#also on a more serious note since this is getting notes mental illness does not preclude people from deserving love

[mythtakens]

“these characters should be mentally healthy before they get together 😌” ummm no I actually think we should smash their mental illnesses together like clumps of play-doh and see what colors it makes

[graciehart]

the tortured poets department

i have thoughts!! surprising, right?? this is for anyone who cares to read them ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Before you read, note that this is going to be critical of things, so let me just start by saying I have loved and listened to Taylor since I was 8, so none of it is said lightly or without careful thought (in fact, this took me absurdly long to write). Most of the issues I have are very near to my heart, actually, so I've spent a lot of time thinking about it. If you don't want to read criticism, then just don't read more. DISCLAIMER that I did my best, but not even this fully captures the nuance I feel able my own opinions lol I recognize the other sides and points, I really do. I hold many conflicting opinions.

The short version is I will always love her music and her voice and she is capable of writing absolutely gorgeous lyrics (dare I say poetry?). I don't tend to think too much about the sound of it because if I like the sound, it's all I really care about—maybe it sounds the same as other stuff, but if I like that other stuff, I don't really care about whether she branches out or not. I think it's great and interesting when she (or anyone) does, but I also don't like change so it doesn't matter to me the way I know it matters to some people. That's just me!

What gets more complicated for me is the narrative, themes, and general trends that have been more prominent the last year or so, and that's what the rest of my thoughts are. It's me enjoying the music while also being acutely aware of all the grief tangled up in it because of how much less connected I feel in many ways.

Side note: this got soooo much longer than even I expected and it still just scratches the surface! so if you decide to read, 1. thank you, and 2. I'd love to keep talking to you. 🤍

———————————————————— 💭

I am an overthinker (shocking!) and will for sure be annoyed that I can't think of each and every thing I think about this album, but this is what comes to mind right now. Some things that have stood out to me more and more with each release:

a tendency to write self-aware lyrics that, in trying to be self-aware, betray somewhat of a lack of self-awareness

a frustration with never growing up that she expresses while also not realizing the way she is complicit in that and her own refusal to grow up

considering herself the victim, particularly after "overcoming" the accusations that she always plays the victim

venturing more boldly into the territory of serious mental illness/suicidal ideation/mental health treatment despite demonstrating a fair amount of ignorance regarding those things in the past

fame going to her head (in the sense of her becoming further and further out of touch) and the entitlement in a lot of the more immature attitudes that come across in these songs

self-awareness: for me, the first example that comes to mind is Anti-Hero: "it's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me." It's a claim at self-awareness because she's poking fun at the fact that she knows people always say "maybe she's the problem." The reason why it feels to me like it exposes a lack of self-awareness is because she explores it mostly as a criticism to overcome and not a valid point of self-reflection. @jakeperalta's tags on her post explain it better than I do. Yes, there's an issue when you reduce every feeling to "well maybe she's the problem," but part of growth is admitting that maybe you are part of the problem and coming to terms with the fact that there is often some inevitable truth to that statement—and being willing to work on it. This example is from Midnights, but I think it ties into the next point.

immaturity/never growing up: I actually think these first two sections are just two parts of one section, but it's easier to read this way anyway. There are lots of references to not growing up on this album, the first that come to mind being "So High School" and "teenage petulance." Maybe it's just me, but as a 34-year-old woman, I wouldn't want to be feeling "so high school." I mean, as a 25-year-old, when I talk about feeling like my high school self, it's usually because I'm recognizing how limited my judgment and self-awareness was in high school (despite all the therapy and my efforts to be self-aware in high school). And I am aware of my own bias here—I absolutely hate the football game days because I didn't even like watching people act like that in high school, but at least they were high schoolers—but I do think part of what we've seen is Travis allowing her to be more immature and take less responsibility because that's also where he is at. Obviously I don’t speak to it with any authority since I don't know what happened in the relationship, but based on her behaviors and what I know about Joe (which is VERY little), I kind of get the feeling that part of what she didn't like about being with Joe is that he pushed her to grow. "Your integrity makes me seem small," etc. etc., but not in an “I want to grow” way, but not liking that feeling because she shouldn't have to feel small just because she wants to be able to only do what makes her happy. Just looking at the difference in her behavior and the fact that it seems like she's stopped trying to learn (Miss Americana-ish), it seems like she very much resents the responsibility that comes with being such a famous person and mainly considers herself a victim of her fame.

victimhood: to an extent, yes, she is a victim of her fame. No one should have that much fame and power, and of course she didn't sign up for it in this way. But wanting to have the kind of influence and reach that most artists desire is intertwined with fame. There isn't a way to separate it (in an ideal world, maybe, but that isn't what we're dealing with) and it's something that, to some degree, artists do sign up for. And I think she resents that she's expected to take any sort of responsibility for anything that she doesn't want to do, in a very, "but that's not fair!," teenage petulance kind of way. She even says in Sweet Nothing that "I'm just too soft for all of it." We're all too soft for all of it, but that doesn't mean we get to ignore it. It bothers me that she doesn't seem to feel any sort of responsibility to use this giant platform to do better. Everyone is aware of her influence, including her. I think that's part of the grief. No, it is not her job to use her platform for good, but I thought that it was something she valued and something she wanted. The other line that really stuck out to me was from Cassandra: "They say what doesn't kill you makes you aware, what happens if it becomes who you are?" You may be a victim of what doesn't kill you, but if it becomes who you are, that's not their fault. It reminds me a bit of the exhaustion of living with mental illness. For me in particular, it affects my relationships in a very fundamental way, and there are days that I sob because I am exhausted of things that are so normal being so, so difficult for me... but even though I didn't ask for it and it's not fair that this happened to me, it's still my responsibility to understand how my issues affect how I show up in relationships. It's still my problem, even though it isn't my fault that it's my problem. And if you're lucky, you find really beautiful people who are willing to help you and see that it's not their responsibility, but they want to make it easier for you—I recognize how lucky I am to have some people like that, but it never makes it anyone else's problem. If they decide one day it's not their problem, the truth is that it isn't (and then there's a more complex conversation about what you want to do to preserve a relationship). This is also very connected to something about Kate Beckett/why I identify with that character, and I can touch on that if anyone wants to know, but I don't really have cohesive thoughts about that prepared (it makes more sense if you already know the character). This also goes to other things, like her being upset that people always focus on who songs are about while ignoring the part she played in feeding that culture (like with secret messages).

mental health: this goes to a bigger discussion of how we turn to celebrities who are HIGHLY unqualified to have opinions on things for guidance (the nuance of the above discussion about using your platform), but the more she ventures into the discussion of mental illness, the more upset I get by some remarks she has made in the past. And yes, people grow, she may not feel this way anymore, but nothing in her behavior gives me any reason to believe that she doesn't still have this attitude. This is one that I know I have to be careful of because of how personal it is for me (I've been placed on a 5150 "danger to self" hold and I am a therapist), but one interview that has always made me so upset is that one where she talks about how she's never been to therapy, then ends it by saying "I feel like we just had a therapy session." She has said multiple times how she has never wanted to go to therapy when she has her mom, who already knows everything about her. And that is highly irritating to me because 1. that's why she's your MOM, not your THERAPIST, and 2. there's already so much stigma and apprehension around therapy and many people feel this way, so to have someone like Taylor Swift validate all the people who say "I'd rather talk to someone who already knows me" or "so and so is my therapist" is unbelievably frustrating. There's a reason it's unethical to treat people you know—that isn't therapy. And I think I wouldn't be so bothered by it if she didn't speak about it with such authority, like she knows what she's talking about when what she's saying shows that she doesn't (edit: this is specifically in regard to therapy, not mental illness. I am highly aware that anyone can be mentally ill). The other thing about this album is that it does seem to be an album about loving people with mental illness, and I've already seen a lot of interpretations that simply feed the narrative that people with mental illness are unlovable and mental illness is the reason people mistreat you (particularly the discussion about her lovers being blue all the time). And the issue with that is it's already a common misconception among people with mental illness, that their mental illness is an excuse or reason why they don't treat people right. It's disrespectful to the people who recognize that they have a mental illness that affects how they interact with others and choose to try to overcome it. I'm all for honest discussions about mental illness, but it's so disheartening when it happens on such a large scale and some of the loudest voices are people who don't know enough to know how to (at least try to) do no harm.

fame: I'm not really going to go into it because this has already turned out way longer than I meant for it to, but also because I feel like it's already been touched on. For me, it's the conversation about her feeling she should be able to just do what she wants. I think we all feel that way, but because of her fame and the fact that she's just about untouchable (as shown in how she came back from being cancelled), she can just tune everyone out. But one example was how uneasy I felt about this album being announced at the grammys. For one thing, it's not a fan-voted award, so even if it should, it doesn't feel the same. And regardless of your take on award shows, I do think it showed a level of insensitivity to the other artists who haven't won a bunch of grammys to decide that she would announce a new album at the grammys. Because even if she had a backup plan and said she didn't plan on it, the truth is that, to decide to have a backup plan, you did have to count on it happening, at least to an extent. You had to feel it was likely enough that you wanted to have a back up plan just in case, but it probably would go the way you wanted. To me, it just felt so... disrespectful. Because for many other artists, it doesn't happen more than once. (not to mention the many other things happening that got completely overshadowed, like Annie Lennox calling for a ceasefire)

So if you read all that... I don't even know what the point is at this point. These are just thoughts that, to me, don't feel right to simply ignore. I know there's an argument that you can enjoy music without enjoying where it came from, and it's true to an extent, but I also think part of the music is where it comes from. So... I don't know. Do with that what you will. And if you are reading this, I love you (I can't believe you're reading this).

[serial-serializednovelreader]

Nova’s Notes - Dracula Daily - July 27

In which Mina is even more anxious….

“No news from Jonathan. I am getting quite uneasy about him, though why I should I do not know; but I do wish that he would write, if it were only a single line.”

:(((((( it feels like Mina is almost bargaining here, asking for “only a single line” from him. I feel so bad for her because she cannot know what Jonathan is currently going through just to get home to her safely! It’s also sad because when I see this, all I can think of is the last line in his diary: “Goodbye, all! Mina!” The worst part is, she can’t even put her finger on why, her intuition is just telling her something is wrong and she should be worried. And it’s right.

“Lucy walks more than ever, and each night I am awakened by her moving about the room. Fortunately, the weather is so hot that she cannot get cold; but still the anxiety and the perpetually being wakened is beginning to tell on me, and I am getting nervous and wakeful myself. Thank God, Lucy's health keeps up.”

Yikes, that would definitely make me anxious if I was constantly being awoken by someone pacing around the room, compounded with my anxiety for my fiancé. But what can Mina do except try to sleep the best she can? And through it all, she’s only worried about Lucy’s health and how this could be affecting her. I love Mina so much, she’s so selfless. I just want her to be ok too, though. Who’s looking out for her? :(

“Mr. Holmwood has been suddenly called to Ring to see his father, who has been taken seriously ill. Lucy frets at the postponement of seeing him, but it does not touch her looks; she is a trifle stouter, and her cheeks are a lovely rose-pink. She has lost that anæmic look which she had. I pray it will all last.”

Oh, no!! Again, poor Arthur. I’m sure he hoped it wouldn’t be too serious and now his father has taken a turn for the worse. I know it may seem shallow of Lucy to worry about the postponement, but I think I can explain her logic:

1. She might be covering up her worry for Arthur’s dad and Arthur’s mental health by making it about something else. That might seem strange, but I think it’s possible that she might want to think about/talk about something more trivial than her concrete worries about her future father-in-law’s health and how her fiancé will take this sudden turn in his health. The more time she’s worrying about when she’ll see him again, the less time she’ll worry about how he’s doing emotionally (not the best coping mechanism, but I’ve seen it — and done it — before).

2. If she can’t see Arthur, she can’t comfort him. Letters can only do so much. :(

3. Deep down, she may be insecure about her place with Arthur. What if he doesn’t love her as much as he says/she dares hope? What if he decides to cancel the engagement after he sees to his father since they haven’t seen each other in a while? It may not have even been that long, but that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. I don’t think this is a case of Arthur not demonstrating his love to her enough, but rather her own anxiety taking over her thoughts.

Concerning that she had an anæmic look, but I’m honestly not worried about this — I think she was just worrying and she looked a bit pale because of this (I could go into why I’m not concerned, but that’s verging on spoilers — let’s just say I think Lucy’s fine, just worried).

This last sentence breaks my heart a bit for Mina because she’s not just talking about Lucy’s healthy looks here. She knows lots of things are on the verge of changing: Lucy’s health while sleep-walking (she could catch a cold or get outside!!), Jonathan’s health (what if something bad has happened to him — or what if he’s changed his mind too 😳), and Arthur’s father’s health. Her intuition is saying that something is wrong here, but obviously she can’t confide to Lucy. Two-thirds of those worries are things that would worry Lucy further and the last point with Jonathan would only add a new burden. Besides, it might make the possibility of Jonathan in bad health (or worse) too real, if that makes sense. Hopefully, things will look up soon.

That’s it for this one!

[vickyvicarious]

I wonder if Mr Hawkins hides a more serious condition too, he says he cannot go to the Castle because of gout so he sent Jonathan, and he also sends Mina unchaperoned (granted, he's not her father, but the closest she has) overseas, presumably because of the same issue. But so far those who hide their own illness are women.

You may well be onto something. Certainly, parental figures appear to be dropping like flies, at least into illness. And certainly, Mr. Hawkins doesn't seem well enough to travel despite presumably having originally planned to do so when he first accepted Dracula as a client.

From what I understand, gout itself is not often fatal at first, but it's likely to recur or become chronic, in which case it can increase your risk of other issues developing and can become fatal. So he wouldn't necessarily need to be hiding anything about what he has, except possibly how bad it's getting, for this to hint that he's on his way out too.

Your note about the gendered divide of hiding their own illness is interesting. I would be more inclined to point to them being Westenras, but certainly there is an element of it being easier for men, who are seen as more generally 'capable' (for lack of a better term), to admit to being ill or injured in some way. That said, it's a recurring theme that all sorts of people don't mention how bad things are with them. We see it with both the Westenra women with their illnesses, but also with Mina not admitting to the great stress she was under until she was pushed to the brink. Jonathan understated his distress a fair bit, and this seems normal for him. Jack withdrew from his friends when he was feeling depressed, and didn't seek them out to open up about his mental state. I recognize this is getting away from physical ailments, but it still feels relevant.

Another factor to consider is the relationship/circumstances, particularly for these parental figures. Mrs. Westenra is a widow who is eager to see her daughter married off to someone who can "take care of her"; she infantilizes Lucy and doesn't think she could handle the news, as well as not wanting to ruin her excitement for the wedding. I also think she personally doesn't want to have to deal with Lucy grieving for her, and would rather just pretend everything's fine because it is more comfortable for her. It seems like keeping up pretenses has been the modus operandi for her, and so that fits too. It makes sense as well that Lucy, having learned from her mother, would tend in the same direction.

If Arthur is anything to judge by, then his father is more likely to be open about his condition - both physically and emotionally. It also doesn't sound like his illness is much of a surprise based on how it has been mentioned, though the degree to which it worsens is unpredictable. I could imagine him as an older man, possibly with some chronic condition that they've both known about for a while, but which is getting worse at an unexpectedly rapid rate. I suspect he's hoping to hang on to see the wedding but both Arthur and he know it may not happen. He's also an important person, and he may need Arthur not only to be by his side for sentimental reasons, but in an effort to explain/pass over whatever he can before it's too late.

