#and le depressed and anxious me

[copperbadge]

Homework from the therapist this week was to research mindfulness and its impact on emotional regulation. I had pointed thoughts about how we culturally define "mindfulness" and I think she wanted me to deal with that rather than make her do it, which is fair. (I think there is one definition of Mindfulness that is, at root, "Whatever a person in authority over you thinks will make you need less attention" but I am a Notable Cynic.)

Anyway she sent me a site about DBT, which was fine but mostly useful for its citations. Still, it had questionnaires, and I would normally check in before doing that kind of reflective work but she did send me the website. So I took the "Interpersonal Emotional Regulation Questionnaire" which measures how much you depend on other people to regulate your emotions. It's pretty standard, you rate a statement 1-5 based on how little (1) or much (5) it is like you.

There's not a lot of literature about what the end score means, but most of the papers talk about how a certain score is pretty normal but the higher end of scoring indicates a person is likely relying too heavily on others to regulate their emotions for them.

Out of a hundred points, with the minimum possible being 25, I scored 29.

There's no real literature on what to do when you bomb a personality test in the opposite direction from most people*, but I guess I'm an outlier in a lot of ways. Although, being fair, this is one section of the questionnaire, and does ANYONE like it when someone does these things to them?

It helps me deal with my depressed mood when others point out that things aren’t as bad as they seem;

Having people remind me that others are worse off helps me when I’m upset;

When I am upset, others make me feel better by making me realize that things could be a lot worse;

When I am annoyed, others can soothe me by telling me not to worry;

Having people telling me not to worry can calm me down when I am anxious.

I know what I want when I'm miserable about nothing is to be reminded that I'm miserable about nothing and told I shouldn't be. I suppose that might be the point, like if someone saying that to you works for you then you might be letting someone else drive a little too often, but still.

* Yes, I know you can't bomb a personality test, I am being Le Humorous.

[magnificentempress]

so we think i got something called treatment-resistent depression, a lot of whining below

first became a patient at 11 because of self-injuries, did some talk therapy which was whatever, wasnt prescribed anything because too young, the doctor was a weirdo but ig she tried to help. flashforward to 14-15-16 and i am doing just bad, never going outside, always feeling low and anxious. everyone thinks im lazy and ungrateful (+ Difficult Puberty), and i just had this certainly that i wont live until 18. i wasnt even planning anything actively, i just thought some random car crash would kill me. flashforward to university years, it gets so bad that im too scared to leave the house and i skip so many classes i nearly get expelled. i get some shitjob that pays minimum to pay for my first visit to an actual psychiatrist, and he says it is a generalized anxiety disorder. i think ok.

escitalopram doesn't work. several months of maximum dose of zoloft+lamotrigine and talking, maybe it is okay. the moment i quit, it just spirals right back downward. flashforward to trying to get help from other doctors every 6 months with taking antidepressants sporadically, i hate talk therapy now so fuck it. another doctor says it might be a depressive episode

flashforward it gets so bad again that im gonna be expelled for real if i dont get my shit together so it is time to try yet another doctor. she looks at My Record (TM) and says it seems like treatment-resistant depression. which is one hell of a name if you ask me, kind of like adhd is "cant sit still"-disorder. i say ok. i say that 3 meds or so didnt do anything. i try venlafaxine. it kinda lifts my mood from 1 to 3.5, even 4 if im very optimistic. my hypothetically bipolar sister says it gave her hypomania, it gives me nothing like that but ok. doctor says that if a close relative has a mental disorder, it possibly means that it is just genetics.

and it's just... it was all for nothing. i was born doomed for real. for 10+ years i tried to pick myself from the floor, tried to journal, meditate, take up sports, pRacTiCe MinDfUlnEsS. 300 mg of venlafaxine and i feel almost... no, not good. but at least Not Bad. i even graduated. it was like a 100kg weight on my neck was turned into a 10kg weight. still sucks but hey at least it is not 100 now. fuck my stupid baka brain and stupid baka life, if i feel anything is i feel like a scammer because i will always Be Like This. i hate mirtazapine btw made me eat like its my last meal so i quit it. so venlafaxine might not even be the thing. i will always be a patient that doctors basically experiment on because no one knows what are the causes of depression, or why antidepressants work and dont work, or how to relieve it. and then they be like, well have you tried electrocuting yourself lol?

i know it goes hard against blackpill but i have already accepted that im like a low value human because of this disorder and with how it makes me malfunction and contribute nothing, basically turns me into a parasite that can barely hold a job or go outside, when im not sleeping for 16 hours. i just thought that maybe if i fail at life i would Settle Down and be like a wife pet + just raise my child or whatever the hell. but i dont think i should even birth one because the kid will be SO insane and thats just cruel lol i just want to be honest, dont go at me plz

anyway it sucks that i feel like a skinwalker that has to pretend to be human, i guess i should try to get better still because people around me deserve a person that functions somehow... but i just cant stop thinking that its hopeless. it has been rigged from the start because im just like this and we found it out like after 10+ years of trying to get better. i think i should up venl to 375 mg but I'm kinda scared of le serotonin syndrome but its the max allowed dose sooooo

[xxfaithlynxx]

A Place Between Heartbeats

Word Count: 10.2k

Hearts In The Static

Clothes, and... underthings (le gasp) done with! Time for the bigger things! As well as some interesting information....

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Isekai, OC insert, Polyamory / Polyamorous Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Chronic Illness, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Found Family, Emotional Healing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, body image issues, Unreliable Narration, Protective Male Characters, rivals to lovers (sort of), past trauma, Everyone Loves Her But She Doesn’t Know Why, Heavy Angst, Fix-It Fic (but of the soul) Mental Health Themes (Depression, ADHD, pcos, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome), Suicidal ideation (past), Self-Harm Mention (Non-Graphic Flashback), Emotional Abuse (Referenced past) - Freeform, Body Dysmorphia, Trauma Recovery, Discussion of Medical Symptoms, feelings of worthlessness, Slow Healing & Difficult Conversations, themes of death, Survival, and identity

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Chapter 8:

The soft hum of ambient music overhead blended with the muted chatter of nearby shoppers as we stepped out of the clothing department and into the sprawling maze of the furniture section. Universum’s interior was somehow both sterile and opulent—white marble flooring that reflected overhead lighting, sleek digital displays mounted beside every aisle, and a pervasive scent of something sharp and synthetic beneath the surface aroma of new upholstery.

I walked just a little slower than the guys, lagging behind by a half-step like a shadow trying to keep up with its own body. My cart creaked beneath the weight of the things we'd gathered—clothes, shoes, underthings I tried not to die of embarrassment over—and now, apparently, furniture.

I didn't even know where to start.

“Okay,” Rafayel said as he clapped his hands together in that perfectly theatrical way only he could make look natural. “Are we aiming for ‘studio chic’ or ‘anxious girl aesthetic with a side of mysterious past trauma’?”

I snorted unexpectedly. “I think we’re already living the latter.”

That earned a laugh from Caleb and a smirk from Sylus, who was leaning against the edge of a sleek, charcoal-colored sofa like he was casing the place for a heist instead of helping me pick out a coffee table.

Zayne glanced over his shoulder at me, reading something in my face. “We’ll start with the essentials. Couch. Bed. Dining table. If anything’s missing after that, we’ll fill it in.”

I blinked up at him. “You mean I won’t be sleeping on the floor?”

“Not unless you ask nicely,” Raf murmured from the other side of the display, flashing me a wink that made my ears heat.

“Back off,” Zayne muttered under his breath, not even looking at him.

Sylus, still lounging, finally stepped forward and swept a hand toward a long sectional that looked plush enough to drown in. “This one reclines and has built-in chargers. And it’s black.”

That was… appealing. I didn’t need anything flashy. I needed comfort, shadows to disappear into, the illusion of safety in something soft enough to hold me together. And black went with everything.

“I like it,” I said softly.

A beat passed.

“You heard the lady,” Xavier finally said, arms crossed, his eyes scanning every little corner of the sofa like he was mentally taking it apart and assessing its worth. “We’ll get it delivered this afternoon.”

I watched them work like a unit. Like they’d always been like this. Sylus negotiating delivery dates with the help kiosk. Zayne scanning QR codes and checking reviews. Caleb and Raf quietly assessing two different tables, whispering back and forth over which one might match the apartment’s lighting better. And Xavier… quietly watching me.

I shrank a little under the attention, even though none of it was pointed. Still, something coiled tightly beneath my ribs, that ever-familiar mix of disbelief and dread. This was real. All of it. Them.

Me.

I drifted toward a display of dining sets, fingertips brushing the grain of a dark wood table as if touching it would ground me. I didn’t know how to pick furniture. I hadn’t even owned a kitchen table in my last life. Just a tiny folding tray and that ugly too-small couch…

“You like this one?” Zayne’s voice, close and low, startled me.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“It matches the couch. Chairs are good quality. No creaking, no splintering. Built to last,” he added, voice trailing into something quieter at the end, like maybe he wasn’t just talking about wood.

“I’ll take it,” I murmured, more to the air than anyone.

Each of them picked something for me next. Aven’s Emotional Breakdown: Interior Decor Edition.

Rafayel found a lacquered vanity with a tri-fold mirror and delicate gold trim. “For the moments when you remember you’re radiant,” he said, tone too soft to mock.

Xavier pointed out a bookcase, solid and simple. “So you have somewhere to keep things that matter.”

Sylus wheeled over a low coffee table with metal legs and hidden compartments. “Security and style,” he said with a half-shrug.

Caleb dragged over a pale grey armchair, plush and wide. “Because you need a place to sit and breathe. Not run.”

I swallowed hard, overwhelmed and mute. This wasn’t just furniture. It was them, building something around me—walls of support I didn’t know how to accept, let alone deserve.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” I said, barely above a whisper.

“Don’t,” Zayne said simply, stepping into my peripheral vision. “Just live in it.”

It happened gradually, not all at once—the drifting.

Caleb vanished toward the lighting displays, something about “making sure she didn’t end up with a migraine factory over her dining table.” Sylus disappeared with Rafayel into the smart-tech aisle, where furniture integrated with holo-displays and sound-dampening tech made them both cackle like kids set loose in a very expensive toy store. Zayne gave me a nod before moving toward the logistics counter to handle the scheduling for delivery and installation.

And suddenly, it was just me and Xavier.

He didn’t speak at first. Just walked alongside me with the kind of quiet that made your heartbeat louder in your ears. Not awkward. Just present.

We were somewhere between the shelving units and a strange wall of aesthetic nonsense—geometric sculptures, modern vases, and minimalist art pieces that felt like they belonged in a showroom instead of an actual home. My cart creaked again, wheels groaning as if in shared protest to the sheer surrealism of everything around us.

“You’re quiet,” I murmured, not looking at him.

“I’m always quiet,” he replied, glancing sidelong at me.

That made me snort softly, the smallest smile tugging at my mouth.

But then his tone shifted, not cold—never that—but something just a little deeper.

“What was your world like?”

My steps faltered.

He didn’t fill the silence that followed. He let it stretch, long and soft like cotton pulled too thin, until I forced myself to meet his gaze.

“It was… loud,” I admitted, trying to collect the pieces. “Bright in ways that hurt. Fast. Exhausting.”

He nodded slowly, absorbing that.

“Were you alone?”

The question wrapped around my throat like a hand. It wasn’t invasive. Not even said unkindly. Just… direct. Observant. Typical Xavier.

“Most of the time,” I said honestly.

We passed through a row of bookshelves—sleek ones, matte black with little embedded display lights. I trailed my fingers across one, grounding myself with the texture. Xavier’s presence beside me didn’t feel smothering. If anything, it kept me tethered.

“You said we were part of a game,” he said quietly. “Tell me what that means.”

My breath caught.

He wasn’t accusing me. Just asking.

“It’s not like I controlled you,” I started, choosing every word with care. “It was more like... we were given pieces of you. Of your world. Little moments. Scenes, stories, choices. We’d experience them through the screen. Sometimes you spoke directly to us. Sometimes not.”

Xavier hummed under his breath, a sound of curiosity more than judgment.

“What kind of choices?”

I smiled tightly, the memory like a pang. “Dialogue mostly. Occasionally actions. What to say, how to react. Whether to let you in or push you away.”

“Did you ever push me away?”

That surprised me. I looked at him, blinking.

“No,” I whispered. “Never.”

He held my gaze for a moment longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind the aquamarine shine of his irises.

“And the world you saw... how real did it feel?”

“Too real,” I admitted. “That was the problem.”

I didn’t tell him about the audio memories. The Secret Times episodes where voices dropped lower and breath hitched louder, where words became too raw to be safe. I didn’t mention the cards with their skin-on-skin intimacy, the artwork that had made me feel desired, cherished—even if it was just pretend.

Those things weren’t for now. Maybe not ever.

“There was beauty,” I said instead. “In the music, in the way the stories unfolded. In the pain, too. The parts of all of you that felt... broken.”

Xavier’s expression didn’t change much, but the silence between us did. It thickened. Deepened.

“You saw us,” he said finally. “You knew us. And yet you ended up here expecting what?”

I shrugged helplessly, voice thin. “Not this.”

“Not us?”

“Not you being real.” My voice cracked. “Not feeling everything I felt then and still somehow feeling more now.”

