#and when his mental health is just spiraling down the drain

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

Does Coppernob know that a Furness Engine that is labeled as preserved is actually buried in a mine? That must be as or more horrifying that being in a glass box.

Look, even in greenhouse days Coppernob has one of the most comfortable possible situations for a superannuated engine. He wouldn't ever claim otherwise.

They all know about poor 115. It was an awful affair. Definitely killed off any remaining vestiges of idealism the Copper-Nobs had about their directors (or THE Director), that's for sure.

That said, the other Furness engines have chosen to believe the company line that 115 is really truly out cold, never again to be conscious. Mainly because there's nothing they can do and the alternative is too horrid to contemplate.

I think it's probable, myself. Just like I believe Duke really did manage to sleep through much of his shed time. Engine sentience eventually goes offline, as it were, when they're unwanted for long enough. A hundred and thirty years will definitely do it.

(The way that F.R. 115 is listed as 'preserved' is so darkly comic, especially in a universe where engines are sapient, that I am sure that Coppernob actually has something to do with this persistent terminology. Like it's a Statement about the implications of all preservation.)

[steddie-my-love]

Cleaning Frenzy

Mike Schmidt x OCD!Reader

a/n: i was just diagnosed with ocd and am really struggling with it so here’s a super self serving fic

cw: vague mental health discussion, mentions of anxiety, non-sexual nudity

—

your hands screamed in pain under the hot water of the faucet. there was no way of knowing how long you had stood in front of the sink scrubbing at the perfectly clean dishes in front of you but you knew it just wasn’t right.

behind you, the door opened and closed with the slight jingle of keys. He tried his best to be silent as he toed off his shoes, happy to slip into bed with you without a second thought but stopped when he saw the kitchen light still on.

“baby?” Mike’s voice called out in the silent apartment. You were normally asleep by now.

You stilled, not having realized the time. immediate overwhelm and shame gripped your throat as you looked down, taking in your cracked hands.

“y/n?” he asked a little louder as he turned the corner into the kitchen doorway. his eyebrows creased as he looked you up and down.

“Baby, what’s happening? are you okay?” he asked gently, speaking low as if anything louder would shatter you. A shallow breath drew through your lungs, doing everything to keep the creeping sense of anxiety at bay. “yeah i just- i couldn’t get the dishes clean and everything was so dirty and i just-“

“baby breathe” mike said, cutting you off as your mind began to spiral “you think you could put a hand on my chest?” he asked, not wanting to push you too far.

Your hand moved up, trying to touch him on his chest but you just couldn’t. There was no way of knowing what was on that fabric and it terrified you. Fresh tears sprung into your eyes as you tried again, desperately craving mike’s warmth.

“oh god, it’s okay y/n. you’re safe” Mike said, trying to soothe you “ how about we go and get clean then we can get some rest huh? that sound good baby?”

You nodded slowly, following mike as he led you to the shower. While you set up the water mike washed his hands before he pulled out two towels fresh from the cabinet. As you climbed behind the cloth curtain, mike hung up the two towels before following you in.

mike quickly took his loofa and scrubbed down his body, the smell of leather and pine greeting your nose.

Then it was your turn. you took the sweet smelling body wash off of the shelf and began to lather it in a wash cloth. your body was clean in no time, counting out the swipes over your skin making sure that everything was clean.

the panic seemed to drain out of you as you watched the soap bubbles fall, body losing tension quickly.

“ there you go baby” mike cooed as your eyes slipped closed, opening up his arms for you to fall into. immediately you leaned into him, chest warm against your skin. “you want me to do your hair or do you want to do it?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“can you do it please?“ you murmured, tracing patterns onto his skin as you avoided eye contact. Before you knew it, mike’s hands were in your hair scrubbing and detangling your locks. You must have started to doze off before you felt the water shut off on your back.

mike stepped out of the shower quickly to wrap himself in a towel before wrapping you up as well. in your room you both changed, mike throwing your hair in a loose braid to stop it from tangling while you slept.

“there you go gorgeous” mike said, kissing you on the forehead. At this point you were exhausted, eyes slipping shut as your energy caught up with you “one last thing!” he said, and before you could blink he had pulled out a small tube of cream and was working it into your hands. “there you go baby! i know how chapped your hands get after so much activity”

“thank you so much mike, i love you” you said, slipping under the covers next to mike.

“i love you too y/n, try to get some rest” Mike replied, but you were already asleep

[isaaaxqii]

overthinking ₊˚ପ⊹ - gojo

summary : seeing gojo start to act differently, you go over to help him sort out his thoughts.

** : sfw, angst, fluff, jjk 0 spoilers !!

took me awhile to think of this😭😭 but my thoughts are also finally sorted out 🙏🙏 also idk if gojo still stays at a dorm in jj high during his teaching days but let’s just say he does lol

< 1.47pm >

as you walked through the hallways of jujutsu high, looking outside every window that you passed, you noticed gojo training with the 1st years out on the field. he had his usual smile on his face, teasing his students in any way he can, but most importantly helping them when they need it. however, you can’t help but feel like there’s something off about him.

it was just a few days after the death of geto suguru, and you could tell gojo was spiralling. though he was with geto during his last moments, he couldn’t come to accept his death. nevertheless, he tried to put on a smile on his face, being his usual silly and cheerful self.

therefore, nobody could tell that his mental health was getting worse. however, you were able to read him like a book, knowing what he’s feeling especially after significant events like this. you knew that he didn’t want to worry anyone with his feelings, and rather deal with them on his own.

despite that, you still had to check on him.

you knocked on his door, holding a thermos filled with soup in it, hoping it would make him feel better. you were met with a red eyed, disheveled gojo at the front door.

“may i come in?” you asked, before he steps out of the way to let you in.

his dorm looked messier than usual. believe it or not, his dorm was never this messy. he still tries to put in the effort in maintaining his dorm’s state of cleanliness, but with what you were witnessing you could tell something was very wrong.

you put down the thermos on the counter before following him into his room, sitting on his bed with him. there was silence between the two of you, not an awkward one, but rather a comforting silence. gojo seemed to have figured that you knew what was happening to him, and he couldn’t help but appreciate someone’s presence beside him during this period of time. that presence itself comforts him a lot.

“mind sharing what’s on your mind? gojo.” you spoke softly, slowly intertwining your fingers with his. he plays with your fingers gently as he figures out his thoughts.

where should he start? should he start from the time when he was beside geto, geto’s life draining slowly from his body as he says his last words, or should he start from the period after his death, when he starts to realise and blame himself for not noticing geto’s depression which had led him to turn into what he was.

he didn’t know how to explain his sorrow. all he could do was let the tears fall as he grips your shirt tightly, head resting on your shoulders. you placed one hand his back, rubbing small circles on it while your other played with his hair. he loves it when you do that, it was the best method to help him calm down.

“to be honest, i don’t know what’s happening to me. the longer i hold onto the memories of geto and i, the more i feel like letting go. but i can’t, because no matter how much i try, my soul doesn’t let me.”

you felt sorry for gojo. losing your best friend was hard enough, but he still had to put on a fake personality that contradicts what he’s actually feeling during school as to not spark worry in his peers.

you knew geto well too, being one of his friends during your student days alongside gojo and shoko. however, geto and gojo’s friendship was on a much deeper level, the pair being almost inseparable as they went on missions together, and mostly hung out with one another. sure, his death impacted you a lot too, but you’ve let go, knowing that he was in a better place.

“we used to say, “we’re the strongest” , but now only i can say “i’m the strongest” .” he mutters, sniffing every once in awhile as he wipes his tears.

you hugged him tight, playing with his fingers to help him calm down. he held onto your waist as he places his head at the crook of your neck, seeking comfort and love from the intimacy.

“geto wouldn’t want you suffering like this, does he? after all, he will care for you no matter where he is, and he definitely wishes only the best for you.”

you could sense gojo calming down at last, although he didn’t want to let go. you let him stay in this position for awhile, letting him rest on your shoulder. you will forever be gojo’s safe place, providing never ending comfort and care for as long as he needs.

after awhile, you finally got him to let go, and brought him out into the dining area of his dorm to drink the soup you had made for him.

“is it good?”

“tastes like home.”

gojo never wants you to leave him, ever.

both of my gojo fics are one comforting the other😭😭 i’ll think of something else soon 🤍

[akirathedramaqueen]

Two completely random things I might regret dropping here later. But I think I need to get it out of my system and maybe it'll help me stop being a whiny insufferable grouch I've become the last days partially because of today's episode coming out.

TW for self-hatred (mine) and suicidal thoughts (not mine, don't call psych ward on me, please; and it's not in the post itself, only in the song it mentions later on).

One.

Waiting for Ghostfuckers fucked me up completely. Like not in a fun way. In a 'I've considered dropping this show despite how much I love it' way. Because it touches on a topic so deep and personal to me I am not sure I want to be inadvertendly called out like that. So I stopped checking tumblr, I avoided any HB mentions, I couldn't write two lines in the fic without being triggered (so if I ignored your tags or messages or replies—sorry!). Don't know since when I've become so sensitive. I actually took pride in being quite callous to everything. But apparently here I am.

It's not like the show is the sole reason my mental health went down the drain in the past weeks. Of course not. It's just that was the last fucking drop which sent me spiraling.

If anything, I dare to say it actually helped me understand myself better in many ways and learn to try to accept some fuck-ups I've done with my life, that it might be just fine to be fucked up a little.

