#but it really resonated with me when my friends told me last year that i should be able to growl-sing

[daedrabela]

i’m insane i’m insaaaaanee

[trentsgirl]

— 🤍 ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ (part two to stupidly in love with you)

⟡ summary: after being banned from the next match, jude decided to drown his sorrows in alcohol. as you accompanied him on his way home, he shared something with you.

⟡ content: friends to lovers, very fluffy, mentions of kissing, no cliffhanger this time, around nine hundred words.

⟡ streaming: better by zayn.

⟡ masterlist, part one, part two.

escorting jude back to his home was quite tiring and draining. it felt like you had walked for ages until you finally managed to get him to bed.

jude quickly fell asleep, dozing off as soon as his head touched the pillow. you couldn’t help but smile softly at the sound of his snores, although it quickly faded as you noticed the mess in his room.

being someone who values cleanliness, you promptly began tidying up jude’s room, making sure to be as quiet as possible. you didn’t want to risk waking him, especially considering how intoxicated he was. you didn’t want him to start rambling endlessly again.

after folding the last of the numerous t-shirts strewn on the floor, you closed the closet and were just about to leave his room when jude unexpectedly grabbed your wrist as you walked by the bed.

you were taken aback as jude quietly uttered, “don’t go..”

you couldn’t fathom how jude had sensed your intention to leave, but you knew he wouldn’t provide a clear explanation as he was about to drift off to sleep again.

“uhm, jude, i need to head home. it’s really late.” you whispered, trying to gently release his hold on your wrist, but was left astonished by his strength even in his drowsy state.

jude struggled to contain his emotions and actions, but he was certain about one thing - he wanted you to stay with him. he longed for your presence, not just tonight, but every night.

“don’t leave, please..” he murmured, his eyes opening to reveal a pleading gaze that instantly melted your hopeless heart.

jude was your achhilles’ heel, and you despised the power he held over you.

typically, you wouldn’t hesitate to share a bed with jude. it had occurred a few times during your friendship, like on vacations or when he traveled for football.

however, this time was different. because this time he confessed his feelings for you.

but, seeing him so vulnerable was agonizing, and it pained you physically.

in a moment of weakness, you gave in, sighing as you slipped under the covers. thhe warmth from both the blanket and jude’s body heat enveloped you.

he wasted no time in clinging to you and you made no effort to push him away, exuding excitement like a little boy who had just been given candy. your heart started racing, and heat crept up your cheeks. there was no way you could drift off to sleep in this state.

the room fell into a brief silence before jude broke it, his voice sounding more alert. “i wasn’t lying, you know... when i said i love you.”

his voice resonated with such sincerity that it tugged at your heart. as you lay on your side, your gaze fixated on the man who held your deepest affections. the intensity in his eyes implored you to trust him, to believe in his words.

curiosity compelled you to pose a question, testing the depths of his emotions. “when did you first realize that you loved me?” you inquired.

without hesitation, jude responded with unwavering honesty. “i’ve loved you for longer than i care to admit, y/n. perhaps it was that night we spent together in greece, or the time you told me i was the one you trusted most. but i was afraid of ruining what we had, or lose you, so i kept my feelings to myself.”

his heartfelt admission crashed over you like a powerful wave, leaving you stunned and overwhelmed. your cheeks flushed, and you found it difficult to maintain eye contact, fearing that your emotions would be too transparent.

for years, you had convinced yourself that jude would never view you in a romantic light.

he had been involved with other women, introducing you to so many that you had lost all hope for a romantic connection between the two of you.

the realization that jude reciprocated your feelings brought both a sense of bliss and trepidation. it was a mix of emotions - the joy of knowing that you no longer had to conceal your love, and the fear of what this newfound vulnerability might entail.

“you won’t ruin or lose me,” you assured him, reclaiming your gaze and locking it with his. determined to convey your reciprocal feelings, you boldly caressed his cheek, bridging the distance between your lips.

a sudden hitch in his breath revealed his anticipation and exhilaration coursing through his veins.

“you’ll always have me, jude.” you whispered before finally uniting your lips with his, cherishing the electrifying sensation that passed between you.

jude’s initial surprise quickly faded as he responded with equal fervor. he settled the rhythm of the kiss into a tranquil and unhurried rhythm, as if he wanted to savor every moment. it became evident that jude had no intention of letting you slip away after this. he was determined to make you his, forever.

the sensation of his lips against yours surpassed any expectations you had. it felt like pure bliss, surpassing even your wildest imagination. in this moment, you wished that time would stand still, never allowing you to return to a time before experiencing the euphoria of his kiss.

with a gentle separation, you finally uttered the words he longed to hear:

“i love you too.”

jude’s face broke into a triumphant grin, his heart leaping with joy. he had sensed your reciprocation from the moment your lips met, but he couldn’t contain his excitement.

lovingly pressing a kiss against the tip of your nose, he responded with a tender smile, “i know, baby. i know.”

[damiansgoodgirll]

i can’t find the request but i do remember someone asking me to write jude bellingham breaking up with reader because he changed so here we go!

jude bellingham x reader

you’ve changed

“what you mean you need space?” you asked him with tears in your eyes.

“i mean i need space…i need to focus on my career and i can’t do that if you’re here all the time, i need to stay alone and i need my time to rest and i can’t do it with you here…” he spoke, his eyes never meeting you le teary ones, too ashamed to confess he was being a dick.

“but why? i - i told you that i could rent my own place, i don’t need to live with you” you tried to resonate with him.

“it’s not just that…” he had no excuses. he didn’t love you anymore but he didn’t know how to say it.

“then what? jude i can’t recognize you anymore…what did you do? did you cheat? did you cheat and your too coward to admit it?” you asked, completely mad.

he wished it was like that. he wished he cheated just so you could hate him. but here you were, trying to save something that couldn’t be saved.

jude knew that your relationship was long gone but he had no idea how to say it to your face. to the person who sacrificed everything just to follow him in madrid when he joined last summer. the person who said goodbye to her family just so you could be with him. the person who was going on and off to london to see her friends because she didn’t want to leave jude alone.

he knew this was fucked up but he couldn’t explain it.

“i didn’t cheat…” he said not even showing emotions in his voice.

“then did you meet someone? you want me to break up with you so you could go to her?” you started asking him million questions and you had every right of it.

“there’s no one else! i promise you…”

“so why are you doing this?” you cried “four years of relationship jude, and you’re going to throw all away because of what?” you couldn’t believe of what he was saying.

“because i need my space!”

“i’ll fucking give you space if that’s what you need! i’ll move out, i’ll go back to london if you don’t wanna see me here, i just need to understand what is that you really need…why are you doing this?” you ended up screaming.

“i can’t…” he knew that you were going to cry even more and he hated seeing you crying, he hated knowing that he was the one who was making you cry right now.

but you had every right to know.

“you’ve changed jude…i barely recognize you…you’ve changed and i’m not the only one who’s noticing this, your family, your friends…i don’t even know you anymore” you confessed.

you started to hate his new personality.

parties all summer, almost forgetting your birthday night, not coming to your brother’s graduation, hell, being too busy for your fourth anniversary.

but no matter what, you always forgave him.

him and his poor excuses, you wanted to stay positive and think that everything was going to be good.

“i don’t love you anymore” he said.

no regrets.

you looked at him in the eyes and moved closer to his body.

“say it again but look me in the eyes next time” you challenged him.

“i - i don’t love you anymore y/n…i don’t have feelings for you no more” he said. a tear running down his cheek, not because he was sorry, but because he knew you were in pain because of him. he didn’t love you anymore but that didn’t mean he didn’t care about you. he still cared about you and he will always care about you.

you were his first love. his first kiss. his first time. but sometimes first things aren’t meant to last forever.

you were shocked when you heard those words again.

“i’ll leave and i’ll come back when you’re at practice to pack all of my stuff…” you didn’t even look him in the eyes, too hurt to show him any sign of respect.

you couldn’t believe it was over, not after everything you’ve been through.

but it was.

and it was hurting you more than you ever thought.

[scarletwinterxx]

every comma, every question mark - mark lee scenario

helloo🥺 it's been a while since I wrote a mark lee scenario, and this one was supposed to be out for his birthday but i only finished now, better than never😅😅hope you like it!

all song credits belong to NIKI btw!!! her songs are amazing and I'm a big fan. true story is when I first heard plot twist, all i can think of is how mark lee coded that song is so here we are🤍

and yes the ending may be a hint that there's a next for this (?) not sure tho hahaha anywayssss

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

and if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

"You need to let him go, it's 5 in the morning. You've been here since yesterday!"

Your manager's loud voice resonated through the room, breaking you from your train of thoughts.

"You're distracting me, if you do more of that I will never get out of here" you told him, turning back to your laptop trying. The only other person in the room besides you and your manager is your co-producer. These two is your closest companions, like your two older brothers. You spend most of your time with them, and you being the introvert you don't really have that many friends in the industry.

"As your manager, I love this whole creative wave you're going through. But as a concerned citizen, I'm begging you. Go home. It's your birthday, why are you hauled in this dark room" your manager continues to rant but you pay him no mind

"Yo, you're just making this last longer than it already is. I'm just letting her find whatever it is she's even looking for" your producer say, he's been here with you since yesterday ready to help you out when you need it.

Those two guys know you take your craft very seriously, each and every song you put out is like your own child. Each and every word, every tune, every melody all came from your pretty little mind. They are both very in awe of the discography you have created throughout the years and you're still so young.

Your manager exits the room, muttering something about getting breakfast and coffee before closing the door to the studio.

"How about one of the songs in your vault? You have a lot of unreleased demos" your producer suggests

"I don't know if there's one fit for this"

"Girl you have tons, surely there's one for now. Let's have a hear"

The two of you go through unreleased tracks, some finished and some still on the works before landing on a few possible candidates

"What are we looking for anyways?"

"Not sure, but I promised my fans I was going to put something out just in time for my birthday. It's my birthday and here I am" you grumbled, then suddenly you come across a demo you've written a while back

"Uh this one's old" you say before clicking on it, the beat playing through the speakers in the room

Where have you been All of my life? It's all growin' dim, now That you've come to light And who could've known, who would've thought Between the wishbones and dot-dot-dots There was always gonna be you and I

"When did you write that?" he asks

Just like that, the exact memory of when and where you first wrote that verse came flooding in your head.

"Oh"

"Oh what?"

"I feel like this is the one but I don't know if I can release this" you say

"What do you mean? Why?"

"I wrote this like some time a few years back... about a guy.. I had a crush on"

He chuckles at your reasoning, "So? All songs are inspired by something. You gotta start somewhere"

"Yea but what will I say when people ask what's the story behind it? I'm suppose to perform this on my birthday event this month"

"Then say it, what's the worst that could happen?"