We paused near a small staging area where a mock bedroom had been set up—soft grey walls, dark blue sheets, a tall headboard that looked like it could hold secrets. I swallowed hard.

“I didn’t come here for this,” I said. “I didn’t think I’d survive what I did. But now I’m here, and you’re you, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.”

Xavier’s fingers brushed the edge of the headboard, quiet eyes taking me in like he saw too much.

“Then don’t do anything,” he said simply. “Not yet.”

And somehow, that made something inside me loosen. Not unravel. Just... uncoil.

He didn’t press further. Just walked beside me again, quiet in the noise of a world that wasn’t supposed to be ours to share.

But it was.

And it was growing harder to pretend that I wasn’t quietly falling into it.

We wandered into the bedding section quietly, just the two of us. The others were gods-knows-where in the vast maze of aisles and faux rooms, and I was strangely grateful for their absence. The polished floor seemed softer underfoot here. The light more muted. The shelves towered around us, stacked with folded duvets, comforters, sheets, and pillows in neatly vacuum-sealed bundles.

Xavier ran his fingers along a charcoal grey duvet as we walked. “What do you know about me?”

The question wasn’t an ambush, not exactly. But it struck like one. Sudden. Sharp. Quiet.

I stopped beside a display stacked with throw blankets and met his gaze—cool, crystalline, like glacier water over obsidian. The lights overhead gave a faint shimmer to his white-blond hair. Everything about him was composed. Still.

But his eyes burned.

“What do you mean?” I hedged, even though we both knew what he meant.

“You’ve known all of us since the beginning,” he said, voice low. “You look at each of us like you already know the shape of our shadows. Even when you’re afraid of them.”

I swallowed. “And you want to know how deep it goes.”

“I need to.”

I closed my eyes for a breath. Then I opened them.

“I know you’re not twenty-five,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “I know you’ve lived for hundreds of years. I know you were once the Prince of Philos, one of the highest-ranked members of the Backtrackers. You traveled timelines, fragments of realities, fixed anomalies and rifts with Jeremiah at your side. I know Philo was a sanctuary, your retreat after leaving Philos. I know your hands have built and broken too much.”

Xavier’s expression didn’t shift—but something behind his eyes did. A glint, sharp and sudden, like steel catching light.

“I know you carry memories like weapons,” I went on. “That your power, your evol, it isn’t just light—it’s the ability to cut through shadows and time itself. That even now, when you look at me, you’re probably trying to understand where I came from on a level I couldn’t even begin to explain.”

I didn’t realize my hands had curled into fists until my knuckles ached.

“I know you don’t actually sleep much. That you used to sit on the rooftop of Philos when insomnia kept you awake, that the night sky reminded you of everything you’d left behind. I know you still wear that pain. Elegantly. Quietly. Like armor forged in loss.”

Xavier stood absolutely still. No protest. No denial.

Just silence.

Heavy. Holy.

My voice cracked a little. “I shouldn’t know any of that.”

His steps were slow as he moved closer, stopping just a breath away. The edge of a display shelf pressed against my hip. His presence wrapped around me like the static hum of a storm building in the bones of the world.

“How do you carry all of us in your head like that?” he asked, softer now. “How did it not break you before you ever came here?”

I almost laughed. Bitter. Tired. “It did.”

He stared at me for a long moment before raising a hand—hesitating, then gently brushing a stray lock of hair from my cheek. The touch was light. Nothing intrusive. But it stole the breath from my lungs all the same.

“I used to think no one could ever know me,” he murmured. “Not really. Not fully. Not without... rewriting their own soul to match mine.”

“You didn’t need someone to match,” I whispered. “You needed someone to see.”

His jaw flexed, the tension moving down his throat. That single comment had landed deeper than I meant it to. But it was true. He had always been more than his myth. More than his power.

And somehow, even now, he was more real than I ever could’ve imagined.

“There are things you don’t know,” he said, more to himself than me. “About who I was. What I’ve done.”

“I know enough,” I said.

“Enough to be afraid?”

I shook my head. “Enough to understand why you carry your guilt like a second skin.”

The air between us shifted again, pulling taut with something unspoken. Something ancient. Familiar. He reached down to touch a folded kingsized bedsheet—black, simple, minimal. His fingers lingered.

“This okay for your bed?” he asked, almost teasing.

The normalcy of the question broke the ache in my chest. I nodded.

“Black’s my favorite color,” I said, trying to smile. “It hides... everything.”

Xavier’s lips curved faintly. “I know.”

And somehow, that made it worse.

Because if he really did… then I had no idea how I’d survive what came next.

Xavier drifted away after a long silence, his thoughts clearly still caught in the undertow of everything I’d said. I watched him disappear down the aisle lined with memory foam pillows and blackout curtains, his silhouette swallowed by muted fluorescents. My own thoughts felt splintered—frayed at the edges.

I turned to the next aisle over, trailing my fingers along the quilted seams of neatly stacked comforters. Most were patterned in clean, modern lines or soft florals, but I found myself gravitating toward the darker ones—black, deep gray, indigo—shades that felt like armor instead of decoration.

The soft tread of boots pulled my attention back. Caleb appeared at the edge of the aisle, hands tucked in the pockets of his hoodie, sleeves pushed halfway to his elbows. His dark eyes—burnished copper, but touched faintly with violet—landed on me and held. For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

Then, with that signature smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, he drawled, “You plannin’ on burying yourself under all that, pipsqueak?”

God. That name. It hit harder than I expected. The weight of it—familiar, teasing, affectionate in its own sideways Caleb-brand of charm—almost knocked the breath out of me. I’d heard it a hundred times in-game. Always with the same smirk. The same undercurrent of warmth that always, always lingered beneath his sarcasm.

“I like to be warm,” I said, pulling a thick black-and-silver king-sized duvet off the display. It was heavier than I thought. Of course it was.

Caleb reached out to steady it in my arms, his fingers brushing mine—cool, precise, but not cold.

“You wanna talk?” he asked, quieter this time. “You don’t have to. But I figured... since the others are getting their turn…”

I looked at him. Really looked.

The weight he carried wasn’t as obvious as Xavier’s, or Zayne’s. He didn’t broadcast his damage. He camouflaged it behind quick remarks and military polish. But I knew better.

“Yeah,” I said. My voice cracked anyway. “I’ll tell you.”

His gaze sharpened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“You’re a Colonel in the Farspace Fleet,” I began. “One of the youngest officers ever promoted to that rank.”

I swallowed.

“You also work, sort of, with the EVER Group. They recruited you after an… event, because they needed someone they could mold. Someone with instincts, even though you despise them.”

The light in his eyes changed. Not gone—just dulled for a moment. Like a match snuffed out before it could fully catch.

“You have a Toring chip implanted behind your ear,” I continued, softer now. “It helps regulate your emotions. Keeps them in check when they start to spiral too far in one direction. That’s why you’re so good at hiding when you’re in pain. Your body is trained to lie.”

His hands curled into loose fists in his pockets.

“You were experimented on as a kid,” I whispered. “Just like Sylus. Altered. Enhanced. Rewritten.”

He looked away for the first time. Just for a second.

“And your right arm,” I said. “It’s not… entirely yours.”

His throat worked visibly. “How do you—”

“I know it’s mechanical. Cybernetic. High-level tech, bonded to your nervous system so closely that no one can tell unless you show them. And even then, you rarely do. Because it’s a reminder. Of everything they did. Everything they took.” 

Caleb didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

The silence felt endless.

Then he let out a low breath and laughed—not out of humor, but disbelief. “You know all that, and you still—what? You’re still standing here? Talkin’ to me?”

“You’re not the sum of your trauma,” I said. “None of you are.”

He stared at me like I’d just told him the stars had names.

I clutched the comforter to my chest like a shield. “I used to listen to your voice when I couldn’t sleep. In the game, I mean. The moments. The cards. You made me feel like maybe I wasn’t crazy. Like there was someone else out there who was just… trying to survive the weight of being too much and not enough at the same time.”

Caleb stepped closer. Close enough that I could see small crimson veins beginning to grow behind his ear, half-hidden by a loose curl of hair. 

“You really listened to all that?”

“I needed it,” I said. “You helped me survive. Even when you didn’t know it.”

The wall in his expression crumbled—just a little. He reached out and rested a hand on my shoulder, not warm but grounding, with the metal beneath the skin. “Guess it’s only fair I try and return the favor now, huh?”

I nodded, but my chest hurt. God, it hurt.

Because I didn’t know how to accept any of this. Their care. Their closeness. Their realness.

And still… here they were.

“I’ll carry the comforter,” Caleb said, nudging my side gently. “You’ve got enough weight in your hands already.”

The faint hum of wheels rolling over tile pulled me out of my head.

Sylus appeared at the edge of the aisle, pushing a platform dolly stacked with boxes labeled end tables, accent lamps, and something that had industrial coffee table – obsidian steel legs stamped in blocky letters across the cardboard. He was impossible to miss—tall enough to block out the lights overhead, shoulders broad beneath his black button-up, sleeves casually rolled to the elbows. His white hair, messy as ever, framed his face like a halo of something far more dangerous than innocence. That deep red gaze cut across the space with an unspoken weight that made the breath catch in my chest.

Caleb straightened beside me. “Gonna go find the others,” he muttered, a little too casually. “Don’t want them buying a gold-plated refrigerator or somethin’.”

I gave him a faint smile. “Thanks… for everything.”

His eyes softened as he lifted the comforter from my arms and added it to the growing pile on the dolly Sylus had brought. Then, with a brush of knuckles against mine, he disappeared down the next aisle, vanishing like smoke.

Sylus’s crimson eyes followed him for a moment before flicking down to me. His tone was softer than I expected when he asked, “You alright?”

My mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I keep thinking it’ll get easier. Telling each of you like this. One-on-one. But it’s not.”

He made a noise low in his throat, a thoughtful exhale that bordered on a grunt. “Maybe it’s not supposed to be easy.”

“I never thought I’d need to,” I said.

His gaze sharpened. “Need to what?”

“Explain all of this. You. Them. Everything. I never thought any of you would exist enough to have to tell you.”

A pause, and then, slowly, Sylus nodded. “Would you prefer I ask what you know about me?” he offered, voice low and even. “Or would it be easier if I said what I am, and you tell me whether you already knew?”

A tiny shiver ran down my spine at the way he phrased it—what I am. Not who.

I nodded, voice dry. “That sounds fair.”

He didn’t move closer, but the space between us felt tighter, thicker, like something coiled. “You know about my past life,” he began, each word deliberate. “That I was a Fiend. A Dragon.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “I know.”

I didn’t elaborate. I couldn’t. That myth had left claw marks in my chest for days. The ache of his isolation, the brutality of his origin—it still lived somewhere under my ribs like a splinter that wouldn’t budge.

He seemed to sense the line there. He didn’t cross it.

“I told you in the hospital I was a test subject as a child,” he said next. “But you already knew that too.”

“Yes.”

“My current job?”

“You run Onychinus,” I replied. “You supply protocores, weapons, tech. You’re the center of your own underworld network in the N109 Zone, but you keep it clean—no trafficking, no innocent blood.”

He blinked at me. It was the closest thing to surprise I’d seen on him.

“I do my homework,” I said softly.

“Clearly.”

“And I know about the twins,” I added. “Kieran and Luke. You saved them. They were caught in something ugly, and you pulled them out of it.”

Something in Sylus’s expression cracked—just for a second. A single beat of breath between two walls of steel.

He looked away then, scanning the nearest shelf like it could offer him reprieve. “I didn’t save them,” he muttered. “I gave them the means to save themselves.”

I tilted my head. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No,” he said. “But maybe close enough.”

I stood there for a beat too long, watching the way his jaw worked—clenched, then relaxed. Watching the slow exhale of someone who carried too many ghosts on a spine far too burdened by the past.

“I’m not sure what to do with all this,” I whispered. “Any of it.”

He finally looked at me again, gaze heavy, voice barely audible. “Then don’t do anything yet. Just breathe. One thing at a time, pipsqueak.”

My breath caught. “That’s Caleb’s nickname.”

Sylus huffed a quiet sound—almost a laugh, though it faded quickly. “Then we’ll find something else for you.”

His words felt like the brush of a match to the walls I’d built inside myself. I didn’t know how to answer.

Instead, I just looked down at the platform dolly, at all the items stacked there for me. For a life I hadn’t earned.

He didn’t rush me.

He just stood there, silent and steady. Like a dragon that had finally learned how to stand still without needing to burn down the sky.

Sylus tilted his head toward the pile of items on the dolly and then back to me, voice low but no less commanding. “Did you see a bedframe you liked?”

I blinked, needing half a breath to remember the quiet moment earlier with Xavier, his voice soft beside me as we wandered past the rows of bedframes and headboards.

“There was one,” I said slowly, picturing it again—cast iron, matte black with an antique arc to the headboard, a quiet strength to its structure that had made me stop and run my fingers along one of its spiraled posts. “Dark frame. Industrial gothic style. Near the back corner.”

Sylus gave me a small nod—almost approving—and pushed off the edge of the aisle. “I’ll get it.”

He moved with a predator’s surety, dolly squeaking once behind him before vanishing down the aisle like shadow into deeper dark.

That’s when I heard it.

The soft clink of something delicate shifting in the light.

“Got something for your new space,” came a familiar voice, velvet over starlight and trouble.

Rafayel.