Reason for all this rambling? None. Guess I just relate to Blitzø hard in this way and I am afraid to see even uglier side of myself. And maybe if you feel the same way about the silly demon show, I don't blame you, I am with you. But fuck it, I embrace it. Fucking hit me with that episode and leave me in shambles. I'm not ready, but hey, I am the AT and the FUCKING PENGUIN SHORT survivor, it can't be worse than that, right?

RIGHT?

(Watch me fucking crawl in the corner and wail in like? 8 hours from now on?)

Two.

I have that song on repeat, and its chorus is what I think characterizes all Blitzø's actions. Not the song itself though. This is the case where I take the chorus out of context deliberately, because the rest of it, well . . . this is TW-worthy. Suicidal thoughts TW-worthy. Consider it your warning.

So I'm just focusing on this part.

My personal hell, I'll bury it, bury it Weight of the world, I'll carry it, carry it Pile it all on, I've gotta be strong For somebody, for somebody Put my pain in a pill, I'll swallow it, swallow it Too numb to feel, I'm hollow, I'm hollow I have to hold on, I've gotta be strong For somebody, for somebody Somebody else

It's so Blitzø, isn't it?

Burying his trauma so that he can get through another day. Not realizing it keeps chipping away from his life however he tries ignoring it.

Swallowing his immense guilt and act brash. Put his pride on display, not realizing it's not the opposite of shame, but its source (I thank ATLA for this great quote).

Taking responsibility for literally everything happening around him. No matter if he could help it or not.

He's gotta be strong, he has to hold on and pile it all on. For somebody. Somebody else, who matters more than he does.

[preetkiran1016]

art by @sketcheun

The Void Within

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: ~45k

Major Tags and Warnings: Non-Con, Minor Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Dissociation/Derealization, PTSD, Smoking, Unhappy Ending, Mental Health Issues, Hallucinations, Missing/Dead Children, Dead Dogs, Explicit Sexual Content, Cults, Possession, Monsterfucking

Summary:

Dean's still getting used to the ache of loss and grief burning a hole into his chest. Still not used to the empty space where his brothers used to be.

His life is a day to day drudgery, the eternal crawl, and since Cas broke up with him, he's not quite sure what he's got left to stick around for.

When Jack and Claire go missing, well, he can't just sit back and watch.

Digging deeper, Dean finds himself caught in the middle of a complicated web he can't hope to begin to untangle. Missing Kids, Doomsday Cults, and the sudden return of Castiel in his life have Dean spiraling, even with his trusted Service Dog, Miracle, by his side.

But the one question remains, above all others-

Who were the Men of Letters, and what were they doing in Lawrence?

Dean doesn't think he's going to like the answer.

Sneak Peak:

The first place he goes….

He doesn’t get much.

The house is simple, one story, whitewash. He waits on the stoop for a minute, listening for the sounds of shuffling footsteps before the door opens.

“Hi.” He grins, and the woman at the door doesn’t crack a smile back, barely holding back tears. Dean figures she must've wiped away the tracks before answering.

“Yes?”

“Do, uh, Max and Alicia Banes live here?”

Something in her eyes sparks to life, and she leans forward, “Have you seen them?”

“They’re not home?” 

She falls back into the door, the ember of life he’d seen snuffed out just as quick, “No. They’re not here.”

“Okay, uh,” he flounders, pulling out his card, “my name is Dean Winchester. I'm a friend of Jimmy Novak, who's…”

The woman shuts the door in his face, the sound of muffled sobbing echoing in the house.

Every house after that...they’re the same.

Quiet sorrow, hope, desolation.

He hits the mall, the school, clubs.

Nothing.

Last...and the one he wishes he didn’t have to try-

He shakes his head, forcing himself out of the car and up the driveway. Lisa’s car is in the front, but the front door unlocked. Dean lets himself and Miracle in, taking in the familiar entry. Lisa’s shoe stand. Ben’s sneakers tossed haphazardly on the floor. Family photos hung with pride along the hallway. Dean recognizes his face in some.

“Hello? Ben? Lisa?”

His voice echoes.

Nothing.

“Anybody home?”

A voice catches his ear, tinny and low, and he follows it into the den; but it’s just the TV. A pastor preaching to his mega-church, decked in white and arms thrown wide. Dean snorts, shutting off the program with the remote he remembers Miracle chewed on years ago-her puppy teeth leaving marks on the upper right corner.  The sudden silence drowns the room. No broody teenager playing video-games. The sounds of clattering bowls and dinner gone. 

Dean moves on.

Room to room. Kitchen, bathrooms. Bedroom’s; Lisa’s–then Ben’s. 

Nothing.

Standing over Ben’s desk, he scans the mess of papers and old take-out containers. There’s not a lot, but a single image catches his eyes, and he reaches out, fingers wrapping around thin, worn paper.

A booklet with The Men of Letters emblazoned across its title. 

The inside cover, Dean finds, has one words. Repeated over and over, till Ben’s handwriting goes sloppy. 

Tulpa. 

He blinks, staring down at the page before tucking the booklet in his pocket and moving on.

The backyard, on the other hand…

Miracle whines, tucking herself behind Dean at the smell, and Dean can’t blame her. Ben’s two Labradors lay limp in the grass; covered in blood, throats slit and drained into their own dog bowls. Their collars are gone; Dean can’t tell Colonel from Missy, and a sick, twisting feeling in his gut tells him exactly where the blood on the mirror came from. 

They’ve been dead a while, surrounded by flies and insects, and Dean beats a hasty retreat, knuckle white grip on Miracle’s collar as they escape.

Wherever Ben was… it wasn’t here. 

Coming this October to @deancashorrorfest

[specter319]

𝗢𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡: 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗟 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD

Authors Note: It's been a while, and I do apologize for the wait. With the likes of mental health and finals taking the forefront and the incident that has taken the CoD community by the heart. I leave this little chapter as a means to try and comfort those still troubled by it and hope this can bring you some joy or inspiration, Fly High Vincent.

Gif Credit: Daniel Bruehl

Pairing: Damon 'Ninja' West x Kaden Lincoln, Simon 'Ghost' Riley x John 'Soap' MacTavish, Zack 'Nemo' Hayes x Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick. Word Count: 1.3k words no use of y/n eventual relationship establishment, however, Damon and Kaden are married. Summary: In a nation unaccustomed to war, Australia's newly elected government faces a dire crisis when rumours of a biological weapon on home soil, send shockwaves through the Government's defence sector. Dispatching a team of elite operatives to deal with it, the containment goes heads up as they look for other options.

The Black Angel Squad is soon assigned as the situation quickly spirals out of control behind the team's back unknowingly, and to stop a bleeding wound, Task Force 141 is brought in to assist them amid a frantic cabinet meeting of last-minute options and consistent fuck ups, forging an uneasy alliance between two teams. As tensions soar on both ends, questions arise about one thing: Was this the making of a weapon to begin with? Warnings: slow-burn, zombies, canon typical violence associated with Call of Duty, gruesome depictions of death, blood, swearing. ao3 version [Prev] [Next]

It was just a little over eight in the afternoon before a sudden tension was felt in the bones of a man, ironically enough, hidden behind a calcium veil, it was almost as if without even looking up from the conjoined notes of his inner workings that he could sense a presence at the door.

Before the form of the body could even knock, it was without hesitation that the male finally piped up as he signed away yet another form of action.

“Come in,” He was hoping it was that rapscallion Scotsman who was about to disturb him with useless conversation - anything to get away from a report that drained his life away only to have to replenish it with the likes of a non-existent sleep. But it wasn’t, instead, a younger, more reserved form of a man stood in front of him - Gaz.

“You’re urgently needed in the meeting room, Lieutenant. Price is calling all of us down here,” There was a hesitant form in his voice, he could hear it. Something had obviously gotten Price’s attention, and by the look of urgency in his eyes as Simon finally looked up from his paperwork. It was obviously no joke, usually Gaz would be off on his own thoughts, much like himself, or, hanging around Price. But the sucked in lips and almost targeted eyes had Simon moving his body before his mind could even calculate just as to where to go. And Gaz only knew to follow, closing the Lieutenants office door as they hurriedly walked down the corridors to the one place that never seemingly was abandoned for too long. Once more having people hanging around it, planning a move with what to do next.

“The whole team is there?” Ghost repeated as he looked over his shoulder

“Soap was about to come and get you before Price called him in, so I came and got you. Says a good majority of the Australian Government is there, plus Laswell is now involved apparently.”

“The Australian Government?” Ghost enquired as they entered the room, both met with waiting eyes from Soap and Price. As Ghost naturally gravitated towards the shorter Scotsman and looked over at the screen in front of them.

“Laswell.”

“Ghost, Gaz, good to see you,” Laswell spoke quickly

“Likewise,” Gaz chimed in.

“I do apologise for the short notice boys but, I’ve apparently been informed that there’s rumblings of a possible biological warfare happening out in a country that’s least expected in and amongst the giant spiders the size of a shoe. We got a report sent from Katherine about an attack and, well, I’ll let these guys say the rest. Prime Minister Wilson, if you want to take main stage,” Laswell stated before he spoke.

“Thank you Kate,” Wilson replied before he cleared his throat and began speaking up. “I was informed that, thanks to a few strings, favours and a very amazing Kate Laswell, that your Task Force is one of the best out there, though we have our own, not to brag. You’re going to be needed alongside them. Three days ago around 8:34 PM or 11:04 GMT your time, a complaint was made to local Northern Territory Police about a suspicious woman getting violent and angry, screaming as she ran around like a crazed lunatic. But, she never said anything verbally, just, screaming. Police were called to the scene after they tracked her down and tried to arrest the woman, but she had gotten violent all the more and she was shot on sight, during this process, it’s been reported that she had blood seeping from her eye sockets and had bitten a police officer.”