Turns out a lot of things could happen. On the day of your birthday event where you're going to release your new song, your manager informed you a few artists are also present to watch you.

"What?? Why???"

"Cause they like you?" your manager asks back

"Who is it?" you ask but then the prod team calls for you

"Hey Y/N, we need you backstage now"

You get on stage, go on with your show and a short interview. The host surprises you with a cake from your fans and the crowd sings you happy birthday.

"I know it's my birthday but I have a gift for you also" the crowd cheers

"So I wrote a song, I actually wrote it a while back. It's about those unexpected moments that happen in my all to normal life. To be honest with you guys, I've always liked plot twists. The good kind" you add, making the crowd laugh

"Yea and uh sometimes there's someone who comes in your life who you didn't expect and suddenly the sky is bluer or the sun shines just a tad brighter" you blush a bit while trying to explain the song

"Anyways here's the new song, I hope you like it. It's called Plot Twist"

Look what we got A thickening plot Just when I started getting used to The thought Of closing the book There you were, in every nook Of every word, every page And now I wanna stay and wait, 'cause Met every comma, every question mark Bored of how all of the chapters start But you feel like a brand new arc That I never knew, oh I'd like to think I know a thing or two Like every day the sky's a different blue And then along came you, oh

The crowd turns their flash on, it's like a sea of stars in front of you. This made you smile while singing the words

Where have you been All of my life? It's all growin' dim, now That you've come to light And who could've known, who would've thought Between the wishbones and dot-dot-dots There was always gonna be you and I

You get to the last part of the song, enjoying watching the crowd have fun. Unbeknownst to you, the one who inspired this song was in the crowd bopping his head as he listens to your melodic voice.

Who could've imagined? Who could've imagined you? Who could've imagined? Who could've imagined you?

You finish the song and say your final ment before bidding goodbye to everyone.

Your team welcomes you backstage. congratulating you on another successful event. You were busy talking with the band when your manager pulls you on the side, "There's a few people here who wanted to greet you"

"Huh? Oh okay" you follow behind him down the halls.

When you get there the first person you saw was Haechan, a member of a group you're a fan of.

Your first thought was, what is he doing here

The second being, if he's here then surely his member is also here and you already have a hunch on who it might be

"Y/N, you already know Haechan and Mark. They came to watch tonight" your manager say

"Uh yea, oh sorry I wasn't expecting this. I'm a big fan" you tell them, bowing your head down as a sign of respecting and greeting. The two boys doing the same

"Me too, Love your songs" Haechan says, then adds a greeting at the end

"Happy birthday, we uh wanted to come and see you play live since we're on a break. Usually our schedules clash so we can't go to your shows" Mark says

Not believing this is actually happening, you give yourself a pinch on the back. It hurt.

"Me too, I mean I'm a fan too and uh thanks for coming"

"It's Mark hyung's birthday too so this was my gift to him" Haechan jokes, earning a jab on the side from Mark

"I invited him" Mark clarifies, you just laugh at that.

"You guys want some snacks? Refreshments? Let's go to the lounge room" your manager leads the three of you to the lounge area. The two guys, Haaechan and your manager, have a conversation between them. Turns out they're neighbors and Haechan's manager are friends with yours.

"I uh like your new song" Mark clears his throat as he tells you this

"Thanks, it's been a while since I wrote that actually" you mumble, feeling shy all of sudden. You definitely did not expect Mark of all people to be here tonight.

The very person who inspired you to write the song.

"I love the way you write your songs. There's always a story to uncover, big fan of your word plays" he tells you with a smiles you know will haunt your dreams for nights to come and until you make another song about him again.

"One of the few songs I've written that isn't about a heartbreak. And this is from my own point of view, usually I write them imagining the scenario in my head"

"What a lucky guy" he says

You chuckle, looking down at your shoes "He's great, but that song was a confession I'd probably never tell him"

"How come? It's a great song, he should feel honored"

You smile at that, finding the situation all too unreal.

"If he does figure it out, then I'll take my chance"

For a moment you gather up the courage to look him in the eye as if confessing the words without saying it. Like you wanted him to know it's about him but you're not sure if you can ever admit that to him.

Maybe not now. Maybe some other time, you do after all think he's the biggest plot twist of your story.

Then he's looking back at you, a glint in his eyes you wanted to know more about before he smiles at you again. His voice already writing the words in your head, ready for the melody and for your creative genius. He tells you,

"He'd be a fool not to take a chance with you"

[grandpeachpersona]

It's A Man's World

Chapter 5 (Batter up)

a/n: To clarify, I do not own the rights to any pictures or names used in this story, except for Sierra Riley. All other rights and names belong to the NFL and MLB. Additionally, some characters are inspired by the game MLB The Show 24, which includes fictional characters. The title of the book is inspired by the song "It's a Man's World" by James Brown and Betty Jean Newsome, for which I also do not own the rights. All rights are held by Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp. and Unichappell Music, Inc. Enjoy!

If you had told me 10 years ago that I would be playing for the Atlanta Braves, I would have told you. You're lying, but here I am. After the draft, I had to fly to Florida for spring training, and then when that was over, I flew to Atlanta to sign my rookie contract, which is $380k for my first year plus a 2 million signing bonus. Then fly to Cincinnati for my first game for the season. Safe to say I've had a crazy couple of weeks. 

Oh and how fitting that Joe is throwing out the first pitch since its Reds opening day.  So it's really true what they say. It does come full circle. 

I walked out from the clubhouse into the away dugout. I noticed Joe in the batter's box swinging a bat at baseballs as they fired out the shooter and must I say he looked damn good while doing it too. 

Ok, time I come clean about something. Do I have a crush on my best friend Joe Burrow? Yes. Am I scared to tell him? Yes. Why? because if I do I'm going to make a complete fool of myself and I just do not want to risk that and possibly losing a friend.  

But friends don't text each other every day for random things or have late-night phone conversions like they used to when they were in LSU together. To sum it up over the last couple of months Joe and I have slipped back into our old ways and not that I'm complaining I just wish we were more. 

I noticed Joe had finished and might as well say hello. I walked out towards home plate catching the tail end of his conversation “I'm so proud of her…to watch her play in college I knew she was big league bound and now she's here.” I heard Joe tell my teammate Austin Riley, a third baseman. 

“There's the woman of the hour!” I hear Ja’marr call out as I make my way toward the group, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves.

I shake my head, feeling a bit overwhelmed. “Stop! I'm done crying for today,” I reply, my voice tinged with a slight whine, reflecting the emotional rollercoaster I've been on.

Ja’marr looks at me with a supportive smile. “How do you feel? Are you ready for this?” he asks, his eyes filled with genuine concern. I nod slowly, trying to muster a confident expression despite my jitters. “I feel ready; I’m just trying not to overthink everything,” I admit, forcing a nervous smile.

“Sis, you’ve got this in the bag!” Ja’marr encourages, his voice steady and reassuring. “Don’t let them cloud your mind—just play your heart out, like you do every time.” His words resonate with me, pushing back the self-doubt that threatens to creep in.

“Ri, you’ve worked your ass off for this moment,” Joe chimes in, giving me a playful nudge on my shoulder. “You’re going to absolutely kill it today! And we just happen to have front-row seats to witness your brilliance.” His enthusiasm and belief in me fill me with warmth and motivation.

Nodding, I accept their words with a grateful smile, feeling a rush of confidence. “Thanks, you guys! That really helps. But now I have to ask: what the hell is this?” I say, gesturing pointedly at the Cincinnati jerseys they are both proudly wearing. They burst into laughter, clearly thinking they could charm their way out of my noticing their blatant team allegiance.

“Hey it was a gift from them but believe me I would wore yours if I could” Ja'marr gives his excuse. I turn to Joe waiting for his.

“I'm from Ohio.” he gives the most obvious answer—typical Joe.

------

Against all odds, Joe delivered a flawless pitch after the pregame festivities and the stirring national anthem. I could feel the excitement coursing through me—this was my moment, my MLB debut.

As they called my name, I heard Joe and Ja’marr erupting with cheers from their private suite through the crowd their support only boosted my confidence and set the stage for what was about to happen.

I locked in my focus, ready to face the pitcher. He glanced at the runner on first, then turned his gaze to me and wound up for the throw.

The pitch came rushing straight at me! I instinctively jumped back, narrowly avoiding it. “One ball, no strikes.” But that wasn’t a mistake; he wanted to rattle me. Too bad for him—I’m not easily shaken. 

I reset myself, gripping the bat firmly, ready for the next challenge. The pitcher checked the runner again and delivered another pitch.

This time, he made a crucial misstep—an offspeed pitch! I saw it coming, and without hesitation, I swung with all my power. The crack of the bat was electric, and I sent that ball soaring out of the park. A home run on my very first hit! 2-0, baby! Now that’s how you make an unforgettable debut. 

-------

We won only by the skin of our teeth 5-4. I had just changed out of my away uniform into some sweets and a hoodie when I heard a knock on my locker room door. 

“It's open” I shout, not feeling like walking to the door. 

The door opens and Joe pops his head in “Hey can I come in?” 

I waved my hand “Yeah come on” 

 He steps in closing the door behind him “Getting ready to head out just wanted to say you looked great out there today” he compliments. 

“Thanks, I had to show off a bit, you know. Oh! I meant to give this back to you, but everything just happened so fast,” I said, remembering his chain that he gave to me to wear on Daft Night. But I never did give it back to him. If I remember right, I was in my gym bag. Bingo pulled it right out. 

I went to hand it back to him be he stopped me “Keep it Ri” 

 “Huh?” I said making sure I heard him right. This boy is crazy.

Joe cracked a little smile “Keep it...believe me I've got plenty”  

I looked at him to make sure he wasn't joking “You sure cause this is worth more than my signing bonus” I joked nervously.

He smiled and nodded his head “Yeah I'm sure think of it as an ‘I knew you would make it’s gift”.

I smiled “Ok no take takebacks Burrow,” I said putting back in my bag. 

“What are you doing when you leave here?” Joe asked suddenly. I shrugged my shoulders. “It's still early so I'm not really tired. Might just chill back at the hotel. Why what's up?” I answered taking a seat on the bench.

He looks at me for a second then slightly shakes his head. “Some friends of mine wanted to go out to eat and all but Ja'marr had to leave soo…” 

“You want me to go in his place?” I finished the sentence for him. 

This is not anything new. I went to a lot of Joe's events as his plus one back in LSU. And he did the same thing for me. 

“Yeah but if you want to call it a day I understand” he quickly says.

I shake my head with a laugh “No I'll go with you, Joe. Plus it would be nice to get a breather before tomorrow's game” I said, opening up my suitcase. 

“Give me a few to get changed and I'll be right out”

Joe raised his eyebrows “You really could go in what you have on” he said nonchalantly 

Is this boy out of his mind? “Joe I'm not hanging out around people I don't know in a hoodie and sweatpants,” I said looking at him all upside his head.