Mr. Hawkins is no one's father, but he does seem to fulfill something approaching that role for both Mina and Jonathan (though they seem more professional overall so far). If his illness is on the serious side, then him not mentioning it would make sense in the context of him not wanting to distress her any more than she already is about Jonathan. I also think he feels quite guilty about what happened to Jonathan 'on his watch'/in his place, particularly since it seems like he's been proud of teaching Jonathan as a sort of protege (the introductory letter might be bragging in a show for the client, but I choose to see it as honestly meant brags) and may feel a level of fatherly affection towards him. I think the circumstances would combine to make him more likely to feel more affectionate/indulgent towards both of them, and less likely to admit to any more serious health conditions. They're dealing with enough already (the thing everyone thinks), that sort of thing.

[ryuzakemo128]

Demons in my head, Angels in my eyes

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Cello Player/ Visual Artist! You, Female Reader x Chrissy Cunningham

Content Warning: Mental Illness mentioned and embedded into it. Like Depression, Synaesthesia, and PTSD. Suicide Ideation also heavily referenced.

Words: 2525

Note: This is going to be pretty depressing. I even cried a few times in writing this. So be careful when you read it. You might need a box of tissues with you. Part 2 Coming soon.

Masterlist

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

You were more likely to die young according to Chrissy and Eddie through a conversation you accidentally overheard once. It felt like they wanted you to die before you reached the age of twenty-one. You wore a crimson red turtleneck with a cardigan draped over your shoulders. The one which you bought from a thrift store last weekend.

The scarf you put on matched your cardigan, both in colour and in style. You embroidered ‘Life’s a bitch, and then you die.’  Into the back of your cardigan in cursive. You bought it with the intent on adding small embellishments to it. You added three things to it, you haven’t found any buttons you liked to replace the old ones. Which you’re still mentally kicking yourself over.

You walked to your recital, which would happen during the lunch break. You were not looking forward to it either. The quicker this was done, the sooner you wanted to go home early for the day. Eddie and Chrissy spotted you getting ready for it, the bandages on your arms indicating a path of self-destructive tendencies.

Chrissy leaned in closer to Eddie, whispering something into his ear that made him chuckle darkly. You felt your heart sink, knowing that your secret was out. They had seen your battle with mental illness, a silent war you had been fighting since you were six. The whispers grew louder as you took the stage, the cello between your legs.

Your knees trembled as you placed the bow to the strings, the whispers transforming into a cacophony of doubt in your mind. You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and let the music take over. The cello sang out a melody that spoke of your soul's deepest turmoil, the notes resonating with the pain you held inside.

The song piece you decided to play was called 'Melancholy Nocturne'. It was one of your favourite pieces. You closed your eyes while you played it, hoping to block them out from your sight and your mind's eye. The music was your only solace, when you were finished, you felt drained but oddly at peace. The sound of applause washed over you, bringing you back to reality. You walked backstage to pack and leave when someone stopped you.

It was Eddie. His face was a mix of concern and curiosity. He looked at your arms, the bandages peeking out from under your sleeves. "Hey, are you okay?" His voice was softer than you had ever heard it. It almost made you believe he genuinely cared. You shrugged it off, "Just a little accident."

He didn't press further, which was surprising. Instead, he leaned against the wall, watching you pack up your cello. "That was intense," he said, referring to your performance. "Where does that come from?" You looked up at him, unsure of how to answer. The music was your escape, a place where your thoughts and feelings could run free without judgement.

"My parents forced me to learn it. I just refuse to unlearn it." You state simply picking up your cello case to leave.

Eddie nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Look, I know we haven't exactly been... friendly. But I've noticed you've been pretty down lately. More than usual." His voice is gentle, a stark contrast to the sarcastic tone he usually has.

"I'm depressed. I will never be happy." You bluntly stated. "I have experienced brief moments of bliss and nothing else."

Eddie's expression grew more serious. "You know, talking about it can help. I've seen it with my uncle."

"Munson, your uncle helps because he gives a shit about you. He cares about you, he wants you to do better, that is what he should be doing, family they are supposed to care about you." You corrected him. "My family has a long tract record of addiction, suicide and cancer. My family sucks. My family are all over the place because they're as selfish as they come."

Eddie nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of your words. "But that doesn't mean you can't find happiness elsewhere. Or that you shouldn't try to get better." He offered a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I know it's tough, but sometimes you gotta fight through the bad stuff to get to the good."

"I'm broke, my truck is about to die, and I have a shit job I do on the weekend." You countered. "Classmates aren't friends, they're just people you have the same class with. I'm just here because I'm too much of a coward to kill myself." You walked to your truck to put your things into it. You tried starting your truck, which failed three times before it finally roared to life. Your parents left you home alone for the rest of the week. As your father took your mother on 'business trip' or something.

Eddie found out you were alone for the rest of the week by overhearing a conversation between teachers. He heard, "Her parents left for the week, she's all by herself again. Poor girl."

Eddie saw you push your truck to the mechanic to sell it for scap if they said it wasn't worth fixing. Eddie overheard the mechanics tell you that it would cost more than the car was worth to fix. He felt bad for you, so he offered to give you a ride home. You declined. Saying you weren't worth the effort.

The walk home was long and lonely. The grey clouds above mirrored your mood. You felt like a burden to everyone around you, a black hole that sucked the happiness out of any room you entered. You trudged along the sidewalk, your mind racing with dark thoughts.

As you approached your house, you saw Eddie's car parked outside. Your heart sank. He had insisted on giving you a ride, and you had foolishly hoped he'd forgotten about it. You quickened your pace, trying to slip inside before he noticed you. But as you reached the door, he stepped out of the car, blocking your path.

You attempted to go inside your house through the basement which is your bedroom and main living space. It was cluttered with art supplies and band posters. You had painted the walls a deep shade of purple to match the mood of your music. The only source of light was a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting a dim glow over everything.

You walked to your fridge to have your pot brownie and have a nap afterwards. You didn't expect Eddie to follow you inside. You turned around to face him, a mix of annoyance and confusion in your eyes. "What do you want?" You snapped.

Eddie took a step back, holding his hands up in a non-threatening gesture. "I just wanted to make sure you got home okay." His eyes swept over the cluttered room, taking in the sight of your personal sanctuary. "This is… intense."

"Just like my internal need to off myself." you muttered mostly to yourself than him as you ate your pot brownie.

Eddie noticed the pot brownie that was almost gone. He frowned, his concern growing. "You know, that's not a healthy way to cope," he said, his voice gentle.

"Who say I was coping?" You snorted as you stored the rest in your fridge and went to brush your teeth before a nap.

Eddie followed you into the bathroom, his eyes widening at the sight of your arms. The bandages were off, revealing a tapestry of scars, some fresh and others faded with time. "You need help," he said firmly. "This isn't just sadness. This is a cry for help."

"This is me coping." You corrected.

Eddie looked at you with a mix of sadness and anger. "No, this is you punishing yourself." He reached out to grab your arm gently, turning it so he could see the full extent of the damage. Which was far more than he assumed. Your wrists sliced up to hell and back, they looked raw and painful. "This isn't living." Some of the more fresher ones were still red and swollen, it looked like you had done it the night before.

You cleaned your arms, when you attempted to bandage them yourself when Eddie decided to take over. He was surprisingly gentle. "You can't keep doing this to yourself." He murmured, his eyes focused on his task. "You're worth so much more than what you give yourself credit for."

You didn't answer, you didn't say anything in response to it, you were tired of hearing it over and over again. You felt like screaming, but you knew it was futile. You knew that Eddie meant well, but his words felt hollow. They always did. You sat down on your bed, the springs creaking under your weight. The mattress had seen better days, much like everything else in the house.

After he was done, you attempted to nap, thought Eddie had other plans. He didn't let you nap. He sat on the edge of your bed, his eyes never leaving your face. "Why don't you come to the party tonight?" He asked, his voice hopeful. "It'll be a good distraction."

"I don't go to parties. I suck the fun out of everything." you told him.

"Well, maybe it's time to change that," Eddie said, his voice firm but not unkind. "You can't just sit here and wallow in your own misery forever."

"I've been getting paid well for it so far." You pointed out that your father gives you an allowance of a hundred dollars every week in addition to your job's wage. You attempted to get ready to eat at the diner for dinner alone as 'treat' for yourself. You got changed into a long sleeved dress to go eat at the diner. She thought it would have looked weird enough for him to leave without her.

You walked out of the bathroom, your arms now bandaged again. Eddie's eyes searched yours for any sign of hope or agreement, but all he found was a deep sadness. You shrugged, "I don't know how to do anything else."

He stood up, his hands resting on his hips. "Look, I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but you've gotta try. For yourself." He paused, then added, "And maybe for the people who care about you."

"The zero out of zero people." You got your wallet to walk to the diner alone.

Eddie sighed, understanding the weight of your words. "Okay, dinner at the diner it is." He followed you out of the house, his boots echoing on the pavement as you walked side by side. The air was cool, a hint of rain in the air. The diner's neon sign flickered in the growing twilight, casting an eerie glow on the empty street.

You paid for his food as well. You didn't take no for an answer. But to Eddie it was more than just food. It was a silent cry for help, a gesture of friendship in a sea of apathy. You sat across from each other in a booth, the smell of greasy food and burnt coffee filling the air. The jukebox played a sad tune that seemed to resonate with the mood.

"Why do you care?" You finally asked, breaking the silence. "You've never talked to me before, except for that one time when you guys talked about how likely it was for me to die young."

Eddie looked down at his plate, pushing his fries around with his fork. "I don't know. Maybe I saw a bit of myself in you." He admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've had my own battles, you know."

"Take your girlfriend Chrissy to that party. I'll walk home." You quickly finished your food to go home.

Eddie reached out and placed his hand over yours, stopping you from moving. "Hey, don't rush off. I'm not taking you home just yet." His grip was firm but not overpowering.

"I'm certain you don't have to 'take me' anywhere." You replied.

Eddie looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a surprising intensity. "I know it's not my place, but I do care. And I want to help. Maybe the party isn't your scene, but just give it a shot. What do you have to lose?"

"Dignity, sense of self and the fact that people might stab me." You were blunt. "The stabbing part has happened before though."

Eddie looked surprised, "What do you mean?"

"Yeah. I got embarressed at an attempt to go to a party. A chick got upset and stabbed me with a butterknife." you explained.

Eddie's eyes widened in shock. "Jesus, that's messed up."

"It was then. Not so much now. I can safely say that I got stabbed by a butterknife." you snorted eating your pumpkin pie.

You attempted to shoo him off to go with Chrissy to the party while you went to practice your cello.

Eddie nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, no party. But promise me you won't be alone all night. If you need anything, I'll be there." He slid a piece of paper with his number across the table. "Call me, no matter what." Eddie then remembered she would be alone in the house.

You took the paper without looking at it, stuffing it into your pocket. "Fine." You stood up, ready to leave. Heading home alone to an empty house on the hill.

Eddie watched you go, a look of concern etched on his face. He knew you weren't okay, but he also knew pushing too hard wouldn't help. He followed you from a distance, making sure you got home safe. Once he saw you go inside, he drove away, feeling a little helpless.

The house was eerily quiet when you entered. You felt the weight of the silence pressing down on you as you made your way to the basement. You pulled out your cello and began to play, letting the music fill the empty space. As the notes danced in the air, you couldn't help but feel a little less alone.

You were woken up at 4am by your door being thrown open. Your father stumbling into your room with your mother in tow. "Get dressed, we're leaving." He slurred. You looked at the clock, it was 4 AM, you had work at 6 AM. "Where are we going?"

"Back to your mother's hometown. We need to sort some shit out with her inheritance. It's going to be a week or two. Make sure to tell your boss."

"I got things to do here still. Like school." You reminded him.

"You can miss a week of school. You're already a failure anyway." Your mother spat, her voice slurred from too much alcohol.

"Then you can do it yourself. I'll stay here and take care of the house." you stated.

Your father's eyes narrowed. "You can't stay here alone. What if something happens?"

"I've been home alone before." You reminded him.

He sighed heavily, the smell of alcohol filling the room. "Fine. But don't you dare do anything stupid while we're gone."

[deceptive-daydreams]

The Under-Ground (18+ ONLY)

Chapter Three - Sunday Night

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - Your best friend would never go behind your back...right?

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

6K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, mentions of drugs and drinking, allusions to mental illness, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: So it has almost been a month since I posted the previous chapter but we finally did it guys. Also shout out to @uglypastels for talking through one of my ideas for this chapter with me, I felt like I was going absolutely insane so she really helped me out.

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Hawkins High - Sophomore Year

It was mid August, school was just about to start but first there was an ice cream social the week before.  Usually you’d only see these for the elementary school but they’d started hosting them for the middle school as well the freshman and sophomores at the high school to give them a little head start in making friends and getting to know their teachers.  It was held in the parking lot where two ice cream trucks were parked and handing out cones left and right, only offering three flavors: vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry all for free.  

Your parents had played a big part in the Hawkins community, always helping to set up events and always making an appearance.  They had set out to create the perfect nuclear family with a picket fence and happy faces.  Your mom was on the PTA which meant you were forced to go to a number of school events.  This was one of them, you had no desire to attend an ice cream social especially as an established sophomore, you’d already attended last year’s as a freshman and you didn’t need to relive that.  And yet here you were, sitting on the curb in front of the school in the sweltering August heat while other teenagers created a ruckus throughout the parking lot, a few boys tossing melted ice cream at each other thinking they were the funniest people ever.  

None of your friends attended, obviously.  They weren’t forced to show up so that left you bored and sticky with a sheen of sweat gracing your skin and no one to talk to.  Steve Harrington was in attendance, more than likely also forced to show up because of his mom, however he was more of an acquaintance and someone that happened to always be at the same events that your parents dragged you to.  You watched as he performed little tasks as requested by his mother, the current one being to fetch a new box of Hawkins High t-shirts from the car.  Passing by you, he gestures to the box and rolls his eyes, an understanding between the two of you that this was ridiculous and neither of you had any desire to be here sweating profusely for the sake of your PTA moms and being their little assistants when needed.  You offer him a smile and a shrug, shaking your head as he sets the box on a fold up table, his mother shooing him away as he does.  You always wondered why his mom was so mean and dismissive but quickly took a step back to realize you were in the same boat, he just had more money that his parents would throw at him to get him to go away when necessary for them.  Yours just simply told you to find an activity when they had no interest in entertaining you.  

In any instance, you could appreciate that you and Steve were both lonely teenagers who always saw each other at these events and would sometimes convene and other times give each other mocking looks at how serious the adults were.  It was an ongoing game of who could roll their eyes the hardest and he always ended up winning.  After his mom waved him away, he plopped down right next to you, bowing his head in exhaustion and letting out a heavy sigh.

“Couldn’t get out of this one either?”  He asks with an empathetic smile.  

You shake your head, staring across the lot at all the families and groups of friends.  “Nope.”  You answer.

“Did you at least get ice cream?”  He questions, scraping his shoe against the pavement.  

“Nope.”  You reply, him muttering the same thing as you both laugh.  

“It’s gross anyway, it’s too hot even for ice cream.”  You elaborate while fanning yourself with an orientation brochure.  He agrees with a nod, running a hand through his damp hair, sweaty from lugging boxes around and doing just about anything his mom instructs him to do.  At least all you had to do was hand out the brochures.  

You and Steve continue to sulk on the sidewalk, miserable in the heat even at five in the evening while teachers introduce themselves to the incoming freshman.  Out of nowhere, a guy speeds past the two of you on the curb on a skateboard, abruptly coming to a stop in front of the table of PTA moms.  This was gonna be good, based on his looks, they were going to get a kick out of him.  You shared a look with Steve, an acknowledgement that you were thinking the same thing as you watched the scene play out.  The kid had to be your age at least, he didn’t seem like a freshman, had too much confidence and he appeared a bit older, maybe a junior?  He had a head of brown curls that were shaggy and messy, it looked like he was growing it out and he wore a black shirt with some kind of a demon on it along with some black jeans that were beyond distressed, denim threads hanging off of holes at his knees while he gripped his skateboard in one hand.  The board was pretty worn and looked as if it could snap in half if he stood on it wrong.  Your ears perked up as the moms took a look at him.