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap murmured “Blood from her eye sockets?”

“Correct, I’d state just exactly why but, I’m waiting for Professor Campbell to get back from her call regarding any further information about the report. What I can say, is the fact that, this is an isolated incident so far, and we’re keeping an eye on the police officer, in case anything goes south.” 

“Do apologise for the wait, I was just in a call with the local hospital that was holding the police officer. What did I miss?” Professor Campbell interrupted. Appearing fully in the camera’s view.

“Nothing much, we were just explaining as to what was going on incident wise and how this is an isolated incident as far as we know,” She was about to state more information, but was suddenly interjected by someone unknown to her.

“Why are we getting involved in it, your government has enough resources, doesn’t it?” Ghost budded in as he looked over at the screen. They had stated it themselves, a better task force than the one’s that they had right before them.

“Who might you be?” Professor Campbell questioned the man, interested by his own mask.

“Lieutenant Ghost,” A pause, she was caught off guard by the name, obviously.

“Okay, Lieutenant Ghost, well, we do have resources at hand, we have every security resource and health department on this because, this has been the first known case for someone to be bleeding from their eye socket, as far as we’re aware of. Though there is the cases where people can cry blood. According to three police reports I’ve gotten back, including the officer that was bitten. This was not at all the case, usually where it would form in the tear duct of the eye, it was forming on the middle of her eye sockets.”

No one knew what to truly say as they all looked at each other, how could you process any of that statement that you had been told.

“That’s impossible,” Gaz finally responded.

“It’s not, the crying part isn’t anyway. The only time tear duct bleeding usually happens, or as it’s better known for it’s scientific name, haemolacria. Is through trauma, surgery or infectious diseases. Given the reports of how this had occurred, we’re being led to believe that this could be the latter, and a few discussions had stated the possibility of plausible use of a biological weapon,”

“So you’re telling us, that you have no hardened evidence that this is a biological weapon, and you’re only giving us possibilities?” Captain Price asked. “I am not going to have my men risked until such time as you can safely state that you know it really is.”

“It’s the possibility that this might be a situated attack on the lives of millions of Australians that could be at risk if this isn’t chased up, which is why we asked you guys and our own team. We don’t know until such time as there is no plausible evidence that it isn’t a biological weapon. And we need your help to find out because if something happens here, god knows when the bloody rest of the world will fall to it,”

John was left in the bouts of a crossroads as he tensed up and grabbed at the seams of his shirt instinctively. He took in a deep breath before sighing and finally chancing it.

“What do we do if we find out it is?”

“Then you’ll be quarantined to make sure that you and your men aren’t infected with the disease, all the while we set up parameters that will keep the others safe and stop any of this before it gets out to the public, and handle the weapon accordingly.” It was the usual political jargon of ‘That’ll be when we get to it’. Looking over at his men, Price nodded before he finally gave in, knowing just what was at hand - but knowing that all of his men, him included, could deliver on it.

“When are we set to move?”

“As soon as you possibly can,” The professor stated simply. Given the mood in the room that John had seen as he looked around, this was apparently a hell of a lot more serious then what was initially thought.

And his task force had seemingly formed into a disease control team right under his nose.

[pixiebyygadoptioncenter]

Psycho Father

{@jayedshifter}

AU: Swapfell

Type: Asgore Dreemurr

Age: Adult

Race: Boss Monster

Size: 12 inches to 1ft 3inches

Diet: Same as a human

Personality: Fatherly / Clingy / Overprotective / Obsessive / Possessive / Hostile / Paranoid

Likes: Taking care of others / Others to take care of

Dislikes: Threats to his charges / Not having dear ones to take care of / Being separated from their dear one/s

Compatibility: Psycho Fathers do best with adopters and other bittys, especially youngs bittys, that are okay with or fully embrace without a care their suffocating, obsessive paternal affections and equally as obsessive, clingy behaviors that needs to be constantly on someone/thing to be 'drained'.

Features: Silver or dull grey fur, jagged short horns, and black head hair with a matching beard. Their eye color ranges in pink, red, baby blue or orange.

Difficulty: Intermediate

~

Psycho Fathers mean well but are possessive and can hinder their adopter/caretaker as well as anyone they deem 'under their care' due to their overprotective and hostile personality.

Psycho Fathers have a large separation anxiety and tends to neglect their physical health in favor of attending their dear people. They tend to deliberately loose sleep to 'stand watch' at night just in case as they're pretty paranoid about dangers that may lurk and take away those they hold dear.

Psycho Fathers have to have something of their adopter's or favorite bittys' to hold onto and keep on their person so it's demanitory to give or have their favorite bitty to give your Psycho Father bitty a old piece of clothing, an old picture or something else that reminds them of you/their favorite bitty that you/they wouldn't mind letting go of to pacify them to some extent.

Psycho Fathers aren't very mentally stable and their mental health has been known to spiral even farther down the rabbit hole when they're not able to drain their need to caretake on someone. Some individuals are known to self harm to try to outlet their energy and need.

Note: Due to their tense need to be a caretaker to someone and their poor mental health Psycho Fathers will cling onto anyone willing to give the bitty an ounce of trust to protect them which can be dangerous to both the Psycho Father and those around the bitty, which is why the pixiebyyg adoption center will only adopt them out to those that pass a test to see if the adopter is a good influence and will be a good thing in the Psycho Father's life

[siyasantlani111]

Meditation~

Hi guys welcome back, today I decided to write down about meditation and how it helped me so much. So let's begin. Few years ago I used to constantly fall into depression and I used always have these negative thoughts about myself, my future and my career and everything in general. I used to have extremely spiralling thoughts and I generally used to feel that I'm different than everyone but in a very bad way. Like I don't deserve to be loved or just allowing people to treat me like trash and than be extremely drained. I used to be overweight and I used to constantly think that my weight is the reason why people treat me very poorly. And this depression continued for almost three years or more I don't remember. There were certain few months I would be happy but I'd go back to being depressed, it was like depression is my original state and so many times I also accepted the fact that this is just the way it is going to be. Also I don't exactly remember when I felt this way because the memories are there but they are vague, but I know there was a point in my life when I accepted the fact I'll stay depressed forever. However last year it changed and I decided to heal my self, and who introduced me to healing is “thewizardliz” she's a youtuber and do check out her videos. And I literally prayed to God to get me into therapy as I didn't have the privilege to go to therapy, and he granted this wish of mine. I started going to therapy but before that I made sure I was aware about the things I was going through, that is being aware about my mental health in general. I also watched a lot of videos on Youtube to be aware. So I started therapy and then my therapist made me realise that I need to start meditating and journaling regularly and I was like ok.I used to meditate a little for like 5 minutes however it wasn't that deep and I didn't have much knowledge.

So let's begin when I started meditating I became more connected to God, I felt that we always had a connection but it just got really really deep and I started realising certain things which I wasn't able to realise even though there were so many signs, that is being manipulated and being emotionally abused. How did I realise it? I don't know. I suddenly had this realisation that I'm being manipulated and emotionally abused and neglected. So I was in this one relationship for three years and they always made comments about my body, my looks or the photos I posted online. And I used to be really hurt by that I tried to explain them nicely the story behind why I don't appreciate these jokes because I have struggled with a lot of depression when it comes to my body and it really hurted me. However they always used to taunt me by telling me “some people get offended so easily” or they'd just say “take a chill it's just a joke or its their humour.” And like an idiot I always was like ok I love them and I have to try to understand them too. But what about me huh? What about me being hurt? Well I didn't think about me at that time. And this went on and on and on for three years. Until I started meditating and suddenly I realised this is wrong and there were so many signs and cut them off. There were times in my life I used to cut them off and than got back together with them however and this went on and on and on. And when I used to cut them off I used to think that maybe it's not even that deep for them or maybe they are really joking or maybe I'm lacking somewhere. I always think that I'm the one who's always lacking even though I'm not the problem. Because I used to love this person so much and I wanted to always provide them with the best. But than I realised no, I'm not asking for crazy things I'm just asking for being treated normally and it's not wrong. And what's even crazier that all these years I was being neglected emotionally and my boundaries where constantly being disrespected but at that moment I couldn't even realise it. And it's insane how meditating made me realise all of this. See guys when you are constantly being manipulated by someone you won't be able to realise it and it gets really difficult to fall out of this. Even if someone tells you that, then maybe due to attachment you might started defending them and say “oh no they aren't manipulating me.”

And that's exactly when you need an external source to make you realise that and for me it was meditating. Because when I started meditating I also got connected to my intuition and so many parts of myself I lost during that relationship just to not loose this person. However I never lost them I got my lost self back. There was a time in my life when I constantly cried over them for a year like constantly just crying over them because of how much they hurt me, but still I allowed them to manipulate me and hurt me so much. I used to cry myself to sleep and used to think why can't they love me or accept me or understand me why do they make me feel so neglected. The wizard liz once said “everyone used to tell me that they loved me, but I never felt loved” and liz I totally relate to you. However guys I think this was a really long blog.

Thankyou so much for reading it I love you guys so so so much. And if you think I can make any improvements then please make sure to comment nicely:)

Byeee guyssss❤️❤️🎀🎀🎀

[beth--b]

Toxic Thoughts

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Characters: Geralt, Jaskier, Eskel

Prompt: Anxiety

Tags: panic attacks, ptsd, anxiety, jaskier whump, mental health issues

Word count: 958

Chapters: 1/1

Completed: yes

Summary: Jaskier experiences panic attacks in the months following his encounter with Rience

Read it on ao3 here

@jaskierwhumpweek

The first time it happened Jaskier was alone with no idea what was going on or what to do about it. 

