the fact that I know there’s no shame in it; I’m diagnosed with anxiety and depression, plus the whole eating disorder thing, obsessive compulsive disorder, I’ve been told I should get evaluated for autism (tbh yeah probably) like yall I’m a fucking disaster. But no one, NO ONE will ever be as hard on me as I am on myself. Also, it was a student production the Friday before spring break. They cut shots and wrapped early because nobody wanted to be there.

If you can step back and put shit In perspective, it helps. Unfortunately I’m very bad at that.

Very sorry for the rant being a person is fucking stupid but at the end of the day I love helping people tell the stories they want to tell and also wearing south park socks under my 1950s scientist costume.

[logically-asexual]

One more time with feeling

summary:

Part one of this series is 'I can tell I've rotted in your brain', about Logan being slowly pushed away over the years until one day he is kicked out of Thomas's conscious mind and becomes the orange side.

This is part two, about Logan finally coming back.

Read on AO3

Chapter 2

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words: 1664

Thomas locked his phone and tossed it to the other side of the couch. Virgil and Roman sat next to him, one on each side. He groaned, with his face down in his hands.

“Maybe if you try checking again,” Roman suggested. 

“He checked an hour ago and the video has been up for two weeks, Princey, the number is not magically going up,” Virgil countered. 

“I tried so hard,” Thomas said, muffled by his hands. 

“I know.” Roman reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. 

“This was supposed to be the good one.”

Roman hesitated. “Well, I guess it was not realistic to expect one video to make a difference. But we can keep going and a good pattern will surely change people’s minds and bring those views back!”

Thomas didn’t move. 

Roman turned to Virgil, asking silently for help. 

Virgil shrugged. “That might sound reasonable but, I don’t know, dude, everything just sucks right now.”

“Um… Oh! We also have that call at the end of the week to look forward to! Maybe you got the role!”

Thomas leaned down even further. “I saw John posting on Twitter that he got the role, so I don’t think they’re calling.”

“Oh.” Roman looked down at his feet. “Did we congratulate him?”

“Thomas doesn’t speak to him since we forgot about his graduation ceremony, remember?” 

Thomas’ face was now on his knees. 

“Right…” Roman felt lost. “I’m sorry, Thomas. I should be leading you into success, I… I don’t know what went wrong.”

“I don’t know either,” Thomas sighed. “Everything was going so well.”

“Maybe this is the beginning of the end and we just gotta lay down and embrace it.” Virgil said as he leaned back on the couch. 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing! Like, how am I supposed to keep up with everything? I’ve been using the calendar on my phone and I still don’t know what day it is.”

“A calendar doesn’t help with the mess we have here, either,” Virgil commented, looking around him at the clothes, food, and electronic devices thrown around. 

“Damn it, I was supposed to clean up here today early so I’d finish in time before going to my parents’. Gosh, what did I even do all day today? I can’t remember.”

“Well, you had oatmeal for breakfast,” Roman said.

“Right.”

“And you’ve been sitting here since.” Virgil looked at the empty bowl right in front of Thomas on the coffee table. 

“And what time is it?”

“Three pm.”

Thomas sighed again. “This was supposed to help me. You know, staying calm, giving inspiration time to strike and then let things flow. That was the idea. It was working!”

“The life of an artist is not easy, Thomas.” 

“If I was a good artist it would be.” Roman frowned. 

“Of course it wouldn’t. Have you read how depressing all painters’ and musicians’ lives are? You think I’m dramatic, you should know there’s a million worse than me,” Virgil argued. “You’re supposed to know that and you still chose to live like this.”

“Because the good moments make everything worth it, emo! That’s what you don’t understand!”

“Good moments? Where? I don’t see any coming any time soon.”

“Okay that’s enough.” Thomas sat up. “This isn’t working.”

Both Sides went silent. 

“It’s getting late, let’s leave already and maybe… my parents will have some advice.”

Roman frowned. 

“Are you okay, Princey?”

“Yes, it’s just that… You shouldn’t need help. I– I mean, we should be able to solve this on our own. It’s our job after all. But… I don’t really see any other option.”

“It’s going to be fine.” Thomas said softly, turning between Roman and Virgil. “They love me and they’re not going to think less of me for struggling.” 

“I guess,” they both mumbled. 

“Come on, we can begin planning the next video on the way.”

Thomas arrived back to his home feeling exhausted and defeated. Talking to his parents didn’t seem to help, with them instead providing him with a never ending list of ways his life was out of control and nothing like what a serious adult should look like. 