“Oh!  Wh-what can we do for you?”  One asks hesitantly, the others staring at him with wide eyes.  He only avoids their eyes, opting to fidget with the grip tape on his board, a piece that was beginning to peel off, that typical teenage boy grumpiness evident in his demeanor.

“Community service.  Name’s Eddie.  What d’ya need me to do?”  The kid grumbles.

Your mom takes a look at a clipboard and nods reluctantly.  “You’re late.”  She says with a scowl.  He shrugs, staring up at the sky as if he’d much rather be anywhere else and you couldn’t blame him.

“Well then.”  Your mother fiends offense.  “You can start by…”  She trails off, searching around for a task, her gaze focusing on anything that remains to be done, no doubt seeking something more difficult in order to punish the boy for being so late.  “Untangling these lanyards.”  She demands, shoving a small box into his arms.  He bites his lip, holding back from saying something before just accepting his fate and nodding.  As he turns, he catches your eye, doing a double take as he looks expectantly, you were staring first after all.  How could you not?  He was cute.  

You mouth a “sorry” while vaguely gesturing to your mother though he wouldn’t know it was your mom.  You proceed to do a dramatic eye roll like you would do to Steve and this elicits the smallest smile from him, a gorgeous smile framed by deep dimples.  The boy proceeded to set his skateboard against the curb by himself before slumping down, beginning his daunting task of untangling several knotted up lanyards.

Steve stares at you with furrowed brows before speaking.  “You know him?”  He asks.

“No, never seen him before.” 

Admiring his face as he sticks his tongue out to concentrate, you start to flush when he glances back up at you with a shy smile this time, peeking up at you from beneath his lashes, your stomach fluttering.  Eddie.

—

Present Day

The mall wasn’t somewhere you found yourself frequenting as of lately due to your financial situation however you couldn’t turn down Will’s plea when he visited The Under-Ground on Saturday, the evening following when Jason Carver visited the shop and mysteriously left without purchasing a coffee.  That fact lingered in your mind since it happened.  Will was in desperate need of some new shoes and also wanted to catch a movie that no one else would watch with him, he mentioned that Joyce gave him extra money to cover both of your tickets.  You should feel humiliation at the fact that Joyce insisted on paying for you but you know there is no judgment there from her and Will more than likely told her you were the only one that would be willing to go.  He knew you would say yes to a cheesy rom com that everyone else would gag at and in a way, you were like a sister he never had that could appreciate his feminine side.  Joyce appreciated this so she would ensure Will got his big sister time in.  

So here you were, Sunday afternoon strolling along Hawkins’ streets with Will on your way to Starcourt.  He didn’t have his license yet and you’d never even bothered to get yours which worked out really seeing as you would never be able to save up enough for a car, not even a used one.  Walking did you good anyway, that's what you told yourself as the days got colder.  

“No, I’m serious!  El refuses to watch rom coms.”  Will laughs as he kicks a pebble along the sidewalk, the same pebble he’d been kicking around since ten minutes ago when you’d left his driveway.  

Brow raising in curiosity, you offer him a scoff in response.

“What!?”  He smiles wide, happy, actually happy.  

Will had been through some rough patches with being bullied at school for everything under the sun.  His sexuality, playing DND, being quiet and shy, the list goes on.  A dumb list at that.  The other boys also had trouble however Will seemed to crumble the most under it all.  Though he had an amazing support system, the mind can really infect itself with its own nasty diseases of self hatred which led to endless nights in solitude, declining to hang out with anyone for weeks and instead collecting dust in his room.  

Jonathan confronted you, worried at one of Steve’s movie nights confiding in you that his brother wasn’t doing so well and that no matter what he did, Will continued to sleep for a majority of his time at home and even skipped school a lot.  Both you and Jonathan stepped into your older sibling roles and decided that night to head back to the Byers while Jonathan explained on the way there that not even El could get through to him which meant things were really bad.  So, when you and Jonathan barged into his room that night with various snack options and a plan to watch his favorite movie all together in his bed, Will was overwhelmed but in the best way possible.  Sure it didn’t fix everything, that’s not how it worked but it was the first little push toward being himself again.  As long as he had the people he loved around and loved him for who he was authentically, he could walk the horrifying Hawkins High halls in confidence that this place was temporary.  It also helped that you reminded him that he’s never alone at school either, Lucas, Dustin, Will, Mike, Max, and El were all going through the same hell he was and that you were sure they wouldn’t mind if he talked with them about it.  But even if he didn’t feel comfortable, you’d be there to listen along with Jonathan, attempting to help him carry the weight on his shoulders.  

“I’m sorry, little miss ‘soap operas’ refuses to watch a rom com?”  You smile in disbelief.

“I didn’t say it made sense!”  Will giggles, throwing his hands up in defense.

Starcourt Mall emerged in the distance from over the horizon as you completed your fifteen minute walk from the Byers, the weekend crowd was prominent as it was almost the only place within a hundred mile radius to do anything fun.  Kids squealed as they chased each other all the way up to the entrance, their parents scolding them through gritted teeth while uttering the threat of not getting ice cream later if they didn’t behave.  It was far too cold for ice cream but to each their own.

“Well we don’t need her anyway.  She hogs up all my Will time.”  You joke, nudging an elbow into Will’s ribs.  

“There’s no need to fight over me, there’s plenty of Will to go around.”  His eyes glimmered with life, something you hadn’t seen a lot of until more recently.  He had sparked this new found confidence that had you beaming at him with pride.  Little Byers, the group’s timid little brother, the youngest out of all of the kids, was growing into himself as he worked through adolescence and it was refreshing. 

“Oh, really?  As I recall, you have a waitlist and the only reason I got ahead of everyone was because El booted herself out this one time.”  You cock a brow at him, the two of you pushing through the heavy glass doors entering the building.  “How’d you get all popular on me, huh?”  You tousled his hair and although he was now taller than you, he was still Little Byers.

“I did NOT get ‘all popular on you’.”  He uses air quotes, that huge grin still plastered to his face while you walked absentmindedly through the mall, the smell of cinnamon invading your senses, instantly filling you with a craving for a soft pretzel covered in cinnamon sugar and icing. 

“No, you’re for sure Mr. Popular now.”  You playfully assure him.  

“Trust me.”  He sing songs, rolling his eyes.  “If I were, Eddie would’ve kicked me to the curb.  And he hasn’t…so hah.”  Will points a finger in your face.  Your face winces at the name though you keep to yourself as to not rain on his parade.  “He did, however, almost disown me last night when I won against him in Mario Kart.”

Mario Kart?  Only you and Will played Mario Kart.  Or so you thought up until this point.  It’s a stupid thing to be upset over, really but you couldn’t shake the bitterness that rattled in your bones.  It was a game, a video game that basically every person on planet earth had heard of and played.  And yet the only reason it felt like such a personal attack was none other than a common occurrence in your life recently, Eddie Munson.  So maybe when you mumbled your next words, you attempted to hide the sour tone but ultimately only outed yourself.

“Mario Kart?  You play–with him?”  Pathetic, you’re pathetic.  The fact that you spoke such a stupid sentence into existence is beyond you.  There was a jealousy coursing through you, spilling out of your lips and no matter how hard you tried to shove it back into the duffle bag of your body, there was no coming back.  Over a game called fucking Mario Kart of all things.  

Will nervously wavered in his response, side eyeing you as you both continued to make your way through the mall and to the discount shoe store.  “Yeah?”  It came out as a question, god you could just punt yourself down a football field right now for being a literal adult fuming in envy over another adult playing a video game with your basically adopted little brother.  “He came over last night after work.  It was me Jonathan, and him…”  You were practically making the poor kid defend himself over something completely okay.  “He’s been coming over a lot actually?  We play DND, Mario Kart, he brings over pizza.  Like once a week since summer.”  Will acts as if you had this information.

Summer.  When Will fell into his biggest episode to date, when everyone had plans of their own including Dustin with summer camp, Mike regrettably embarking on a trip to Washington DC with his dad, Lucas traveling around for his summer basketball program, El and Max bonding over their boyfriends being away and having girls night after girls night, and of course the adults with their jobs.  He had felt so outcast and alone.  You're suddenly beginning to realize that you weren’t the only one to tend to Will’s emotional wounds besides Jonathan.  There was a bigger picture here and though you hate to step back and look at it, you’re forced to realize that Eddie was also acting as a protector of Will’s sanity, assuming just as big of a role as you and Jonathan.

You shouldn’t ask, you shouldn’t dare trek into this territory but the words tumble out before you can even think, your shoulders relaxing and eyes softening at the boy before you.  “Were you too scared to tell me?”

Will shakes his head as he hesitantly starts to enlighten you.  “No–I just–I–”  He sighs, frowning.  “I thought you already knew.  A-and I never talk about him around you–or I try not to as best as I can because–because I know how much you hate him.  Like anytime you see him you look like you just wanna rip his head off.”  Will has moved into full rambling mode.  “And now–now you work together so I’m trying to be extra careful, so–so I’m sorry.  For mentioning him.”  

You have reached a point so low that you were now unintentionally making Will apologize for things that were never his fault or ever revolved around him.  Anxiety flashes in his eyes and you were giving yourself the goldstar for being the shittiest person alive.  “Will…”  You croak out.  “Will, no.  You don’t owe anyone an apology, I owe YOU an apology.  I didn’t mean for this to affect you like that.”  You explain, pausing in front of the store.  “Will, I’m sorry.  Please never worry about mentioning him in front of me, okay?  Not for my sake, I’m a big girl and you’re right, I don’t like him but I will have to learn to deal with it whenever he comes up.  Okay?”

There’s a pause as he absorbs your words, his eyes shyly looking to the ground and then back to you.  “Okay.”  He whispers, still uncertain.  You would need to visit this again at another time, you were not about to cause more turmoil for him just because of your personal vendetta and you can’t believe you didn’t see how it affected him before.  Will had enough with his dad causing issues in his life, he didn’t need two more bickering adults further proving that no one was ever happy.  You would keep your waging war with Eddie out of his sight.  The sudden shift in the air was enough to leave you numb, quickly clinging onto any remaining normalcy from your earlier conversation.

—

The scent of freshly popped popcorn, warm and buttery goodness filled the theater as you walked drowsily into the hallway decorated with multicolored carpet and little designs of stars with abstract shapes.  Nothing ever prepares you for the feeling of seemingly being transported to another realm the second you step out of a two hour movie and back into the real world.  Every other soul that had sat through the romantic comedy appeared to feel the same, zombies waddling out of the theater and into the main lobby heading back into reality.  It had to have been around 8:30 PM by now, the day long gone as there was no longer any trace of sunlight streaming in through the windows.  Will had been talking your ear off about the movie, the parts that were super unnecessary, scenes that had him on the brink of tears, and how the twist at the end was a sloppy way to conclude the story.  You hummed in response to his complaints, nearly asleep and yearning for your bed no matter how stiff it made your back.  

“You know, now I can kinda see why El hates these movies sometimes.”  He admits much to your surprise however you knew he’d never say those words directly to her.  

“Don’t let her catch you saying that.”  You warn playfully, the two of you pushing through the heavy metal doors leading to the mall parking lot.  

“Not a chance-”

Will is abruptly silenced when a familiar voice chimes in, happily wrapping his arms around both you and Will from behind.

“You guys went to the movies!?  Why wasn’t I invited?”  Dustin’s overly excited tone made you want to groan but you held back.  It wasn’t his fault you were on your way to becoming a grumpy adult who needed to be in bed by at least 9:00 PM.  

Will shoves Dustin’s arm off of his shoulder, turning to walk backwards as you continue your trek through the parking lot.  The grin on his face is genuine rather than masking some kind of true emotions like he’d previously done throughout summer.  “Cause we saw a rom com.”  It’s all he needs to say as Dustin fakes a gag.  “That’s why.”  Will gestures to him with a roll of his eyes.  

“Fair.”

The neon lights from the theater created a glow throughout the lot, bright reds, greens, blues, and yellows reflecting off of the cars.  The mall was still buzzing with people regardless of the stores closing, groups of teenagers and young adults scattered throughout the benches at the front creating a hum of clustered talking and every now and then, the annoying screech of some teenage girl overdramatically yelling to her friends about something was heard.  Dustin and Will continued catching up and you’d think that with them seeing each other every single day at school, they’d grow sick of one another but it was quite the opposite and once you got them going there was no shutting them up, no matter the setting.

The boy’s voices slowly phased out of your mind as you approached the back of the lot catching sight of something familiar but it wasn’t yet dawning on you where you knew it from.  A van, an older van.  Brown and white.  Barely ever seen out and about these days.  And before you could even register who it belonged to, a disheveled Steve suddenly hopped out the back doors, rushing to zip up his jeans as his chest heaved and he ran a hand through his voluminous hair.  A flash of realization crossed your features, eyes widening and jaw dropping.  

Eddie Munson’s van.  

Steve Harrington was stumbling out of Eddie Munson’s van after presumably committing unspeakable acts based on his flustered demeanor and attempts at cleaning himself up.  There was no mistaking it when the back of his hand wiped his mouth and to further confirm your suspicions, the man himself stepped out seconds later.  Eddie stood there, fly still undone while he stretched both his arms over his head, shirt riding up to show off a glimpse of his pale torso.  His curls were even more wild than usual and a smirk displayed on his face as he made some kind of comment to Steve.  

In your shocked state, you’d completely drowned out Dustin and Will’s banter, attempting to understand the scene playing out before you in the corner of the parking lot.  This wasn’t possible, Steve hated Eddie just as much as you did and although it was for different reasons than your own, it was hatred nonetheless.  If that was the case then why was this happening?  How could this be happening?  The questions remained unanswered as you realized you’d stopped dead in your tracks, falling behind the boys as they turned back to stare at you with puzzled expressions.  Your next question was thrown out the window due to Dustin doing a double take at the two men.  Do I draw attention to this or do I let it go like I never saw?  

It was now too late for the second option as a gasp escaped Dustin, he just had to look right when Eddie teasingly tugged Steve in by the belt loop and planted one last sloppy kiss to his lips before retreating to the driver’s side of his van, not even bothering to zip up his pants while Steve returned to his own car.  Things were about to become massively more complicated.  For Steve.  For you.  For your friendship.  Even for Dustin and Will who were utterly flabbergasted by what had just played out in front of them.  Because everyone knows Steve hates Eddie, right?  That’s just how the world goes.  Steve hates Eddie, Eddie hates Steve.  They’re polar opposites.  Nothing was adding up and poor Dustin and Will were about to experience something you wished so badly you could hold back.  There was no controlling it, you found yourself marching up to Steve’s car before he was even able to open the door, wedging yourself between him and the car.

“Steve.”  His name is spat right at him like venom, your face showing the distaste you had for him in this moment but he couldn’t quite gather if it's because you’d caught him or if this was you and you dramatics once again over something as simple as taking a rain check on driving Max and El to the arcade since they didn’t have their licenses yet.  

“Socks?”  He has the audacity to seem lost and it only fuels the fire growing inside of you.  

“Don’t.”  You warn through clenched teeth.  

Suddenly it feels as if it's only you and Steve in the parking lot, your eyes shooting daggers at him and he can only imagine that he fucked up.  And this time it was bad by the way your face flushed with anger, steam practically coming out of your ears.  Dustin and Will kept their distance near a dumpster, close enough to listen in but still somewhat hidden.  You didn’t want them to witness what you were about to unleash but it came out of nowhere, like a dam breaking and releasing all of its contents.