He had been exploring the market place of the town they were staying in while Geralt went to look into a contract. Several people in the small town had been hurt by an unidentified creature, as Geralt wasn't sure what he was facing Jaskier was left behind. Nothing unusual about that, much as Jaskier liked to tag along he was also a fan of not being hurt by hungry beasts.

Everything was fine, at least until the street performer he was passing began to breathe fire.

It had been a few months since the nightmare that was Rience, but fire was not something he enjoyed being near even now.

 The unexpected flames brought his usually mild fear to the forefront of his mind until he found himself starting to truly panic. Gasping for breath, he took off in what he hoped was the direction of the Inn.

When he finally came down from his panic he found himself on the floor of the room he was sharing with Geralt at the Inn. His chest ached from his frantic, too fast breathing, his nails digging into the palms of his hands almost hard enough to draw blood.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself, when he finally felt as though he could form words once more. He sat there trembling for what felt like hours, until finally he managed to unclench all his too tight muscles and make his way off the floor.

By the time Geralt was back Jaskier had felt alright enough to fake it until he collapsed into bed, albeit much earlier than normal. He felt drained and exhausted, wanting nothing more than to sleep it off.

Geralt had given him a long hard look before seemingly accepting his excuse of being tired. 

After that first awful time, Jaskier tried to avoid similar situations though he found fire in general more difficult to be around. It was like one wrong moment, one small flame could send him spiralling back to that night.

He made it two months before it truly happened again. This time Geralt was with him when it happened.

They had made it back to Kaer Morhen just before the path to the keep had been made impassable by the snow. They were both freezing, and it was later in the evening than they had wanted to arrive. While Geralt got Roach settled, Jaskier had allowed Eskel to lead him through the darkened halls to Geralt's room.

Jaskier had been there before of course but Eskel insisted, and Jaskier was too cold and tired to argue.

Eskel didn't know the details of what had happened with Rience, he certainly didn't know about Jaskier's reaction to the fire breathing performer during the Autumn. Nevermind the multitude of near misses since. Without knowing this Eskel had led the bard to a dark room and lit the fireplace with Igni.

Logically, Jaskier knew it was Eskel, but logic held no sway in that moment.

In the dark, the magically lit fire burning before him sent him hurtling back to the moment he had awoken in the tavern, Rience using the fire he controlled to light the room, or leave him in pitch darkness.

He could feel his knees hit the ground, hear his breathing speed up until he was gasping for air. A part of him was aware that Eskel was saying his name but he couldn't seem to escape the memory of being trapped with the fire fucker.

Finally he became aware of Geralt saying his name, then reassuring words were being murmured softly to him, a hand was gripping his own like a lifeline in the dark. 

After what might have been minutes but could have easily been hours, Jaskier's panic began to fade from an overwhelming roar to a dull buzzing. He was aware of his surroundings, of the fact that Rience was nowhere near. He was also aware that he had probably scared the shit out of both Eskel and Geralt.

"Fuck GeraIt I'm so sorry, is Eskel alright?"

GeraIt pulled back to look Jaskier in the eye before raising an eyebrow.

"Is Eskel alright? Jask, Eskel is fine. It's you I'm worried about. What the fuck was that? Has that happened before?"

"Only once," Jaskier answered after a long moment of silence. "A few months ago, you were on a hunt, or investigating for one���anyway I saw a street performer breathing fire and it was like I was back there, with Rience. I…I guess the same thing happened when Eskel lit the hearth." 

In his typical silence, Geralt helped Jaskier up off the floor and led him to the bed. Once Jaskier was sitting on the mattress, Geralt helped remove the bard's shoes, before removing his own boots and armour. He then sat beside Jaskier, pulling the brunette into his arms. Jaskier let out a shuddering breath, leaning into GeraIt's embrace. 

Jaskier felt exhausted, between the trek to the keep, and the panic attack he felt as though he could sleep for a week.

"Come on Jask, we can talk about this more later, but for now just get some rest and I'll be here for you when you need me. Just promise not to hide something like this again?"

Jaskier sniffled slightly but nodded, Iaying back on the bed and tugging Geralt along with him.

Geralt pressed a kiss to Jaskier 's forehead, then a kiss to each cheek before finally pressing a soft kiss to his wind chapped lips.

"Sleep Jask," Geralt murmured.

Feeling wrung out Jaskier could do nothing but close his eyes and let sleep claim him.

[barrenstars]

basic info & background.

full name:  roselle swanson

nicknames:  rose

age:  verse dependent ( usually 20s / 30s )

gender:  cisfemale

sexual orientation:  pansexual

occupation:  verse dependent

height:  5′1″

background.

rose's grandmother was a moon witch who was manipulated by their coven and used for her raw power. the abuse she dealt with and the control they had over her entire life resulted in her mental health spiralling, which ended in suicide. the coven, desperately wanting to maintain their reputation, claimed it was because of the woman's extensive use of her magic. they stated that using lunar energy as often as she did resulted in the gradual loss of one's sanity. this is tied to the old tale that if you stared at the moon for too long you'd become a 'lunatic'. because of this, rose's father didn't intend to stick around. so when he was old enough to move on with his life, he did, and the coven let him as he wasn't a witch nor a warlock.

later on in his life, rose's father married and had two children, one being roselle, and the other being her younger brother, ethan. he settled down in a nice city in france and life was relatively simple, just as he wanted. until roselle began to showcase signs of moon magic and her father knew he was out of his depth. leaving it alone was too dangerous, so in a panic, he reached back out to the moon coven, who accepted them back. they packed up and moved back to the coven with her father having hopes they had changed and wouldn't treat a child as they had his mother. this time there were rules, rose wasn't to be used or trained too harshly, and the coven agreed. but it didn't take long for that promise to be broken as little roselle at the age of nine, was losing her spark. she'd come back home crying, drained of energy and worked to the bone. a few years later, having watched his daughter slowly become less of herself, her father packed up their things and whisked them away in the dead of the night, running away and escaping them yet again. only this time, the coven had something to chase.

from then roselle and her family lived out in the country, secluded and surrounded by trees. it was a cosy life and roselle was happy she didn't have to spend every waking moment thinking about magic, the moon, and the connection they had. however, she did continue practising her magic, as it had become so intertwined with her that not using it was too strange. and her father didn't have an issue with it, and allowed her to whilst supervising her. over the years, into her teenage years, rose had developed her own approach to lunar magic, and she had found a way to use it freely without losing her sanity. storing moonlight into crystals and using it in small doses worked tremendously, and it even deepened her understanding of the moon and the magic it freely provided for her. life was good and well until her father's moods began to drop and he began to take violent turns. no one knew why.

unbeknownst to roselle and her family, the moon coven had been hunting them down for years, and instead of going in and snatching rose, they worked on destroying everything around her so that her will was broken and she'd become a blank canvas for them to paint however they wished. they manipulated her father with their magic, temporarily possessing him and having him lash out at his wife and two children. over the years they worked on chipping away at their relationships, turning a once-happy home into chaos. and when everything fell apart, they struck.

roselle was no older than seventeen when the coven came for her in the dead of night. she was in bed, in her room which she still shared with her brother when she heard her mother screaming hysterically in the early hours of the morning. running to check on the situation, roselle found her mother, dead, covered in her own blood with her father standing over her, cleaver in hand and nothing behind his usually kind eyes. the energy he gave off wasn't his own, roselle knew this and ran back to her room where she woke her brother up and made him help her barricade their room. the manipulation of their father's mind ceased, and the coven took the next step into getting rose for themselves.

when her father came too and realised what had happened, he broke down, which prompted rose into opening the door and letting him inside. it was clear then what was going on, but they didn't have a moment to think before the house was raided by the coven members, and the house suddenly burst into flames. they checked each room, the flames which engulfed the house being ineffective on them as they looked for roselle, and when they found her she didn't stand a chance. rose attempted to protect her family, but was overpowered in seconds and knocked unconscious. when she awoke later, her house was ash, and her father and brother were gone along with her mother, having been left to burn while rose was dragged out.

after coming too rose was laying sprawled on the grass, surrounded by her coven as they chatted idly to themselves, not expecting roselle to awaken so soon. they'd already cast binding spells, tying roselle to them, however, it was evident they were ineffective as roselle came to and, in a fit of pure emotional rage, used her magic to send them flying across the massive countryside yard. it was then roselle turned on her heel and ran. she ran and ran until she was so far away from them she could relax. ever since then, she's been on the run from her coven, always looking over her shoulder, and not easily trusting anyone.

as of now, roselle is constantly on the move, not staying in the same country, state, city, or even town for too long. she tries not to make friendships as her life is too chaotic and she's always on the move, leaving behind everything she's created. she's become emotionally closed off, keeping her feelings bundled up somewhere inside of her while she focuses on destroying her coven with the vast grimoires she has stolen from them. rose is constantly seeking knowledge, building her power, and trying to enjoy the life she has before she knows her time is up.

every so often she returns back to her old family home, visiting the house she grew up in to pay her respects to her dead family and leave the site gifts and offerings, despite the damage the fire has caused.

disclaimer: roselle is an oc that can easily fit into any verse, whether it's fandom verses, original lore verses, or anything of the sort, so please shoot me a message if you wish to write / plot with her! anime / manga face claim is available upon request! / theme song.

[flameohotwife]

for the fic ask game: 2, 10, and 16!

Ahhh thanks, Northern!