“Yes, you can cause one where only going to Texas Roadhouse. Two you just finished a hell of a baseball game and have a right to wear this. And if someone has a problem with it then we can go and have our own dinner” he says the confidence just flows out as he says it.

My stomach should have not tightened up but I just love how protective this man is. Biting my lip not knowing what to say except “Alright let's go”

-------

Joe was walking me up to my room after that impromptu hangout session with his friends which by the way all amazing. 

“Yeah I'm definitely paying for this tomorrow,” I said feeling like I was ready to pop. 

Joe gives out a small chuckle “Yeah that makes two of us”  

I give him this funny look “You got time to burn it off, Joe. I on the other hand have to play a game tomorrow” I said pulling out my keycard for my room. “Fair point Far point,” Joe said not disagreeing with me

Stopping in front of my room “This is me” I said turning to Joe “Thanks again for inviting me” I said suddenly nervous as I looked at him and his features pretty blue eyes, dirty blonde hair so silky you could run your fingers through it and not get tangled. To some it up this boy was fine. 

His voice knocked me out of my thoughts “No thank you for coming. I owe you one for this Ri” 

Yeah, a date.

“What’d you say” I saw Joe's eyebrows raise..Did I say that out loud could have sworn I said that in my head. 

“I didn't say anything,” I said quickly shaking my head trying to avoid this conversation at all costs.

“Nah, Nah you said something. What did you say?” he asked stepping a little closer. Looking the other way with a blush on my cheeks “I said a date” I repeat my words still not looking a him. 

He stood there with the biggest smirk on his face “I still didn't hear what you said say it again and this time” he paused to gently grab my chin “Look at me” 

Soaked absolutely Soked straight through.

Unable to move I said it again looking straight dead in his eyes “A date. You owe me a date” 

Joe nodded his head and let my chin go “That's what I thought you said” he said stepping away from me. “Ok, how about this. If you get to the World Series which I know you will I'll take you on a date” he said proposing a challenge or more like a bet. “Ok and if I don’t,” I said waiting for the catch no pun intended. 

“Then I still take you on the date’

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER TEN: RABBIT

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse, self harm, fatphobia, body dysmorphia

This is chronologically the tenth chapter in the series.

Read beneath the cut...

Napalm is the slow fire of waking from a terrible dream, blind, gasping, burnt. The pain, though delusive, is made actual by the action of nerves.

Only a hand at your shoulder, vigorous in its attentions, hauls you up from the putrescence of slumber into the light-dark of four in the morning. You find Hannibal's shape through lashes gummed with sleep's adhesive.

His face is as impassive as a star, but his hair, ever coiffed, is displaced from the friction of his pillow.

“You were screaming,” he says, as you sit, stunned, in his arms. “What were you dreaming about? Do you remember?”

“No,” you say, although the scenes remain briefly in your vision, doubling like silk screen prints upon the walls.

Hannibal fills up a glass with fresh water and bids you to drink, his eyes pensive, unconvinced.

Only the notion that he may suggest you share his bed or else intrude upon yours impels you to honesty.

“I dreamt that I was trapped in one of the Silicone Lover’s dolls. That he was trying to squeeze me inside, and I wouldn’t fit. He said, ‘You’ve gotten so big since I last saw you. I’d better do something about that.’

“Then he started cutting me up with kitchen scissors, and I couldn’t stop him.”

You pause, choking on a breath, a verbal stagger.

Dr Lecter offers you the water again, which you take in both hands and drain to its end.

“Take your time,” says Hannibal. “When you’re ready, go on.”

Lying will fail you before the all-seeing eye, so it is with a flat honesty that you say, “It wasn’t what the Lover did in my dream that scared me. It was what he said to me. Because he was right.”

You reach down to pull the quilt up across your stomach, which Hannibal, with a subtle gesture, prevents.

“To agree with such a statement there must be some basis of comparison for you,” he says. “You knew the person standing in as the Lover in your dream. Can you name him?”

Hannibal could guess it, from the little you’ve told him of your unclean past, but if memory conjures the name from the gully of silence he does not say so.

Instead, he comments, “I think it’s unwise for you to sleep again until your mind is settled. Perhaps we may take advantage of the hour to continue your therapy, in an informal fashion.”

He sits in a chair by your bed, producing a notepad and pen from a pocket of his dressing gown.

You see that he will not move.

"What if I don’t talk?” you ask, softly. “What if I say I'd rather take the punishment?"

Hannibal's slender lips upturn.

"I wouldn't be inclined to take such a claim seriously.”

In sullen defeat you flounce back against the pillows.

Dr Lecter takes his cue.

“I’m curious about the friendships you’ve formed throughout your life. Have there been any notable examples?”

“Not many,” you answer, looking at the raw edges of your fingernails. “I was kind of the weird kid. It was like looking through a dusty museum window at everybody passing by, not really knowing how to get out there and talk to people. Like I was too old and too young at the same time.

“I got bullied, kind of. Nothing worth talking about. Just dumb kid stuff.”

“Even persecution of a childish nature bears painful resonance in later life,” Hannibal comments. “Moreover, isolation from one's peers may disrupt development in those vital years.”

You think of dolorous hours patrolling a fallow playground alone, three hundred children staring through you with adult hostility.

“I did make one friend,” you say. “First year of high school. Amy Glass. She was a weird kid, too.”

Hannibal scratches deftly on his notepad.

"Describe how you met."

Closing your eyes, you find your way back through the forests of the past to a corridor whose tiled floor squeaks under your shoes. You smell textbook paper and saccharine body spray. The sweat of young bodies, and the stale cafeteria fare you’d never tasted throughout your time there.

“Between classes Amy would sit in a window listening to music, or reading,” you say. “Stephen King, usually. Sometimes Anne Rice. She seemed to be up there all the time. I don’t think she was getting shit from the other kids or anything; she just preferred hanging out on her own.

“I wished I was like that, not caring. I wished I was her, period.”

“In what way?” asks Dr Lecter, and in the hallway of your mind a slender figure appears, brown of skin and eyes, blue hair cut roughly to the chin, its roots seeping in atop it like a stain.

Amy.

“A lot of ways,” you say. “Before I really knew her, it was about how she looked. She had piercings— ears, lip, nose, eyebrow. Teachers would tell her to take them out, then the second she was out of their eye-line she’d put them right back in. And even back then she had these awful stick and poke tattoos of bats and crosses she covered up with band aids for classes.

“She did all of them herself with a safety pin. God knows how she didn’t get an infection or anything.

“Then there was the fact I knew we liked some of the same music because of the patches on her bag, and her t-shirts and stuff. Nothing you’d approve of,” you add, as interest touches the face of your listener. “Jesus, I can’t even imagine playing stuff like that in this house. Anyway, I didn’t want to just be like, ‘hey, you like that band, too’. It would have been too weird. Stalkery, maybe?”

“Music isn’t such a terrible way to form a connection,” says Hannibal, amused. “I was once approached in friendship through a shared taste in cheese.”

Picturing his restrained derision you cannot help but laugh.

“Oh, god,” you say. “What were they thinking?”

“It was a naive assumption of commonalities. Besides, my commitment to professionalism would never have allowed us to be as close as he would have hoped.”

You give a little start of affront.

“You’ve made friends with other clients.”

Dr Lecter’s smile remains.

“Only with those whom I feel my presence benefits.”

“Benefits you, you mean,” you say, pettishly. “Whoever it was, you just didn’t like him that much. That’s why you turned him down. Or maybe he was too like you.”

Without appearing offended, Hannibal turns a page in his notebook.

“I'm unconcerned with debating my personal relationships, little one. Let’s return to Amy. Who initiated the friendship between you?”

“Amy,” you say. “It was after this councillor was trying to get something out of me, and I didn’t want to talk. I walked out that room feeling so... heavy, and grimy, and embarrassed. Then there was Amy, heading to the same office I just walked out of. She looked at me, scrunched her face up, and said, ‘Wish me luck.’ Next time I saw her I made the same face back and asked, ‘how was it?’

“‘The worst, just like always,’ she said. ‘Where’d she get her certificate, anyway? Clown school?’

“I burst out laughing. ‘She’s so bad, right?’

“And that was it. Friends. We went everywhere together. Amy really liked me. I don’t know why. I think maybe she thought I was sort of mysterious and interesting rather than just depressed, probably because I didn’t want to talk about what was going on with me.

“She told me everything about her. How her dad didn’t believe in mental health issues even though he was just like she was, and how her mom just ignored everything, hoping it’d just... go away. But I didn’t tell Amy even one little thing about me, really. Not one.”

Guilt you’ve never truly confronted falls like a petal from a late summer bloom, cloying the dark with its flavour.

“Did Amy ever indicate that she’d recognised your particular illness?” prompts Hannibal, and you shrug glumly.

“A couple of times. I ignored every hint. Changed the subject. Acted like it wasn’t a thing when it obviously was. I knew that she knew. That was the dynamic. She was softer, around me. She got it. She got me.”

Suddenly your breath feels very high in your chest, catching on a rib.

“I can’t help but notice your use of the past tense,” says Dr Lecter. “Might I assume that you are no longer friends?”

“We grew apart after school,” you mutter. “I think she would have liked it if I stayed in touch, but then sometimes I wonder if that’s just wishful thinking, and maybe she didn’t care all that much when we drifted apart and stopping talking.

“I have her on Facebook. That’s all, really. She was never a social media person anyway, but still. I could have tried harder. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

Hannibal allows the silence between you to ferment before he speaks again.

“Looking back, what do you think prevented you from maintaining contact?”

“I felt like after school was over she’d find other friends, and I’d just end up being left behind. So I got out of there before I had to see it happen.”

"You abandoned a friendship on the basis of a prophecy that might never have come to fruition."

"It would have,” you insist. “All my life I've had senses about things. Like, if I get a feeling something will or won't happen, I'm always right. Like I was right about you."

Swanlike, Dr Lecter’s hands move across his notebook, tactfully punctuating a note.

"It's common for sufferers of complex post-traumatic stress disorder to misinterpret their hypervigilance as psychic premonition. A heightened awareness of your surroundings and the behaviours of people in your vicinity develops in order to predict danger before it occurs. Pattern recognition is more mathematical than clairvoyant."

"What about my dreams?" you ask, sharply. “Are they math, too?”

"You've had other nightmares?” asks Hannibal, and leans forward, poised to digest you answer.

Canny, you hoard the matter like a serpent its glittering lair.

Hannibal accepts his defeat with grace.

Gathering up his notebook and the empty glass, he says, "That's enough therapy for now, particularly so early in the morning. I'll make you some tea, and you may return to sleep. Peacefully, this time, I hope."