“How.  Dare.  You.”  Each word is enunciated with a harsh poke to his chest, his brown eyes becoming sadder with each one.

“I don’t-”

“If you’re about to tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about then I don’t even recognize you anymore, Steve.”  

He visibly deflates, shoulders shrinking as if he was a puppy that was caught doing something it wasn’t supposed to.  Except he was a grown man and he knew exactly what he was doing, he knew if you found out it would possibly cost your friendship. 

“It wasn’t supposed to–I–wasn’t–you gotta understand–”

“Understand what?  I think I understand perfectly!  You and Munson are messing around and you’re doing it behind my back!  What, is this some kind of prank?  Are–are you helping him get at me for something?  Did I push your buttons a little too hard one day and you decided to hit me where–where it hurts most?”  You were genuinely trying to name reasons for why he’d do such a thing knowing how much it would affect you but there was no making sense of it in your brain.  You were desperate to know why one of the closest people in your life would betray you in such a way.  

“No!  No I–”  

“Enlighten me then, Steve.  Cause I don’t get it!  Out of every single person you could choose, you fuck Eddie!?”  Tears were brimming at your eyes, your hand tightening on the door handle as you tried to regain some composure.

“If I may interrupt…”  Another voice chimed in a few feet away, the last voice you’d ever want to hear, especially at this moment.  “There was no fucking.”  Eddie leaned against the side of his van a few parking spots over, arms crossed and a cocky look on his face.  You swore you wanted to kill him, pure rage was coursing through your veins.  You wanted to kill both of them if you were honest.

Steve mumbled your name in sorrow, searching for answers just as much as you were.  “I didn’t mean for anything like this to happen.  I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I swear.  It–it just happened.”  A sigh of defeat escapes him while his hand rubs the back of his neck anxiously.  

The tears began to build up, breaking the barrier of your waterline and falling down your cheeks as you attempted to quickly wipe them away.  “If you didn’t mean to hurt me then why did you hide it?  Does Robin know?”  The question held such power over him, it was a deciding factor in what your next move was.  

Seconds pass although it feels like several minutes due to the tension.  He avoids your eyes, opting to further inspect the asphalt below.  Feeling yourself becoming more agitated and wounded, you roughly shove his shoulder with the palm of your hand causing him to stumble back a few steps.

“Steve.”  Still no answer.

This time you step forward to shove him again but with both hands, unable to comprehend how he can’t even admit his truth to you, only to be stopped when a taller figure steps in between the two of you, grabbing your wrists in his hands.  It takes you by surprise and at first you have no idea who would’ve stopped you but as you look up, you’re met with deep brown irises that you’d come to dislike even more in the last few minutes.  

“Take a breather.”  There’s something in his eyes you don’t recognize but you’re too far gone to analyze it.

“Let.  Go.”  

“Take.  A.  Breather.”  His grip on your wrists is firm but not unkind.  

“Eddie, I think you should just let us–”  Steve attempts to butt in but Eddie glances behind him with a warning written on his face.

“Harrington, I’d shut up if I were you right now.”  

“You have no business stepping into this, Munson.  Let.  Go.”  Wriggling around in an attempt to get out of his hold but failing, you huff out a breath, still glaring at Steve over Eddie’s shoulder.

“It is my business.”  

“Let go.”  Your voice regrettably comes out cracking, more tears involuntarily falling.  

And he does.  Eddie lets go, showing you his hands in surrender to which you try to shove past him only to be held in place by your shoulders.  It felt like it was you against the world and you kept losing.  

“Look, I know you’re not my biggest fan and now you’re not Harrington’s either but you need to take a minute.”  Again, you meet his eyes briefly only to find some kind of emotion lurking in them but you can’t pinpoint exactly what it is.  This isn’t something you’re used to, why was Eddie being the middleman, why was he talking you down out of everyone?  Why was there a drop of sympathy pouring from his gaze?  And then you decided, it had to have been sympathy for Steve, not you.  And that stung for some reason.  

Poor Dustin and Will still lingered near the dumpster, deciding to keep themselves out of it, rightfully so.  Even as you glanced toward them, taking in their concerned faces, you continued.  It was like something was set off deep within you and Steve’s actions released it.  Grabbing a fistful of Eddie’s shirt in your hand, you scowled at him and then Steve.  

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I do when you’re about to do something you’ll regret.  In front of Dustin and Will.”  That’s where he got you.  Releasing his shirt, you sigh.

You weren’t sure what you were about to do but you knew it was something along the lines of verbally ripping Steve apart and possibly trashing any chance of ever redeeming your friendship.  You slowly realized that you were again, creating reason for Will to see you as a loose canon.  Another adult in his life that flew off the rails and failed him because you proved that you could not handle simply existing in the same world as Eddie Munson.  And yet, Eddie Munson was standing right in front of you trying to talk you out of creating such a horrible reality.  Suddenly you felt so small, so insignificant as each one of them stared at you, awaiting your next actions almost fearfully.  Steve was apologetically gazing at you from behind Eddie, seeming to have words lodged in his throat but not succeeding in finding a way to speak them.  Will watched you with worry, Dustin next to him with an expectant expression.  You couldn’t bear to exist anymore since showing Will that side of yourself after assuring him earlier that you’d be fine and to not refrain from mentioning Eddie just because of your own personal issues.  

So you crumbled.  Right there in the parking lot at around 8:57 PM according to a peek at Eddie’s watch, his hand still resting atop your shoulder.  Hot, fat tears began rolling down your cheeks rather than the smaller, more controlled ones from earlier.  Steve urgently moved forward but Eddie removed one hand from you and held it in front of him to stop, Steve staring at him confused but still obeying.  You began to stumble backward, the urge to hide yourself prominent but Eddie held you in place for reasons unknown.  His attention wasn’t required in this situation, he should theoretically just hop into his van and drive off but he doesn’t. 

Out of the corner of your blurry vision Will approached and yet again Eddie held a hand out as a signal to stop.  It was all too overwhelming, why was Eddie helping?  Or was he sabotaging in some fucked up way?  Using your moment of weakness against you.  How could you let yourself lash out like that in front of Will?  Even in front of Dustin?  The right thing to do would’ve been to wait to talk it out with Steve in private but no, you had to self sabotage.  And now you looked like a villain despite Steve being the one who did the damage.  Sure Eddie could be to blame too however something like this was to be expected from him, never from your best friend.  

Body shaking, you began to feel paralyzed, nerves tingling and breath shallow as you succumbed to your anxiety.  Everyone’s eyes on you didn’t aid in calming your tantrum.  It wasn’t fair, you weren’t the one betraying your friend and yet it felt as if you were taking the blow.  Will frantically looked from you to Eddie, having trouble deciding if you were crying because of Eddie or because of Steve or both.  This was out of his scope and he couldn’t distinguish a path to follow in order to bring you peace.  But he didn’t need to.

“Byers, Henderson.  Ride home with Harrington.  I’ll take her home.”  Eddie instructs, no longer touching you but still keeping his eyes glued to you, wide but attentive.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”  Will asks cautiously.

“You think it’s a good idea to put her in a car with Harrington right now?”  Eddie references your outburst with a raise of his brow, Will nodding immediately in understanding.

If you had to be in a car with one of them, Eddie seemed to be the better option at the moment.  No matter how much you hated him, he wasn’t your target right now and judging by the way you didn’t run from Eddie as he tried to coax you toward the van, everyone seemed to agree this was the only option.  God only knows what would happen if you were placed in the passenger seat of Steve’s car in this state.  You weren’t thinking clearly.

You vaguely recall Dustin offering to walk you to the passenger side and Eddie responding that he was taking care of it and that he was trying to keep the environment the least bit stimulating due to your current anxiety.  Adding another person might’ve made things worse and Dustin agreed as he made his way to Steve’s car.  You caught pieces of the exchange but overall you found yourself in that frightening place between reality and your brain that wasn’t allowing you to fully understand the events happening around you and you couldn’t determine what exactly had set it off but one moment you were standing in the parking lot screaming at Steve, the next Eddie was urging you to take a breath, and then you were in the passenger seat of his van.

~end~

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Masterlist

tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi @batkin028 @obscureenigmatic @micheledawn1975 @dreamerjj @hideoutside

[ventbloglite]

Any other systems* seen the Inside No.9 episode "Thinking Out Loud"? What did you think of it? You can either just quickly answer the poll, add in a comment or reblog more detailed thoughts, a combination or just ignore it I guess.

*Since this is a story dealing with a character having DID, I ask that only systems and not endoplurals answer. This is a question for those whose disorder is being presented and similar (such as OSDD systems), not for anyone who experiences plurality. Of course I can't stop you so this is here to indicate a certain level of trust.

I personally think it's one of the better portrayals of how DID works and some research was clearly done, and I'm not actually mad that the abuser was killed even though I know 'killer alter' is a stereotype I think overall the viewer is invited to be sympathetic with the system and side with them.

Run down of the episode if you need refreshing or didn't see it:

Inside No.9 is a collection of episodic tales with a variety of genres including comedy, dark, horror, fantasy and serious life events. I was weary when the twist of 'Thinking Out Loud' was that the most prominent character had DID because the way they've dealt in the other episodes with mental illnesses or breaks has been hit and miss at best.

But here's the thing - as we're introduced to the idea of the system existing, the system has done nothing wrong. The plot twist is not 'you did something awful because you're a system and now you must remember it' it's 'you, the host, need to realise that you are part of a system because we're about to be confronted with our abuser again after many years'.

The story, told in parts, is about a woman called Nadia. Nadia witnessed frequent domestic abuse against her mother which ended with said mother being murdered in front of her. Because of this, the system was created. Nadia has no idea all her life that she is a system however, simply aware of 'memory loss'. It seems other members however are somewhat or entirely aware, in particular the Gatekeeper who is not named but speaks and acts like a therapist.

It's the Gatekeeper who encourages Nadia to leave a camera running so she can catch when she switches and start to get to know the system (it seems this system communicates best when speaking out loud and each alter that fronts believes that the camera is there for different reasons, though the Gatekeeper seems to have a strong mental dialogue).

Eventually, as time before the abuser arrives is drawing short, the Gatekeeper abandons her attempts at trying to slowly ease Nadia into acknowledging her trauma and discovering the system and just tells her what is going on. That's how we get the context for the other characters, who are alters in the system. It is also acknowleged that these alters are just the frequent fronters and that there's likely more that the Gatekeeper or anyone else doesn't know about yet.

Nadia - Host, maybe the original. Diana - trauma holder, when she fronts she closes her eyes and sings Amazing Grace as this was what happened during the abuse to block out what was happening. Angel - caretaker, believes she's a vlogger and so does vlogs to the camera, very cheerful and upbeat, puts a positive spin on everything Aiden - protector, Angel's dad, possibly remembers some of the trauma Galen - persecutor, introject of the abuser but isn't a 1 to 1 copy of the abuser, believes himself to be in prison for killing his mother and father but this is his personal memories mixed with what actually happened during the abuse, speaks with a southern drawl and is the only alter with a noticably different accent, is mad that nobody appreciates what he does for the system. (memory of exact roles is a bit fuzzy there's also 'Bill' who makes a dating style video and is an old man but I forget his significance. Also note that the names are anagrams of each other! Most with 'Nadia' and then Angel and Galen. The alters present as different genders, races and ages.)

The story ends with the abuser, fresh from jail, greeting Nadia and being welcomed into her home where Galen fronts and stabs him before Nadia fronts again. The story then ends.

[mermaidsirennikita]

ARC Review: Never Met a Duke Like You by Amalie Howard

4.25/5. Releases 11/14/2023.

Vibes: childhood best friends to enemies (Iite) to lovers, nerd in the streets freak in the sheets, actual factual social issues, and a very good cat/kitty joke.

This is a retelling of Clueless, which is a retelling of Emma, which in theory sounds very messy but ultimately worked out in a historical romcom I really liked. It touches on some serious problems of the time (heads up: a lot of discussion of asylums and their abuses) and there's a great chemistry between our leads. She's a flighty eye-catching popular type, he wants to hunt for dinosaur bones, and they haven't seen each other for years but have been building up to this since childhood. It's a good mix.

Quick Takes:

--I was honestly a little "why do we need this" when I first understood the concept. Yes, the previous book in the series, Always Be My Duchess, is a retelling of Pretty Woman, which is a retelling of My Fairy Lady (and MFL is a retelling of Pygmalion). But Emma is an Austen novel, and such a clear precursor to historical romance subgenre of today. I was a little worried about how that would work.

But here's the thing. Clueless is very much not a direct retelling of Emma, and you change a lot in the Emma/Knightley dynamic when you switch it up from a girl and her neighbor/friend who's like 17 years her senior and held her when she was a baby, to a girl and her somewhat older former stepbrother (no shade, Emma is my favorite Austen and I adore Clueless). If you like Cher and Josh, that's the sweet spot Vesper and Aspen hit. It's very much that sequence in The Swan Princess wherein Derek and Odette bug each other as kids, then realize as adults that they wanna bang it out--but with a bit more of a friendship slant. In the childhood days. When they're adults, there's an edge added by their years of separation and misunderstandings. And I'll admit, I eat a "childhood friends separated and reunited as adults" dynamic right up. If that's your itch, this book will definitely scratch it.

--Aspen is really into DINOSAURS, and I personally loved that angle. He was nerdy enough for me to call him a nerdy hero (and Vesper does love his glasses) but he wasn't a cliche nerdy hero. Yes, he loves to look at fossils and discourse over prehistoric creatures, but he's also confident, snarky, and quite prone to putting it down. Honestly, I arguably could've used more dinosaur content (though Howard definitely uses it at just the right moment).

--A big part of this book is mental illness and the absolutely horrible was in which it was addressed at this point in time. Aspen's father was confined to an asylum and abused in that asylum--exactly how that happened is a major point in the book. Additionally, its specter hangs over Aspen's head, his father's "diagnosis" (I hesitate to call it legitimate) a potential means through which his own committal could be justified. It's rough, dude.

And I will say, I suspect that some readers will be dissatisfied with the comeuppance the villain of this book receives. For me, it worked--because it was realistic, and because I really couldn't think of any way through which the issue could be resolved without taking away from Aspen and Vesper's relationship. The point of this story isn't really punishing the bad guy--it's making it so Aspen and Vesper can have a healthy relationship without this threat in the midst of it all.

As an added note, Vesper has ADHD, which isn't a massive part of the novel but does figure into her character and journey. I thought it was a nice touch--people with ADHD didn't just suddenly pop into existence in the twentieth century, and the rep is good to see.

--The thing I really liked about Aspen and Vesper's dynamic is that there really was this undercurrent of childlike... knowledge, and playfulness. They've changed a lot, and there are a lot of confused feelings between them; but you still get the sense that at one point, these people really knew each other. And that sense of knowing and affection remains.

I also really loved the moments when the childhood besties jumped out--there's a teasing vibe to the relationship, this sense that they kind of want to kiss each other and kind of want to poke each other (non-sexually). It makes the tone of the book a bit bubblier, which is key, I think, when you're dealing with subject matter as dark as Aspen's backstory could be.

The Sex:

It's hot. These two have a very clear physical connection, and it's immediately noticeable. You get a lot of double entendres in this book, a lot of teasing that goes just over the line--like when Aspen casually tells Vesper she looks like she's just had an orgasm in public. Very normal thing to say to the former childhood friend you're not interested in! At all!

One sex scene in particular was so delightful--the perfect mixture of hot and funny, which sums up the tone of the book pretty well. I mean, this dude is really about his fossils, and they definitely play into the... plot. More than you might think. (Not in that way, in THAT way. Don't worry about it. Read the book.)