2. what's a fic that took you to an emotional/dark/hard place? Absolutely hands down Hopeful Again (rated E--sorry north). This fic is an exploration of Aang's grief, and in it, Aang witnesses King Bumi's death which throws him into a depressive spiral where he barely eats or talks to Katara and just kind of hides away in his pain, crumbling under his overwhelming loss. The breaking point reminds me a lot of this art by @doodlaang actually, except he's older and they're married. And yes, it's rated E because Aang is spiraling about everyone he loved from before being dead and gone, and Katara finally brings him out of his spiral by giving him hope that his people will come back one day. It's about death and rebirth. And the title comes from Aang and Katara's conversation in The Serpent's Pass, which is hands down one of my favorite kataang moments and a point at which he comes out of a similar depressive episode after losing Appa and witnessing the birth of baby Hope. Yes, there is spice but it's all emotional and healing and cathartic. Writing this fic took me to a very, very emotional/dark/hard place where I couldn't read or write anything for more than a month after I finally finished it, even though it ends on a happy note. I just felt drained and empty, because I had poured so much of my soul into that fic and it felt like I had nothing left.

10. how has writing positively impacted your mental health or overall mood? The obvious answer is that writing has allowed me to process my emotions and my experiences and my thoughts in a productive way, but it has also given me an intellectually stimulating outlet again. As you know, I studied creative writing as a concentration of my major in college a million years ago, but stopped writing pretty much right after graduation because I got a job that had nothing to do with creative writing and didn't have a ton of free time. Then I had kids and, well, they took up pretty much all of my time and energy. I definitely feel more balanced and refreshed on days when I have time to write, but that still isn't every day. It also gives me a sense of accomplishment when I finish a piece and hit "post," which is a necessary boost when my to-do list is miles long 😂

16. Do you re-read old fics? Is there a time in your writing you won’t go back to? I do! Sometimes I write to fill a void in what I wish was out there, fic-wise, and then when I want to read a story like that I know right where to go. Since I've only been writing fic for a short time, there isn't really a time I won't go back to, yet.

Thanks so much for playing the deep fic writer ask game, friend!

[vent-and-advice]

hey I just don’t know where else to put this I just feel like I’m getting so much worse.

I’ve known something was wrong since I was about 7 and I’m 17 (turning 18 in November) now. I just feel like I’m spiraling downhill and I’m worried that by the time I feel safe to reach out for help as right now I’d need to go through my parents to get said help and considering the symptoms I have and the way my mom has talked about people with said symptoms I don’t feel safe reaching out right now, I just feel like once I can get help without informing them I’ll need a god damn hospital. I’ve repeatedly nearly relapsed into self harm and straight up relapsed into self harm multiple times, and today it just feels like I’m reaching a new low. I don’t mind when people hurt me. Like one time a friend kicked me as a joke and ended kicking much harder than intended and I just didn’t care. With the future approaching like this and knowing the current economy I’ve been suicidal since sophomore year and a bit of freshman year and eighth grade. It got a little better since I made some new friends but it just dipped today and during gym I just thought to myself that it’d be nice if I fainted and hit my head hard enough to die. I can’t help but feel like I’ll never be enough to live this life. I feel like I was supposed to be the healthy and capable one in my family who would go on to accomplish a lot and give back a lot but now I can’t. I just can’t and I feel like I’ll probably die at 30 now bc I’ll either die of the elements, illness, or ill just fucking kill myself. I also just feel like I’m a bad friend. I got a new friend group recently and we did leave one person bc she was really draining to us and one person isn’t in the group bc he didn’t get along with two other people (I’m still friends with him) but now it seems like another person is leaving now bc he doesn’t like me and had a confrontation with the other person. Now it feels like I mostly just have this one person to hang onto and I feel like I shouldn’t be as attached as I am. I just feel like losing him is a last straw. If I do I’d kill myself. I just feel like I can’t ever give him a reason to leave me and I just shape myself to meet his needs and wants and never tell him anything about me that he wouldn’t like, because frankly, I’d die if he wasn’t part of my life anymore. But now I feel like because I’m so attached I’m a bad friend because I shouldn’t be like this. I don’t want to tell him because I don’t want to upset him and he’s already dealt with obsessive and toxic people and I don’t want to be like those people. It’s just becoming too much and I’m afraid I’ll reach a breaking point soon and I don’t know what to do.

Woah there, friend. First, take a nice flower. It smells lovely 🪻

Now, seems you’re dealing with a lot. First questions you’ve gotta ask yourself. Why are you afraid to reach out? People who love you will want to help! If you feel like it’s not safe to reach out to a certain person, think:

•Can I reach out to my parents?

•Teacher you can trust or guidance counselor

•In an extreme circumstance, a suicide hotline.

As for the you not caring if people hurt you thing, I believe it may stem from a lack of self love! Some good ways to self reflect is doing small things and enjoying this world. Flower picking and picnics are a great way to get some nice sunlight and being outside actually helps a lot with mental health!

Are there any clubs you can join? Group retreats? Maybe even picking up a little hobby! Dr. Amanda used to do Chess Club, which is where she made a lot of friends!

And most important of all is to pinpoint your emotions! Not always can we figure out why we feel this way or what it is we’re even feeling. But sometimes writing it down can really help you get close! Maybe start journaling your emotions and, if you’re comfortable, show it to your school’s guidance counselor and say that that is how you’re feeling.

Here are some journaling ideas:

•What you did today

•What you want to do tomorrow

•Draw

•Try to describe things that make you uncomfortable

•Try to describe how you feel about the people in your life

•Try to describe how you feel about yourself

Next, look at yourself in the mirror. Like actually look at yourself. Every little imperfection that you may hate. Touch those little imperfections and smile and tell yourself that they’re beautiful. That you’re beautiful. You are a rose!

Practice self care. Bubble baths, meditating, exercise, and basic hygiene are all fantastic for your mental health. That friend of yours you mentioned? Maybe even invite them to go to the gym with you or just to meditate with you! Tell them you’re trying to heal and you need someone to lean on a bit for support. And after a while, try doing those things yourself to become more independent.

My dear two legged friend. You are not a mere flower. You are a whole bouquet ����

I know you can do this. I am your little friend, Bee, and I love you! 🐝

[lokiisdaddyblog]

Back to life

Loki x Reader, oneshot

Warnings: mental health issues,

*A/N*: I’ve had a rough week so this is simply something rough and short to comfort me and hopefully anyone else struggling with the same thing. 🫶🏻

“Why can’t she just come out of her room?” A rough voice speaks from the kitchen. You can’t accurately make out exactly what they’re saying, but you don’t care. If anything, you wish you could drain their voices out completely.

“Because it does not work like that, you oaf.” Now there’s a familiar voice you couldn’t forget even if you tried. Loki. Your Loki. He’s been nothing but supportive of you and yet here you are, locking yourself away from everything you know and love. All because you can’t handle the intense feelings bubbling in your chest everyday.

“Any progress?” A soft female voice joins the conversation. Nat, you think to yourself. The woman who has taken you under her wing and defended you from day one. You wince at the thought of the inevitable disappointment she must be feeling towards you right now.

You hear more voices outside but suddenly they’re just white noise and you’re not listening anymore. Why can’t you just feel like a normal person for once?! Your mind is screaming and you can’t silence it. Not this time. It’s out of control and you’re spiralling. Every time you start feeling better it’s like these two hands come back and grab you by the throat, strangling the life out of you and you can’t breathe and-

“Y/n? My love?” The gentle voice better known as your lover speaks through the door directly and it’s enough to make you come back to life. His voice alone can pull you out of the hole you fall through each time.

You blink your eyes closed slowly and a single tear slides down your already tear stained cheeks. You turn away from the door and ignore the voices. They can’t save you this time. You won’t let them.

“I’m going to come in, okay.” He warns slowly. You have no energy to oppose, no energy to care.

You flinch slightly as the door roughly clicks open and you can hear him immediately sigh sadly at the state of you and your room. You grip your blanket tighter to your chest in anxiousness, you don’t know what he’ll do, how he’ll react. Every other times he’s been patient and loving, but, what if this time he’s given up.

Your eyes are closed but you feel him kneel in front of you. As you let your eyes flutter open they’re met with a face of pure concern. He gives you a small, sad smile when his eyes meet yours.

“My beautiful dove.” He whispers gently, brushing a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m here now. You mustn’t hide anymore.”

Your lip quivers and tears threaten to pour. You hadn’t realised how much you actually needed him right now. You let out a quiet sob as you moved backwards in your bed to allow room for Loki to join you. He climbs in without a second thought and wraps his large arms around you.

He hushes you gently as you cry silently into his chest. “You’re okay, darling. I’ve got you.” He would often repeat, rubbing soothing circles along your back. Your tears come to an end eventually and he holds you as you lay completely still in his arms, holding you so gently as if you’re a delicate piece of glass that of which could shatter at any given moment.

“I’m sorry, Loki.” Your voice is quiet and raspy.

He pulls his head back slightly to look at your face. “What ever for, my love?”

You shrug. “For being difficult. My heart just hurts and I… it’s hard, when I feel like this.” You hide your head back in his chest bashfully.

“You need not apologise, dove. I understand your feelings, we all do. I, especially, will not leave your side though even through these periods of time. Even when you try to push me away.” His reassuring words absolutely melt your heart.

“I love you, Loki.” You whimper. Your eyes are heavy and you’re fighting consciousness now.

“I love you even more, darling. Just sleep now.” He whispers back to you as you fall asleep in his arms.

——

[lilacastar]

KDA

Pt 2: Waiting

Kalrick rested in the discharge lobby, waiting for the embarrassing inevitable.