*

Later, there is a meal that sits, sinking in a bath of bronze on Dr Lecter’s dining table, so much of it that you’re gorged merely from the arithmetic of its makeup.

“Arroz de Cabidela,” says Hannibal, as he pulls out his own chair. “A Portuguese dish made with rice, chicken, or rabbit cooked in its own blood. Today I’ve chosen rabbit. Have you ever eaten it before?”

It occurs to you that he expects you to be disturbed by the notion, but you are not. Meat is meat, all of it equally cruel. That life must end for the furthering of your existence has driven you to veganism many a time.

Little chance of sustaining such a diet now that you sleep in the devil’s slaughterhouse.

“No,” you say. “I’ve never tried rabbit. I heard it’s really... gamey.”

Your palate is scarcely educated enough to comprehend the statement. Still, it is apparently accurate, for Hannibal makes a low hum of agreement.

“It has similarities to poultry, in flavour, though it’s rather lean and dry. The blood stew adds a richness you’ll find complimentary, however.”

The scent is certainly inviting, but you are so committed to rejecting whatever is served to you that you feel lightheaded, succumbing to the altitude of starving heights.

“Couldn’t you have given me a smaller portion?” you ask, piteously. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s so... much.”

Hannibal glances from your plate to his own, his visage neutral.

“I’ve served you a great deal less than I’ve given myself,” he says. “That said, I’m sure we can settle our differences. I’m not unyielding, if I can see some effort is being made.”

You look him in the eye, hoping you appear more bold than frightened.

“Dr Lecter, you make me all these courses, and they’re crazy even for a normal person. I feel like you do it on purpose. And afterwards my stomach hurts.”

“That’s normal, after a period of fasting. Your body will adjust. Now, please eat.”

You don’t. The cut on your plate makes you think of the Lover’s dolls, how even at your slightest you wouldn’t have fit into such a shell. How, changed as you must be through Hannibal’s cooking, you would ooze over every edge.

“I could use the feeding tube, if you’re unwilling,” says Dr Lecter, rising from his chair to stand at your back. “It would be relatively easy for me to administer. But I’d hate to sour an otherwise pleasant meal with brute force.”

He cups your throat in his smooth hand, and you envision how lovingly he’d coil about you in restraint, guiding the pipe down through you as you choked and flinched in his grasp.

“I’ll eat a quarter,” you say. “That’s it. Then... then nothing else until tomorrow. I won’t sneak out of bed, and I won’t do anything that breaks the rules. Please, Dr Lecter. Uh... Daddy?”

Your confusion between roles endears you to him, as does your breathless, eager willingness to beg.

“Should I allow you to barter?” Hannibal muses, still caressing the wand of your stiff neck. “It’s a symptom of your illness, after all.”

“Just let me choose how much and I’ll try anything you offer me.”

Dr Lecter releases a small breath of laughter.

“I wouldn’t like you to eat your words, little one.”

Gnashing your teeth, you say, “I won’t. I can do it. Please let me. You’re supposed to dote on me, aren’t you?”

You feel Hannibal’s lips against your hair in a kiss of paternal indulgence.

“Always so spirited,” he says. “Very well. I cannot deny my little beauty her request.”

What beauty does he refer to? You’ve only recognised it in the mine shafts of furthest hunger, mistaking a shadow for some precious stone.

Yet clearly you are not so low quality as you believe if both men have fucked you so freely over other women, whom they could conceivably draw into the net of the house.

Then again, there is no accounting for the tastes of madmen, and mad they both are, even Hannibal in his gelid divinity.

From the topiary of his language and flippant games you are beginning to see that you interest him in your very opposition to his being. Were you to succumb completely you would not be so worthy: all men bow to Hannibal, after all, seduced and deceived until they’d lick his fingers like lambs for the milk of his approval.

You, like Will, resist and evade enough of his passes to set yourself apart from the flock.

You may yet throw a halter over the head of the horned man, if only in as much as he allows himself to be reigned.

Quartering your meal as neatly as you're able, you glance up at Dr Lecter, afraid that, by some caprice, he’ll break his code and force you to eat down to the bare plate. But he merely stands by, retaining his honour, and as you look at him you picture his mild hands breaking the neck of the rabbit to drain as though for a ritual of blood.

*

Frequently through your days with Hannibal he immerses himself in hobbies and work about the house, cultivating a necessary solitude after the long hours of ingesting others’ anxious thoughts.

He reads, or writes music, sketches, telephones his friends and past lovers—of whom there are many—or else sets his pen to journals, having seen you safe to your locked room, where he need not prepare for misdemeanour.

In this way your residence in Hannibal’s home does not impede upon his individual pursuits, but rather compliments them, an accent of his sempiturnal glamour.

You are, after all, but one of his many pastimes. It is indulgence, then, when he insists on attending your evening bath.

As he kneels beside the tub to dampen a washcloth his intentions surface, another infringement upon the flesh.

“I don’t need you to help me,” you mumble, arms taut across your chest. “I’m not your baby.”

“Your inner child wails for the tenderness your illness has long obstructed,” says Hannibal, calmly. “Your independence would have you die like an infant abandoned to the forest. Let me carry you, at least in this small act of service.”

You look at him with eyes as dull as old blades and picture the futility of your struggle, his lithe arms holding you, kicking and airless, beneath the foam.

“Don’t you have your own daughter you can do all this with?” you ask; you’ve not yet needled him on his familial relations, and feel yourself more than entitled to know.

Hannibal begins to work the flannel over your naked form, paying no heed to your twitching affront.

“Abigail would have served the role admirably,” he says. “But it wasn’t to be. As for my own children, I have none.”

The revelation passes you without surprise. It’s only possible to imagine him having elegant, adult offspring, absent of the soiling indignities of rearing an infant.

“So you took me away for you and Will to raise,” you say. “Guessing he doesn’t have kids, either.”

The washcloth folds beneath the water, and you gaze studiously at the opposite wall so as not to think about the hand behind the fabric, how it has touched you in other ways, pleasantly, horridly.

“Will is also childless,” says Dr Lecter. “He has never known family, as you have. His mother left him when he was only an infant, and his father was a distant figure, though present. Now it seems that they’re estranged from one another. One can only imagine the loneliness Will has known in his life. Perhaps, with your assistance, this will change.”

Cloth, skin, hands, touch. Gentle and beguiling their trap, to distract from the permanence of this suggested triptych as fingers play against you underwater.

Unsteadily, you ask, “Is Will your boyfriend?”

Hannibal turns you an indecipherable look.

“Do you perceive our relationship to be romantic?”

A strange question, considering the violation with which you were inducted to their company. But not once did either man kiss or grasp the other— a technicality, certainly, yet one, it seems, that holds weight.

“Yes,” you say. “For you, anyway. I don’t know about Will. I know he thinks highly of you. He just sees me as something that’s in the way.”

You kick a foot testily, splashing water over the rim of the bath.

“What are you in the way of?” asks Hannibal, as he begins to lather your hair.

“Not sure. Your friendship, I guess.”

“Do you believe him when he implies that you're only an obstacle to him?”

Water pours over your head, and you close your eyes, enduring the sensation.

“He told me I’m unwanted,” you say.

“When you attempted to kill him?”

Fear bowls over you with a black suddenness.

“He told you?”

“I came to my own conclusions. You weren't quiet, either of you, that night."

You look at Hannibal, at the stag man of your dreams, and taste something like dirt, something like blood, at the back of your mouth.

“Had you seriously injured him or succeeded in your bid to end his life I would have been forced to conclude our treatment,” he says. “But you did not. I’m thankful to have been provided with a truth I hadn’t yet drawn from you: I know that you are not a killer, at least not at this present moment.”

In a strengthless whisper, you ask, “What do you mean?”

Hannibal draws a comb through your hair, unmoved by the conversation.

“As time changes the continents, people come apart through circumstance into new being. That shift may one day lead to the birth of murder’s country.”

A thought stings you like the cold: Will and Hannibal want you to be capable of killing, if not of them, then someone of lesser consequence, the hereditary illness emerging in the child.

That is the secret under this house, the whisper in the walls, its present haunting.

“I hope that never happens,” you mumble. “Never. No matter what you do.

“And yet the whetting of your blood thirst didn’t begin with Will and I,” says Dr Lecter, mildly. “Until you admit your liking of its flavour you will remain unsatisfied, little one.”

You do not ask how he knows you’ve thought of killing, once before, which you yourself had forgotten; having been in your home, the chill sanctum of your childhood bedroom, he may have learned, of you, a myriad, his interrogation merely a practice in contextualising his findings.

“I’d rather starve,” you say, at last, and sink your chin beneath the water.

Dr Lecter takes a razor from a nearby cabinet and begins to shave you with slow precision. He does not ask if you wish for it, only glides the razor across your underarms, groin, and each leg until you run silken beneath his hands.

That done, Hannibal rises, brushing unseen dust from his knees.

“I’ll bring you some fresh clothes,” he says, and leaves the room, a ghost departing the stage.

You look at the razor, entrapped in its plastic guard on the rim of the bath.

Had you a pair of scissors you might have cut the metal free to make a weapon, or else an escape into realms unknown to the living. Though its edge is still wickedness manifest, it would take a great deal of pressure to pursue death by this angle, though it would not be impossible.

It is not death you want to meet, however, but another, nameless coward.

You take the blade to your arm, and the pain is like eating, a sin that sates the freak of misery.

The bathwater turns like a devil’s baptism, and though they are but shallow cuts you feel suddenly faint. Lying back, you lay your arm against the porcelain, thinking murky thoughts of your mistake.

Hannibal returns carrying a muted lilac dress and pale stockings, stilling at the sight of you, of the water, red as autumn mud.

He sets down the clothing and kneels beside you again.

“Let me see.”

You let him take your arm and touch the crude little gashes softly.

“Shower, quickly. Then I’ll treat your wounds. Fortunately, they aren’t so deep.”

How gentle he is with you, this beast dressed as a man in his pressed shirt and waistcoat, guiding your numb form about with a soothing authority. You’d once yearned to be handled like this, to be absolved and set free of any and all expectation. That it comes from him is like being spit in the eye by the Fates, one after the other.

Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos: what have you done to so offend them?

It’s only after having bandaged your forearm and settled you, dummy-like, upon his bed, that Hannibal speaks again.

“What motivated you to do this?”

“You know.”

“Elaborate.”

You lie, face down, in the pillows. The cotton smells like him.

“To feel better,” you say. “Amy said it helped her, sometimes. Cleared her head.”

The mattress tilts slightly as Dr Lecter sits down beside you.

“You mirror her pain to feel closer to love lost. Has it helped you?”

“No. I feel stupid. I feel—”

Restless, you turn onto your side and feel a tear, compelled by gravity, mark your jaw.