Frothy yet not without substance, Never Met a Duke Like You is another enjoyable entry from Amalie Howard. If I'm being real, I think I liked it a bit more than Always Be My Duchess (also a good book). Would recommend!

Thanks to Netgalley and Forever for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

[herschelkrustofsky]

@artictea asked me about my krusty hcs and i might’ve… gotten a little carried away LOL. autistic rambling about my perception of a cartoon man under the cut

- he’s 6’0 and weighs 235 lbs… big boy

- he comes from a family of ukranian immigrants and used to live in lower east side manhattan. he and his dad moved to springfield when he was about 12

- his mom, rachel, died when he was 7

- he’s a leo and a closeted bisexual

- he was born in 1955, putting him in his mid 30s to early 40s during the nineties when the show is originally set… he’s around the same age as homer & marge and was a young man when hyman kicked him out of the house

- has been in the spotlight since roughly the early 1970s, working his way to the top (will have to speculate more on the specifics of this Soon)

- he has both autism and adhd but his adhd is a lot more obvious; he and bart have this in common

- i personally disagree with the show’s diagnosis of him as bipolar… i believe he is actually suffering from bpd (may elaborate on this more another time) and major depressive disorder

- for consistency’s sake and a myriad of other reasons, i don’t think he’s illiterate, either. he has dyslexia; hebrew tends to be easier for him to read than english. after the krusty gets busted incident, he started seeking treatment for it.

- he used to do a lot more crazy stunts on his show, but a series of injuries gradually put those on the back burner — particularly due to an incident where he was misfired from a cannonball and shattered his left knee, which started a dependency on painkillers (on that note, i think chronic pain is a real issue for him)

- similarly, his cocaine addiction started off as an attempt to treat stage fright and give himself some extra energy to perform

- he sincerely loves sophie and would do anything for her; matt groening himself confirmed that she is the most important person in his life. unfortunately, hersch is often consumed by his own vices, mental illness, and overall self-absorbed thinking, and therefore doesn’t / can’t spend the amount of time with his daughter that he’d like to. he hates himself for it and is gonna to need to seriously dedicate himself to cleaning his act up if he wants to have more than a week of custody with her every year (if we’re to believe take this tidbit from the show at face value and not as a joke)

- he has tried to make peace with erin, but she’s not interested, and the clearer it becomes that sophie isn’t living her best life with her mom, the more determined he will become to get his shit sorted out

- he and bob have a complicated history. prior to krusty gets busted, they’d slept together numerous times, but never “officially” entered a relationship. herschel was very jealous of bob’s sense of security in himself (especially within his sexuality), which unfortunately manifested in being way too aggressive with him on the show and putting bob in humiliating situations. herschel comes to regret his behaviour eventually and acknowledges that he deserved the punishment bob dished out on him (as seen in day of the jackanapes).

- mel once harboured a crush on him, and while it fizzled out over time, he still spends many years craving krusty’s approval. they once tried to sleep together, but herschel was unable to go through with it and started crying (he was reminded too much of bob and it was too soon after bob went to jail); it didn’t help that neither of them were sober at the time. they never tried again.

- though herschel can be quite flippant and dismissive of others, he genuinely does have issues with his memory due to multiple concussions, addiction, and neurodivergence.

- he and lois did date at one point and were in a pretty serious relationship, but she left when herschel’s many issues (understandably) became too much for her to bear. losing her is one of his biggest regrets.

- sees himself in bart, which is also why he isn’t great to him, unfortunately. self-recognition makes him uncomfortable. this gets better as they both get older and herschel realizes just how much bart is struggling at school and at home; eventually, he goes so far as to let bart stay over at his place when he and homer have serious fights.

- speaking of homer, he definitely approaches him around this time and has a stern word with him about maintaining a good relationship with his children. considering that hyman is long gone at this point, i’m sure you guys can understand why…

- is fond of marge, but would never romantically pursue her. not only because she’s married, but because she’s way too good for him and he knows it. she’s been through enough with that husband of hers as it is.

- he occasionally goes to moe’s tavern for a drink and considers him a pretty solid confidant. should they interact more, i could see them becoming a very chaotic pair of friends (or maybe friends who ground each other, who knows!)

- has drank with edna krabapple, too; they both share a similarly cynical worldview

- krusty would def be willing to play matchmaker for moe and mel in a timeline where he’s friendly with both and mentally well enough to think of other people’s needs

those are the major ones but i’m sure more will come to mind at some point!!

[bisolationist]

If biphobia is real, where are the specific bi slurs, anti bi laws preventing you to get married, to have a job, to be serviced etc..

As I've said multiple times, I think biphobia is a subset of homophobia. So I think right off you're trying to put me into a position I don't actually believe anyway.

However, I think you are also trying to imply that since biphobia doesn't look exactly the same as general homophobia, it is therefore it's not real. I don't think that follows and I think it's a bad argument.

Lots of oppressed minority groups do not have explicit laws against them, but rather rely on other laws and ingrained cultural bias to work against that group implicitly. For example, many very homophobic countries only have sodomy laws against male-male homosexual sex. That by no means indicates lesbians are less oppressed in those places - just the opposite, they tend to be extremely dangerous for lesbians. I think the oppression of bisexuals functions in a similar way, leveraging systemic homophobia, misogyny, and cultural expectations in specific ways against bisexuals that end up causing certain material patterns**. I'm not saying this is worse than it is for homosexuals by any means, or that we have "double" the oppression or anything, rather that there are specific patterns for bisexuals that deserve specific focus.

However, I do want to note there *are* more and more anti-bi laws in function or in practice: for example, it seems routine in almost all western countries that provide refugee status based on dangerous discrimination deny this to bisexuals. There have been at least two serious pushes within the US to say that bisexuality is not sex-linked and thus not protected by sex-linked discrimination (in the US at least, homosexuality is protected because it is argued to be sex-linked so this is relevant there); so their argument is that employers, landlords, etc. etc. have a case for discriminating against bisexuals.

**Getting back to this, most importantly to me, the material effects of biphobia upon bi people are measurable and observable. Why are you trying to tally whether horrific abuses like rape and domestic battery are important enough to care about through things like "are there common bisexual slurs" when we can look at much more direct data? That's ridiculous.

We can observe the oppression of bisexuals through intimate partner violence rates, sexual assault rates, homelessness rates, mental distress/mentall illness rates, substance abuse rates, etc. and seeing how startlingly elevated they are for bisexuals. It's not hard to google and many of these have been looked into by multiple independent studies at this point. And yes poverty rates too, since you mention having a job. In any other minority group this would be a huge red flag that the group does in fact suffer enough implicit bias to make life very hard for that group; for some reason with bisexuals everyone just wants to pretend we're whiny and there's no reason bisexuals should act specifically concerned?

The common arguments I see seem to fall into these three, from best to worst -

A) "It's all Just homophobia so there's no need for biphobia as a word" Once again, I do think biphobia is a subset of homophobia so I do understand this to some degree. And again, a lot of what bisexuals experience IS just generalized homophobia! But there are specific stereotypes and attitudes against bisexuals, too, and as discussed above, there's material patterns that we deserve to analyze further and talk about amongst ourselves. Moreover, it's also very frustrating that people act like it's this simple when there's a lot of people that outright argue that bisexuals do not experience "real" homophobia at all and only incidental 'misdirected' homophobia, and this is RARELY challenged in any meaningful way. Ultimately it just feels like a lot of this group thinks the ways in which bisexuals face elevated risks are unimportant.

B) "It's misdirected homophobia, not something relevant to bisexuals". Hate this, drives me fucking insane tbh. Absolutely insane to act like abuse victims are being whiny and self-serving for just saying their abusers did very much mean to target them specifically for traits specific to them. It's incredibly condescending and plainly wrong to act like they know better than we do that our abusers would actually just be so so nice to us if they knew we were actually bi. Furthermore since bisexuals ARE same-sex attracted, how is it misdirected anyway? Absolutely transparent way of trying to be dismissive of bisexual abuse victims and the cultural context of their abuse through woke-sounding language.

C) "Eugh none of that shit matters bisexuals are just trying to feel most oppressed when they are actually basically heterosexuals". This is just extremely proud and loud biphobia lol. Like, if you are so eager to insist bisexuals are morally bankrupt and whiny for speaking about... homophobic hate crimes from heterosexuals they've suffered... then you are literally supporting homophobic hets over SSA abuse victims and feeling righteous about it. Such a thing in most contexts would rightly be called extremely homophobic, but for some reason in some circles it's lauded as putting bis in their place so everyone claps? Absolutely appalling behavior that's both biphobic and homophobic.

TLDR version: I agree it's not exactly the same as homophobia. I agree bisexuals have privileges compared to homosexuals. I agree that bisexuals do not experience many facets of homophobia, or when we do (in non-abuse cases) the punch is significantly reduced since we are OSA.

I simply do not agree that bisexuals being abused, sexually assaulted, disowned by parents, facing domestic abuse, etc. is as unimportant , trivial, and irrelevant as the anti-biphobia crowd wants us to act. I don't think it's appropriate flood us with accusations of homophobia just for speaking about our abuse and mistreatment, or for talking about how people have belittled and mocked our abuses either. If you want to have disdain for our abuse that's your damage, don't ask us to hate ourselves the same way.

[xavieryaa]

Making My Own Tumblr Year In Review

So tumblr is not doing the individual years in review for 2023 like they did the last couple of years :(

This is the first year I’ve really been active on Tumblr and used it as my primary social media, so I was really sad to hear that. But then I decided…why not do it myself?

I posted 1837 times in 2023. That’s 5 times per day.

1748 (95%) of my posts were reblogs, and 89 (5%) of my posts were original.

Blogs I think I reblogged the most? Not in order.

@yipeewahoo

@hoodie-sys

@94erz

@namchyoon

@heybaetae

These are just based on me cmd-f'ing my blog using the names of blogs I remember reblogging a lot. It's probably wrong.

My top 15 most used tags (not 5 because i love tagging and want to show more):

#bts - 1045 posts (yeah obviously)

#bts pics - 803 posts (yeah obviously x2)

#queue attack my heart - 691 posts

#memery - 312 posts

#namjoon - 308 posts (i am so mentally ill)

#hoseok - 167 posts

#jungkook - 166 posts

#seokjin - 138 posts

#jimin - 138 posts (i wrote down seokjin's tag first so i put it higher)

#yoongi - 119 posts

#fic & writing - 108 posts

#taehyung - 103 posts

#bts birthdays - 99 posts

#serious posts - 92 posts

#namjoonposting - 59 posts (my favorite tag)

By the way this was so fucking annoying to do. The archive does not show how many posts you have in a certain tag. For every month I counted the amount of rows in a tag, multiplied it by 8, and added in any rows that didn't quite get up to 8. Then I added all those months together. I had to do that for every tag. Tumblr why is there no easy way to see the number of posts in a tag.

My top 5 posts of 2023:

5. Luffy Tab - 20 notes

Still can't believe we just. got a luffy tab. i just woke up and had a luffy tab

4. BTS Post Search - 27 notes

As it turned out. the poster changed their name to something else so that's why i couldn't find the post from tumblr user soupmoths -- they were an entirely different person. oopsie

Also I ended up being able to reblog it! Someone tagged me!

3. 3D Rant - 32 notes

This post got me my first hate reblog <3

In case anyone is wondering. I still agree with everything I said here.

2. Porn - 99 notes

Not doing the big link preview for this one since that on its own is kinda nsfw. Minors don’t click that link.

But yeah. That makes sense.

Even though there’s only 5 reblogs people find it semi-frequently (especially the past few days, no idea why), so I guess it’s spreading somehow? Which makes me happy :)

The Reddit Post - 2.1k notes

Obviously that was going to be it lol, over 20 times the amount of notes than anything else. My notifications were Dying.

Also, this stuff wasn’t in the actual Year in Review(s), but I’m adding them in for fun.

I liked 21k posts in 2023.

I followed 426 blogs in 2023 (not including the accounts I unfollowed).

I gained 69 followers in 2023 (excluding porn bots and regular bots). Nice.

I started 4 blogs on this account, 1 main blog and 3 side blogs.

I gained 15 mutuals in 2023 <3

All this data was as of December 18th, 2023.

[charkyzombicorn]

The crew a taro cards

Luffy - the fool

Zoro - the chariot

Nami - strength

Usopp - the magician

Sanji - the hangman

Chopper - the sun

Robin - the empress

Franky - the world

Brook - the hermit

Jinbe - the emperor

Rating strawhats by ability/willingness to do Jojo poses:

10) Jimbe. He's too serious and also he has no slutty waist, he's got the waist of a man that actually commits crimes and doesn't just romanticize them because he's socialist and mentally ill

9) Chopper. Tried once, he can't get his arm over his head or even touch the top of his head and he didn't notice until then. He needed to stop to think about his life for a while after that.

8) Zoro. You'd think he'd be higher but he's not flashy at all, the closest he gets to Jojo posing is when hes fighting and even then it's a stretch. He could pull off the ones he doesn't need thin arms for, and would do it for some booze, but he just doesn't.

7) Luffy. Jojo poses, not intentionally and his face has none of the flare. He'll copy Usopp when he does it, and with the general odd way he maneuvers sometimes he could do it if pressed. He just doesn't often.

6) Usopp. Thought it was cool but then got into his head about it and now he's a little insecure about if it looks lame

5) Nami. When she's flexing usually, also she did it more often starting ironically to tease Usopp but she doesn't do it ironically anymore

4) Sanji. Would do it if asked or when feeling full of himself, has the hip cock down to an art, but won't take his hands out of his pockets because he thinks he looks slick

3) Brook. Would, should, could, has. No notes, he's even got the style down, minus the skin-tight factor (but he doesn't have skin! Yohohoho)

2) Franky. Will modify his body for better posing potential, his outfit is whorish even by Jojo standards, sluttiest waist out there, he would strike every pose except Maybe that one Josuke does because that requires him having his shirt at least partly closed and he can't do that

1) Robin. No contest. Every other frame she's Jojo posing, one of her special moves is literally breaking peoples' backs. She came into our hearts an Egyptian cowgirl and has been serving ever since. Fite me

[nikos-oneshots]

niko, may i request because, 1. I love your writing and 2. Uhhh idk i like you generally (because i love talking to people online or irl lol)

Anyway, aubrey and sunny with a uhhh very much not taking care of themselves and uhhh acting very much out-of-character(or in simple terms: having a mental illness(can be anything you think it is cause i didn't think of which)) hope this isn't to much for you, have a good week!

With Lots Of Love,

mf that can't take care of themselves well, ✨ anon (i wanna be referred to as javier for some reason)

Aubrey and Sunny (Separate) X Mentally Ill! Reader

Warnings: Mental Illness, Omori Spoilers Word Count: 0.7k Pronouns: Second Person, They/Them Implied Notes: Tysm for the request ✨! It wasn't too much! I really hope you feel better soon! Drink lots of water! Also if you want to be called Javier, then do it! You could always just try it out for a bit and see if you like it! Or maybe you could have multiple names! Having multiple names is always fun!

Sunny knows a lot about the subject of depression and overall not feeling very good since he has been in this situation for years because of the Mari incident.

He knows the pain and doesn't want anybody else to experience it, even if it's for a different reason.

He's a very attentive person toward the people he likes, you are no exception. He would be more attentive to your body language because that is something he can read quite well.

Once he started noticing your body language slowing down, becoming more distanced and unenergized, he knew something was up.

He didn't want to talk to you about it right away, so he showed you that he cared first.

He makes sure you weren't alone like he was throughout the death of his sister. He tries to visit you more than he already does.

Even though he isn't a fan of doing stuff, he tries to get you to do stuff inside the comfort of your own home.

He likes to watch stuff, so you guys binge-watch many of your favourite movies, some movies you wanted to see, and maybe some to get a laugh out of you.