He was approaching me with something delicate cupped in his long fingers. Suspended from a twisted black ribbon was a blown-glass ornament—two flammula fish, one a deep crimson, the other a shimmering blue, circling a radiant pearl. The glass caught the overhead lights, making the iridescence dance across his hands like captured moonlight.

My breath hitched.

Of course I recognized them. How could I not?

The blue flammula fish—emissaries of the Sea God. I had stared at that shape for hours in the game, watching it drift through underwater ruins, watching it glow like memory, like truth. These were not just pretty glass sculptures. They were symbols—living metaphors—tied to Rafayel’s very essence. The messengers of something ancient and divine. The blue one especially, bound to the Sea God’s heart.

Bound to him.

"You recognize them," Rafayel said, his voice light, teasing, but underneath it was something else. Something older. Deeper. It curled through me like undertow.

I nodded slowly, throat suddenly dry. “They're emissaries. Of the Sea God. The blue one… it’s always been part of you. Hasn’t it?”

The space between us shifted. The usual playfulness in his eyes didn’t vanish exactly—it condensed, sharpened, became something crystalline and strangely gentle. He looked at me like I’d peeled back a veil he’d forgotten he’d been wearing.

“I suppose you could say that,” he murmured, holding the ornament up for me to take. “They follow me. Always have. Even when I tried not to see them.”

My fingers brushed his as I accepted the ornament, and something like recognition sparked in the quiet.

He tilted his head slightly, still watching me. “How much about Lemuria do you know?”

I looked up at him, pulse thudding against the cage of my ribs, emotion rising like tidewater beneath my skin. I didn’t know how to explain the why without spilling every truth I’d kept buried since I landed in their world, but I could give him something. Just a piece.

“Enough to know that your people weren’t just dreamers,” I said, voice shaking at the edges. “They were survivors. They knew that beauty was fragile… and chose to protect it anyway.”

Rafayel’s expression shifted—just subtly. Something softened in the tension of his jaw. His thumb ran along the curved edge of the glass ornament I now held.

“I’ll find a place for it,” I whispered, hands trembling just slightly as I cradled the weightless, breakable piece.

His voice dropped to a hush. “You already have.”

I wasn’t sure whether he meant the apartment… or something else entirely.

We all gravitated toward the front of the store again like tide-washed driftwood. Each of the boys trickled in from different directions—Caleb with a set of sleek kitchen knives balanced in one arm, Xavier holding a folded, muted-toned bedspread, Rafayel, now holding a deep red lacquered box with mother of pearl etched into the surface, creating an image of a cherry blossom tree, and Sylus wheeling the flatbed cart stacked with sealed boxes like some noir-themed mover. Only Zayne was already waiting near the checkouts, standing next to a wide touchscreen kiosk and scanning the crowd as if keeping mental count of us.

But no one was talking.

Their silence wasn't stiff—it wasn’t angry. It was… pensive. Muted. Like the weight of what I’d shared with each of them had anchored itself in the air around us, sinking deeper into their thoughts than even I had realized.

I swallowed hard. The awareness of all their eyes on me—soft, searching, hesitant—made my skin crawl with a strange mix of embarrassment and guilt.

Zayne noticed immediately. His eyes flicked from Rafayel’s unusually tight expression to Caleb’s distracted frown, then to me.

He stepped forward, his black jacket swaying slightly behind him, and his voice lowered to a private murmur.

“Did something happen?” he asked. “You look… distant.”

His concern wasn’t sharp or demanding. It was subtle, measured. That clinical softness only someone like Zayne could manage, where precision met care like a scalpel sheathed in velvet.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Then tried again, glancing over his shoulder toward the others—none of whom were eavesdropping, but none of whom looked entirely present either.

“I just talked with each of them a little,” I finally said. “About… things I probably should’ve explained better.”

Zayne’s eyes narrowed just slightly. Not in suspicion—more in that hyper-focused way he sometimes got when his brain was processing ten possibilities at once. I remembered that look from the game. The one he wore during surgery. Or when confronting Dawnbreaker’s nightmares. It made my chest ache.

Before he could respond, a soft chime pinged from the front register. Sylus had stepped up to the sleek counter beside the self-check kiosks. The clerk held up the hand-held scanner, and with a practiced, fluid motion, Sylus pulled out a black metallic card from his wallet and tapped it against the reader.

The scanner blinked. Transaction approved.

Of course he didn’t hesitate. Of course he paid for all of it without a single glance back.

I blinked down at the card, catching just a glint of silver text embossed along the matte black edge. The same card he’d handed the MC at the auction.

I turned back to Zayne. “I didn’t ask him to do that.”

“I know,” Zayne said softly, watching Sylus like he was trying to decipher an ancient manuscript. “But he didn’t do it out of obligation either.”

My throat tightened. “How can you be so sure?”

Zayne looked back down at me, and for a second—just a breath—he looked tired. Vulnerable. “Because that’s what we do when something matters to us.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

And I wasn’t sure what scared me more—how much I wanted to believe it, or how much I already did.

The movers were already outside as we left that portion of the store—uniformed, efficient, and entirely unbothered by the sheer number of boxes they were tasked with. Sylus passed them a curt nod and an address, his dark phone still in hand, before they loaded the bigger items into a clean-lined, matte black cargo transport. The rest—the bags of clothing, the velvet pouch with the jewelry box Rafayel had found, the soft bedding Xavier had chosen, and the knives Caleb had picked out—remained with us.

My arms were full, even though they insisted on helping.

I kept my eyes on the pavement. One step. Another.

I didn’t remember agreeing to this. I didn’t remember saying yes to any of it.

The soft chime of metal on ceramic caught my attention. Rafayel gently placed the glass ornament—the two flammula fish encircling a pearl—into one of the bags Zayne carried. I watched it vanish under layers of carefully folded newness, and my breath stuttered.

This was mine now?

That—thing? That beautiful, lore-bound, sea-god-crafted ornament wasn’t a display piece anymore. 

It was in a plastic bag.

And it was mine.

I followed them as they veered down another corridor of the shopping complex, deeper into the next phase of their plan, and heard Sylus mention it first.

“She’ll need a phone. Something encrypted.”

Zayne gave a small nod. “Something with layered biometric access, and a voice lock too.”

“We’ll sync it to my database at Onychinus,” Sylus added. “Add her ID profile. Keep her off-grid.”

Rafayel offered a smile. “Might as well get her a few other things too. Tablet, stylus—something for drawing or writing, maybe. The world’s weird, might help her sort her head.”

Xavier simply murmured, “Connectivity is important. She’ll need access, if she’s going to acclimate.”

It was all said casually. All with a kind of natural assurance that they were handling this. Like I was a problem to be solved. A stray cat they’d just adopted and needed to outfit.

And I—

I couldn’t breathe.

My steps slowed. The bag in my hands felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Not from the items inside—no. From everything I didn’t know how to carry. Everything I hadn’t earned.

They didn’t question it. They didn’t hesitate. Not once.

It wasn’t fair.

They were the ones I cried over when the game’s route endings hit too hard. The ones I wished I could talk to during the worst days of my life. The ones who said things that made me feel like I mattered when I didn’t even matter to myself.

And now they were walking ahead of me, arguing over what model of phone would best suit me—what color I might like—if I preferred a neural band for hands-free calls.

And I couldn’t even move.

I stopped dead in the middle of the hallway. Shoppers passed around me, a ripple of motion in a stream I’d suddenly broken from. My hands trembled around the bag handles. My lungs felt too full and too empty all at once. A terrible heat clawed its way up my spine, into my chest, into my throat. My ears were ringing.

Why were they doing this?

Why were they being kind?

Why did they treat me like I was someone worth—

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted iron.

Ahead, none of them had noticed I’d stopped.

Of course they hadn’t. They were talking tech, discussing specs, their voices blending with the hum of a world that still felt like a dream I shouldn’t be awake in.

And I—

I was unraveling again. Quietly. Carefully. In the middle of Universum.

I was a smear of emotions—gratitude, terror, self-loathing, and grief—coiling tightly inside my chest like a spring waiting to snap.

I didn’t know how to exist like this. Not when kindness felt like a dagger. Not when love—even unspoken—felt like theft.

Because I wasn’t her. I wasn’t the girl who got their smiles and their affection. I wasn’t the Main Character.

I was just Aven.

And Aven was not supposed to be here.

It was Sylus who noticed first.

I wasn’t sure what made him turn. Maybe it was instinct, or that low-level paranoia he always carried like a second skin. Maybe it was something deeper—something encoded into that impossible part of him I’d read about late into the night, long before I ever imagined I’d stand in the same airspace as him.

He turned, dark brows furrowing as his voice cut clean through the air between us.

“Aven?”

I blinked. My name felt like it echoed. Too loud, too sharp. I hadn’t realized how far behind I’d fallen. They were a full aisle ahead now, between rows of high-end glass displays, drones with neural AI gliding overhead, the low static hiss of tech filling the space.

Sylus handed off the bags he carried—Xavier took one without question, Caleb another—and then he was moving. Not walking. Jogging. Unapologetically closing the space between us like it didn’t matter who saw, didn’t matter what I’d built up around myself.

And then—arms.

Thick, heavy, real arms. Stronger than any I'd ever felt.

He wrapped them around me, arms caging my ribs gently but firmly, like he knew exactly how to still the shaking inside me.

At first, I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

His scent hit first—like ozone, like cold smoke after a storm, like danger wrapped in velvet.

“Breathe,” he said near my ear, voice low and frayed.

My breath caught on a sob I hadn’t meant to release.

“Just breathe, sweetheart. I've got you.”

But his body—his presence—was too much.

Too solid. Too real.

And my mind couldn’t keep up with the moment.

Because this? This was everything I’d never been given when I needed it. Not in my world. Not in that dingy apartment. Not in any of the relationships that tore through me and left me stitched back together wrong.

My ex hadn’t hugged me like this. Not once. He’d grabbed, gripped, held, but never like this. Never to protect.

I tried to twist away, the panic hitting like a brick to the chest.

“Don’t—” My voice broke. “Please—Sylus, don’t—”

But he didn’t release me. Not immediately.

He just loosened his hold, his arms shifting to let me move while still staying close. Still there.

And it wasn’t until my knees gave out beneath me that he knelt with me—right there in the middle of the store—his arms a loose circle around me, keeping people away without saying a word.

The others arrived within seconds.

Xavier’s voice cut through the haze first. “She’s panicking.”

“No,” I rasped, “I’m—” not okay never made it out.

Rafayel crouched beside me, his usual smirk gone, replaced by something too soft for his reputation. His fingers brushed my wrist lightly—checking my pulse, grounding me with touch that didn’t ask for anything.

Caleb hovered, hand clenched and unclenched like he didn’t know whether to reach out or give me space.

Zayne was last, his footsteps unmistakable. He dropped beside me, his palm pressing to my back in steady, quiet pressure.

“Whatever this is,” he murmured, “you don’t have to go through it alone.”

I looked up. Into their eyes. Into the faces I’d known before they knew me.

I couldn’t stop crying.

Because it wasn’t just the kindness.

It was the closeness.

It was the terrifying thought that these men—these characters I thought I’d left behind in digital dreams—were here, real, and were choosing me.

Not because they had to.

Not because of some plot.

But because they saw me falling apart, and instead of walking away—

They stayed.

I barely registered Sylus shifting until the air around me changed.

His arms gathered me like I weighed nothing—one beneath my knees, one under my shoulders—lifting me clean off the polished tile like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Sylus—!” I gasped, panic sparking again, this time not from fear but the raw mortification of being cradled bridal style in the middle of a shopping center.

“Easy,” he murmured, voice gruff but not unkind. “You need a minute.”

I buried my face in his shoulder, not knowing where else to look, cheeks burning. His heartbeat thrummed against my temple, steady and unbothered, like he carried people like this every day. Like I wasn’t someone who’d just emotionally flatlined in the middle of a tech aisle.

Behind us, I heard footsteps—the rest of them trailing after, silent save for the low murmur of Caleb saying something to Rafayel, probably about clearing the path or warding off stares. Xavier didn’t say anything. He never had to. His silence was its own presence.

Sylus carried me through a side corridor lined with glowing holographic display boards and down a shallow ramp beneath one of the building’s massive escalators, its steps moving in slow, silvery waves overhead. The lighting here was softer, shadows coiling like vines along the corners of the curved metallic wall.

A sleek bench—brushed chrome and faintly warm to the touch—sat tucked away against the wall.

“Here.” Sylus lowered me with shocking gentleness onto the seat, his large hands steadying me as he pulled back, gaze flicking over me to make sure I stayed upright.

My skin still buzzed where he’d touched me.

Then Zayne dropped to one knee in front of me.

No hesitation. No walls.

He reached out, fingers ghosting just beneath the hem of my sleeve as he glanced up.

“I’m going to check your vitals,” he said, voice calm. Doctor-mode Zayne. “Okay?”

I nodded, barely able to speak past the lump in my throat.

He tapped something on the cuff around my wrist and the display blinked to life—a thin film of light casting health data between us. Zayne scanned it in silence, brows tight, lips pressing into a harder line the longer he looked.

“Still too high,” he muttered to himself. “Heart rate, cortisol… stress markers are spiking. This isn't sustainable.”

I flinched. Not because of his tone—it was measured, concerned—but because he was right. It wasn’t sustainable. I couldn’t keep unraveling like this in public spaces, around people who knew too much about me without knowing me at all.