“I feel like a kid,” you say. “It’s humiliating. I hate that I always feel this way. Don’t make me live like this.”

Dr Lecter presses a tissue into your hand, as much to save his bedclothes as to comfort you.

“Fighting the expression of necessary emotions will only stunt them further, little one. Will and I would dearly like to see you flourish. Amy would surely wish that for you, too.”

Cradling your wounded arm to your chest, you flick the used tissue to the floor with the other.

“Screw you,” you say. “Both of you. That’s what Amy would tell me to say to you, Dad.”

Hannibal stares at the tissue, and you sense the inward twitch of his irritation as he bends to pick it up from the ground.

“Your parents called again, this afternoon,” he says, offhandedly. “I informed them that you were struggling with your treatment. I advised that we continue your residence here a month longer than previously agreed.”

He casts you a pitying look, and you’re reminded of the futility of going to war with Hannibal Lecter.

“It seems that I made the prudent choice,” he says. “Don’t you agree?”

[itsaspectrumcomic]

On anon bc identifiable info - advice/thoughts? - This is really long, I'm sorry D: I'm a rambler and all the info is important (to me)

I've always had problems with stuff (according to my mom, "things have always been harder for [me] than everyone else") like I'm always the last one out the door, I lose things a lot (like hats and pencils and water bottles) because I set them down and don't realize, I have a lot of trouble doing textbook homework/notes bc I have trouble focusing

And I have a lot of trouble with social stuff, I never have a lot of friends, I can't keep friends for more than like four years, I feel really disconnected with people and people generally initially like me but like me significantly less after interacting with me a bit

I read a lot, and when I was a kid I would lose all sense of reality outside the book until someone touched me or I finished the book, but I've had a harder and harder time reading anything but fanfic as I've gotten older, and I have a lot of trouble reading very technical/instructions/nonfiction stuff

I have pretty bad insomnia, and spent ~2 years when I was 10-13 ish sleeping ~3-4 hrs/night weekdays and ~12 hrs/night weekends, I have a really hard time getting to sleep specifically - and (tmi maybe tw eating) I've had chronic minor eating issues and constipation (chronic minor dehydration, losing ~ 10 lbs over summers from not eating, etc. like I'm not dying or anything but this will probably eventually cause wear damage)

---

But I'm also a very good student, very smart, generally very good at what I choose to do, I just became a National Merit semifinalist, like, I'm doing "fine". I'm not dying, I'm not failing classes or anything, I've struggled since second semester year before last with getting things done, but I have like a 3.7 gpa rn (I could have a 4 if I tried harder (while I am capable of trying harder, it would destroy me))

I was in Gifted + Talented in elementary school, I'm an honors/ap student (my G+T teacher told my mom that the "gifted" basically means "neurodivergent")

---

I didn't get help for anything until last year, when I kinda fell off (as much as you can fall off while getting a 3.7 gpa ig) and got assessed for insomnia, which I got help with pretty easily (apart for waiting times) which was amazing. Almost went too well iykwim

And I was looking into why I was having such a hard time with everything (social, focus, sleep, schoolwork,etc) and I resonated a lot with autism and some of the feeling very disconnected from society/ other people but I was like eeeh, I'm a teen and idk I'm not, like, having it that bad, so I was looking into more quantitative solid stuff and I took the AQ + CAT-Q + stuff which still have very subjective questions but I tried to be honest and I got 32 (AQ) and 139 (CAT-Q) and 157 (RAADS-R) but like idk I could be biased or misunderstanding or idk

I mentioned feeling like I had more, underlying issues to the doctor I'm seeing for the insomnia and she was basically like "I work with autistic kids - you're not autistic" which like on one hand, you're the expert and I've only really interacted with the internet so idk but on the other, you've spent all of two hours with me, mostly asking me direct questions about my sleep or talking to my mother, like, ofc you haven't seen anything of me. Did I make too much fake eye contact with you?? (BTW if you dislike eye contact for any reason, which I always have, look at noses (my mother taught me this one) or hair (my personal fav) bc it looks like you're looking at the face, but you aren't!!)

this is getting very long winded, I'm sorry if you choose to read all this but thank you it means a lot to me to get someone who knows something's thoughts on this

So I was like "I am having other problems" and she was like "I suspect you may have inattentive type adhd" and I was initially like what?? but I'm not hyperactive. Can't have adhd. What. But I've been kinda thinking about it and lurking at the edge of adhd communities and googling stuff (google is not helpful) and maybe? idk

SO to get to my point/question

I'm very smart. (not tryna be conceited it's just I am) I'm not currently *dying* struggling, though I am having trouble staying on top of classwork

I'm a girl

I live in the USA

I'm pretty good at acting normal, I have a couple friends (one has diagnosed adhd, one has diagnosed autism, one I'm not sure, one I think? could be neurotypical? but she's also like really not idk) (I (only?) have four friends (which is a lot, for me))

I don't know if I'm "adhd enough" (or "autistic enough" if I was right initially) ((or both idk)) to get a diagnosis. I have hypermobility that causes issues with my joints and has led to me not exercising enough and having to quit violin but I'm not hypermobile "enough" to get a diagnosis or help for it (which sucks because it's literally affecting my quality of life, like, I could be an amazing musician if I didn't have this. D: )

If I try, will I get a diagnosis, or will I be "adhd, but not enough"? Should I continue to spend (my parent's insurance) money on this if it probably won't go anywhere? I'm currently 17, starting my senior year of high school. Will things get disrupted in transition to college? If I go abroad for college?

Also, will I crash and burn in college without my mother's considerable support? (tw eating again) I have always had a really hard time getting and preparing and eating food, and without her/structure idk how much I will eat. I loose weight over the summer bc we don't eat as a family much. when I'm on my own, will I struggle even more? Especially trying to juggle food and school and living independently? What about after college? My uncle was fine until he graduated college and now he's alone and a misogynist and mormon and lives with my grandma and seems kinda really miserable except way more hate-filled - am I doomed to the same path?

anyways this is really dark I'm sorry

specific questions for you are:

should I pursue ADHD diagnosis? Autism?

is there anything specific I should mention/not mention/think about?

is there anything you think I (+ people in similar situations) should research, any specific sites/books/communities you think would be valuable?

would therapy help with anything? social, focus, etc. (I have not had a chance, and I have been noncommittal at mentions bc. i strongly dislike people, and talking to people, and emotions ): )

are things in general going to get better, or worse? please be honest, not reassuring

If you decide to answer this, partially or completely, thank you, it means a lot to me to get someone else's thoughts on this, if not, I completely understand, either way, I hope you have a good day :)

Hello! A lot of what you wrote feels very familiar to my own experience - I was also considered a good student but found things increasingly difficult to cope with, struggled socially, lost and forgot stuff, couldn't focus etc. You're definitely not alone in feeling this way!

You are not doomed and you are not your uncle. Things can always get better, even when you're at your lowest. You never know what will happen next - you could make a friend, you could discover a new passion, you could be offered a cool opportunity, you could get the chance to pet a really friendly dog. Life isn't a straight line - you might be struggling for a bit, and then some nice stuff will happen, and then you might go through a rough patch again, but then things will improve again and you might feel better than you did before.

For eating when you go to college - identify the foods you generally find easy to make and eat and make sure you have a supply avaliable for when you're struggling. For me, that's pasta (you can get dry pasta which lasts ages in the cupboard, but you could also try fresh ravioli which has stuff inside like spinach or tomato or cheese so it's a bit more varied), crackers, bananas, and breakfast bars. That way if you can't make a proper meal, you at least eat something. Also try to carry a water bottle with you everywhere (if you struggle to drink water you could try flavoured water or juice.) If you forget about needing to eat you could set alarms to remind yourself.

Side note: did you know that hypermobility and autism very often occur together?

Onto your questions:

should I pursue ADHD diagnosis? Autism?

It's definitely worth looking into - I can't guarantee you'll get a diagnosis because it really depends on the person/people assessing you and some are more biased than others (if you're able to choose, look for people who say they specialise in diagnosing women and girls or have positive reviews from people in that demographic). Personally I found it helped a lot with getting accommodations, people understanding me, and understanding myself (even before the diagnosis was official). I will say it's usually quite a long process so be prepared for that.

Btw, you can definitely have ADHD without being hyperactive - that's the inattentive type which is more about trouble focusing.

is there anything specific I should mention/not mention/think about?

Honestly a lot of what you've written will probably come up in an assessment! I had to fill out a form with info about my experiences as a child and the traits I have now, as did my mum. If you're high masking (basically when you try to act 'normal' and hide your neurodivergent traits) do your best not to mask so the assessor gets to see you as you really are.

is there anything you think I (+ people in similar situations) should research, any specific sites/books/communities you think would be valuable?

Untypical by Pete Wharmby is an excellent book if you want to learn more about autistic experiences. The author is autistic himself and has an engaging writing style.

How to ADHD is a YouTube channel that focuses on coping techiques for ADHD and is informative as well.

I've found the autism communities on Reddit to be welcoming and supportive - you might like r/AutismInWomen which is inclusive and accepting of self diagnosis and those who are questioning.

You could also follow some of these people on instagram:

morgaanfoley - posts about her experiences as an autistic person

_ellawillis - posts about autism and ADHD and their daily life

candy.courn - posts about autism and disability as well as how that intersects with their experience as an asian person. Also has the most beautifully pink house

colourblind_zebra - makes cute and colourful art about chronic illness and neurodiversity

elliemidds - posts about autism and adhd and runs a community called We are Unmasked (weareumasked on insta)

itsemilykaty - posts about autism, mental health, and her book Girl Unmasked (which I haven't read yet but is supposed to be very good!)

Side note: I also have an instagram if you'd like to follow :) I'm itsaspectrumcomic there as well!

would therapy help with anything? social, focus, etc. (I have not had a chance, and I have been noncommittal at mentions bc. i strongly dislike people, and talking to people, and emotions ): )

Therapy can help a lot - with the right therapist! Look for people who specialise in neurodivergence, particularly in girls. The best ones are on the spectrum themselves :) It's OK if you don't click with the first one you try. You can 'shop around' until you find someone you're comfortable with (which I know can be exhausting but it's worth it when you find the right one).

are things in general going to get better, or worse? please be honest, not reassuring

Like I said before, things will get better, and then you might struggle for a while, and then things get better again. It comes in waves, at least for me. I know when you're having a hard time it can feel like it's going to last forever, but I promise it won't. There are always bright spots.

[ledesaid]

Someone once told me ╚-.╚-.╚-.╚-.

..............................................

"Don't trust strangers..."

I think I had no choice when I met him.

The lights of the trains passing through my station were new, this section of the route was closed, but they pass so quickly that they barely illuminate the entire station.

But that station felt smaller than I usually remember.

It felt so lonely.

I felt trapped.