Surprisingly, he wasn't in any physical pain from the demonic possession. The only mark that was left, were the healing scabs over the sigil on his skin. One on each wrist, one on his navel, one beneath his collar bone, and one on the back of his neck. But the cuts weren't even from the demon, those were from getting exorcized.

It was funny to think that he'd be going back to what was supposed to be his old life, but wasn't even his anymore. The demon had been using it in his place. The aftermath of someone else's. He would be going back to something ruined, and it had hardly left any marks on him.

He sighed, the questions that would come from bouncing around in his head. What kind of explanations were he to give when he was barely aware of the entire thing? Surly, this would explain all of his weird behavior everyone noticed. But how would they even react?

It was all so stupid it was almost comical. His life hadn't been going towards a degree anyway, but apparently that didn't stop it from spiraling even more pathetically. He seriously doubted the outer-worldly demon was kind enough to keep working his job, and even if that fat chance was made, the few weeks he'd spent in rehab would for sure had him off the schedule. Oh well, what ever would he do to find another lucrative career as a barista in customer service? But maybe it was for the better. Even though it wasn't a terrible job, he hadn't even been able to escape from dreaming about it while he lost time.

A gush of air coming though broke his thought process, his attention now shifting to the open door. A shorter woman in her 50s entered, sandals clicking in the entry, and plastic jewels glued onto the shirt reflected the sun into his eyes. His mom had finally arrived to pick him up. Fantastic.

She embraced him into a tight hug, in which he did not reciprocate. The bullshit hadn't even started yet, but it was already making him tired and not in the mood.

"I'm here Riki," She chattered. "let's get you home."

Riki was not his name, he hated being called that.

Ignoring it for now, he collected his discharge papers and headed to the front desk, mumbling a forced thank-you.

The desk assistant handed his mother an information packet he knew wouldn't be read, and started on what she should know.

"Physically," the assistant began, "Your son is stable, but he has had drastic changes that aren't visible. So he's going to need some time and extra attention to get back on his feet and function like he used to. There are certain things he won't be able to do anymore, and it's all here in the information for you."

"Oh!" mom said. "So he's fine, he just needs rest."

"No ma'am," She shook her head. "Kalrick is not fine, he is only physically not experiencing pain. His diagnosis is Klopis-Hepar, he wasn't himself all this time. Which means a big part of his life was stolen. There's going to be a long term effect on his mental health and daily life."

"Oh, but it's good he's not in any pain!"

"Yes, he may not be in any pain, but-"

"Oh, I'm so relieved then. We'll get him back on track in no time, thank you so much for everything."

The assistant hadn't even the time to close her mouth, mom had cut her off so quickly. The less than pleased expression on her faced showed it probably wasn't the first time patients or others had talked over her.

"Alright then," The assistant said through a pained smile. "You can sign him out now, if he starts experiencing any of the symptoms listed on his discharge papers, please bring him back within the 24 hours of onset."

Through the hassle of papers and signatures, Kalrick was finally able to be released. He buckled into the passengers and rested his head against the side. He'd been doing so much better. He'd moved out and found a good rhythm with no one to hold him back. Now it was all gone, down the drain, and he couldn't even take care of himself.

It wasn't much, but at least it had been together. But now, at 24, he was moving back in with mom. Except he wasn't 24 anymore, his discharge papers were further proof he wasn't making it up in his head.

'Foster Kalrick' it read. 'Age: 26'

He'd been possessed for over 2 years.

[starry-blue-echoes]

Y E S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S

oh I L O V E the idea of playing with just how evil Darkness can be. Maybe it's sorta like when mental illness gets bad, like a "having mental illness can make you more at risk of falling into certain behaviours or spirals, but mental illness itself is not inherently bad" type of thing. When you're Dark it's a lot harder to walk the morality line, but with a good support network and help it's not impossible

and I LOVE your thoughts for the Stone Ocean Crew, I'm putting them all in my mouth, especially Hermes, Emporio and Weather

just. Hermes quite literally making a deal with a devil just so she can get revenge for her sister. How the corruption process wasn't even that difficult or painful because of how badly she wanted that revenge, and how because of how desperately she clung to the Darkness they couldn't purify her

Emporio constantly being surrounded by Darkness for his entire life and never being able to get out of the somewhat suffocating miasma it gives him and because he's still a developing child it impacts his health and growth, even giving him long term physical side affects. Jolyne is an almost literal breath of fresh air into his life and for the first time Emporio gets to feel what Light is truly like

and I had a THOUGHT for Weather and Pucci. What if Pucci kinda..... accidentally stole all of Weather's Darkness but in a bad way. Like, because Twin Magic Bullshit, Pucci managed to figure out a way to essentially steal all the Darkness out of him which he then later managed to figure out how to do with other people to get more and more power "to attain heaven" (hence why he's in Green Dolphin, for all the free Darkness).

However, Pucci isn't purifying them. He's not getting rid of the Darkness, he's just stealing it. The corruption is all still there...... but now the victims aren't getting any power from it. It leaves them drained, exhausted, empty, and none of them even realise it because Pucci uses the Darkness to fuck with their memories

So Weather just...... drifts. He doesn't care about much because he can't care, he can barely feel anything to begin with. In fact, the only reason he hasn't died because of the long term affects of Pucci's experiments is because of the very same Twin Bond that started it. Just enough Darkness is able to leak back to him that he doesn't completely shut down, and that coupled with the lingering Darkness around the prison is enough to keep him going

The idea of Jolyne getting yote into Super Jail because of the Magical Girl Government is really funny to me and I had another possible thought to add to it

what if Pucci is a member of said Governing Body. Like, officially he's the overseeing Magical Girl in charge of the place who's supposed to make sure none of the Darkness manages to seep out into the surrounding area and to keep an eye on the prisoners to see if there's any change in their "Un-Purifiable" status. To them, he's simply a kind, intelligent and very dedicated priest with no ties to Dio whatsoever

so after he set up Jolyne to supposedly have killed a man, all it took was some rumours, a couple fudged reports of past behaviour, and some well veiled offers and she was put on a one way bus to Green Dolphin

but also separate from that, speaking of Jolyne I had another idea to kinda play more into the themes of Darkness not being Evil. What if she kinda brings people to a state similar to how Giorno was? Like, an almost exact middle of Light and Dark which allows them a complete choice of how they want to go about things, but taking away the risk that tipping into one side will kill you since full blooded humans are naturally born as Light Beings

Oh shit, open ask box??? Woo! I've had this idea bouncing around for a while;

Magical Girls Stardust Crusaders

Like we already have a five person team, animal sidekick, abilities that are otherwise supernatural. No transformations, but that can be arranged :)

Stands can be their magical girl forms :D

DFHVDFVJDFBJD

Stardust Crusaders isn't even a Crusade this time, it's just Jotaro realizing he's now a Magical Girl and has to deal with Dio's bullshitery plaguing his town

also I just. Absolutely adore the mental image of Jotaro in a super flowy, pretty Magical Girl Dress™. It's his ass kicking outfit and anyone who tries giving him shit for it gets their asses promptly pummeled into the concrete. One Does Not Simply Insinuate Star Platinum Can't Rock His Outfit, and after he's been around for a few months the locals are just as defensive about it

him slowly building a team is entirely by accident. Joseph used to be a magical girl Back In The Day and when he finds out he does what he can to mentor and help Jotaro so he's not going in blind. Avdol was a friend of Joseph's he called in as backup just in case. Kakyoin (and later Polnareff) were swayed to their side with the Power Of Violence Friendship.

Maybe part of Dio's thing this time is that he has two types of minions. The first are the characters from canon which are more powerful and willingly on his side, and then there are the innocent people who get mind controlled/corrupted and jazz. Or maybe those minions aren't people at all and thus much less capable

also fast forwarding a decent amount in the timeline, I like to imagine that in DiU Jotaro ends becoming like that one trope of "older retired and exhausted magical girl helping out the newer generation" just because I think it could be nice

[brimbrimbrimbrim]

The Bear and The Baker: Chapter Three - COOK (NSFW)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five

Summary: She’s relatable and willing to help him figure out how to stop spiraling down a dark hole of anxiety, but she’s pretty and sweet and knows what to say and do… and Carmy just can’t help himself.

Tags: friends to lovers, UST, RST, pining, wet dreams, masturbation, lots of food talk, reader used to be a pastry chef, mental health, panic attacks, anxiety, meditation, oral sex, cunnilingus, premature ejaculation, handjob, desk sex, first times, virginity, mild dom/sub undertones, kitchen sex, love confessions

Words: 4k

You help with a wet rag, sopping up gluttonous slime from the boilover while Carmy drains the pasta, cursing quietly. There's embarrassment in his tone, frustration, and disappointment, making you wonder if this is how he acts when overwhelmed at work. It's almost triggering until you realize you're fortunate enough to earn a living outside a bustling restaurant now, though sometimes you look back on that shit with rose-tinted glasses and Carmy… well, he's a good reminder of how much stress it puts on a person. 

Is it any wonder you couldn't hack it after almost 10 years of it? Working in a kitchen is just shy of working in retail… may be worse in some ways or all ways. You've spent holidays making red velvet cakes, crème brûlée… tweezing out mint leaves until you went cross-eyed—spent days sick as a dog letting dough rise as your nails went soft from all the moisture. Fuck , you even worked triple shifts as a waitress in college… What a damn nightmare…

"Fuck… " Carmy bites.