Raf stood a few paces away, one hand still loosely holding the flammula ornament in a shopping bag, the other shoved into his pocket. Caleb leaned against the opposite wall, arms folded, face unreadable but his gaze razor-sharp on me. Xavier sat beside me on the bench now, close enough that I felt the heat of his presence, but not touching.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. It felt pathetic the moment it left my mouth.

Zayne looked up sharply. “Don’t. Don’t apologize for this.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You don’t owe us that.”

His voice cut clean through my self-loathing like a scalpel, precise and painful in its accuracy.

Sylus stood nearby, arms crossed, crimson eyes burning with something unreadable.

I tried to breathe, but it still came out shaky. Broken.

“I don’t understand why any of you… care this much,” I admitted, hands tightening into fists in my lap. “I’m not—”

“Don’t,” Xavier interrupted softly, his voice low enough that it scraped my bones. “Don’t finish that sentence. We’re here, aren’t we?”

My throat tightened. The lump became a stone.

They were here. All five of them.

And I was still trying to convince myself I didn’t deserve it.

Caleb shifted beside me, his arms still full of shopping bags, the crisp rustle of them breaking the fragile silence. He hesitated—just for a breath—and then passed the handles to Xavier without a word.

Then he turned and walked away.

No snark. No teasing comment. Just the quiet thud of his boots against the tiled floor as he moved off through the flow of shoppers like a shadow melting between lights.

I blinked, watching him go, heart flickering.

“He’s not mad,” Xavier murmured beside me, answering the unspoken question hanging behind my wide eyes. “He just... knows when he’s needed. And when he's not.”

I didn’t respond. Couldn't. I wasn’t sure if I even understood what I was needing at this point. A reboot? An undo button?

Zayne shifted forward again, kneeling in front of me for the second time. This time his fingers were more delicate—intentional—as he gently lifted my chin and raised his penlight.

“Zayne—”

“Just checking your pupillary reaction,” he said, quiet but firm. “You dissociated, and I want to be sure your system isn’t shutting down under the weight of all this.”

The cool edge of the light traced my left eye, then the right. The familiar flash and flicker of the reaction, the way he studied the minute contraction of my pupils, the calculating concern etched into the furrow between his brows—it was all textbook. All clinical.

All safe.

But it was also too much.

“She doesn’t need the full work-up,” Sylus cut in, his voice a smooth rumble from somewhere to my side. “She just needs a damn minute.”

Zayne stilled, eyes still on mine for one final second, before he let out a slow breath and sat back on his heels.

“You’re right,” he muttered. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

I offered him a weak smile that didn’t quite make it to my eyes. “You just turn into a walking MRI scanner under stress?”

He huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh, but it was tight. Wound.

“I guess I do.”

The quiet returned. Not awkward. Just thick. The kind of stillness that settles when everyone knows words aren’t enough anymore, and yet too many are trying to be spoken all at once in silence.

I pressed my palms to my knees. My skin felt clammy. My chest still fluttered like a trapped bird. But the edges of the spiral had started to dull. The screaming in my head was now a tired whisper. Still there—but less sharp. Less all-consuming.

And then I saw Caleb coming back.

He wasn’t striding like he usually did. Not swaggering or cocky. Just walking. Steady. Intent.

In one hand, he carried a deep-fried something nestled in a paper cone—crisp, golden, and glistening in that I-know-this-is-bad-for-me-but-I-don’t-care kind of way. Drizzled with chocolate.

In the other, a glass bottle of something dark and carbonated—no fancy wrapping, just an old-school soda with a citrus-peach label.

He crouched in front of me and wordlessly held both items out.

“For me?” I croaked, staring.

“No,” he deadpanned. “For my other dimensional breakdown victim.” Then, softer: “Yeah. For you.”

My laugh cracked out of me like a brittle branch snapping.

I took the soda and snack with trembling hands. “How’d you know I liked chocolate?”

“I read you like chocolate,” he corrected. “Off your face when we passed the dessert display earlier. You lit up like a flare.”

I stared at him. And then at the treat in my hands. It was warm. The smell hit me like a gut-punch—fried sugar and cocoa and something sticky-sweet like caramel.

My stomach growled in response.

“You really think this’ll fix me?” I asked, voice wobbling, half-joke, half-broken plea.

“No,” Caleb said simply. “But it might make the world suck a little less for five minutes.”

He stepped back as I bit into it—gooey, warm, obscene. My eyes burned again, but this time from something like gratitude. Or maybe disbelief.

Or both.

I hadn’t even asked for help. But they were giving it anyway.

Like it was instinct. Like I wasn’t too much. Or too broken. Or too wrong to be worth their time.

And for the first time since waking up in their world, I wasn’t sure if that made me want to cry more... or believe it.

I finished the last bite slowly, letting the warmth of the chocolate-laced pastry linger on my tongue like it might stitch together the ragged pieces of my soul. It didn’t. But it helped. Just a little.

The soda fizzed soft bubbles against the inside of my cheek as I took another sip, cradling it in both hands like something sacred. Caleb had gone quiet again, stepping back with the others—Xavier and Zayne still hovering like satellites with too much gravity, Sylus standing farther off but watching me like I might combust.

“I…” My voice caught in my throat, but I swallowed hard and tried again. “We can keep going. I’m okay.”

It wasn’t the truth.

But it wasn’t a lie either.

No one moved at first, until Rafayel stepped forward—quiet and fluid, his expression unreadable but somehow too knowing all at once. His hand reached out before I could anticipate it, long fingers wrapping gently around mine.

Warm. Sure. Not demanding—just… there.

I froze for a second.

Not because I was afraid. Not exactly. But because that touch—his touch—made something unspool in me. Something that said: you’re not alone here.

Not anymore.

“Come on,” Raf said, his voice like velvet dipped in stardust, his lips curving up just slightly. “You still need a phone. Something that doesn’t look like it was grafted from a dystopian wetsuit.”

I huffed out a breath. Somewhere between a laugh and a gasp.

His fingers squeezed mine gently, as if he’d felt it—how close I was to unraveling again.

I glanced up at him, ready to deflect with something clever, something self-deprecating. But I caught the edge of his smile, that look in his pink-blue eyes—the way galaxies seemed to twist and shimmer behind them like reflections on water—and I couldn’t bring myself to ruin the moment.

So I just… nodded.

He didn’t let go.

We started walking, weaving toward the neon-washed archway that led to the central hub of the tech section—slick displays and suspended holograms shimmering ahead like the entrance to another world entirely.

Xavier trailed just behind us. Quiet. Close. The kind of silence that buzzed with tension.

I felt his eyes burning holes into the back of Rafayel’s hand still wrapped around mine.

I didn’t need to look to know Xavier’s jaw was tight.

I didn’t need to guess to know he was jealous.

And that knowledge brought a flush to my face I couldn't stop. One I tried to attribute to the overhead lights. Or the lingering adrenaline. Or anything else.

But it was no use. Especially when my mind, traitorous and way too vivid, offered up a memory I hadn’t thought about in ages.

The Rendezvous card from the game—December’s limited release. Xavier, backlit by soft lights and a swirling snow fall, practically growling because a bread vendor named Charlie had dared to speak too long to MC. His hand around her waist, possessive. His voice low, ragged, flushed with something primal and raw.

I'd seen that card enough times to memorize every breathless line of it.

I shook the memory away, heat crawling down the back of my neck. God. What the hell was wrong with me?

But the worst part?

I could feel it again now.

That tension. That storm. It wasn't a fantasy anymore. It was real. And I was at the center of it.

And even if I didn’t understand why, even if I thought it was misplaced or undeserved or utterly impossible—the way Xavier’s footsteps never strayed too far, the way Rafayel’s hand never let go—I felt it all the same.

And that scared me more than anything.

Because I didn’t know if I was strong enough to accept that kind of attention… or brave enough to walk away from it.

Sylus slipped effortlessly back into the lead, his long strides purposeful, slicing through the buzzing tech sector like a blade through water. I watched the edge of his black coat swing behind him, his silhouette clean, sharp, commanding. He didn’t hesitate, of course—not when it came to things like this. With a casual flick of his hand, he gestured toward a cluster of sleek digital interfaces and devices displayed behind a shimmering holo-barrier.

Premium tier, the display blinked.

Of course.

He made a beeline for the most expensive tech in the entire store without so much as a glance at the others, his crimson eyes gleaming with interest as he muttered something to Caleb—who wandered off to follow, running a distracted hand through his tousled copper-brown hair, his attention already shifting.

The moment Rafayel let go of my hand, I felt it like the sudden loss of gravity.

His warmth was gone, fingers slipping away as something caught his eye—a glimmering panel of shifting colors across the aisle, mounted on a display with strange curves and holographic light. Like a crow drawn to something reflective and impossible to ignore, he veered without a word, following that shimmer with a dreamy curiosity that matched his otherworldly nature.

And suddenly, I was alone.

Frozen between shelves of tech I didn’t recognize. Lost in a storm of bright lights and flickering projections, foreign sounds and softly pulsing music. My feet felt like they were glued to the floor, my hands awkward at my sides, clutching nothing, grounded by no one. I didn’t know where to look, where to go, who to follow.

For one horrifying moment, the loneliness returned.

The same one I’d always known.

Until—

A hand found mine again.

I startled—just a little—but not because it scared me.

Because it stilled me.

Because it was different.

Warm. Larger. Calloused fingers, steady and strong, curling gently around mine with deliberate purpose. No hesitation. No uncertainty.

I turned my head.

Zayne stood beside me, not saying a single word. Just… there. Solid and present in a way that almost hurt to look at.

And though his expression was still composed, I noticed the faintest tint of pink brushing across the high arc of his cheekbones, and again at the very tips of his ears. That slight twitch in his jaw, like he was fighting something down. He kept his eyes straight ahead—stoic, unreadable—but that small bloom of color gave him away.

Zayne Li. Head of Cardiology. My favorite nightmare. The man who’d haunted my dreams in the game like thunder in the distance.

I looked down at our joined hands.

Then back up at him.

And he still didn’t look at me. But his fingers tightened ever so slightly.

As if to say: I’ve got you.

My chest ached.

Xavier had wandered off, of course—lured toward a tiered display wall with light-diffused glass shelves. He stood there like a monolith in his coat, frowning faintly as he traced one of the specs on a spec-sheet with a gloved finger. The lower half of his face was almost pouty in a way he didn’t seem aware of—just slightly turned down, as if sulking. And I knew him well enough to know that he was. Pouting, that is. Likely over Rafayel. Or Zayne. The fact that the others had taken my hand and not him.

I didn’t have the energy to process the weird, simmering jealousy in his eyes or the way he was pretending not to watch us from the corner of his vision.

Everything about this moment felt like it was suspended midair—thick with meaning and yet weightless.

Like a breath caught between heartbeats.

I stood there, surrounded by the pulse of technology and the quiet thrum of five lives orbiting mine, and I wasn’t sure what any of it meant. I wasn’t sure I deserved any of it.

But Zayne didn’t let go.

Not once.

And it was that quiet assurance—not his silence, not the blush in his ears, not even the slight edge of protection I knew he carried—that kept me standing upright as we moved forward into the center of it all.

I turned the corner into one of the glossy aisles lined with sleek, security-anchored devices—holo-screens displaying curved specs, processor speeds, biomorphic sensors, and data storage levels I couldn’t even comprehend. All three phones on display looked like something out of a dream. Or a science fiction movie.

Or, well, this world.

Three models. Each floating just slightly above their crystalline mounts, powered by something humming beneath the surface.

Caleb was already there, his tall frame leaned against the endcap of the display, arms crossed, eyes flicking between the specs like he was assessing a military-grade piece of equipment. Sylus stood to the side, relaxed and unreadable as always, a lazy sort of coolness draped across his posture like armor. One booted foot nudged the floor lightly, arms folded, crimson eyes catching the way I hesitated in front of the display.

I glanced back at Zayne, who nodded once—subtle and soft, as if telling me to take my time. He didn’t say a word. Just… waited.

Three choices.

And I froze.

Not because I didn’t know which one I liked. But because all of them were too much. Bigger than anything I’d ever owned. Sleeker. More powerful. Beautiful.

Too beautiful.

My fingers hovered above the glass panel in front of the first one. I stared at my reflection in the display screen—faint and ghostlike beneath the specs, a shimmer of blue-pink light warping the shape of my face.

I didn’t belong here.

I should’ve been back in my old apartment with the cracked windows and that secondhand couch that dipped inward when I sat. With my shitty little iPhone that barely held a charge anymore and the floral case peeling at the corners. Dropped too many times. Screen chipped. Functional, but barely.

“I’ll need a case for it,” I mumbled under my breath. The words slipped out involuntarily.

Sylus’s eyes tracked the sound of my voice instantly. I hadn’t meant to speak. Hadn’t meant to let that part of myself leak out.

But I was already reaching. Toward the center phone.

The most expensive one.

I hadn’t looked at the price. Didn’t need to. I felt it.

My hand moved instinctively, fingers ghosting the edge of the device, as if it was calling me.

And when I finally let my skin meet the interface—cool, weightless, almost living beneath my touch—there was a tiny flicker of heat in my chest.

A rush of shame. And longing. And disbelief.

Why that one?