There was only one way out. I knew it, the echo resonating through the tunnels invited me every hour without fail to get on that train. I've lost count of how many times it has stopped and started again.

I may not know about equations, but I know that something entered the station and did something.

But I couldn't ask and was tied up, literally trapped.

The exit of the station had disappeared and an invisible force pushed me away from the train tracks.

I would be desperate, I really was, but I couldn't ask for help... I thought that if they were my last moments, they would be fine, always and whenever they stopped.

The train stopped every six hours, waited five minutes, and then left again.

Maybe I could have watched this for weeks, but I felt so tired that I knew I could only withstand one more cycle of the train, there was only one bottle of water and two granola bars left.

It was unfair that I had no choice...

But at least, as a mark of my passage through the world, I took a can of paint that someone had left and began to write on the station floor:

"Hello, my name is Billy Batson. I am nine years old and I'm going to get on an unknown train."

"This sucks, please call Superman for me."

For my tired self, I couldn't think of anything better at the moment, I had no friends, parents, or anyone close... That still hurts even now.

When the doors opened for the last time, I knew it was over... I knew it was time and I just took what little I had with me. A stuffed animal, a blanket, and half my bottle of water.

The train didn't take long to move forward as it usually did, I realized it was a trap, but I didn't try to get off and just sat and waited.

The windows only illuminated the stations very quickly like flashes and, after a few minutes, there was only a blinding light that disoriented me.

I tasted fear in my throat, held on to the only thing I had... a small tiger stuffed animal, and begged for it to end soon.

At some point, I fell asleep, but when I opened my eyes, the doors were open and I believed I was alone again...

I decided to get off. I had no other choice.

Billy: "Come on Batson, you can do it..." I tried not to cower before the unknown.

To my surprise, there was no station to welcome me, only a dark cave in its place.

***: "Welcome William, I have been waiting for you for a long time..."

Billy: "Who are you? Why am I here?"

***: "I am the wizard Shazam and you have been chosen as the champion of magic."

Billy: "I want to leave."

Shazam: "You have no choice. The Olympians have chosen you and you just answered the call."

Billy: "You forced me to get on the train."

Shazam: "It's an honor to be chosen, William, and you only need to say my name 'Shazam' and you will be able to walk among mortals carrying my power with you to protect magic. The end of my era has come, good luck Captain Marvel, you will need it..."

I still have nightmares about a giant rock crushing the wizard I had just met.

Two days later I couldn't take it anymore and invoked the wizard's name... One week later I saved Fawcett, six months later they offered me to join the league and now, two years later, I'm telling you my story... I really, really didn't expect to tell this to anyone... I'm glad you're just an AI, Sanctuary.

Billy: "I must go now, thanks for just listening..."

Sanctuary: "Thank you for your service Captain Marvel, even if it was imposed on you, you have saved many lives. Thank you for getting on the train."

Billy: "You're welcome, I suppose... I had no choice and really, even now, I don't feel like I have one."

[eretzyisrael]

by Simon Sebag Montefiore

There is a myth that the last antisemitic pogrom in the British Isles was in medieval York. It was far more recent than that: The long-forgotten Limerick pogrom happened in 1904. It began with a sermon given by a priest and gathered momentum because it was backed by Arthur Griffith, the founder of the original Sinn Féin and friend of Michael Collins.

The story of the Limerick pogrom (or “boycott,” as it is also known) has a special resonance for me because my grandfather and his family, the Jaffes, lived in Limerick then—though they never mentioned it. Indeed, Irish Jewry, including its most famous son, Chaim Herzog, late president of Israel, had protested that Ireland was the most tolerant land in Europe. Now it appears that they protested too much. The strangest thing of all is that the Jews of today’s Ireland are still frightened of telling this story. When I made a television film about the pogrom, most Irish Jews were too scared of “making trouble, attracting attention” to take part in it.

I had always been proud of my Irish roots. My late grandfather, Henry Jaffe, who lost his Irish accent but kept his debonair Irish charm, used to say that he had seen mermaids at Ballybunion, and Aunt Rose used to reminisce in an Irish brogue about the Limerick Races. While talking to a distinguished Irish political writer, I mentioned that I was descended from Limerick Jews. He told me the story that became the basis of my film about the origins of Sinn Féin.

Virtually the whole Jewish community in Limerick, numbering about 170, were from the village of Akmenė in the Tsar’s Baltic territories, which are now Lithuania—part of the Pale of Settlement, the only area where Jews were allowed to live. When in the 1880s Nicholas II stepped up his anti-Jewish legislation, my great-great-grandfather Benjamin Jaffe and most of Akmenė decided to leave before the Cossacks returned. Benjamin bought a ticket for New York, but when he arrived at the picturesque imperial British port of Queenstown in southern Ireland (now called Cobh, whence the Titanic departed on its final voyage), he was told that he had arrived in the New World. “But that doesn’t look like New York,” the Jews protested as they disembarked. “New York’s the next parish,” they were told. When they discovered this was not the case, they settled in Limerick.

They lived together in considerable poverty on Colooney Street, which soon became known as Little Jerusalem. In the 1901 census, four years before the pogrom, my maternal family were registered as peddlers. The patriarch, Benjamin, a magnificent man with a long white beard, was a peddler, though really he was the chazan (singer) and mohel (circumciser) of the little community. He lived at 64 Colooney Street and his son Max, aged 26, lived at Number 31 with his own family, which included my grandfather Henry, aged 3, and my great-aunt Rose, aged 1.

The family has always been proud that Max was a dentist, but I soon discovered that he was not technically qualified; the census called him, alarmingly, “dental mechanic.” It comments dryly that the family could read and write. They must have been the most erudite peddlers who ever existed, for they were as scholarly as they were poor. My grandfather’s bar mitzvah speech is written in both English and in fluent ancient Hebrew, and filled with biblical references.

However hard it was to do business in Limerick, it seemed a safer sanctuary than Russia. But three years after the census, when my grandfather was 6, hatred of this tiny Jewish community reached fever pitch among the very poor Irish to whom they sold their wares. They often sold on credit, and this caused savage resentment. Sometimes when a Jew went to the surrounding countryside to collect a debt, peasant women would pull out their breasts, shout “Rape!,” and then the men would beat up the Jew. An ostentatious Jewish wedding apparently caused jealousy. The pogrom was the result of the increasingly vicious agitation of the spiritual director of Limerick’s Redemptorist Order, Father John Creagh, whose church overshadowed Little Jerusalem. The climax came when Creagh, “a speaker of fervid eloquence,” gave his sermon entitled “How the Israelites trade,” on Monday, January 11, 1904. It reads like a grotesque parody of antisemitism:

The Jews rejected Jesus, they crucified Him and called down the curse of His precious blood on their own heads. . . they did not hesitate to shed Christian blood. Nowadays they dare not kidnap and slay Christian children, but they will not hesitate to expose them to a longer and more cruel martyrdom by taking the clothes off their backs and the bit out of their mouths.

Then Creagh came to the Jews of Limerick:

Twenty years ago and less, Jews were known only by name and evil repute in Limerick. They were sucking the blood of other nations, but those nations turned them out. And they come to our land to fasten themselves like leeches. Their rags have been exchanged for silk. They have wormed themselves into every business. . . the furniture trade, the milk trade, the drapery trade—and they have even traded under Irish names. . . . The victims of the Jews are mostly women. . . .The Jew has a sweet tongue when he wishes. . . . If you want an example, look to France. What is at present going on in that land?

The reference to the Dreyfus scandal is significant.

The injustice of it was little consolation to the Jews of Colooney Street when the thousand or so worshippers of Creagh’s church poured out, as they were to do daily for a month. A huge drunken mob gathered, wielding burning torches. They worked their way down Colooney Street smashing windows and front doors, and forcing their way into the houses which they then looted. For more than a month the Jews of Limerick waited, terrified in their own homes, almost starving, for Creagh had urged the people not to pay their debts. No one would do business with them. If they walked in the streets, they were beaten. The only miracle was that no one lost his life, but for the Jews who had just escaped the Cossacks, it was terrifying.

[coucouatoi]

we're not who we used to be | h.s.

Pairing: Harry Styles X Reader

Summary: Some letters you've written but never sent to Harry over the years.

Warnings: Angst... so much... there's some fluff, emphasise on the some, there's a hopeful ending tho!

A/N: Sooo this is the childhood friends to strangers fic no one asked for... Hope you all enjoy! This is my writing debut in Harry land :)

╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

April 10' 2010

To: Harry Styles From: Your first fan

Hiya Harry,

It's currently 11:29 pm about 10 hours away from your audition. I figured since you told me to stop praising you and boosting your ego, I'm writing down the rest of the things I want to say.

Firstly, I know you're going to smash it! All the judges are going to want you in. There's no chance that they won't see how special you are, how you're the next big thing.

I won't let you back out of it last second! Anne, Gemma and I are ready to drag you onto the stage, we've discussed it thoroughly...

Secondly, I'm already so proud of you. This is a huge step, I know how nervous you are about it. How you think that everything is going to go wrong and that you'll fail. I've got enough hope in you for the both of us. I'll stand by your side the whole time and I'll cheer the loudest.

To finish, you're Harry Styles. You can do anything.

Break a leg superstar!!

Cheering you on already,

Your first-ever fan

╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

December 12' 2010

To: Harry Styles From: Your biggest fan

Harry!

You've made it all the way to the finals! It's crazy! I knew you could do it but seeing you go further and further has been surreal.

I hope you and the other boys get along well! We haven't had much chance to really gossip about it all, you seem excited with them!

The finale is set to start in about 2 hours and I had to get some emotions out (my mom was tired of hearing them... rude) Anyway! I remembered that I had written you a letter a few months ago and now I'm back in this notebook.

I'm so nervous, excited and kind of nauseous about watching the last episode tonight. I can't even imagine what you're feeling right now... You must be so scared but incredibly jittery!

I'm counting the days until I get to see you again! I want to hear everything that's happened behind the scenes! You know how nosy I am!

I've already taken up two pages so I'll stop for now.

You can do this!

Talk to you soon,

Your favourite person ever

╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

March 7' 2011

To: You From: Me <3

You called me Angel today...

I don't know what to make of that.

I had so many butterflies in my stomach.

Could you call me that again?

You're my favourite person,

Angel

╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

November 20' 2011

To: Harry From: Angel

Boo!

You finally let me listen to the full album today! Said you had to be there when I listened to it so you could give me all the secrets. You also wanted to see live how I reacted to every song. You're too cute.

"I Want" is my current favourite.

You did tell me that you'd resonated with a lot of the lyrics you sang on this album. That almost scares me.

How did you relate? Who was going through your mind?

You do have the world at your feet now. I shouldn't feel jealous but I do like having you all to myself. Don't worry I'll get used to sharing...