He respects your space, he doesn't want to overwhelm you with constant company because he knows that sometimes people just want to be alone.

When he notices you haven't been taking care of yourself, he won't try and push you to do things, since he knows it isn't that easy.

He instead, will do the things he wants you to do, and invite you to do them with him.

"Hey. I'm going to brush my teeth… Want to come with me.?" or "I'm making some food. Want to come help me?"

He tries to make himself a safe space without telling you that he is a safe space. He wants you to make that decision whether you want to tell him what's up or not.

Aubrey cares about you. She will listen to you and she tries to do stuff for you.

Aubrey notices it fairly quickly, but she only notices it may be kind of serious if it has been going on for a while.

If it's just a day or 2 of you acting off, she won't think anything of it, that it's just an off day for you.

If it's like a week, she will start to suspect that something is up.

At first, she starts to think that somebody did something to you.

She will ask you stuff like "do you need me to beat anyone up?" Every once in a while because If you're with her, there's NO way she would allow anybody to do anything to you.

She wants answers, so she will kind of pry into you, it may not be the best thing to do, but she has good intentions.

If you tell her what's up, she will try to do everything in her power to try and make you feel better again.

She is there to listen, she is there to talk, she is there to distract you, she is there for you.

She knows what it feels like to be abandoned at your lowest point, so she makes a huge effort to stick with you through everything.

She likes to get you out of the house. That's a big thing for her. She saw what staying inside for long periods of time does for somebody. But she does know that some days are just indoor days.

If you like the hooligans, you all will hang out, but if you're not the biggest fans of them, Aubrey will respect that and have some 1-on-1 outdoor time with her.

She knows how to cook pretty well, so she will cook you some actually good meals to keep you healthy.

Wants to be by your side the entire time. She is kind of clingy in hopes that you will feel better, so hope you don't mind that!

She puts you first. Before she can do anything, she needs to know if you're ok; If you ate, drank water, slept, or anything else.

Tysm again for the request! I hope I did this right! If there's anything off, please let me know! Also sorry for being kind of inactive for a month! Motivation was kicking my ass dsjhkfkj! I hope to come back to this blog because I really love posting here! I hope you all have a good day!

Lots of Love -Niko 🥞

[greywindys]

gorillaz whatever-this-phase-is good ending: the band is reprimanded for enabling the mental disintegration of their senior citizen bass player

(i mean, when a severally mentally ill 56 year old is starting to talk "cults" and is dressing up in robes, that's at least when you take them to a home, right?)

(on a serious note, idk why this phase is just off putting to me. i know im overthinking it, but murdoc really just seems out of his mind this phase. and it makes me uncomfortable that there's never been a band member to even SLIGHTLY care about that. or call it out in a way that doesn't make them seem "annoyed" about it. seeing this character go through so many breakdowns that are supposed to be "funny" is just unenjoyable, plain and simple. maybe it's my inability to forget about past phases, but if you add it all up, it really seems like murdoc finally snapped.)

Oh snap!! You went there! Oh shit!

Jk, but also not since Murdoc haters/non-fans will never go away. I like that you brought this up, and I think you make a lot of good and valid points. It would be such a plot twist if they went there, but they would never take that much of a risk. The band would never be legally reprimanded since Murdoc is an adult and has the right to self-determination, but it is kinda dumb of them to just play along with his delusions. Like, I’ll just say it - the entire storyline this album makes them look really, really, idiotic. It's not something I would do, personally.

I lol'd at "take them to a home." But yeah, if we were going to play this out realistically, assuming Murdoc is in treatment, the first step would be a medication adjustment since he seems to be becoming more symptomatic. If that doesn't work, he might try and intensive outpatient type of treatment. If it gets to a point where he appears to be a risk to himself or others, then he may need to be hospitalized until he can get stable on medication again. If he's really deteriorated, then he may need a long-term hospitalization, but Gorillaz will never get this serious.

Tbh, I've almost gotten to a point where I'll think about potential story directions, but only for my own ideas, never to seriously try to ~predict canon plot points because Gorillaz, as it exists now, is not about story anymore. Your third paragraph reminds why I sometimes wish it was, even if it would be executed poorly. They're going for silly and fun, but if you think about it for more than two seconds, it's not really that funny at all, and the humor isn’t smart or satirical. I've complained about Murdoc "winning" all the time, and I still think that's an issue, but you're absolutely right about how they regularly skim over, minimize or make fun of what he goes through. Yes, you can say “he’s just a cartoon character,” but I personally, can’t accept that when I know there are a lot of people out there who have struggled the same way he has, and relate to him. And there is, afaik, no greater social commentary or lesson that comes from this. The point is just to make fun of Murdoc because he sucks. He does suck, but if you want to address his suckiness, address it directly, don't get to a point where the message is "he's done these bad things wrong, therefore he deserves all these other unrelated bad things." If Gorillaz placed more value on story and character arcs, this might be addressed, but alas...it's unlikely at this point.

[theinfamouskix]

Why you should watch Bojack Horseman

If you haven't seen this show that's been on Netflix since at least 2015 then oOoOO boi! Get ready to binge watch, because believe me when I say without exaggeration, this series is the best adult animated series I've ever seen followed only by South Park and King of the Hill. Now I know some people will think differently and your top 3 might differ from my top 3, and to be honest the first 2 episodes aren't the best but it's nearly impossible to finish season 1 and not feel something. That this show is more than what it appears to be.

Note this show dose contain some of the following: depictions of mental illness, drug use/addiction, violence, all forms of abuse but mostly verbal abuse and conversations about sexual assault or abortion.

With that warning out of the way it is important to mention there are a lot of laughs in-between alot of the heavier material, and it's not like a chain of normal happy episodes with 2 serious episodes or something that isn't realistic with its subject matter (like 13 reasons was with mental illness) and dispite this still being a show about talking animals it's incredibly human.

I don't wanna give too much away because the show does pretty good at speaking for itself, in fact I would argue NO ONE writes better dialogue or lack there of. There is one episode where litterly no dialogue happens at all but it's done so well that you don't question or miss it, and another episode where one character talks through the whole episode and again it's not only done in a very natural way it's done so while having you hanging over every word being said.

I recommend you watch it with friends or a partner, no spoilers, watch it a season at a time or all at once, but I also recommend talking about it with those you watch it with after an episode is over even if it is a few words. If you do check it out then I hope you don't mind telling me your favorite episode and why?

[privateanxieties]

The Things We Never Talk About

Synopsis: A health scare reveals to Peter the things she never talks about, and worse, the things she keeps hidden for fear of speaking them into being.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (she/her pronouns); established relationship, angst, worry, fluff; Basically, if you’d like to suffer and then recover in 9k words, read this.

Warnings/Spoilers: health related concerns (spoiler warning: reproductive health is included), troubled family history, horrible mothers, mental illness, tragedies, mentions of other elements related to these issues. This is quite emotionally demanding, but ends on a positive note. Also, please note that the medical info in this is intentionally manipulated for the story’s convenience. For example, you cannot diagnose certain illnesses with a blood test, but one is used here. There aren’t any bogus claims or anything like that, but medical accuracy is sweked.

Words: 9.3K

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

A half hour has passed since she received the call from Dr. Connely, and the same half hour has been spent staring at the wall farthest away from her work desk. No one has called her out for it yet, but then again, the office is mostly empty today. Few people choose to come in when the weather resembles the end times, but she happens to like torrential rain. It's especially nice when you work on the first floor, rather than the 14th, but somehow not even the thundering of rain drops can distract her mind.

She doesn't know what this means, for now or for the future.

She does, however, wish she hadn't gone for that check-up. Yes, she would've been postponing the inevitable and embroiling both her and her partner in something entirely nebulous, but she just wishes she had more time.

Peter.

What kind of world is this, where at once you're the happiest you've ever been, and then a six minute phone call severs the branch from under your feet?

Maybe she should've suspected something, or at least been more cautious, given the state of things. Family history being what it is for her, the likelihood of this outcome was sadly not that low.

And now it proves devastating.

Going home weighs heavy on both heart and mind, and ten blocks away the pitter-patter on the umbrella has become too much, so she puts it away. Not even two blocks later, she's soaked to the bone but successfully distracted, at least temporarily. She knows Peter's arrival isn't that far away, and in a moment of fear, she considers not going inside and just meandering about in the storm.

Only, it's freezing already and she doesn't want to tack a cold on to ovarian cancer.

She drips water all through the lobby and leaves a small puddle in the elevator, but when she reaches the door, her heart drops once more.

She can hear him, on the phone, in the apartment.

Their apartment.

They moved in together almost three years ago, and she remembers what he said at the time: our first home. She knew then that Peter was thinking of their future, and that he was serious. He wasn't just moving in with his college girlfriend, though they were both far beyond undergraduate studies. She knew plenty of people their age who were still living life to the extreme and not planning on settling down any time soon, but she never felt any need to explore that avenue. It was only one of many, and she'd already found her little corner of the world.

Now, something is chipping away at it piece by piece. She's almost in a trance, dripping water at the front door, but it's broken by the key turning in the lock.

A smiling Peter appears a couple of seconds later, though his eyes do widen comically when he sees the state of her.

"Hey! Did you get doused by a bus or something? You're soaking wet!", he says, pulling her inside and helping her out of her coat. She manages to gather her bearings in time, the sight of his face and the sound of his voice enough to shock her into some state of functioning.

"My uh - my umbrella broke, so I had to do without.", she responds, the lie already tasting bitter on her tongue. When was the last time she lied to him? She can't remember.

"Aw, baby. You should've called me, I would've brought you one. God, you're freezing! Let's get you out of these clothes."

He sounds chipper than usual, and she almost doesn't want to know, but she knows it's something. She knows Peter's voice and its various inflections like the back of her hand. She knows when he's happy, and she knows what excitement looks like on him. It's one of these two, quite possibly both. What a thing.

She doesn't want to let it dampen her mood even further, but it's like her mind has switched gears completely. Everything is starting to become a sign, or some kind of joke by fate. How could something happen to make him happy when simultaneously she is falling into despair? Who's making the rules around here?

She realizes she hasn't said anything back when he pauses, hands on her shoulders and expression questioning.

"What's going on? What happened?"

No. No. She isn't doing this, at least not right now. She isn't, so she reverts to a habit she hates admitting wasn't that foreign to her just a few years ago.

She makes up a lie on the spot. She did it earlier, and it was like a crack in the dam relieved some of the pressure.

"They denied my candidacy."

Fuck, how is she even going to explain this later? How did she even stoop so low as to lie about something that monumental, especially when both of them were on the verge of celebration? Especially when she knew Peter got approved for his just yesterday and was over the moon, yet wanted to wait for her news before any kind of revelry?

"What? No - no, how did? Baby, your work is brilliant. I know, I looked at it, I - Dr. Bernoff said it was one of the best he's ever seen. There's no way, there has to be some kind of mistake -"

"Well it isn't.", she snaps, and a gasp follows suit.

She couldn't help it. The mention of a doctor, even if Bernoff isn't that kind of doctor, was enough to trigger the worst in her. At the same time, it might as well be true, what she said. Doctoral candidacy approved or not, she was never going to see it through to the end now.

"I'm - I'm sorry. Pete, I'm so…"

She doesn't get to finish whatever apology she intended, because sobs just manifest from her lips as easily as those lies. Just as easily, she's enveloped in strong arms she thinks of as home more than any actual place, and the evening turns into Peter doing the absolute most to comfort her.

He goes as far as promising to look into some kind of recourse, any sort of legal avenue there might be to get a re-evaluation or see if there was a mistake involved.

All the while, the letter approving her candidacy burns a hole through the inside pocket of the rain-soaked jacket, and shame burns a hole through her.

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

A week goes by.

A week filled with terrible impulses and memories surfacing, muddling the atmosphere in their home, which she hasn't left for the past two days. It was the weekend, but they usually do something on the weekend. Peter takes it a little bit easier as Spider-Man, and they have more time to just be with each other.

This time, she infected the entire apartment with so much acrimony that Peter spent both Saturday and Sunday either out with his friends or suiting up. To be fair to him, he did try his best, but it was no match for her worst.

All week, all she did was pull away, both emotionally and physically, and the latter probably hurt him more than the former. Peter is loving in every way one might desire, but his foremost act of affection is touch. Reassurance, comfort, safety, or just plain confirmed presence - he conveys all of them through gestures unique to him.

Any other time, she'd be melting at the sight of him just being himself, but the conversion from normalcy to volatility took very little push. Maybe this isn't how people normally react when getting this type of life-altering news. Maybe the first thing they feel isn't scalding guilt. Maybe, they allow themselves to process the information alongside loved ones, instead of causing them stress by hiding things from them and acting like the world is ending for what appears to be no well-founded reason.

To think, a week ago, she thought she'd have good news. Great news, in fact. She thought maybe that nausea meant something else. She thought the ring on her finger might get another one placed next to it some time next year.

All these plans people have, and they're unaware they could crumble in a second - or, in her case, six minutes or less.

Today marks the one week anniversary of that call, so she's trying to focus on everything else, sometimes all at once. Having requested to work from home for the next few days, citing the flu, she's free to keep occupied even when she should be taking reasonable breaks. It's not like her job is labor intensive - it's her eyes that hurt more than anything else at the end of the day.

It isn't the case right now. She isn't sure where these sensations keep coming from, but all day has been nothing but discomfort. The worst of it is concentrated in her lower back, and she knows from experience that pain from her navel radiates all around her abdomen. The nausea has come back, tacked on to general exhaustion for extra misery points. She knows the doctor told her to come in as soon as any symptoms like this start manifesting, but she isn't ready for that. She doesn't know if she will be for a while.

He also said she should come in anyway, just to discuss the road ahead, but she isn't sure about that either. She can't do it until she's talked to Peter, but she can't talk to Peter today. After what she's put him through all week, she needs to dial it back a little and not drop this on him at a horrible time.

She supposes no time is particularly good for telling your fiancé that eventually, he'll have to find someone else to marry.

No one has made it. No one.

Her grandmother, dead at 64. Her mother, dead at 57. Both her aunts, with hospitals as second homes for years. Both gone.

Gone screaming and blaming.

Her mother wasn't even all there at the end, the dementia having eaten away at the parts of her that sometimes professed love for her family. There wasn't much to devour, but it did all the same. She doesn't really remember her grandmother, or granny, as she was forced to call her. Although she doesn't remember, she has an imagination and her mother's words. There wasn't much to lose, but it too was lost, to a stroke.

Auntie Marcia didn't come to the funeral, but she did show up to the will reading. Most of her inheritance was spent in Austria and Switzerland, searching for a cure for MS, when a very willing doctor took her money in exchange for experimental surgery. She ended up living less than she would have, and with a worse quality of life.

Auntie Crystal took her life at 49, the youngest of them all.

Or she was.

Despite every female figure in her life having been laid to rest, their legacy seems to have been passed forward. They all had horrible fates to deal with, but they enthusiastically imparted every bit of those on their husbands and children.

She is not doing that to Peter. She'd sooner stage a murder or melt into the sun.

But she doesn't know how to talk to him either when pain seems inevitable, so she wonders why it had to be this way. Why can't her body just�� not do this to her, so she doesn't have to do this to him?

Why is shielding the man she loves from the thing she fears most not a possibility? How is she supposed to put him through what others very happily put her through?

There's no handling this with care. She knows what he'll say, or she thinks she knows. She knows what he'll want her to do, and she would do it for him at a moment's notice, but is that… is that…

Marriage was supposed to be their life. A family was supposed to be their life. Just a little corner of their own, because they happen to be pretty good at filling whichever empty space with love.

The thought tears open a raw wound, and a shocked breath leaves her. She's managed to think herself into a startled wail that has given way to painful clarity.