Why choose something so elegant, so overbuilt, so perfect when I was… not?

My breath snagged, heartbeat stuttering beneath my ribs.

I looked up.

Caleb was smiling.

Not smugly. Not sarcastically. Just… smiling.

“I could’ve guessed you’d go for that one, pipsqueak,” he said, voice low and warm.

Sylus tilted his head slightly, eyes half-lidded. He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched. Watched me as if I were the strange thing here, not the phone, not the shelves, not this entire world.

Then—unexpectedly—he smiled, too. Just a little. Barely there.

“You’ve got good instincts,” he murmured.

Zayne stepped forward then, his voice calm but amused as he glanced at the display I was still touching. “Of course she chose the best one.”

It hit me like a punch to the ribs.

That this wasn’t just about a phone. That none of this had been just about clothes or comforters or kitchens.

They weren’t looking at me like I was a burden.

They were looking at me like I was theirs.

My throat tightened. I blinked too quickly. My hand curled slightly around the device’s edge, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the store.

I don’t deserve this.

I didn’t say it aloud. But the thought screamed in my chest so loud it echoed.

Still, Sylus reached forward—not to take the device from me, but to pull the info gently from the panel, his fingers brushing mine. Then he turned, already handing the plastic bookmark to one of the assistants hovering nearby, giving a brief nod.

Caleb bumped my shoulder lightly. “Told you. Good taste.”

I swallowed thickly and nodded, barely able to look at any of them.

Because what do you do when the fantasy you’d loved from a screen starts looking at you like you were the rare thing?

Like maybe you were worth the best of what they had to offer?

Zayne didn’t let go of my hand.

Even as we moved past the rows of glittering displays and into the widening lane that led toward the checkout counter, he kept our fingers loosely interlaced—like he knew I needed the tether. Like maybe he did too. His palm was warm, grounding. Each step forward made the knot in my throat swell tighter.

I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d curled into myself until his grip anchored me.

We rounded the corner and stopped short at the sight of Rafayel and Xavier—already at the counter, nearly buried in boxes. Sleek matte packages towered in a chaotic but somehow graceful stack. Wireless headphones. Earbuds. A slender smartwatch with a shimmering black band. Two different drawing tablets, both with pressure-sensitive styluses that I could tell—tell—cost more than I’d made in two months back home.

And both of them just… standing there. As if this was normal.

As if they hadn’t just quietly anticipated every part of me I hadn’t yet figured out for myself.

Rafayel was leaning back with one elbow on the counter, pink-blue eyes gleaming like nebulae, his expression unreadable but a little smug. He glanced over when he saw me, a half-lazy smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “There she is.”

Xavier stood a bit more rigidly—shoulders squared, silver-blonde hair falling like starlight across his brow. He stepped forward the moment he saw me, something rare flickering behind those storm-colored eyes. Emotion, maybe. Or something deeper.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked down at Zayne and my joined hands, then met my gaze again. Not angry. Just… observant.

And then he held out his hands.

Two phone cases. Both the exact model for the device I’d just chosen. One was elegant—slim, deep lavender with soft gold filigree edging, the kind of thing you’d expect someone polished and poised to pull from a matching handbag. The other was matte black, square-edged, with reinforced corners and subtle geometric etching. Rugged. Solid. Unapologetically functional.

I hesitated only a second before lifting my hand and lightly brushing my fingers over the black one.

Xavier nodded once and handed it over without comment.

I don’t know why that moment hit me so hard—but it did.

Because somehow, in that simple gesture, I felt seen.

Not judged. Not pitied. Not even overly protected.

Seen.

“I figured you might want the option,” he said softly, almost like an afterthought. “In case one didn’t fit.”

I stared at the case in my hands. “No. This one… feels more like me.”

“Good,” he murmured. “Then it’s the right one.”

Rafayel pushed off the counter with a flourish, tapping one of the boxes with a long finger. “Don’t worry, cutie. We got you covered for everything else, too.”

I blinked. “I didn’t—”

“I know.” His smile softened, losing some of its usual self-satisfied edge. “But you don’t have to do everything alone here.”

That damn knot in my throat burned hotter.

Zayne’s hand squeezed mine gently. “Let us help.”

I couldn’t look at them. Not fully. But I nodded.

Somewhere, beneath the shame and unworthiness, a small, scared part of me was whispering please.

And maybe… just maybe… they’d heard it before I ever said a word.

╰──────༺♡༻──────╯

[shycroissanti]

Hasbwhsbwgsgwxg HAIIII IM BACKKKK 🤩🤩🤩🤩

My cat is recovering from a surgery to remove a cancer from his throat, that’s why I’ve been away, but he’s being a champ and recovering like a pro!

Anyways, how have YOU been, you lil croissant? You, the definition of awesome-sauce? Coolest croissant on the planet? Master drawer? Funniest person ever? Kindest, sweetest, most sudnedgedyeb goofball?

Don’t feel bad for having a good laugh in public! I’m sure that you have a beautiful laugh and a fit of laughter sounds like absolute music and perfection to anyone who hears it!

*Hugs you*

mwah mwah mwah best elder sister figure ever >:)

HIII WELCOME BAAAACKﾟ+.(*´pωq`)ﾟ+.✨️✨️

First of all, I'm so glad your cat is recovering so well, I hope he gets fully healthy soon

(。･´ω`･。)💖💖

And well, I've been fine, except for moments like yesterday, because any interaction with these people from my class always makes me very anxious and overwhelmed, but it's going well.

But I'm always happy when I come back here and see my friends, my moots are everything to me, and messages like this always lift me out of any depression and sadness I'm feeling, seriously, thank you so much for that, it means a lot to me🥹

*le hugs back*🫂🥐

And now tell me, what about you? How are you doing? Is everything okay? I really hope so ^w^✨️💕✨️

[gatheredfates]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers (ू•‧̫•ू⑅)♡

Aww, I love positivity asks! I can't say mine are in any way profound, but:

My loved ones. Cheesy, I know. Shout-out to my partner who does have a Tumblr account but refuses to be perceived because I know he'll read this and appreciate the fact I didn't tag him. I've been asked before how on earth I've been in a relationship with one person for over half my life and that's simple: I fell in love with my best friend. 💖 Also huge shoutout to @riftdancing who will be perceived because she's the platonic love of my life and, without her, I would not be who I am today. These two have seen me at my literal worst and stuck by me — I love them to bits! There's also my FC members/close friends @lightwrought / @gaygentofchaos / @whirlwyrm / @snakemoltsiren / @swingbeard / @dragons-ire / other people I have missed and/or wouldn't like to be tagged but know you are included because I love you. IF YOU KNOW YOU KNOW. Also everyone in Seafloor!

Music. I've always loved music, but I really only got into music and listening to different things later in life! Sleep Token fundamentally altered my brain chemistry and I will thrust them on anyone who will listen (start with Sundowning through to Take Me Back to Eden if you want the whole ~experience~ but Jaws is also a good separate introduction). I've also come to love Crywolf, Ashnikko, Bad Omens, as well as old faithfuls like Red, Evanescence, Halsey, etc.

My cat. She's not really my cat, but she adopted me. Ratticus le Catticuses the third of her name; brat cat, rat cat; little goblin; my little baby girl, love of my life. (Her name is Lucy).

Graphics design/creativity. I make it no secret my favourite part of my irl work is when I can make a brochure/pamphlet/poster. I don't profess to be an absolute master in it, and I'm entirely self-taught, but there is something about making something better. It's the same with GPOSING and the like. I don't do it often, but my edits are there. There are people in the community that use the little dividers I put together in Canva. It makes me happy!

My current mental health/personal journey. I'm in a really good spot mentally. My diagnosis has changed my life, and I was already on a good trajectory with my personal mantra/outlook on life prior to it. A few years go I was extremely depressed/anxious, I had a lot of trauma/paranoia around my spaces, and acted in ways I'm not proud of. I've reached out and reconciled a lot of it, and it's allowed me to engage with this community and my personal projects in a manner that's healthy and engaging for me. I was in a spot of ~drama~ recently (which I won't get into — that's another personal choice I made to keep things between relevant parties) and, rather than freaking out and thinking everyone hated me... I just dealt with it. I took all sides, formulated my opinions and blocked the people I didn't want to deal with. I was SO proud/happy with myself — I still am! It's not world-ending like it used to feel and that's so freeing for me as someone who used to be a chronic people-pleaser/conflict averse. I still want to try to be the latter, but I really believe the manta of 'be kind, take no shit'. It's done wonders for my happiness.

This got really long, I appreciate anyone who got to the bottom! I'll send these out to ten people from my permanent interaction call because I think that's nice. Thank you @disciple-of-frost for sending this in!! ✨

[twistthesinews-writes]

"By the time of the evening’s meeting, the tightness in his chest is near-unbearable. He’s on time, for once, and Enjolras is just standing up to start things off as Grantaire sits. He doesn’t hear a single word Enjolras says over the accelerating pounding of his own heart. Then he catches a sentence fragment: '…update on the plans to bring a formal complaint against Professor Javert.' And Grantaire—can’t. He has to get out of here. He needs—Christ, he needs to calm down. He needs to not feel. Just for an evening. Before he can even think about it, he’s up and out the door."

Or, Grantaire freaks the fuck out, makes highly questionable decisions, and has another explosive discussion with Enjolras.

A couple personal notes about this chapter under the cut. They are not at all necessary for you to read and are there mostly for me to get some stuff out.

Content warning: discussion of suicide and self-harm. It's about to get real personal and real rant-y, folks.

The last 2100 words of this chapter were brought to you by the sheer rage at academia I am feeling today, in the wake of the third suicide I'm hearing about in the last two months (and the second in the past week). None of them have been people I know, but all three were friends of friends.

The way things are run chews people up and spits them back out mangled and messed up, and there's a steady oversupply of replacements so it's not going to change. I'm thinking about a good friend of mine who I watched develop a debilitating anxiety disorder over the course of her PhD. I'm thinking about running into another friend at the greenhouses tonight at 9 PM, because I was there with my roommate, who had to work until 9:30, and said friend was working in the greenhouse until 9. I'm thinking about all of the 11 or 14 or sometimes 41 hour days my friends and I have pulled, and how it's romanticized and encouraged until someone ends up dead.

I'm thinking about the friend of a friend I heard about today, who was anxious about his upcoming new post-doc position but seemed a little more at peace the past few days, who was found dead in a ditch yesterday evening.

I'm thinking about myself, at 22 years old, sitting in front of my computer trying to make words and numbers coalesce into some sort of meaning and trying to help them along by cutting myself as a break from coding. I'm thinking about sleeping in my office one night because I finally submitted a manuscript at 11 PM the day of the deadline and I was too exhausted to walk straight down the hallway, let alone walk the half hour home in the dark, so I just curled up on the office floor with my backpack as a pillow and tried to get a few hours of sleep before starting work again at 7 AM the next day. I'm thinking about the bridge I thought about jumping off of every single time I crossed it, the way I used to sit in front of my work computer planning how to kill myself, and the way I tried to pretend the depression was something wrong with me, not with my job, and how long it took me to admit otherwise.

I'm thinking about all of the friends I see struggling and drowning under work, and expectations, and anxiety, and grant proposals and financial concerns and staying in the lab till midnight and digging useless samples out of frozen soil with bare hands and waking up from nightmares and taking antidepressants they wouldn't need if they weren't in this field. I'm thinking about all of them and I'm wondering who's next and I am so, so angry.

Anyway, that's my rant, I guess. Channeled a lot of that into Grantaire's rants in the latter half of this chapter. Grantaire's good for that sort of thing. Almost that whole part, by the way, was written as I was proctoring an undergrad final this evening. One of the undergrads came up to ask me a question at one point and I had to panic-click away to my email before he could see I was sitting there writing Les Mis fanfiction while they wrote their exam

[uncloseted]

Hi Christina, I really enjoy your scholarly deep dives on history and influential people. I was wondering if you could share any of your thoughts or articles on the dark side of Picasso (misogyny, stealing art from POC, etc? I recently heard about how he was a total piece of crap but I wanted to *how* and *why*. thank you in advance!

That's so nice of you! I can definitely explain the controversy around Picasso.

So, the biggest criticism that's usually leveraged against Picasso is that he was a misogynist or a chauvinist. It seems that he is generally considered to have been an abusive partner. He cheated on nearly all of his lovers and had many romantic affairs. One of those affairs was with French model Marie-Thérèse Walter, who was 17 at the time their relationship began and later died by suicide, as did his second wife, Jacqueline Roque. His first wife, Olga Khokhlova, and his lover Dora Maar both experienced nervous breakdowns. His son, Paulo, developed a fatal alcoholism due to depression. His grandson, Pablito, also died by suicide that same year by ingesting bleach when he was barred by Jacqueline Roque from attending the artist's funeral. It's unclear to me how much he was ultimately responsible for any one of those deaths, but it seems his treatment of those individuals played a part in their worsening mental health.

His lover, Dora Maar, told him that, "as an artist you may be extraordinary, but morally speaking you’re worthless.” His long time partner Françoise Gilot reports he told her that, "women are machines for suffering," and that "for me there are only two kinds of women: goddesses and doormats." Gilot details his abusive treatment towards her in her book, Life With Picasso. She also paints a picture of a man who's struggling with his own mental health- he is superstitious, anxious, unable to make trivial decisions, and volatile in his moods. Scholars have theorized that he suffered from depression, bipolar disorder, or schizophrenia, although of course, nobody can really say for sure.