The Up All Night Tour is starting soon! I'm happy that you've invited me to come to some shows. I'll be there no matter if I have to miss school.

I have to show all these newbies that I'm THE biggest Harry Styles fan out there!

Hopefully, you thought about me while signing.

Because I think about you all the time,

Your favourite fan.

╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

April 13' 2012

To: Harry From: Angel

G'Day Mate!

So you're officially all the way in Australia now! That's so exciting I wish that you could have stuffed me into your suitcase... sniff

I bet it's super warm there! Or not wait their seasons aren't the same as ours, are they? I'm not even sure...

Hopefully, you can tan a little while you're there! Don't go near any animals or insects!!

I miss you a lot, maybe I'll send this one (spoiler I definitely won't).

Talk to you soon hopefully.

Go swim in the ocean,

Someone who wants to be in it

╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

August 29' 2012

To: Harry From: Angel?

You haven't come to see me since you've been back.

Too busy being a celebrity?

I've been seeing all these tabloids... I'm not allowed to be jealous I know but I miss you.

I hope you've missed me.

I really really wish you were here with me or that I was with you wherever you are now.

I just want to be us.

Have you forgotten your friend from the small town already?

╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

January 1' 2013

To: Harry From: Someone You've Hurt

I don't know what to think,

You kissed me. It made me happy.

You said it was a New Year's kiss.

You said you drank too much, it hurt.

You ended up kissing someone else about 20 minutes later.

That hurt even more it almost made me feel used.

I'm happy you were my first kiss.

I don't think you'll even remember it,

Y/N

╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

November 27' 2014

To: Harry From: Me

I love the new album, took me a while to finally listen to it. I thought you'd come home and make me listen to it in your presence.

You didn't. The first album that I've listened to alone.

Spaces and Fools Gold are my favourite songs. I wonder how many lyrics you resonate with. How many of them did you write?

Come home?

Only for a day please,

Your first Angel

╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

October 21' 2015

To: Harry From: Y/N

It's been a while,

It's your mom's birthday today. Well only for a few more hours...

She invited my family and me to the party, and of course we went. I didn't think you'd be there. I haven't seen you in almost a year.

It was fun.

Catching up about everything that's been going on with you and the band. Your life is so much more interesting than mine now.

I'm just a boring college student... you're this huge star but that's ok there's no one like you for me, you're my safe place. No matter how far away.

You asked about my love life and I told you about the date I had a few days ago. You asked if we had sex, I lied and said yes. I didn't want to embarrass myself by telling you no one's ever been with me like that.

We ended up getting drunk. Too drunk.

We fucked.

You took my virginity and you have no idea... should I tell you? You were so good. So gentle, loving but you fucked with a purpose, you needed to get off. I won't ever see your childhood bedroom the same way.

This was only a few hours ago.

I've felt every emotion about it. Now I'm crying because I know you'll find someone new to share a bed with. I'm just a notch in your headboard.

It meant everything to me.

But I think I regret it...

Y/N

╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

May 12' 2017

To: You From: Me

Really?

I hope Only Angel isn't about me.

But I'm overanalysing every single song. Is one about me? Did you think of me while making this album?

We haven't talked since the last time we saw each other. When we fucked again. It wasn't even the second time, after your mom's birthday two years ago we never stopped. It's all we do when we see each other.

It doesn't make me feel all that much better but I feel like if it wasn't for that we wouldn't even know each other anymore.

I'm moving away this year. Got a job offer in Canada and I'm taking it.

Maybe I'll get over you... hopefully.

I can't live my whole life waiting for someone who I don't know anymore.

I'm blocking your number.

I miss who we used to be,

Your first-ever fan

╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

December 4' 2019

To: H From: Y/N

Hello,

You've crawled your way back into my life, Harry. This morning, you decided to send me your album. Your new one, Fine Line. Your fans haven't even heard it yet. The public hasn't either.

You didn't write a single thing in your email, the mp3 link was staring me down with your automated signature. Not even a greeting.

I shouldn't have listened to it.

I don't know why you sent it to me. We haven't spoken or crossed paths in over a year. Not since I moved and tried to get rid of every way of contact between us.

I still haven't answered, I don't think I will.

You don't get to know what I feel about it. Not anymore.

I'm sorry Harry.

I've moved on,

Y/N

╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

December 13' 2019

To: H From: Y/N

Your new album came out today.

I'm proud of you even if we are strangers now.

You're a superstar.

I always knew you would be,

Y/N

╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

March 17' 2020

To: H From: Y/N

I saw that you had to postpone your tour.

You must feel so defeated.

I know I do. Everything's been closed and opened and closed again here in Canada. It's getting exhausting.

I hope the world starts working again soon.

This all sucks...

Crossing my fingers for the tour,

Y/N

╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

May 18' 2022

To: Harry From: Y/N

Hi,

You sent me the album before the release again.

This time you did say something: I miss you Angel, Can we meet up?

I didn't think I could feel so many butterflies in my stomach. I felt like a teenager again. And I cried more than once listening to Harry's House.

I'm still considering if I should answer... if I do what should I choose? Should I agree and go into the unknown or forget it happened and keep on going with my life?

I miss you too... the one I knew. Not the one who used me. I guess I used you too... How did we get here?

All I want is to be loved and to be in love.

I'm not sure if I'm ready for the hurt this will bring but maybe I should just be a grown-up about this...

I want you back in my life.

That scares me,

Y/N

╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

August 16' 2022

To: Harry From: Y/N

Well,

I'm going to the Love On Tour today and after we are going to "meet". We even have until the 20th because that is when your next show is, after today obviously.

You were so excited when I agreed.

It's almost as if no time has passed when we text (he changed his number in the last few years... no need for an embarrassing unblocking).

My friend, the one who convinced me to agree, helped me pick out an outfit. Thankfully for her, I won't stick out like a sore thumb in the crowd of feather boas and cowboy hats.

I really want this to work.

I want to believe that we can be good again. We can be healthy for one another again but I'll be worried until I see you.

Until we speak.

I won't let myself touch you, I have a feeling that it would be far too easy to fall back into a bed. Maybe a hug would be okay.

I'm excited for the show, to see the Superstar Harry Styles in action. After so many years you have to have evolved so much.

You aren't little Harry from Worcestershire anymore.

I'm not the same person I once was either.

See you tonight.

Break a leg,

Y/N

[nothomegal]

“The little owl family” (Part 1)

(RZ!Michael Myers x GNReader)

Summary: your and your little sister’s life had an 180° turn when your parents got into a severe car crash, dying on the spot. You, being already past 18 had to figure out how to keep things afloat and give yourself, specially your sister, a good future. And you did! It was hard but you did it and became the absolute hero in the little girl’s eyes. People would often involuntary smile at the dynamic of your two, so wholesome and supportive, the perfect family bond. Bond that a certain Boogeyman noticed as well…

Warnings: none, maybe mentions of murder(?).

Word Count: 2.7k

Additional info: Gender Neutral reader. (S/N) = sister’s name.

Also apologies for any mistakes, English is not my first language ;u;

Well, with all that said, enjoy the fic! ^^

(Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

—“(Y/N)! (Y/N) look!”—

The voice of a little girl resonated behind the mentioned person, who was finishing putting on their shoes.

—“Mmh? What is it songbird?”— you curiously say as you walk towards your sister.

The little 6 y/o was enthusiastically pointing at the window.

—“Look! The owl family! They actually made a nest in the backyard!”— she exclaims excitedly, giving little jumps in her place as she speaks and points.

The older sibling looks through the window, focusing on the large tree they had in the backyard. And it’s true! Inside of a tree hollow was a barely noticiable owl head curiously peaking out, staring at the duo with it’s dark, almost pitch black, eyes.

—“It’s not just an owl, it’s a barn owl!”— you comment, glancing at your sister. —“Not sure if they’re going to find much food around here though… Maybe we could buy some meat later?”—

—“Oh, yes! We need to help the birdies!”—

—“Aight’ I’ll write it down in our 'to do' list. But now we gotta go or you’ll be late for school.”— you gently remind her.

—“Oww, but will I see the birdies later?”— she looks at you with a little frown.

—“Of corse! Maybe we could even stay up at night a bit longer since they are nocturnal animals.”—

—“Past bedtime?!”— she gasps a bit.

—“Yup, past bedtime.”— you nod with a chuckle. —“But only this time for tonight, and maybe ones in Halloween… And Christmas… And new year…”—

(S/N) lets out a childish laugh as she swings her arms around her sibling’s waist.

—“You are the best (Y/N)!”—

The mentioned person laughs a bit and crouches down to hug their sister properly.

—“I learned from the greatest. Now come on or your teacher is going to reprimand both of us.”—

The little girl pouts a bit but does as told, clearly not wanting to get scolded again by the old witch Rosemary.

. . .

After a couple of hours, (Y/N) had picked up their sibling from their school and were currently on their ride to the store, when suddenly…

—“(Y/N), who is ‘Michael Myers’?”— (S/N) innocently asks.

They almost choke whit their own saliva when they heard that name leaving their sister’s mouth, their body going a bit stiff.

—“Uh…”— you think about what to reply. —“Where did you hear that name?…”—

—“A classmate told me! She said the friend of their older brother was killed by Michael Myers!”— she replies, saying the last part in a more dramatic tone.

—“Uhuh…”— you hum thoughtfully.

—“So… Who is he?”—

—“Well…”— you pause for a moment. —“He was ones a boy that lived in Haddonfield, around 16 years ago, and then at Halloween he… He killed some people; his stepfather, his own sister and her boyfriend.”—

(S/N)’s eyes wide and her mouth slightly gapes.

—“Own sister?! How dared he?!”—

—“Yeah, but can’t blame him. His sister wasn’t a good person, in fact no one was really kind to him except his mother.”—

—“Oh…”— she pauses, trying to process the fact that not all siblings are as amazing as the one she has.

—“So yeah, that’s the story of Michael Myers, and his old house is now a source of spooky stories, claimed to be the ‘house of the Boogeyman’.”—

(Y/N) replied honestly, they rarely kept secrets from their sister and would often do their best to explain certain things, she will learn them anyways at some point so they rather to be the ones who explain it.

The little girl nods a bit, her gaze thoughtful.

—“Is his house like… Haunted?”—

—“Mmm… Nah, it’s just an old abandoned house. Sure, some teens may come in for kicks and giggles but that’s it”—

(S/N) nods again and then silently looks through the car window. Through the rear mirror (Y/N) could see the girl's expression, it was clear that she still has things to ask and wonder but chooses not to.

Eventually though, whatever was bugging the girl's mind becomes too much and she's forced to ask...

—"Can we go and see the house?..."—

(Y/N)'s grip on the steering wheel tightened, their body stiff again.

—"...Why?"— you simply ask.