You sneak a glance to find him white-knuckling the counter, steam rising out of the sink as the pasta drains and cools. His head's hung over the rising heat, throwing shadows into the cut musculature of his back, made all the more apparent by the white shirt and clinical lighting. You skim down his spine appreciatively, lost for a moment as he breathes deeply, stretching the cotton. He's deceptively thick, shorter than average, but more than making up for it in his sculpted arms, broad shoulders, and tapered waist.

It's hard not to stare as you finish cleaning up—hard not to imagine digging your thumbs into the tension down his back, just to see if you could loosen those knots no doubt lodged in his body given a chance.

"You okay, Carmy?"

"It's too fucking soft." A snap in his tone, like a tapered scream, has you hesitating for a moment.

"What? The noodles?"

He says nothing, but you know he means the pasta, only to confirm it when you carefully step the three paces to stand next to him as he glares flatly at the colander filled with doughy noodles. It looks like pasta, totally edible, carb-rich pasta.

"Al dente  is overrated anyway," you murmur, and think nothing of resting a palm on his lower back (treating him the way you'd wanna be treated, as your therapist would say), only to jolt back when he groans, or-or something like… as if you…

He's panting underneath you, nose pressed into the fat of your inner thigh, breathing hot over your folds as you lay your breasts against his taut abdomen and lick up a tear of precum from his cockhead… fist sliding up his length—his dick throbbing—his own hips humping forward in desperation. Carmy groans… a clogged sound just before the scorching taste of salted cum spurts over your tongue.

That dream was too fresh, and that sound he just made… far too similar. 

You inhale through your nose as Carmy digs his hips into the paneling beneath the sink, shoulders rising and head dropping further into his neck as if to hide, and… your gaze darts to his groin where you can't precisely see but know, somehow, that he's hard. When did that happen? Or was he—did you—when you touched him?

"Just-just give me a second," he says firmly, still pinned forward, hiding his expression in the dwindling steam.

You take another step to the side as he shakes his head, rubbing at his bridge bone with thumb and forefinger, trying to fumble around words that're jumbled and low, growled forth from some chugging organ going either too fast or too slow. You both heard the noise he made, and there's a tension in the air now—dense… heavy, like fondant.

You ignore the tickle in your lower belly as you stand there, glancing from his profile to the hand against your stomach that dared touch him without asking.

"I'm sorry-"

"That wasn't-"

You both say at once, then stumble over words again a second time, talking over each other until Carmy faces you. Your spine hits the counter edge as he steps toward you, seemingly unconsciously boxing you into the little corner where the sink meets the stove, his palms raised like someone begging a wild animal not to strike.

'I was just gonna say-'

'It's okay-you go first-'

"Fuck ," he curses.

He's so close it's nearly sweltering—just a ball of energy fraught with tension and a stiff upper lip. Carmy moves closer, eyes lidded and moist, but realizes the predicament you're in almost immediately and starts to lean away just as fast, but it's that knowing hesitation in his heavy gaze that has you reaching forward, hands on his hips to tug him in… closer… until your pelvises meet with a dual exhale; one ragged, one desperate.

And yes, he's hard… very hard… and-

"What're you doing?" Carmy asks, his husky Chicago drawl deep and throaty. He's so close his heated breath moistens your lips, drawing out your tongue to lick the tickle of it away. His eyes dart down to the motion, lingering there… all hooded and dreamy. You wonder if his lips taste as good as the scones… or even better.

"This really happening?" It's the way he asks it as if someone like Carmy's never had his dick pinned against someone before—as if your both a couple of teens discovering the longing trepidation of sex for the first time, and not jaded adults with baggage.

"Seems that way," you whisper as if to a skittish animal, rubbing your thumbs into the muscled trench between his hip and abdomen where a thin layer of fat gives under your circling touch.

Carmy puffs out a 'fuck’  against your lips and swallows thick enough that it clicks in his quiet apartment.

Your fingers walk up his sides where his muscles stiffen and flex, sliding your palms beneath his shoulder blades as he sinks into you, chest against chest. Your foreheads touch, and Carmy lays his broad palms on the countertop by your sides. His biceps bulge—his tattoos mix with the topography of standing veins beneath the skin, and you tug him closer until his nose pushes into yours and your nipples harden against his hammering heat.

"You want me to stop?" You ask half-breathless, almost tasting his breath as he starts to pant; basil with the berry butter from your scones, and it's nearly strong enough you can picture him chewing on a leaf while cooking the sauce before you arrived…

He gives you a barely there shake of the head, nudging your nose tenderly. "Naw… no. No , this is good . I like this ."

"Good boy." You smirk as his shuddering exhale rushes down your face.

It's a simple tilt upward, just an inch, and you're kissing him. A simple press of lips that's soft and yielding. Carmy inhales as your lips part, pecking once… twice… then wetting it with a careful tongue flick. He's clumsy, and your teeth click together, but after a few moments, a natural rhythm of tilted kisses and quiet, moist latches of lips fills the little kitchen. And he's so warm and loving, all herbs overflowing and something incredibly intimate as if you're being let in on a secret… or beckoned into a place untouched.

You sigh, making a weak little whimper of 'Carmy'  that makes your face heat up, but Carmy presses his hips in and up, groaning your own name into your mouth. A throng of pleasure shoots down your stomach, rubbing sparks of friction into your breasts and outward, through your arms until your's covered in goosebumps. It's like a light switch—that sound… this contact… the way he groans out your name and cups your lower back in one broad, firm hand.

Suddenly your fingers are in the curls at his nape, weaving through damp strands until you get a good grip and tug him to the side, planting messy kisses across his cheek to his jaw, licking at the pulse point an inch beneath. His moans and weak little sounds of overstimulation only fuel the fire below, just bubbling beneath where you can feel his hard cock rubbing into your lower belly. It's been a long time since you've been this wet…

"Okay… alright ," he grunts, seemingly making some internal decision out loud as your teeth scrape down, lips plucking between his neck and shoulder until he shivers. 

Rigid fingers dent in your waist, clutching tight, then… without warning, you're lifted and planted on the skinny counter, fumbling at his shoulders and biting your lip hard at the determined look in his baby blues. His body slots flawlessly between your thighs, sides skimming thin elastic to press his abdomen against the gusset of your damp leggings.

"God," you whine, feeling happily featherbrained as you shift and grind against his hard stomach, squeezing his shoulders in time with each rock back and forth.

"You good, baby?" Carmy asks, looking more or less like he's gonna rupture. It's hot and flattering, and you want whatever's gonna happen, even if it's not the smartest thing in the world: being set on Carmy's counter like an entree. Seriously, though, life is too short to care about right and wrong, at least right now.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, good."

As you mill against one another haphazardly, his palms ease up your hips, fingers in the hem of your leggings. You're too dazed to second guess it—that you might not be ready for this so soon. Instead, you lift your ass off the counter, letting Carmy yank your leggings down your thighs and off your feet, along with your sneakers, leaving you in your socks and an oversized sweater… no fucking underwear… nothing to hide behind when he drops to his knees and shoves your legs apart. 

Jesus Christ on the cross… is he gonna-

His breathing bathes your wet folds, adding more heat. "I uh , I don't-don't have a system for this."

"For-fuck… " you squeak as two fingers—S  and O —stroke down the line of your dripping pussy. "F-for what?"

"Sex. Women. I can, ya know… I can simmer a consommé just listening to it… but this-this is… fuck ."

His eyes narrow, thumbs stroking down your outer labia with trembling grace. "You're wet?" It's a question, even though it's painfully obvious.

"Umm…  yeah. A bit." It's an understatement, but your aptitude for words is less than stellar, given how your pulse centers in your clit and another leak of moisture slides down between your cheeks. 

"You smell nice. Like-like rain and… apples."

You blush, feeling both mortified and turned on. It's been a long time since anyone's been on their knees for you, never like this. Carmy looks like he's never seen a pussy up close, and it… does things to you. 

Carmy blinks slowly, pupils dilated black like ink drops expanding in a lazy morning lake. His fingers trace again, from soft mons to perineum. You swallow a whimper, marveling down the hills of your wrinkled sweater at his tentative touches, then hiss as he scissors those fingers open, spreading your inner lips. The cool air hits where you're the hottest… sending a chill down your spine.

"If you, umm—fuck, you're dripping …" He seems momentarily distracted, then looks back up. "I mean, if you don't wanna do this, just… please. Tell me to stop. Okay?"

Lip-quivering, you nod.

"Okay. Good," Carmy says, raw-sounding, "Good."

A knife-inked hand smooths up your inner thigh, pressing you further apart. Your eyes flicker to the back of it, finally realizing that the kitchen knife isn't being cradled but is piercing the pigmented palm. Self-inflicted harm via dedication to desire,  you think, wondering if everyone lets their passions hurt them one way or another. 

The flower on the other turns, palm up, and Carmy brings his pointer finger to his mouth and sucks on it. His cheeks hollow a second before his finger's coated in spit, pressing back and pushing knuckle-deep inside you with a grunt that nearly dies beneath the sharp moan you loosen.

It just… it feels so good to be filled, even by just one of his thick fingers.

"Tight," he gapes, "... hot—real hot. When's the last time anyone's been here." It's said more like a spoken thought than a question, which is good… cause you can't remember the last time. Maybe that's why you're melting from the barest stretch, or perhaps that's just Carmy…

The wet, squelch of sound as he withdraws and corkscrews a little deeper has you panting, squirming, and bending a knee up, planting your socked foot on his shoulder.

"Carmy…"

His eyes flutter upwards, catching your gaze with sleepy desire—something almost innocent if it weren't for everything that preceded this. So much for not hooking up with guys from Al-Anon…  though, you could end it now… it doesn't have to go this far…

"Just let me know if I gotta change anything. Don't worry about hurting my feelings, okay?"