In terms of appropriation or stealing art from people of color, these claims seem less substantial (at least from what I could find). In 1907, Matisse showed Picasso a Vili figure from what is now the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Picasso was drawn to it, in part because of his superstitious personality, and was inspired by its aesthetics. After that, he visited the Trocadero Museum, an anthropological museum that displayed (what they considered to be) "primitive" art. African art offered a completely different way of depicting the world than traditional European art did, and that different way of depicting the world eventually inspired Picasso to begin the Cubist movement. Picasso later began collecting African art, and had amassed over one hundred works by his death. Picasso initially acknowledged that African art inspired his work, although he would later deny that they was any connection. This much appears to be based in fact, rather than interpretation.

Les Demoiselles d’Avignon is the painting that is usually discussed in the context of Picasso and cultural appropriation. It is generally considered to be the first Cubist work that Picasso created. The faces of the two central figures in the painting are inspired by sculptural busts from Picasso's native Iberia, while the face of the woman in the top right corner appears to be inspired by the masks of the Dan tribe of the Ivory Coast. In the lower right, the woman's face appears to be inspired by the Mbuya Mask of the Pende people. Both the Dan masks and the Mbuya masks are of spiritual significance to their respective tribes.

The criticism of Picasso is typically that, while he was inspired by African art and aesthetics, he had little interest in African culture or understanding the significance of the pieces he borrowed from. In Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, the Iberian faces are centered in the painting, not the African ones. Are the African individuals in the painting merely props for his European subjects? Was he taking from an artistic culture that didn't belong to him? Was he romanticizing or fetishizing "primitive" people? By painting African masks into his work, is he expressing dominance over Africans or exploiting them? I think that's up to individual interpretation.

For me, personally, I think Picasso thought he was appreciating the art, and that Picasso didn't really have the cultural context to understand issues of appropriation. So I don't know how productive of a conversation "Picasso: Appreciator or Appropriator" is. I think the MOMA exhibition, 'Primitivism’ in 20th Century Art: Affinity of the Tribal and the Modern, had a good approach to this issue, as does the Picasso Museum in Paris. By showcasing the tribal art alongside Picasso's own work, it allowed for proper contextualization of Picasso's inspirations, acknowledgement of the crucial impact of African art on the development of Cubism, and underlined the importance of traditional African art. But I'm not African, and I'm not really an artist, so it's not my place to say.

Ultimately, I think my view on this is that we can't undo the past. Picasso is important not because of who he was as a person or any one piece he made, but because of his contributions to the field of modern art. You can't have a meaningful conversation about Cubism if you're determined not to talk about Picasso, and you can't have a meaningful conversation about Constructivism if you're determined not to talk about Cubism. His work remains culturally important because it's historically important, and I don't think we can really change that. I do think we can provide more context to his work (such as acknowledging African art's influence on his work) or have conversations about his work (what does his depiction of women say about his thoughts about women?), but to "cancel" his work papers over history as opposed to acknowledging it.

Some articles I read, if you're curious to learn more:

‘Notoriously cruel’: should we cancel Picasso? Collectors, artists, critics and curators decide

How Picasso’s Muse Became a Master

How Picasso Bled the Women in His Life for Art

Picasso Was Brutally Chauvinistic, But Does “Cancelling” Him Really Serve Anybody?

How Much Does Picasso Owe to African Art?

The Controversies of Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon

‘Cultural appropriation is a two-way thing’: Yinka Shonibare on Picasso, masks and the fashion for black artists

Primitivism: Cultural Appropriation in the Art World

[papirouge]

You know, I saw a post on le Reddit that said something like "when you have depression but you're not a girl so nobody cares" in a "funny memes" subreddit with like 10.000 likes or so. I disagree with the statement, so I went to the comments, and to my surprise, most comments were calling OP out. Like it was full of women commenting things like "Uh, they don't care if you're a woman either", "Today I learnt I'm a man", "They only care if they want to fuck you and that might be worse actually", "yeah, because women care for each other and men dismiss other men issues", and so on.

Reddit leans male, so I was surprised at seeing so many women stand for themselves, and getting upvoted to the top. Some men even commented and said that the reason women get help its because other women care, while men usually dismiss each other feelings. Some even said the only people that cared were women. Like even men were calling him out...

That got me thinking.... I used to really support the whole "men mental health matter too!!", and I still do like I support womens, but many men are pretty dismisive of women mental health. You know, how some men say they want a crazy gf because they think she'll be hypersexual and so they can manipulate her... most likely, they'd get a depressed or anxious woman, the two most common mental health problems in women, and I bet they wouldnt like the depressed woman lack of sexual apetite and the anxious woman fear.

It makes me go back to the time I tried to kill myself and ended up in the hospital. The only people that visited were my female relatives and friends. My dad, nephew and uncle never went. And I just rationalized as them being less likely to show their emotions... in fact, my sister and mom basically agreed and said something like "men just don't how to deal with these things because we women are more in tune with our feelings." When I came back, neither my uncle nor my nephew hugged me or told me they were glad I was back... nothing. And again, they're pretty cold, it's how they are, but I wonder if a man would give women the benefit of the doubt if they didn't show up at such a difficult moment.

You know, maybe we would take male mental health a bit more seriously if the only times they mentioned it they didn't bring women in some sort of mental struggle Olympics. It gives off the impression they're bringing it up more to suck up to women than out of genuine concern for male mental healthcare.

I'm so sorry for your awful uncle & nephews. We don't chose our family but we can definitely chose who we let a place into our life and I think this experience was a wake up call for you. Your aunt acting like basic empathy (such as visiting a relative) was just a feminine 'emotional energy thing' is tragic though lol

Men constantly show their emotions by harassing, raping and killing women. I'll never forget why some men have less problem lashing out their toxic emotions (screaming, lusting) while being so shy to display the good ones (empathy, caring, etc.). It's less about masculinity and more about sociopathy imo.

[storedapear]

Boosting Emotional Wellbeing Through Food: A 7-Day Journey

When we think of emotional wellbeing, our minds often jump to therapy, mindfulness, or exercise. But there's one powerful tool we often overlook—our food choices. For the next seven days, I challenged myself to make intentional food decisions aimed at improving my emotional health. Here’s what I learned about the incredible connection between diet and emotional wellbeing.

The Hidden Link Between Food and Emotions

Many people struggle with emotional challenges like anxiety, stress, and depression without realizing how much their diet could be playing a role. What we eat doesn't just affect our physical health—it deeply influences our mental and emotional state as well.

Foods high in sugar, salt, and unhealthy fats can lead to energy crashes, mood swings, and mental fog. These comfort foods may offer a temporary sense of relief, but they often exacerbate emotional struggles in the long run.

Highly processed and packaged foods are typically filled with empty calories, added sugars, and trans fats. These ingredients can trigger inflammation in the body, including the brain, negatively impacting mental health. On the flip side, a diet rich in whole, nutrient-dense foods can provide the body and brain with the tools they need to function optimally.

How Nutrition Affects Mental Health

Our brains rely on specific nutrients to create neurotransmitters—chemical messengers that regulate mood, appetite, and sleep. When we fuel our bodies with nourishing food, we support the production of these essential chemicals.

For example:

Serotonin, the "happy hormone," is synthesized from the amino acid tryptophan, found in foods like turkey, chicken, and fish.

Dopamine, linked to motivation and pleasure, is influenced by tyrosine, found in lean meats, eggs, and fish.

Even complex carbohydrates found in whole grains, fruits, and vegetables can increase serotonin levels, promoting feelings of calmness and relaxation.

Foods That Boost Your Mood

If you’re looking to improve your emotional wellbeing through food, here are some powerful ingredients to include in your meals:

Omega-3 fatty acids (found in fatty fish like salmon) → Help reduce symptoms of depression and anxiety

Dark chocolate → Rich in flavonoids, known to improve mood and lower stress

Leafy greens (spinach, kale) → High in folate, which supports mood regulation

Berries and colorful fruits → Loaded with antioxidants that reduce inflammation

Whole grains → Steady energy and increased serotonin levels

The Gut-Brain Connection

One of the most fascinating discoveries in recent years is the gut-brain axis—the idea that our gut and brain are in constant communication. A healthy gut microbiome can influence the production of neurotransmitters and impact how we feel emotionally. Probiotic-rich foods like yogurt, kefir, kimchi, and fermented vegetables can contribute to a more balanced and resilient mind.

Small Changes, Big Impact

Making mindful food choices is a simple yet powerful way to support your mental and emotional health. You don’t need a complete diet overhaul—start small. Add a handful of spinach to your smoothie, swap white bread for whole grains, or choose a piece of dark chocolate over sugary candy.

When combined with a balanced lifestyle that includes movement, sleep, and stress management, your diet becomes an essential part of your mental wellness toolkit.

Final Thoughts

This 7-day challenge taught me that what we put on our plates truly impacts how we feel. Certain nutrients have the power to change brain chemistry, promoting happiness, calm, and resilience. While more research is ongoing, the evidence is clear—food plays a vital role in emotional wellbeing.

So the next time you're feeling low or anxious, take a look at your plate. Nourishing your body might just be the first step to nourishing your mind.

Have a favorite mood-boosting food or a tip for eating well when you're feeling down? Share it in the comments below!

Let’s continue exploring how simple, conscious food choices can lead to lasting emotional health.

[mistysblueboxstuff]

this is gonna be a long ass post so my apologies in advance lol. Anyway, this was the first PQ I've ever painted, in February 2018 (it's not that great lol at that point I've only been painting for two years). first Javert, too. if you've been here this long then uh thank you? cos i know I'm not always easy to put up with xD but also if you've been here this long, then you know what seeing PQ and getting to meet him in person meant to me.

I've talked about this before I'm sure, but I've had a few rough years, mainly 2014-2016 which is when i started painting precisely because i needed an escape from reality. in 2018 i found Les Mis and, by extension, Philip Quast. i didn't know much about him at the time, but i started painting him and it was a great source of comfort for me. i distinctly remember how cold March of 2018 was and our AC wasn't working so I'd spend most of my days at my mum's, she'd be at work and it was just me and my dog. mum had a furnace, so I'd start a fire each morning and make myself a cup of coffee and just paint Javert and i remember feeling at peace for the first time in years. idk why but that moment is etched in my memory forever.

usually when i paint a particular person often, I start wanting to know more about them, which lead me to become more familiar with PQ. And because he was so open about his mental health issues, his anxiety, and his depression, i started relating to him in a way. It's also impossible to know anything about him without also getting to know how humble and kind of a person he is.

over time, some people who know him shared my art with him, and in 2020, my tumblr friends gave him the first artbook. then lockdown happened, and my hopes of ever seeing him live were pretty much crushed lol. but nothing lasts forever, including that, thankfully :') i spent almost 7 years hoping I'd get to see him one day. It may sound silly or pathetic, but we all have our hopes and dreams, we all have people we look up to.

anyway, i was fortunate enough to get to know him a little, before getting to meet him in person this month. It was an incredibly meaningful moment for me, to be able to approach him and properly introduce myself after the show, but i wasn't prepared to be hugged straight away, i was very emotional and I'm sure i looked like a fool, but i don't really care tbh xD i know he understands and that's all that matters.

if you've been here long enough, then you also know I'm a very anxious person, i live in a small town on a small island in a small country and I've never travelled anywhere by myself, and i've never been to a city as big as London. I'm incredibly grateful for everything PQ has, unknowingly, done for me. He made me want to be a better artist and a better person, and he gave me the courage to do something i didn't think I was capable of doing. He's taught me so much.

And last week, i got to hold his hand and tell him how much he inspires me, even though that's something he already knows, but it meant the world to me to be able to actually say it. He's the kindest, most understanding person you could ever hope to meet. I'm so very grateful to have found him, I'm grateful for his kindness and for his encouragement. He truly is a light in this world 🥲

Stars In your multitudes Scarce to be counted Filling the darkness With order and light You are the sentinels Silent and sure Keeping watch in the night Keeping watch in the night

[nimphontheshore]

Coming back home, to me, at last.

Baby baby.

You know you have an anxious boyfriend, right…? Toujours peur, somehow, de ne pas pouvoir te dire tout ce que je voudrai en temps voulu. So here we go. Je programme d’autant plus ce post, pour être certain qu’il arrive à destination.

Je ne sais même pas par où commencer bébé, tu sais ? Du début, would be smart. Tu as tellement galéré pour décrocher l’opportunité de venir ici, tous les jours étaient une bataille, littéralement et métaphoriquement, aussi. I could see how tough it was for you, c’est pas pour autant que je savais comment apaiser tes maux… Des fois je pense aussi que je devais t’en rajouter sur la conscience, malgré moi. Tout ça pour dire que yeah, those months were terrible for you, really so dreadful, completely depressing, I know you must have felt so helpless.

Pour autant, t’as su préserver, t’as su continuer, sans jamais ne baisser les bras. Toi, tu vois peut être ça comme « je n’avais pas le choix » type-of-situation but still, you had it, you did everything on your own, du début a la fin, et j’espère que tu en prends les mérites. You were so brave, since the moment you decided you wanted to come back here; après l’année plus ou moins désastreuse que tu avais passé lors de ton échange. So brave, to wanna go back, to wanna give it another chance. And you did it baby, you really did it.