Still, she has enough mental fortitude left to quell the sobs and get up to wash her face. It's close to when Peter should get home, and she isn't putting more tension between them. She feels too weak for a peace offering like dinner, even if she could find something to keep down, but she can at least pull herself together.

God, twenty-nine. She won't even see forty.

She won't see Peter at forty, much as she teased him about that single silver hair on the top of his head some time ago. Even if she somehow lives, despite everything in her history that says she won't, what she isn't doing is putting him through this.

She knows what it is to live surrounded by fatal diseases. It's rarely the one thing - rather, the comorbidity rips an individual apart. You become your own worst nightmare.

She can't. He's too precious. She'd give everything to protect him from that.

Rinsing her face once more, she knows the water hasn't done enough to clear the puffiness or the redness of her eyes. He'd see through her in an instant - might even smell her tears, weird as that is. He's had moments like that before, where he sensed her distress despite hours having passed.

She doesn't want to think of what it must've been like for the past week. She's done a pretty good job of not breaking down while at home, but once he left for nightly rounds, tears couldn't not escape.

He might ask, and he might not, but most likely he will, so she might as well try to look a little more alive. Shutting the door to the bathroom, she makes her way into their bedroom, opening the first drawer of the vanity for her makeup bag.

She doesn't sit down in front of the vanity, because she doesn't want another trip to the bathroom or another splash of frigid water to her face.

She manages some improvements like concealer and blush, but it feels like painting over a cracked wall. The makeup feels cakey and unnatural, and in a small fit of anger, she wipes it off, returning her face to what it was before: crestfallen and just slightly dented. It feels like that anyway: like a permanent locking of her facial muscles into the right position for ruining any night.

Putting away the makeup, she's startled by her ringing phone in the living room, and quickly makes her way over, eager for a distraction but hoping it isn't Peter.

She makes it only two steps in before a bout of intense dizziness swirls her world to darkness.

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

Peter drags his feet on getting home, and he realizes with a heavy heart that it's the first time in a long, long time that this has happened. He can't remember ever being anything less than excited to see the love of his life at the end of a day, and if he ever was, then he longed for her touch and quiet comfort instead.

Last week he was deprived of both, and this week isn't shaping up to be any better, if the morning was any indication. He left before breakfast, which rarely happens, and when he kissed her cheek she barely mumbled a goodbye in return.

He understands. Or, at least, he tries his best. Since the news about her candidacy rejection arrived, she's retreated into a space he couldn't reach her from all through the weekend. Peter knows what this means to her, because he knows what it means for himself as well. Maybe she'd decide to try again, to go over her work and do more and maybe get approved in another couple of years, but maybe she wouldn't.

He isn't obtuse, or a stranger to her innermost thoughts. He knows what she must be thinking, and he knows she blames herself. They left the wedding for next year specifically because this year was supposed to be the end-all, be-all for their academic journey. The work was done and the papers were in order. All that was left was getting those fancy letters after their name, not that either of them cared too much. Still, he liked their little private joke of who would be more obnoxious about it: her friends or his.

Not that funny anymore, especially since he'd get to go ahead and complete his Ph.D.

He wishes he got rejected too, just to share in the misery, or maybe to not feel this guilty.

Peter is tired after a week of seeing her like this, but to be fair, any amount of sadness is too much for the person he loves. He's felt her devastation ten times over, because he knows there isn't anything he can do but watch and be there for her. She hasn't said anything about any of his proposals to go over the work together and maybe fix something for next year.

And though Peter cares and feels and loves deeply, he is human - at least where it counts - and he has been excluded from, even denied, contact with the one he adores most. It doesn't feel like she's simply sad or disappointed, intense as those emotions may be. It feels like she's pulled away from him and has no plans of reestablishing contact.

He knows it's silly, and that his own emotions are running on fumes right now, so he's prone to misinterpreting things - but there's a hunch, and it sits uncomfortably in the center of his chest every time he looks at her and she avoids his eyes.

He wants to talk, even if she doesn't. He wants to at least make sure they're ok, that this is just the first major setback they've handled together - well, maybe the second. They were, after all, sort of broken up for a week back in college, when instead of telling her his secret, he let her (by accident, of course) find him passed out in his dorm, bloody and beaten and wearing his suit, whatever was left of it.

They've come a long way, through graduation, sharing a workplace for a little while, moving in together and promising to entwine their lives for the rest of time. Yeah, Peter feels a little sentimental after a week without emotional fulfillment.

So he skips home a little faster instead of moving through molasses, thinking he can always try again and hoping she's at least open to receiving affection.

He moves past the entrance and jumps over the handrail of the first floor, and maybe he cheats a little by not walking up all the steps to their apartment. When the door comes into view, he knows instinctively that she's home, which is a little odd given the time, but he's more than fine with it.

He wonders briefly if he should ring the doorbell or use his keys, but he tries for the doorbell first. He waits for the patter of her steps, but it doesn't come right away, so he tries again.

And again, nothing.

Thinking she's in a meeting or maybe just has headphones on, he retrieves his keys and selects the one for the lower lock, but when he goes to turn it, he realizes her own has been left in on the other side. He shakes his head with an amused huff before taking out his phone and calling her. He hears it ring loud and clear inside, but again no movement. The phone rings and rings, but she is in one place, quite close to the front door based on how her heartbeat reaches his ears.

She isn't listening to music in the middle of the hallway, and Peter's hair stands up on his arms.

He wouldn't care for the front door, even if it turned out to be a mistake, but when a shove from his super strength tears it open, he doesn't care about anything anymore.

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

She wakes in a room she doesn't need to see clearly to know where it resides, and it churns her stomach before she's even gathered her bearings.

Light or day, she can't make out yet as her eyes continue to adjust, but the grip on her right hand she'd recognize sedated.

Too many hospitals she's been in, but never as a patient and never with him. A deep terror seizes her heart, thinking it a horrendous little glimpse into the future and wanting to disappear on the spot.

Her panic alerts both Peter and the heart monitor, one before the other with a considerable lapse between them. Of course he knows. He always does.

"Shh, I'm here. Right here, sweetheart."

His hand brushes the hair from her face gently, holding her cheek and wiping away a tear that escaped.

He coos and shushes her sweetly, providing much needed relief but also plunging the wound into more salt. Inevitability has arrived, and it has made it so that she has to hurt him in the worst possible way.

She doesn't even remember what exactly happened, only that she wasn't much better before waking up in here, and if she doesn't remember, it means he found her like that. Just inexplicably unconscious.

She knows how Peter worries. She knows just how deeply you must reach into his heart to succeed in hurting him. This is not a surface wound - he's confessed his worst fears once before, voice quiet and trembling, and they are living in them now.

She is making him live them.

"Hey, hey. Baby, you've gotta calm down. You're alright. The doctor's gonna see us in a minute or two, ok? I'll go get 'em."

"No - no, Peter. No, please. Please, just stay here. Please just…"

The words her mother said, ringing out inside her skull, bring the world to a stop.

Do you know what it's like… begging him to stay? Begging him not to leave you?

She gasps for breath and pushes him away, shocking both of them momentarily.

I hope you do. I hope you find out.

Peter brings her into his chest and holds her there until she calms, having not seen her like this in a very long time but unable to forget what to do. She’s been like this only once before in the entire time they've known each other, and he remembers, because she was grieving.

Her mother had just been buried, but she wasn't invited. No, she was expressly left out of the funeral at her mother's request, and Peter also remembers thinking he's grateful he never met the woman.

Something has gotten away from him in this moment; her distress shows that unequivocally. Perhaps something got away from him last week, as he dreads to believe. Whatever it is, the love of his life is trembling in his arms like a leaf in the wind, so his mission right now isn't to investigate.

But it would appear his mission is going to be interrupted no matter its purpose, because a doctor walks in with a look he instantly doesn't like.

She doesn't react.

"Oh… I'm sorry to interrupt. I'm Dr. Connely. Um… I wanted to discuss something important with both of you, and I'm afraid it can't wait, even if it seems a bad time.", he says with a firm look, yet his eyes don't hold Peter's gaze like he expects them to.

What is so important that can't wait until his girl isn't turning catatonic in his arms?

"I don't know what you two have gone through already, and you have my sincerest apologies for this. But I want you to know that we have started an investigation into what happened, and there will be consequences for the people involved."

Peter finds himself shaking his head in disbelief at what he's hearing. What on earth is he talking about? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? How is he looking at the state of her and not reacting to help her?

"You're the fiancé, Peter, yes?", the doctor asks.

"Right now I'm Mr. Parker. But yes. Would you mind informing us what's going on?", Peter returns in a rigid tone.

The man clears his throat and looks away again, shifting his position uncomfortably before taking a steadying breath.

"Please don't."

Both men turn their heads to follow the sound of her voice, one surprised and the other wishing he were anywhere else.

"Baby?", Peter asks, trying to see her face but she avoids his gaze as she removes herself from his embrace.

"We haven't - I haven't had a chance to talk about it yet, so I'd like to talk to my fiancé alone. Could you… give us a minute?"

Peter is confused, but hurt isn't lurking far behind in this carousel of emotion.

"That's… I'm afraid that's just the thing, ma'am. There's been a mistake. The diagnosis you were given last week, the - the call I gave you last week - I apologize. I know it doesn't begin to cover it, but there was a mix up at the lab. They attributed your test results to someone else, and only this afternoon did they identify the problem. I tried to call you earlier, but I couldn't get through. I am so terribly sorry."

There's silence, and then there's a sniffle.

And then a louder sniffle, but half-suppressed. She breathes in deeply, wiping away tears and rubbing at her cheeks with more force than necessary. Nonetheless, her features don't light up, but they aren't so solemn anymore. It's the face of someone who's just been through everything only to discover it was for nothing, either good or bad.

"Are you… you're sure?"

She doesn't look directly at the doctor, but that's mostly because she's trying to avoid lifting her head and catching Peter's expression. She needs to gather herself first.

"We're certain. It was a horrible mistake, and you are fully entitled to seek clarification and anything else you might feel you need in order to… to make this right. We apologize."

Her mind is mostly… quiet. She doesn't know what else to say to him, and that's because she wants to say nothing more. If possible, she wants to just stay silent for a while.

But she needs to ask.

"Could you um… tell me why I'm here, then?"

"Sweetheart, you passed out. I found you on the floor, in the living room. Can you please, please tell me what's going on here, because I feel like I'm losing my mind.", Peter says, trying his best to get a hold of himself and not freak out like he wants to. He understands both very little and too much.

To her credit, she does tearfully look at him, a plea in her eyes and brows and entire being that floors him. He knows when she's asking him to hold her without words, and despite his confusion and his hurt, he can't deny her.

"Peter… this is… I know how you - God, baby. I promise, I'll tell you everything. Everything you want, what I should've told you. I just… I need you right now. I need you.", she whispers to him, having forgotten everything about any third person in the room. No one exists but the two of them.

And Peter? Peter has never heard her begging like this, as if for her own life, and it scares him stiff.

Their moment is only broken by Connely, who is clearly not trained to handle this type of atmosphere in a patient's room.

"Your fainting episode was caused by an iron deficiency. Your levels would be normal, but in your current circumstances, you're going to have to take some supplements to keep them within the normal range."

She reacts before Peter, searching for the doctor's expression with her own tired one. Peter doesn't have much of an expression, because he's an inch away from insanity.

"I realize that this is not how you might want to find out normally, but given the extraordinary… events that have led here, and my part in them, I'm compelled to inform you that your test results were identified… ultimately. The blood work confirmed your pregnancy, which we estimate at around five weeks."

…

Nothing. Crickets. Awkwardness, perhaps, which Dr. Connely feels too harshly for a few more moments before he turns on his feel and leaves, having already fucked up enough things. The door closes with a quiet click and the room remains quiet for many unbroken minutes.

"This isn't real. I'm a clown, and this is a circus."

She doesn't mean to laugh. She doesn't. She's actually a little horrified that she does, but she also can't stop. It is by no means a natural laugh - no, it feels like her body is trying to force something out without doing too much damage, and the only way it knows how is like this.

Peter doesn't laugh. He frowns at her laughter though, and continues frowning until his forehead is frozen into position. His eyes feel like they're disappearing behind his eyebrows.

He thought maybe he'd breach insanity, but apparently it's her.

His fiancée.

His pregnant fiancée.

Oh my God.

Oh my God, she isn't stopping. She's going to hurt herself.

"Baby - baby stop. You're gonna - just stop, ok, I'm losing my fucking mind here, please?", he tries, and to his great relief, she does come to a stop with some more chuckles.

"I'm sorry, heh… I don't think I wanted to laugh. Just didn't know what to do. Still don't know, actually.", she says, attempting to fix her wrinkled clothes and tangled necklace with trembling hands. Thank god they didn't put her in one of those gowns, because that would be the only way to make this whole situation the perfect shitstorm.

Though, in fixing her clothes, she pauses briefly on her shirt, and it's almost impossible to resist the urge. Her right hand comes to rest over her abdomen, searching unsurely for some moments before settling on the spot most comfortable.

There's nothing to feel yet; of course there isn't. But it doesn't stop the rush of unparalleled emotion from tearing down every defense and every worry.

Through misty eyes, she sees Peter's hand come to rest over hers, and her lids fall shut in a moment of bliss. It's not happiness, not in the conventional sense; but she's never felt relief of this sort traveling from the top of her head to her toes. It's overwhelming in the most innocuous way, like leftover adrenaline after a rush of danger. Her feet are kind of sweating, and the only need she has in this moment is to feel him close.

She leans over to the right to reach her arms around his neck, but he surprises her by moving onto the bed, making her scoot over before pulling her into him more fully.

There they sit, together, for longer than either anticipated needing. They don't speak, because there's no need yet. There's only the security of the other's embrace and small kisses planted on cheeks and temples.

Peter is the one who speaks first, words a whisper of reverence.

"There's a baby in here.", he says, palm spread out over her belly and lips by her ear. He hasn't stopped kissing her hair for the past minute, and she hasn't said anything about it, more than aware of just how disoriented he must be.

Peter never likes flying on high emotion like this, since it always disturbs his control of his senses and induces a whole body ache. She's been there with him for many sessions when he just needed to calm down, and enlisted her help to do so, usually by touch that provides a baseline. He always says it's easier to focus with her there.

"There is.", she whispers back.

She doesn't believe in the saying that words can make something true once spoken, but it's undeniable just how monumental that affirmation is and feels.

There is a baby in there, and she didn't even get to jump for joy or scream or cry, or plan some stupid little surprise for Peter where she watches him work it out. She didn't get to have an evening or two where she's the only one who knows and smiles a million times, thinking of how he'll react when she tells him.

No. Instead, she got this. And he got worse. And there is anger, but also guilt, and a good amount of anxiety for what's next.

None of it is in his eyes, though.

His eyes, when she searches for them, are nothing short of unforgettable for what she finds in them. She's never seen him this way on any of the days and nights they've shared in life, and she can only respond with a desperate kiss that feels neverending.

Only, it does end when the door opens, but the feeling stays there, trapped between them and held in their hearts forever. She doesn't know what it is they've just said to each other, but she knows what it means, and she's free to relax for the first time in a week.

The nurse takes her blood pressure and other vitals while they somewhat defrost, returning to their more normal selves. She's told she can go home, but that until she begins taking the required supplements, she shouldn't overextend herself.

It's Peter who confirms that the recommendation is understood, and she already knows what the next months are going to look like. It brings an amused smile to her lips before the nurse has even left, but she says nothing.

They're told they can fill out the release form at the front desk, and also pick up the iron and vitamin prescription there. She tells Peter he can go get them when she sees him anxious to leave, but he waits until she has her shoes and coat on - which she's amazed he thought to bring - before wrapping an arm around her waist to guide her out of the room.