'Just wanna taste you a bit… Smells so good. Salty… sweet. Acidic.'

Before you can tell him to stop—to make up some reason for ending whatever this is—Carmy leans in, eyes hooded, tongue pressed against his bottom teeth, and your heart skips a happy beat.

"… fuck me," you sob as Carmy noses your clit and licks a flat stripe from bottom to top.

He's reminded of applesauce with a sprinkle of salt. One of his favorites as a kid; it was simple n' sweet; she's diluted by a savory flavor that's unlike anything he's sampled before. Countless dishes, various ethnicities. He thinks this might be his favorite, from Chicago bar food to twenty-four-step French cuisine and all the flavors in between. 

A few licks in, and the sticky slick gluing her folds together comes away, exploding his taste buds with the full brunt of her. She's good—really fuckin' good —and with each exploratory nibble, her moans relax his nerves… 

With each clench of her cunt around his finger, his cock throbs. 

He's never been here in person, never had the time or the drive, but he's read enough… seen enough… so the basics come naturally. Sorta . 

Carmy traces her clit with a soft tongue until she's as soaked with spit as she is herself and then pulls up on the light chub over her clit, exposing the swollen bulb for a soft suck. His finger slides back, sweeping all that mess to lubricate the slow press of middle and pointer, feeling the way she shudders, stretching open with a gasp.

"Jesus, Carmy…"

The way she says his name makes his fingers curl into her, feeling for that spongy spot he's heard about. Carmy scrapes it with his blunted nails, her pussy grinding into his mouth, proof he got it right… then makes tight circles against it while tonguing her clit.

"Yes'yes… yes!"

Her fingers delve into his hair. Nails skim his scalp. The sauce on the stove goes cold, but he couldn't give less of a shit.

Fuck…

Carmy flicks the bud inside his mouth and loses a few strands in the process, savoring the burn as she yanks on his curls, drawing him closer, his lips mashed against her silky flesh, his fingers digging harder until he can hear the wet slurp as her walls suck his fingers back in with each thrust.

"… like that," she sighs, "… yeah , just-just like that."

He leans in, stretching up through his knees that are aching on the tile floor, and makes a moist, sloppy sound as he eats her out like he's fucking starving… and he is. Carmy hasn't eaten for years and decades and can't get enough. Her flavors are robust and sweet, artful currents of sweat, umami, and fragrant honey.

"Jesus fucking—fuck…  Carmy…” 

Yeah , he wants to grin and say something clever—something that might get him a whack on the head, but he won't remove his mouth. Can't tear himself away. She's too delicious. His forearm tenses, fucking his digits in and out by the elbow, bicep going hard with the effort to keep it precise and fluid. A few seconds later, moisture starts running down his wrist.

"Oh , god. Yes !" It's a hiss and another squeeze of his hair, tugging follicles loose.

Carmy runs wet kisses down her pussy, licks her from where his fingers jackknife, then back up to her swollen clit, sucking up that wet bundle until her thighs are shaking around his jaw. Then he shoves a third finger in without thinking… cause—fuck —she's just as tight and wet and hot as in his dream. Better.

She quivers and moans and says something so fuckin' filthy about how no one's made her feel this way, sobbing confessions that have Carmy shuddering, feeling like a single brush of his hand'll make him cum.

Eventually, his jaw starts to ache—bursitis in his shoulder acting up—but her fingers are locked on his crown, and he can feel the twitch of muscles in her inner thighs, one calloused palm rubbing up and down its smooth expanse, gliding from knee up around her leg to her naked hip. 

Carmy grabs her tight and jerks her until she's balancing off the countertop's edge, speared on his fingers… nearly dangling over his open mouth. Her startled sound goes right to his dick, almost making it spit right then and there.

"Please-please…  don't… stop…" she begs weakly.

"Help me out here," he murmurs against her pussy, nose pressed to her clit as his tongue picks up the slick from her stretched entrance that grips his pumping fingers, "… show me where ya want me."

She maneuvers him quickly by the hair, whimpering as his aching tongue moves with him. The bump of her clit makes him groan, kiss and suck and swirl until her head smacks back against the cabinets.

"I'm gonna cum, Carmy… holy fuck. "

"Good," he wheezes, then pulls back the swollen hood with his thumb again to focus on the bare nerve. He's gonna make her cum, and has to—wants to—needs to fucking do it, or Carmy'll just…

'No one's ever… oh, fuck… ever—your fucking tongue… your fingers… yes...'

Carmy starts making letters over her clit. Some bullshit magazine said to draw ABCs, so he begins with that, then numbers, counting out repeating receipts and tables until he's making as much noise as she is… until her thighs lock around his head and warmth flows like a savory glaze over his chin and forearm, dripping down his neck… off his elbow.

A guttural sound rips above him as if he just… Jesus Christ, is she really cumming?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…"  and then an utterly wrecked curse sobs out—a noise that has him saying the word back, tongue between her leaking folds. 

"Fuck…"

Carmy's reaching down his own stomach as he licks her orgasm up, feeling her contracting around his handiwork, but before he can get those drenched fingers under his sweats, she's yanking him up by the hair. He stumbles up to his knees, face covered in her from nose to throat-apple, and startles as she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him raw.

Her hips rock down into his lap, and Carmy hisses against her lips, palm trapped against her molten cunt and his clothed erection.

"Carmy," she breathes between kisses, "let me," another kiss and lick over his teeth, "return the favor. Please ."

The teenager in him is jumping for joy on his old single bed like a loser, but the grown-ass man whose never gotten this far is overstimulated. Carmy trembles, pulling his hand free from against her pussy and his hard-on. He slides his palm around her face instead, tilting his head—his lips—kissing her deeply with a tongue lapping at her own. He just needs a minute to calm down… or several… but an arm slides off his shoulder, and fingers sweep down his stomach. Carmy gets one gasp of air before soft, slim fingers ease down his waistband and-

Fuck.  He can't help it. He's gonna cum. Can't hold it anymore—can't fuckin' stop it!

"Fffffuughhhk… " It sounds pathetic, but it's all he can get out when she thumbs his sticky slit, fingers gripping the head and cap. His balls pull taut—tight as his stomach—feeling that hot surge through his cock. Carmy drops his forehead into her shoulder, smelling the overwhelming fragrance of apple orchards in the summer heat with crisp sweat, and humps her tight fist until he's cumming in heavy spurts between her thighs… all over her naked, exquisite pussy... 

"Ffffuck…" He hisses again, then chokes on his own spit as he tries to breathe through the wrecking ball of pleasure. Gotta be ten times better than what he woke up to this morning… one-hundred times better than he'd ever thought… and he'd been missing out on this shit all this time?

A cold shiver of reality flows down his back as her voice teases. "Did you just-"

Blow a load on your cunt? Yeah…

"Fuck —fuck-fuck…" Carmy groans into her neck, pulling back to look at the strings of creamy fluid sliding down her swollen, glistening folds. "I didn't mean-didn't mean to… shit… " 

He starts stuttering, watching his cherry-colored cock begin softening in her palm as his face turns beet red, embarrassed, and high as fuck from the bullet of bliss. So, so fucking good… but too, too fuckin' fast.

"I'm sorry," he says eventually, unable to take his eyes off the mess he made, imagining he just added a layer of heated frosting to a slice of gooey apple pie…

As a dollop of cum hits the floor, Carmy realizes she's not saying anything. He looks up finally, cautious, with a stone of syrupy dread in his stomach. She's just sitting on the counter with her fingers still around his flaccid cock, eyes glinting.

That anxiety of a lunch rush—the dread of fucking up a sauce—gets him under the ribs, and Carmy starts to panic. "Sorry, I just—it's been a while and… umm…  it's been-"

A kiss warms his temple. "Shhh … and take a breath, Carmy."

He does. He takes several big lungfuls, and when she tells him to go slower on the exhale, he does that too. Over and over again until he can feel the circles she's massaging into his chest.

"So, why are you sorry?"

"I dunno," he says, all raw and sleepy, leaning his weight into her, between her legs. The hem of his shirt sticks to her drenched cunt, but he doesn't mind, "… spose to last longer, right? Kinda just fucked that up."

"It's pretty flattering… I mean, you making me breakfast spaghetti, then eating me out and being so good at it…"

Carmy's chest flutters with pride, a rare and delicate thing.

"... then you cum before I can get my mouth around you… as if you-you enjoyed that… a lot. No one's ever been so… so happy to do that to me before."

"I did. I like it… liked it a lot. Kinda wanna… would you, uh…  like to do it again," he says and asks it like he's green, which, when it comes to this shit, he is. But she just smiles and noses his cheekbone, lips skimming across his stubble to peck his lips gently.

"How about we eat some real food first?"

"I just did." It comes out without thought. Kinda slick, actually.  Michael woulda been proud, and Cousin… that fucker woulda laughed. She laughs too, but it's breathy and sweet, and Carmy finds himself smiling, dimples and all. 

He eventually changes sweats for black jeans; empty plates for sauced noodles, far too soft but delicious. Carmy shares breakfast with her on the sofa… watching a black-and-white musical from the fifties that reminds him of nothing he's ever felt. She won't shut up about how good it tastes, and while it's nothing up to Carmy's standards, he's flattered… maybe more than when he first read that article in Eater…  maybe more than the first and last time Michael complimented his grilled cheese as a kid. 

Either way, Carmy thinks he loves her, and stupidly, he tells her.

AO3 Link: HERE