Je suis absolument et catégoriquement fier de toi. Et je pense que mille mots ne pourront exprimer à quel point je le suis et à quel point j’y pense tous les jours. Évidement, tu me rends fier every day that god gives, mais puisque nous sommes dans le sujet de ces trois mois: parlons en. Je n’ai jamais douté de toi une seule seconde, pas une seule. La seule chose qui me faisait peur, c’est bien ton anxiété; ça c’est dur à combattre. Tu te souviens avant de partir ? Tu disais que t’avais peur de te sentir seule, t’avais peur de ne rien pouvoir faire à l’extérieur (dans le sens, la moindre corvée serait impossible). Et you did so much — so damn much ? J’aime pas dire que tu m’as surpris, car je savais que t’allais en être capable, mais plutôt ce qui m’a surpris c’est la rapidité que tu as eu, à directement te mettre en selle. It was crazy brave, juste overall so so cool. Tu as fait tellement de choses on your own dès ton arrivée. Je ne voulais pas te le répéter tous les jours mais je te regardais avec des yeux réellement émerveillés. Car je sais que c’est dur puis ouais… J’étais là tous les mois précédents, j’ai absorbé toutes tes peurs, tous tes worries, et te voir finalement gérer complètement; or at least, avoir l’air assez heureuse, reassured me so much. I was looking at you with so much love baby, so much so much. Tu es capable de tout, tu sais ? Je sais que c’est facile à dire mais pas à faire mais pourtant… Toutes nos peurs sont dans notre tête, absolument toutes. Parfois, il faut prendre les choses comme elles viennent, se laisser entraîner, essayer de ne pas trop penser. Peut être que mon regard n’est que extérieur et que je manque de certains points de vues qui t’appartiennent but still… De ce que j’ai vu, mon ange, you were so strong. And extraordinary. Et pour moi, ces mois sont passés vite, un peu trop vite parfois.

You know, my heart still ache about returning here. It was one of the toughest thing I had to do, leaving you. Je sais que je relativise beaucoup devant toi, c’est sûrement pour ne pas m’autoriser à craquer non plus, but i really was affected by it. Even tho je m’en suis longtemps voulu, (encore maintenant quand j’y repense), alors je ne me sentais pas tant valide d’en parler; de m’exprimer, de dire que j’étais triste, mal, stressed; que j’étais angoissé à l’idée de te laisser, que j’avais tellement tellement peur de comment tu allais le vivre, au delà, j’avais aussi tellement peur de te décevoir. J’ai toujours peur de ça. I didnt wanna abandon you, i didn’t want you to feel abandoned. J’ai tellement pleuré dans l’avion, j’avais l’impression qu’on m’arrachait une partie de mon cœur, j’avais l’impression que l’on m’envoyait sur une autre dimension. J’ai envie de dire que je regrette presque mon retour. Car je ne suis pas heureux quand je suis loin de toi dans ces conditions. Évidement je suis loin de toi toute l’année, quand c’est moi au Canada… Mais là c’était différent, par les circonstances. J’essaie de pas regretter, j’essaie de me dire que c’est important que je sois revenu, pour la famille, pour mes grannies que je vois affaiblies de jour en jour, quite literally. Ya beaucoup de colère en moi ici, pour un tas de raisons. Beaucoup ça doit être de la peur aussi, de voir ma vie évoluer, de sentir que les gens autour de moi s’éloignent, disparaissent, dans le cas de mes grands parents notamment; i know time is running. Anyway. Tout ça pour dire que I want you to know that, que ça a été très dur de partir de façon aussi hâtive, que je regrette la façon dont ça s’est déroulé, que c’était tellement éprouvant, que j’avais tellement peur. Bref… Mais au final, regarde ? I’m so fucking proud of you. I have to admit, je sais que ta sanity ne dépend pas seulement de moi, mais j’étais vraiment inquiet après mon départ. Ngl baby, j’suis un peu traumatisé (not in the bad toxic way lmao) de te voir mal, de ton échange au Canada et de ces derniers mois pre-Canada. Je déteste te voir mal, ça me déchire, alors oui, I was scared. Mais même dans les moments les plus éprouvants, tu étais tellement courageuse, tu relativisais beaucoup, tu tenais sur tes deux jambes. Je t’ai pas vu être complètement terrible. Si on retire quelques journées par ma faute, mais ça, ce sont des choses qui arrivent, right ? Mais ton état d’esprit, était totalement exceptionnel. Du moins, c’est ce que je voyais, right ? J’espère quand même que tu me disais tout, Baby, I like to believe that I can see right through you. Even tho I’m not always the best to show it to you.

Je ne vais d’ailleurs pas m’attarder sur ce sujet mais j’espère vraiment que tu peux toujours trouver ton réconfort en moi. Je sais que je suis vraiment maladroit, vraiment contradictoire et overall un peu une merde pour réussir à te réconforter, à te montrer que je suis là, je sais que c’est un de mes défauts, et à chaque fois que ça m’arrive, j’ai peur que ça t’éloigne de moi. But I promise, je prends ça comme des leçons; je ne veux pas que tu doives attendre que je change dans 10 ans, I promise; im trying really hard not to do those mistakes again. I take every one of your words deep inside my heart. And bones.

On sacrifie tous les deux des choses, pour notre couple. « Sacrifice » peut sembler comme un grand méchant mot, alors qu’il ne l’est pas du tout out of my mouth. Car toutes les choses que l’ont fait, toutes les concessions, ce sont par amour, par dévotion, de la bonne volonté, de l’espoir. Et je sais que l’on continuera. J’espère tellement que tu vois à quel point j’essaie de te prioriser au mieux, j’espère que tu sais à quel point mon monde c’est toi, que je respire pour toi, que mes ambitions sont tiennes, que je pense à toi à chaque seconde de la journée. Que je fais de mon mieux, toujours, pour te faire exister dans mon monde, comme le pilier, celui sans lequel je ne pourrai rester entier and standing. You’re everything to me and I know I’m just a boy, I’m just a little human at the end of the day. Alors que you mean so much? You’re so big, everything, the world and the stars, the universe, my infinite. As cheesy as it sounds, we were put on this earth at the same time, to be together. Whatever happens now or later, it will always be you in my mind, body and heart. Know that everything I say or do, is for you.

You’re extraordinary and surprising. Tu ne te rends pas assez compte de tout ce que tu es. Oui, tu as tes défauts, car t’es faite comme tout autre humain bien que j’ai tendance à penser que you’re this entity… Above everyone else (you are, for me). Mais ces défauts ne te définissent pas, loin de là, ces défauts je ne les regarde même pas; je les dédaigne. Mais tout le reste ? Je le prends sur un plateau d’argent. Tu es tellement spectaculaire. Et je te promets, je ne suis absolument pas biased. Je pense souvent à toi (no shit) quand je suis avec d’autres personnes ou des propres membres de ma famille, et je me dis tout le temps que you’re so… Sweet, interesting, smart and overall better. Je suis tellement amoureux de ton intelligence logique ou émotionnelle, de ta tolérance et de tout ce qui fait de toi, toi. Tu ne mérites tellement pas les gens que tu as autour de toi, je n’ai pas honte de le dire — même moi, parfois, je te fais défaut. Tu es tellement un bonheur to be around. And once again… coming from me, le mec qui est difficile, qui ne supporte souvent que très peu sa propre mère ou soeur respirer trop près de lui. Tu es un bonheur tout court. Tu as toujours les bonnes opinions et les bons arguments, if not, you just listen and learn. It’s actually so impressive, je m’inspire beaucoup de toi, je prends exemple. Un nombre incalculable de mes remises en question sont parties de toi. Et ça, dès le début. Alors je ne veux que personne puisse te faire ressentir like you’re not worth it. You are, so much. T’es tellement un diamant, I swear. Taillée dans la roche de façon imparfaite et pourtant… parfaite en éclat. De sa valeur rare.

Alors je me répète, je radote, encore et encore, mais je suis tellement tellement fier de toi. You did it, doll. Now you can rest, it’s over. But it’s also just a chapter. J’espère que tu en retiens une bonne aventure, même si je sais que ça devait être difficile pour toi, ce dernier mois; ne parlons pas de sissy qui était insufferable. It hurt me seeing you like this and not being able to do anything about it. Les nuits sans toi étaient difficiles, même si je restais assez tard, j’ai toujours le pincement et la déception quand je n’arrivais pas à te faire fermer les yeux same time as mine. But now its over, for a bit, we will have peace together.

Tu sais, en juillet 2022 et à la suite de ma perte, j’ai vécu un réel switch dans la façon dont je percevais les choses. Évidement, ce switch parfois s’éteint, et j’ai aussi des passes où je me sens helpless. Mais overall, je trouve que je prends + la vie comme elle me vient. Je me dis que toutes ces choses qui nous embêtent, l’école, les parents, notre situation, elles vont disparaître soon, rien n’est constant, tout est interchangeable, tout est imprévisible. Et tous ces sentiments, ils se passent au fond de nous, le plus souvent. À nous de les dépasser, de les ignorer, des les dompter. Et je suis heureux d’avoir eu ce déclic, car il m’a permit d’être all in avec toi, de me battre et de te vouloir si fort. De te faire passer avant, à chaque fois que je le pouvais. De prioriser l’important. De choisir ce que j’aime et ce que je veux. Je sais encore une fois que j’ai très souvent des discours de privilégié; mais même sans penser à ces propulseurs: we got each other baby, we have so much time ahead, I promise you it will be okay. La suite, ça va aller pour toi. Fais moi confiance. Et puis, whatever happens, we got each other to rest. L’un contre l’autre. Et moi, je ferai de mon possible pour veiller sur toi. Et dans les moments les plus durs, de venir jusqu’à toi; comme tu l’as fait aussi, un peu pour moi.

Baby you did it, YOU DID IT! I promise everything is possible from now on et j’espère que cela t’a redonné un peu de force. Baby, we will be able to do so much in the future. Oui, y’aura toujours des épreuves. Mais tu me fais confiance right ? Le temps passe vite, tu l’as bien vu, vraiment vite. Tout a une fin (sauf nous) une mauvaise journée en cache une bonne. Notre tête c’est le diable, notre prison. Avec ces trois mois, pour moi, tu as su me prouver que l’on peut en sortir, suffit juste d’avoir une volonté, une envie, un espoir. I’m so proud of you for that. So thankful too, everyday is a lesson with you. Maybe you don’t even see it or realize it, but I’m learning everyday by your side.

You did so good my love, so fucking good. You can rest your head now, your peace is ahead. Moi je pense à toi, je vais tracker ton avion sans relâche, I wont be rested until you lay foot in the country, next to me in bed. Je ne sais pas de quoi seront fait les prochaines semaines mais une chose est sure : Baby Will be home, et on se mettra de nouveau dans notre bulle, s’il est nécessaire ou vital de fuir la réalité. Je t’aime, je t’aime plus que les mots ne savent le dire, je t’aime à tel point que ma passion traverse les frontières, les pensées et même le sommeil. Ça dépasse tout. Tu m’as tellement manqué, c’était tellement pas évident parfois. Et pourtant… We always make / made it, sans aucune blessure. Du moins, nothing too deep to break us apart. On en sort plus fort, plus proche, plus aimant. You’re my moon but also my sun. I’m so so so proud to see the woman you’re (still) growing into. Je suis tombé amoureux de la Nereid en 2022, en 2023 et maintenant en 2024, et ce sera ça toutes les années, mois, semaines et jours. Ce sera ça tout le temps. Et je me demande bien trop souvent pourquoi moi, among others, pourquoi moi tu me choisis tous les jours, pourquoi pourquoi pourquoi. But I’m so grateful to be able to receive so much love, so much knowledge.

You did it baby, now it’s time to rest. Now you eat well, you close your eyes, you listen to our playlist and try to sleep for a bit. So you can be feeling energized to date ME ! Relâche tout, pense à moi, pense à retrouver ta famille et le babie. Its gonna be good baby. I feel a bit nostalgic, j’ai l’impression de te revoir rentrer en 2023. C’est fou comme tout passe vite. I think we’re crazy too, together, look at us, on s’est connu au Canada, on rentre, on repart; quoi qu’il arrive on trouvera toujours des opportunités, des expériences, à vivre ensemble. Que ce soit directement ou par procuration. Bon, pitié, je ne vais jamais m’arrêter de parler. Désolé pour ton mec qui part dans tous les sens. C’est ça d’être amoureux…

Safe flight my love. Je suis inquiet. I need you back home, safe. Please text me when you land, even if you don’t have much time (avec les retrouvailles etc) i just need my girl okay. I love you. I love you so much

And one last thing (comme si je ne l’avais pas répété mille fois déjà) : I’m so proud of you for doing this. J’espère que tu es fière de toi, que tu vois tout ça. Je te prêterai bien mes yeux s’il était possible de le faire. I feel so much love.

I will see you in the morning baby, rest.

PS : s’il te plaît garde ta ceinture attachée tout le long du vol, même quand tu peux techniquement la retirer. Je ne veux pas te stresser bébé, pitié, everything will be fine. C’est plutôt pour quand tu dors si y’a des turbulences, toujours peur qu’on se tape quelque part.