Thomas didn’t want to be a serious adult. At least not the picture of one that his parents had in mind. He wanted to have fun while he could, to create, to be with his friends, to interact with the thousands of people around the world that enjoyed the same things he did. 

They were right in some aspects. He needed some amount of control, he couldn’t just take life as it came. 

Thomas didn’t know how to do that, though. Other people seemed to just know when to take the reins and lead themselves and others to success, but what would that look like for him? In school success would mean to get a good grade, in an office job it would mean to request a raise or seek a promotion and then obtain it. 

But his life wasn’t like that. Patton would tell him one can’t measure how “successful” a friendship is; people just change with time and you either stick together or you don’t. Roman would say success in auditions didn’t depend solely on him, since casting choices consider much more than the quality of his acting. 

Success in his YouTube channel, well… He thought he had that one figured out but it was now slipping away, too. It was impossible for his team to churn out fun, high quality productions once a week, and he had learned he couldn’t make promises to his fans without disappointing them, something Virgil wouldn’t forgive.

Then… What was he supposed to do? He wasn’t equipped for this. Nothing made sense. 

Thomas groaned as he laid face-down on his bed. It was only eight, but he didn’t feel like letting this day continue any longer. 

“You’ve wasted this entire day, and now you want to waste the night, too?” 

Thomas could recognize Virgil’s harsh tone even without looking up from his sheets. 

“What do you suggest I do?”

Virgil stayed silent and crossed his arms. 

“That’s what I thought,” Thomas said with his face still on the mattress. 

I know someone who would know what to do, Virgil thought. He couldn’t stop himself from bringing it up any longer, but he tried to choose his words carefully. 

“Thomas,” he called. “You don’t think Roman, Patton or I have any idea on how to solve your issues, right?” 

Thomas thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe you do, but the ideas need more time or… I don’t know.”

“Maybe. Though not every single one of your thoughts and ideas come from us.” 

“What do you mean?” Thomas finally turned to look at the anxious Side. 

“Sometimes… there are thoughts that… seem to have been hidden away and then they… suddenly appear, apparently from nowhere.” Virgil struggled formulating the idea subtly enough, avoiding the best he could to catch Deceit’s attention. Thomas’s memory about having Dark Sides was locked away by denial, which made it impossible for him to just say what he wanted. 

Thomas was making that confused face at him that he always made whenever he wasn’t understanding a single word a Side was saying. 

Virgil inhaled deeply. “I, uh… I think that you do have the solutions you want in you, somewhere within your mind. You just need to… I don’t know… seek deep inside and… summon them.”

“Okay?” Thomas began sitting up. “How do I do that?”

“I don’t know,” Virgil confessed. “You could maybe… think really hard about what you want?”

Thomas still wasn’t convinced, but closed his eyes and tried anyway. “Fine,” he sighed. “Um… I want to be more organized. I want to be more responsible. I want to not disappoint the people around me all the time.” 

Virgil looked around him, waiting for anything to happen, but nothing did. 

Thomas opened his eyes slowly. He looked at Virgil, who nodded at him, encouraging him to keep trying. “I want to… have some stability. I want to feel in control of my life.” Thomas’ eyebrows wrinkled. “I want to keep doing what I want without people judging me all the time.” His fists clenched. “I want to be able to stick to a release deadline without other people interrupting my momentum complaining about inconsequential–”

“Hello!” Patton suddenly showed up with a big smile. “What are you two, kids, doing up so late?”

“It’s only eight, Patton,” Virgil said, willing him to leave and let Thomas keep trying to summon Logan. 

“Oh!” he laughed. “Right! I was just thinking that sometimes…” He looked between Virgil and Thomas, his smile not faltering, “when we have unlucky days we begin having some… not so friendly thoughts at night, and the best solution is to get back into the comfort of our sweet dreams early to feel better in the morning.”

Thomas nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Virge. We weren’t getting anywhere anyway.” He fell back onto the bed. “We’ll think of something else,” he murmured before falling asleep. 

Virgil bit his lip as he sank back out to his bedroom. 

Why didn’t Logan appear when Thomas mentioned responsibility and organization? He couldn’t have received a more explicit call. Did he not want to show up? Could he just decide not to even if he hasn’t ducked out? Did he… duck out?

Maybe Thomas didn’t really believe what he was saying. But that was strange, too, since Virgil thought that Thomas lied when he would insist he didn’t want some stability.  

Nothing made sense. 

However, there was no going around it. Logan was the solution. Thomas couldn’t keep ignoring his entire existence, no matter how hard Anxiety and the other Sides tried to make up for the lack of his role. Virgil would bring Logan back, even if it meant he had to drag him out of the subconscious himself. 

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