And down the hallway.

And all the way back home, which they take a cab for at his insistence.

Yes, the next eight months or so will be exactly like this, she thinks as they exit the elevator in silence.

Nothing much has been said, but tension doesn't exist between them; only tender connection necessitating no words. However, she can't resist uttering some words when she sees the door to their apartment.

"Pete? What did -"

"I broke that."

She looks up from his side, seeing the toothy grin only partially as he doesn't meet her gaze.

"You broke that? Peter, we just installed that door a few months ago. You said we needed a new door because you didn't like how flimsy the old one was."

"Yeah, and now we'll get another one."

"The last one was almost a thousand dollars!"

"And it could've been ten thousand. Would've broken it anyway.", he confirms, not seeing her point.

He helps her past the bits of debris from the jamb, even if there's really no danger. He can't help it. Ever since they left the hospital - and honestly, before that really - he's switched modes. His entire body is vibrating with something. He hasn't been farther than a foot away for the past few hours, and he's quite fine with that. Would be hard to be any other way right now.

"Why?"

"Wha - what do you mean, why? Because you were in here unconscious!"

She looks back at him as he tries to prop up the door as well as he can, knowing it isn't fixable with any tools they might have around the house.

"You couldn't come in through the window?"

The question gives him pause, but he refuses to acknowledge that that was even a possibility. Nope, it never was. He knows how she is - if he tells her that he forgot he even could do that for a minute, she'll never let him live it down.

"Baby… did you forget you were Spider-Man?", she coos with a laugh.

"Shh! The neighbors can hear you! We don't have a door!"

She laughs as she heads into the bathroom, Peter calling after her to be careful and to leave the door open.

"D'you need to hear me pee?", she jokes.

"I hear you pee anyway, door or no door!", he calls back, chuckling at her popping her head out to shush him.

"Peter!"

"What? I don't listen, I just hear it - it's involuntary, you know that."

"I don't think I did. And now I do. And I wish I didn't!"

"Sweetheart, we're gonna go through a lot of embarrassing stuff soon, you know that right?"

"No. You mean I'll go through the embarrassing stuff, and you will look on in shock and horror and then wonder how -"

"That is incorrect! This is a team effort!", he interrupts, motioning between them.

"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you'd be providing assistance with growing the baby."

He blanks and pouts at her deadpanning.

"Well, no - but I'll be assisting with everything else! Foot rubs, snack runs, doctor appointments -"

There's a clang from the bathroom, and Peter's feet almost move without him. The door is open, and she's cursing and bending over to grab a bottle of mouthwash she dropped into the sink.

"You ok? Dizzy again?", he asks, wanting to move closer but giving her some space. He doesn't need to be suffocating.

She closes her eyes with a sigh, hands on the edge of the sink.

"No… No, just… maybe no more doctor's appointments for a few days, ok?", she asks quietly before looking at him with uncertain eyes.

Peter exhales long and slow, taking in her tired face and dropped shoulders and realizing just how much this week has taken out of her. Or, he would realize, if he knew what actually happened, but he hasn't the faintest idea how to approach the subject. The revelation of her state complicates things, and he's willing to give her whatever she asks in a heartbeat because of how sensitive he's feeling too.

It's as though she can see his hesitation and internal turmoil, because she gives him a small smile.

"Let's eat something and talk… about everything, yeah? I want to tell you, but it's gonna… be hard. I never talked about this with you, but I need you to know it wasn't because I was hiding it. I just thought I was past it, and that it meant nothing anymore."

Peter nods with a tiny smile of his own, going back to fiddle with the door. Nothing he does helps, until he gets the idea to just snap it back into place like Tetris, hoping the frame will at least hold until tomorrow.

To his credit, it does, but the noise it makes when he jams his shoulder into the steel provokes a yelp from the kitchen.

"Jesus, what are you doing to that thing?", she calls out.

"Fixing it!"

Dinner follows almost an hour later, and they realize how little food is left after last week. To Peter, this is unacceptable and must be immediately remedied - and he says so, prompting a full laugh from his partner.

There may be a very protective streak taking hold of him, but as long as she isn't complaining, he's set to go full steam ahead.

They eat mostly in silence, but they do so on the couch, side by side and comfortable with it. When they've finished, he doesn't know who should go first, but she takes the initiative.

Cuddling up next to him and pulling a blanket over their legs, she sighs into his chest before taking his left hand in her right.

"This won't be easy to hear, just so it's out there…", she begins. Peter finds that his chest doesn't tighten up at the warning. In fact, this feels like a conversation they've almost already had in a way, because of how much his mind ran itself into the ground while waiting for her to wake up at the hospital.

The doctor's words arose many suspicions, and he knows she'll quell them now, even if he doesn't know everything.

"I went to get blood work done about ten days ago, because I'd been feeling a little weird. I figured it was… well, what it is now, because you know.. We haven't really been careful, just - at all, lately."

Yeah, he knows. She slaps his chest when she sees the stupid little smirk on his face.

"I'm being vulnerable here.", she asserts.

"Sorry, sorry - go ahead."

She clears her throat once before continuing.

"I got a call last week from the doctor we saw at the hospital, but he didn't say what I thought he'd say. He didn't tell me I was pregnant. He said - he said that I…", she stops, sucking air through her teeth and squeezing his hand.

He doesn't press, but he steadies his own mind.

"He told me I had ovarian cancer."

Peter holds in a breath for longer than necessary, but when he releases it his eyes are no less teary.

"And you - you… pff, uhm…"

He doesn't want to accuse. He doesn't. But he can't see how - how did she not -

"I didn't tell you, and you have to trust me, please, because I couldn't believe it was happening to me. I didn't want to believe it was following me, like it um… like it followed everyone else, I guess.", she says shakily, pulling away an inch in order to look into his eyes.

Followed everyone else? What is she talking about?

"Peter… in my family, every woman I've ever been related to has lived an awful life and died an even worse death. You don't know this, because I never, ever talked about it. I didn't want to. Most of them were dead before we met, and my mother… you know what my mother said. About me, to me… But you don't know what it was like to live with them.", she takes a pause, breathing in and out to calm herself.

Peter watches as if suspended in time.

"My grandmother died when I was little. My mother used to leave me with her for the summer, maybe just to get away from me or maybe because it was nice to get a break from a child she didn't want to have. I didn't like my grandmother, even as a kid. I always got the feeling she looked at me like she wanted me to know she didn’t love me, and that it might make me leave or something. I don't know. But the summer before my sixth birthday, she had a stroke and died on the spot. I called my mom to come pick me up but she didn't answer until the next day, so I slept in the house with her. I think I… I think I tried to put a blanket over her. I didn't know what to do."

She wipes away her freely falling tears before Peter has a chance to, and she pushes on despite the little sobs that escape.

"My aunt, the oldest one, she was estranged from the family but before she really broke away, she told everyone in our neighborhood - and you know, it was a small town where everyone knew each other - um, she spread stories about us. She made up things, she told some truths, but the end was the same. My mother hated her forever for having to leave her house. We only heard from her again when they read my grandmother's will and she told us she had MS. My mother wished her agony, and I suppose she got her wish, because some hack in Europe operated on her and left her paralyzed for three years. Her kids didn't even visit her once before she died, and they buried her in Austria."

She breaks to lean over for the glass of water on the table, but Peter is faster, handing it to her and wiping away her tears with his sleeve when she's done. She tries to smile at him, but can't quite manage it.

With another deep breath, she continues, realizing the dam is just about to spill over.

"Auntie Crystal was the youngest. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia at 47, but she didn't tell anybody. We knew she acted a little strange, but my mother didn't believe in mental illness, so she left her with us whenever she needed, or just - when she felt like it. At 49 she tried to burn down the house with me and my cousins in it, but I think she had a moment of clarity or something, because she brought us out of the house before anything… you know, happened."

"Fuck…", Peter says quietly, unable to help himself.

"Yeah… but then - b-but she… she walked back inside. She walked back inside and never came out. I think she felt guilty for trying to hurt us. My mom didn't believe us when we told her, so I think, for a long time, she just resented everyone involved. I never saw either of my cousins after that."

"Baby, stop. Hey, just - let's just take a break, yeah?", Peter asks, but his tone is rougher than he wants it to be. It's a lot to take in, he's trying not to be overwhelmed, but he's also unable to watch her in so much distress.

She shakes her head however.

"I know this is… I know it's so much information. But I can't ever talk about this again. I want to do it now, and I want to put it away for good. And that's ok if you don't think you can listen, you can tell me. Please."

"Sweetheart, listen to me: it's not too much. It's hard seeing you like this, but if you need to say it, I want you to. That's all I'm here for. I love you."

They steady each other with a lingering kiss as she returns the sentiment, keeping close but discarding the blanket. It's gotten a little bit warm.

"Do you remember when my mother died? That I couldn't go to her funeral because her lawyer told me she didn't want me there?", she asks, and Peter nods. He does remember, most notably because it was the first time he helped her out of a panic attack he didn't see coming. He wasn't as in tune with her back then.

"She had dementia, Peter. She couldn't even remember who I was by the end, even though I was the only one still showing up to see her. She didn't have that put in her will before she died. She must've done it years before, if not earlier. She nev - she never loved me. She never loved me. My mother never loved me."

And so the dam finally breaks, or spills, or ceases to exist at once. Whatever force it exerts as it shakes her body, it's the type of force Peter knows he can't fight with brute strength. All he can do is be the foundation she needs to keep going and purge this from her soul finally.

It's with great exhaustion and reluctance that she separates from him minutes later, but it's just to reach for the blanket again, wrapping it around herself and lying down with her head in his lap. He smiles down at her, watching her with tender eyes.

"Sleepy?", he asks.

She nods with a sniffle.

"Don't pet my hair. I'll pass out, and I have more to say."

He huffs in soft amusement.

"You sure you don't wanna nap first?"

"It's not much more. This part is about us."

"Oh… well, go ahead then."

"A gentleman, I see."

"Isn't that why you love me?"

"This is why I love you. This and a million other things. We'll be here all month if I have to list them all. I might give birth on this couch if I start."

They share a silly chuckle, and it's just what they seem to need before the next part.

"I lied to you. I didn't mean to, but I panicked. I was in shock too, I guess. It's not an excuse, but I'm trying to explain what was happening in my mind at the time. When I came home and told you that my candidacy was rejected, that was maybe an hour or so after I got the call from the doctor."

Peter can't say he's too shocked or surprised, but the confirmation of one potential avenue he'd considered still brings some form of jolt to his brain.

"You didn't get rejected?"

"No. I know it's horrible that I lied like that. I wanted to have more time to process what I just heard, and I don't mean anything by it, but I can't hide anything from you. You read me like - I don't know, something easily read."

Peter barks an unexpected laugh.

"Nice metaphor... miss Ph.D."

"Shush. I have no tangent with artsy fields."

"You painted our bedroom wall with sunflowers last winter."

"And you let me. Case closed."

"I really think you should be nicer to me. I feel very bamboozled right now.", he jokes, but immediately sees it doesn't go down well.

"Pete", she whispers, suddenly sitting up and throwing her arms around his neck, holding on tighter than he thinks she ever has before. He doesn't know what happened.

But she tells him soon enough.

"I don't know how to apologize to you. I don't know what to… say. The things I've been thinking all week, how I treated you - I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry. I didn't tell you all this so you can feel bad for me or understand me better. I told you because me not telling you is the reason I never let it go. All those memories of my mother and what she did to everybody, and what they did to her… I lived surrounded by illness all my life, and I've seen what it does to people. But I've also - seen what they can do with it. My mother drove my father to his breaking point, in part because she wanted to. Because at some point, she wanted everyone to feel how her illness wrecked her. We all shared in that misery for years. I didn't - I didn't want that to be me, and I didn't want that to be you. Least of all you, baby."

Peter's grip gets as tight as he'll allow in lieu of just absorbing her into himself. Both of them are crying freely, muffling sobs and soaking up each other's shoulders with tears.

It turns out, knowing isn't always the end goal. What Peter has wanted to know all week was not a revelation, but a feeling decades in the making. It wasn't hidden from him with ill intent, but born out of a need to protect.

He understands. Oh, does he understand.

He tries communicating it with declarations of love, and they are all received and returned tenfold. He never realized just how much she held locked inside for his sake, and it blindsides the most vulnerable parts of him. He's seeing her with new eyes now, and a subtle shift has taken place in their relationship that is entirely needed.

They'll be going forward stronger now, and more in sync than ever. He senses it in how they move in the days after their conversation.

They seem to be on the same wavelength about everything, sharing thoughts and even, one time, a craving for popcorn. They're functioning seemingly from the same weird plane of existence, as if they've unlocked some new stage in their shared lives.

The first doctor appointment is his suggestion, but only because she lets him go first when they both speak at the same time. She was going to say the same thing, apparently.

She confesses an extreme dislike of hospitals, so Peter finds a smaller clinic with a very well appraised obstetrics specialist, and they learn that they have much to learn. Despite their various accolades, neither of them knows a great deal about babies, except for how they're made.

They get reacquainted with some of the specifics that have brought them here, and Peter finds with great delight that some changes have already taken place. Heightened sensitivity is no longer just his thing, and they both discover one of those embarrassing moments he mentioned weeks ago. Well, embarrassing for her - he's absolutely delighted with just how responsive she is nowadays.

Around four months in, she finds an opportunity to seize some of the joy she feels was unjustly taken from both of them in how they found out the news of her pregnancy.

She debates for a good while if she should do it, but then it's as if fate intervenes - for once, in her favor. It just so happens that Peter's defense of his doctoral thesis is scheduled at the same time as the ultrasound she's been thinking about for days. They're supposed to find out exactly what sort of menace will be born in a few months' time, and they both agreed on wanting to know way back when. They have bets going.

Peter's feeling just a bit more confident than her, having already piled around a hundred bucks or so on his insistence that their firstborn will be a little girl. She's put forward nothing, changing her mind every single day, but she did promise to match him if he wins. Peter has teased her more than once that she just doesn't want to admit he's right.

But when the opportunity presents itself to find out before him, as his presence is unfortunately impeded, she suddenly finds herself extremely sure. Something within her just knows, even if she hasn't arrived at the clinic yet. Whatever it is, it's in agreement with her fiancé.

She isn't even a little surprised when the doctor confirms it, but her mind is running a million miles an hour with stupid little scenarios.

She wants to find the most ridiculous way to tell him, but she doesn't have time. He'll be finishing his defense any minute now, and she knows he'll check in before he can present his final statement. She needs to do something before that.

It's a text. Just a text. Yet she can't stop smiling while typing.

Good luck on your statement. We're rooting for you.

xx Your Girls xx 

She's never been this yucky or sickly sweet, but she can't feel anything other than giddiness.

Especially when she sees his reply. His four replies, rather.

You owe me 97 dollars.

I knew it

I'm gonna fuck up my statement. fuck

I'm gonna make love to you all night.

She laughs copiously in the parking lot of the clinic, and when she gets home, she goes about with another surprise, one Peter thoroughly enjoys when he makes it home. He makes good on the promise he texted earlier, and they start another little chapter of their lives together.

It's fairly weird to keep discovering so much about each other; with every milestone, it's as though they see themselves in a new light. This is what it means to build: to make singular experiences into a shared foundation, and to see how everything connects moving forward. It means removing yourself from old structures, so that you may start anew.

Part of us as part of something else is how we live our lives, a give and take of trust and love, to be shared and reinforced with every new experience.

And together, they’ll go forward with renewed love.

-fin-

A/N: I welcome any feedback, whatever form it’s in, and it always warms my heart to hear your thoughts. Thank you for reading. I hope you are all alright.