I love you, sorry I’m so father material though

I love you I love you

[invisiblerambler]

Everything in me is full of bees and I am genuinely debating watching the bear to feel less anxious. This is like when I used to listen to les mis in middle school to feel less depressed like maladaptive coping mechanisms anyone

[the-chomsky-hash]

B. Here is a dream analysis by Binswanger done well before the time of "Dream and Existence."' It concerned a young woman, age 33, who was under treatment for

severe depression

outbursts of rage

sexual inhibition

1. At the age of 5, she had undergone a sexual trauma:

a boy had made advances;

she had reacted at first with a good deal of interest and curiosity, then became defensive and violently angry

Throughout the psychotherapy she had numerous dreams. She had been in treatment for about a year when she had the following dream:

she is crossing the frontier, a customs agent makes her open her luggage;

"I take out all my things, the official takes them one by one, finally I take out a silver goblet, wrapped in tissue paper; then he says, 'Why do you bring me the most important thing last?'"

a. At the time of the dream the psychotherapy had not yet succeeded in discovering the primary trauma. When the doctor had asked the patient to associate regarding the silver goblet, she had felt a sensation of discomfort;

she became agitated

her heart pounded

she felt anxious

finally she stated that her grandmother had silver objects of this sort. She was unable to say any more, but all day she experienced a feeling of anguish which she pronounced "meaningless."

b. That night, just as she fell asleep, the traumatic scene returned. It is her grandmother's house, she is trying to take an apple from the larder, which she had been explicitly forbidden to do. At that moment a young boy pushes the window open, enters the room, and approaches.

c. The next day, describing this scene to her physician, she suddenly remembers that in that room, on an old harmonium no longer in use, stood a silver teapot wrapped in silver foil, and she cries: "There's the silver in the tissue paper, there's the goblet!"

– Michel Foucault, Dream, Imagination and Existence: An Introduction to Ludwig Binswanger's Le rêve et l'existence (part IV: Ce qui pèse to l'homme, c'est le rêve [What weighs on man is the dream] — Bernanos), 1954, translated by Forrest Williams

[haniawritesthings]

Do you ever just like somehow convince yourself that you have been faking having anxiety? Because like big mood rn

[sunshineyuuji]

Hi I’m glad you’re feeling better. I was wondering if you could write a Dazai x a gender neutral MC where he finds out the reader has depression but also finds out the reader has healthy coping mechanisms and they talk and teach him about it.

Thank you

❤️❤️❤️

"I want a happy ending with you..."

Characters: Osamu Dazai

Warnings: depression, overthinking, insecurities, coping with depression, mentions of reader not eating, gn!reader, mentions of suicide (Dazai's death), maybe bad English?, idk if Dazai will be ooc but just in case, brief mention of panic attacks, it's quite long, ngl;

Notes: hello, Nani~! Thank you so much for worrying~ ♡. I'm happy that you requested, though I must say you caught me by surprise with this request. Personally, as someone who deals with depression, I don't know if I have a coping mechanism for depression? I just try and distract myself from overthinking? (Never ignore your feelings, please. Look for someone willing to hear you) But I'm glad I can talk about this. Also, I'll be speaking from MY experience dealing with depression so I want to be clear that not everyone deals with depression the same way just in case anyone gets confused, ok? Well, I hope I can do this without fucking up. And sorry if it's too long for your liking and uhhh maybe the end is a bit rushed?? Idk, I'm sorry. And sorry for posting this so late!

Osamu Dazai isn't only known for his amazing and shocking books, but also because of his tragic ending. He died by committing suicide with his lover, Tomie Yamazaki, on June 13, 1948. But an opportunity came and Le Comte de Saint-Germain gave him the chance to continue living as a vampire moments before his death... And he accepted.

It is well known that Osamu Dazai battled with depression most of his life, attempting suicide more than once. His decision of living as an immortal is still a mystery.

But he doesn't regret being an immortal being, not now that he met you. You were the most beautiful and extraordinary person in his eyes and nothing could change his mind. You were gorgeous and deserved to be treated like royalty. You were his light.

But he was no fool. Though he always seemed silly and loved to tease, that didn't mean he was a fool, on the contrary. Of all thr guests in the mansion, he was the most observant and attentive to any physical or emotional change in other people. And he knew damn well what you were thinking or feeling.

Depression. You were battling with depression, just like he was.

It all started with the panic attacks you started to have when you arrived at the mansion. I mean, who wouldn't be anxious? You were all alone stuck in another century in a mansion full of men. And if that wasn't scary enough, those men were vampires. You had all the right to be anxious.

He didn't pay much attention to it at first. I mean, he helped you to accommodate in the mansion and was always there to get a smile out of you, but he didn't really think anything else about the panic attacks.

That was until the sudden episodes started.

They started out of nowhere. The night before you could be giggling and dancing with all the guests in the house then the next day in the morning you were oddly quiet. The forced smile on your face when any of the guests were talking, but as soon as they took their eyes off of you, your smile would disappear and you would remain silent again while you stared into space.

When you two started dating, he noticed more about you that just screamed what you were going through. You were always overthinking about the most simple things and were constantly insecure, asking yourself is you were good enough for him or if you could ever make him happy. Then he noticed that you barely slept at night, but always felt sleepy during the day. But what made him step in was when you refused to eat your meal once when you clearly didn't eat all day.

Dazai knew what was going on inside your head and, while he didn't know how to help himself, he wanted to help you because if he helped you he could be better. So he decided to talk to you about it.

"Oh, that..." you whispered, not knowing how to talk about it. "Yes, I'm aware that I did wrong on skipping my meal today... That's why I'm going for a walk."

Anyone else wouldn't have thought anything of what you said, but not Dazai. Dazai felt his chest sink as you said the words "go for a walk." He didn't know if you also had those thoughts and, although he had resorted to double suicide on multiple occasions, he tried to ignore those thoughts and if he dragged you along with him he would lose you forever.

"I'll go with you." he offered, hiding his fear in a smile. "How impolite of me it would be to let you walk alone at this time of the afternoon, don't you think?"

You stayed a few long seconds in silence, contemplating if nothing would happen if he went with you. In the end you agreed to his offer with the thought in mind that maybe, just maybe, this walk could help him too.

"But eat something first." he ordered, his tone still soft and gentle. "I won't let you leave until you eat something."

Although little, you were able to eat the delicious dinner that you had helped Sebastian make. You ate quickly because you wanted to go out and clear your mind. You didn't want to, you had to.

"Can we please go to a walk now?" you pleaded and Dazai had no choice but to go out with you. Using the door, of course. Through the window it was going to be difficult for you.

Dusk came and the sky was painted a set of orange and purple colors. The atmosphere was perfect for a date like those you two used to have from time to time, but today was going to be an exception.

You both walked in silence without any exact destination. Dazai expected you to say something to him, but you only admired the beautiful surroundings. What distracted you was a quiet and lonely children's park. You looked at Dazai, and without waiting for an answer, you walked over to the swings and began to swing.

"Come sit with me." you called out to him while smiling softly.

He quickly sits on the swing next to you and rocks with you. You both enjoy the relaxing atmosphere, the afternoon breeze, and the soft laughter that you both let out. For a moment, you both forgot the real reason you had come out. You felt happy to be able to enjoy this moment with him, even though you knew that this joy would vanish for the moment, but you didn't care. At this precise moment, you didn't care because you knew that the reason for your happiness was Dazai.

But... You stopped. You stopped because even though you were happy with him, you had to talk to him. You continued to rock, but your laughter stopped.

"Dazai, love." you called, causing him to stop.

"Yes?" he answered.

"You know... I know that you better than anyone can understand what's happening to me. These sudden mood swings and so on..."

Dazai stopped swinging on the swing and looked at you. He didn't know what to answer you, although what you said was true: Dazai could understand you better than anyone.

"Sometimes I go out to distract myself." you continued talking. "I'm always looking for something to distract myself and try not to get consumed by it. I'm trying, I swear."

That piqued his curiosity. Distract you? Did that work? He personally never knew how to deal with his depression, since he lived in other times, but he was interested in knowing how you managed to deal with it.

"What things do you do to distract yourself?" Dazai asked interested.

"Oh! Well... I sometimes sneak to hear Mozart playing, which relaxes me." you started to explain a little embarrassed. "Or I bake too. Sometimes sleeping helps."

"That's... I didn't know there were ways to help deal with this." Dazai admitted, fascinated. "So you do things you like to distract and relax yourself?"

"That's correct." you gave him a small smile.

"I see... Can I try something like that too?" Dazai asked.

"Of course! Just look for things that can relax you." you recommended.

"Writing works... And spending time with you."

You blushed when you heard what he said and lowered your head, smiling.

He loved you. You both loved each other. You might have your problems, but you loved each other deeply. Your wish, his wish, the wish of both of you was to overcome whatever life threw at you and be together... For eternity.

[millenialfanfictionaddiction]

🦊 Being Inarizaki's Manager 🦊

Manager having a Anxiety/Depressive Disorder

Inarizaki x Gender Neutral Manager

Warnings: mentions of depression and anxiety; Swearing

AN: This is an Anon request!

🌠 Please Like, Reblog and/or Share to help support my writing 🌠

YN, I gotta say 👀

You managed to pick simultaneously the worst and best team to deal with just in life

On top of that 😅

You've have depression and anxiety as while

You have your good days and your bad days

But one thing you've learned is that dealing with anxiety and depression has nothing on dealing with Atsumu 😅

Seriously that man

I'm not even sure where to start

He's going to pick on you

It can't be avoided, istg the man is a jerk

BUT

But 👀 you're use to this by now YN

If you're having a particularly bad day, you can always count on Kita, Aran or Michinari to be there for you 😊

Honestly Aran understands anxiety because there's no way that man doesn't have anxiety

Kita understands the concept of anxiety but doesn't have it

Still Kita is sympathetic to your plight

When you just don't feel like you can make it through practice, Kita will take over for you

When your anxiety hits mid game, Aran helps to calm your nerves

Michinari is legit a teddybear

HUG HIM NOW YN 🫂

Osamu, Suna, Ginjima and Omimi respect that you need your space and will help in anyway they can

Osamu mainly helps you with Atsumu 🙄

Like I mentioned before, you've been dealing with Depression and Anxiety for a while

You mostly manage it well!

It's rough but whether you take medication, have a specific routine or a comfort item, you manage to maintain your lifestyle

However, when the anxiety and depression hit, it can be really bad 😔

As someone who suffers myself I totally get it

You can be fine one minute and then it seems to all crumble

Unfortunately, these times can happen randomly 😕

And one such random time just happened to be during Nationals

Inarizaki managed to bi-pass the first round

Baddies 💅

So when you wake up the next morning feeling down and extremely anxious, you know the day is going to be rough

Honestly you'd rather stay in bed 🛏

I don't blame you one bit!

Unfortunately duty calls YN

*le sigh* we must forge onward 🗡

Kita immediately notices your are off

Man woke up and his YN senses were tingling

Will immediately bombard you with support and probably water to keep you hydrated

Don't ask me why but I feel like Kita is one of those guys who drinks like 100oz of water a day

Random I know but MOVING ON

Aran will join him and ask you what's wrong

"I just woke up feeling a little down and anxious. What if things don't go well today? What if you lose? What if we have to leave nationals?" 🥺

Seriously it's so overwhelming

You start to tear up 😪

I seriously cry when I'm anxious and overwhelmed

Kita gives you a big hug and so does Aran

Michinari is already waiting in line for his hug 👐🏻

Osamu and Suna come up and reassure you that the team is ready

Meanwhile Atsumu is being extremely...

Atsumu-ish? Sure let's go with that 😅

"Don't have faith in us YN?"- Atsumu, famous last words

Seriously someone kick him

Just kidding Osamu already has him pinned in a headlock 😅

That makes you laugh because I mean, mans deserves it

Ginjima is pulling the twins apart while Suna is adding to the documentary he's making

It's basically the Jackass films but Atsumu and Osamu style 😏

Omimi reassures you everything will be just fine

When you arrive at Nationals, the worry only excels

Your body is on overload and you need a minute

Kita put Omimi in charge of you, so he's going to do what he can to help

Most zen player on the team 😌

He's there to reassure you and help you out

During warm ups, the boys manage to keep you on your toes enough for you to relax a bit 😉

Unfortunately when the match starts, the nerves once again surface

Nows a great time to practice those self help skills YN

Breath in (1, 2, 3, 4) hold (1, 2, 3, 4) and release (1, 2, 3, 4)

Side note: that's the 444 method my therapist taught me when I have bad anxiety

It helps alot 😊

Ok back to it

You manage to keep it together until the very end

Unfortunately the boys lost 😫

It's one of those catch 22 scenarios

The stress is over but our bbys also lost

You can't hold it in anymore so you cry 😢

It's ok YN, crying is very healthy and normal!

Cry away my love 💓

The boys will totally group hug you 🫂

You guys actually make Karasuno cry along with the entire stadium 🏟

Seriously the love these boys have for you

When you finally break off and you guys move from the gym, Atsumu, OF THEM ALL, walks with you

"I'm sorry I was a jerk earlier YN"

You 👉🏻 👁👄👁

Everyone else 👉🏻😐😲

Atsumu 👉🏻 WHAT I CAN BE NICE

Suna 👉🏻 yeah but never in public

"Shut yer trap"- Atsumu

"Shut yours!" -Osamu

🙄🙄🙄🙄

Sorry YN, you get zero respite 😅