The girl shrinks in her sit a bit, her expression a bit sheepish.

—"I... W-Well... While exiting the shcool I heard Terry say that his dad is going to demolish the Myers house in a few days, I got curious and... I just really want to see a real haunted house at least ones!"— she exclaims at the last part.

—"I just said it's not-"—

—"It looks haunted! Please! Pretty please (Y/N)!"— she begs. —"I promise I will look quick! Just a little peak and I won't ask you anything ever again!"—

—"Didn't you say the same yesterday when you wanted pizza for dinner?"— you ask in a teasing tone, subtly trying to change topic.

—"But now I'm super-duper serious! Please."—

The older sibling remains quiet, eyes gluet to the road yet their mind going completely coconuts. Part of them wanted their sister to know the truth, to know that just last year all grown up Michael Myers had escaped from the asylum he's been locked for so long, to know the people he killed, to know he kidnapped and nearly murdered his own young sister, to know that... His body is still to be found, despite originally being claimed as dead.

On the other hand, a more permisive part of them saw nothing wrong in making a quick visit. The old house is several blocks away from their neighborhood and police cars still patrolling the streets quite regulary, specially now durning October.

NO, their gut screams as they slouch on their sit a bit. This is probably a terrible idea! Did they forget all the horror movies and the ridiculously avoidable threats the main characters go through? Do they really want to get themselves in such mess?

But again, it's just a house... Some stupid old building that is barely standing.

And even though (Y/N) doesn't want to admit it... They too are kinda curious to see how the house looks after the last year events.

It's just a little peak.

Just a tiny glance that will last no longer that a minute or two.

Plus, they're god damn aware that if they don't accept (S/N) is going to give them a one hell of a time, and their nerves deserve some mercy.

With a sigh, (Y/N) corrects their position.

—"Just a small glance, okay?"—

At that, (S/N)'s face lights like a firework, her smile wide and bright.

—"Yes! Yes thank you so much (Y/N)! I promise I'll be super good from now on!"—

They simply hum with a smile, this is going to be a quick visit, just a minute and they'll be over it, going to the store to buy some groceries and maybe some new Halloween decorations, the holiday was still three weeks away but in Haddonfield, even after the Boogeyman's horrors, Halloween is still welcomed.

. . .

The car pulls and stops, at the opposite street from the old house.

Just like they imagined, neither time or the people of this town had mercy on the structure. The poor building looked even more vandalized and broken than before, still miraculously standing.

(Y/N) frowned, they’ve expected to feel the classic thrill, the unexplainable sense of danger that our primal instincts send to alert about any sketchy situation, yet… They’re feeling non of it, instead of irrational fear and dread they feel sadness, a melancholy so deep it consumes all other emotions, leaving a huge void in their chest.

The little girl stares at the house, frowning too, as if feeling the same deep sadness.

(Y/N) eventually stops the engine, making everything go silent.

It’s uncertain how long the duo was sitting like this, staring at the building and barely breathing. Eventually, a tiny voice breaks it.

—“Can we…”— she hesitates.

—“Want to look closer?”— you ask, unimpressed.

—“Y-Yeah…”— she shyly admits.

(Y/N) hesitates, not wanting to abandon the safety of the car. But again, what threats are out there?

With a sigh and a small nod, they unbuckle their belt as a silent 'okay'.

When out of the vehicle, the duo got a spine chill almost at the same time. The house looked even bigger, the old structure menacingly hovering over them, reminding how little they are.

But even then, even despite the house's menacing look...

The atmosphere remained melancholic, lonely.

—"The house looks so sad..."— your sister comments with a frown.

—"Indeed it does songbird... Indeed it does..."— you reply, having a frown as well.

—"Do you think the ghost of Michael Myers is looking at us?"— she asks innocently.

(Y/N) gives their sister a look.

—"(S/N), I said he was locked up, not that he died- "— you try to correct her.

—"He may have super powers! What if he can turn secretly into a ghost?!"— she exclaims, though more that scared she sounded excited about such possibility.

(Y/N) simply chucles at the girl's innocence and how quickly she could get out of track with her theories and imagination.

—"Yeah, maybe you're right. It's a cool super power though."— you comment, a bit more casually. —"But I think it's time for us to go sweetheart, remember we still have groceries to buy, as well some stuff for Halloween."—

(S/N) lets out a little gasp.

—"Oh my god you're right! Let's go let's go!- "—she grabs your hand ready to leave but abruptly stops. —"Wait!..."—

She suddenly starts to rummage in her school backpack, gaining a confused yet curious look from (Y/N). With a little 'aha!' she pulls out a drawing.

—"Okaaaay...? What are you planning young lady?"— you arch a brow.

—"It's a gift, I want to gift it to the house!"— she exclaims with a big smile.

—"...What?"— you look at her with confusion. —"You want to gift one of your drawings to an old house?"— your eyes narrow a bit when she nods.

—"Yeah! I mean... I don't like how sad the house looks, so gloomy and... Lonely. You always smile when I gift you a drawing, so I want to try it here!"—

(Y/N) remains silent, though a bit of warmth tickled in their chest at how innocent and sweet (S/N) is acting. They look towards the house, the path to the front door completely overgrown, the dry grass being as unwelcoming as possible, threatning to stick and pinch whoever is dumb enough to enter.

—"I will be fast! Just slide it through the mail slot and then we run back into the car!"—

Their eyes narrow even more.

—"You want to slide it inside?!"—

—"Yes! So the ghost can see and see what a cool artist I am, I even made it spooky!"—

(Y/N) finally takes a moment to glance at the drawing; it was an orange dinosaur, a spinosaurus to be more specific, that had an agry expression. What's the spooky part? The dinosaur is wearing a black witch hat with a red magic wand and a scarf. The drawing also had some things written, all of them spelled wrong of course, insead of saying 'Dinosaur! Happy Halloween!' it said 'Dienosore! Happee Hallowin!'.

(Y/N) couldn't help but to let out a small chuckle at the spelling, they definetely must start teaching their sister some grammar.

—"Alright... But we go together, okay? You slide that in there real quick and we're out."— you say, a bit more strictly.

—"Okay!... Well, maybe also this."— she takes out a little chocolate bar out of her pocket.

—"You want to also leave a treat for the ghost?"— you arch your brow again.

(S/N) simply giggles.

—"No silly, it's for the Boogeyman! So he eats this instead of my ankles."—

—"Didn't we agree that a ghost lives- "—

—"The Boogeyman is the ghost's dog!"—

(Y/N) let out a tired sigh as they roll their eyes, whatever lore (S/N) is having in her mind is getting progressively worse.

—"Okay okay, as you say. Let's hurry up, we don't want the store to get flooded and have all the best decorations sold."—

The little girl nods enthusiastically and takes their hand before they start walking.

(Y/N) is careful with their steps, making sure to not step on any thorn or stick that could potentially hurt their sister, (S/N) meanwhile was loyally following her sibling's footsteps, trusting them completely.

Ones they made their way to the front door, the odd sense of alarm starts to finally creep through (Y/N)'s back, like a bunch of bugs running under their skin in sheer panic, trying to escape and hide from whatever threat is looming in the air.

The older sibling takes a more protective pose, griping their sister's shoulder firmply and eyeing at every possible direction, looking for the sourse of that alarming feeling (S/N) was totally oblivious of.

The little girl, with a happy-go-lucky attitude slides the drawing and the candy through the mail slot like she said, and ones done turns toward (Y/N).

—"Done!"—

As soon as (S/N) said that, her small frame is yanked towards the fence, away from the sketchy building.

—"Good... Now let's go."— you say, your tone a bit more urgent.

(S/N) glances at them with a little frown, noticing the change in their attitude.

—"Are you scared, (Y/N)?"— she innocently asks.

The question made them stop in their tracks, they pause for a moment but eventually sigh.

—"A bit, maybe..."— you reply honestly.

The girl frowns more, but then her expression brightens as she wraps her arms around her sibling's waist.

—"Don't worry (Y/N)! If the Boogeyman dares to come for you I'm going to protect you!"—

Such statemant made them release a scoff.

—"You? A little garden gnome is going to safe the day?"— you tease.

—"Yes! If a monster tries to do something to you then I'll uh... I'll step on their big toe and slap their elbows! Yeah!"— she exclaims, determination shining in her eyes.

Though the childrish threat didn't soothe (Y/N)'s mind, it did lightened their mood a bit.

—"Step on toes, huh? Watch out sis, that's some very serious threats right there."—

—"I know! Bet I'll make the monster cry."— she grins mischievously.

—"You sure? You won't back away at the last second? Just like you did this summer when you tried to catch a gekko in our backyard."— you chuckle at her angry face.

—"The lizard was scary! I didn't know it could climb on walls!"— she childishly whines as she gives you a little punch in the arm. —"And stop laughing! It wasn't funny!"—

—"Didn't you hysterically laugh when you spooked me with that hideous horse mask on?"—

—"Thas was fuuny! The gekko running up walls wasn't!"—

The both siblings started to go back and forth with their little argument of what was or not funny, the argument at some point turned into a small playful fight that was anything but serious. At some point the duo lean against the car, loudly cackling and hugging each other for additional support.

Their roudy interaction didn't go unnoticed, appart from some disapproving glares from the local neighbors, a pair of dark eyes oberved them as well.

The icy blue eyes of the monster hiding in the darkest part of the house watched the duo since their arrival. At first, he was indifferent, just a pair of dummies coming to retell the same story over and over... But eventually, his opinion changed, their dynamic and behavoir was something unique to him.

The way that little girl wasn't afraid of the 'Boogeyman' living inside and how calm her sibling was towards her request to come closer was something he never seen before. Sure some teens would drag their young brothers and sisters towards his old house to give them a scare, terrify them with stories and how he is going to supposedly come and take them, but these two...

Something awakened inside of him, not just curiousity but also something bittersweet... If things had turned the way he wanted he may had the same relationship with boo... The same strong bond he always craved since childhood.

When the car eventually left the neighborhood, that odd awakened feeling vanished as well, making his chest feel empty and cold again...

He has no idea why or what is going on with him. Why some strangers affected him in a such personal level. All he knows is that now the emptiness is being slowly replaced with an unhinged desire...

Desire to find these two and observe them again...

[michelleelizabethtanner]

So obviously, we know that Beth and Rio hooked up a few times… sexually. But what do you think are your favourite non-sexual moments of tenderness between Beth and Rio?

Or whatever you find most meaningful coming from like a non-verbal or basically anything that’s not sexual standpoint. I find their communication so unique but I know a lot of it likely goes over my head.

I’ve sat on this for a bit, Anon. Sorry about that. It was in part because I was using all my Brio time to finish that dang fic I’ve been fighting with for over a year, but also because I feel like I need a rewatch and a refresh on all the details. I haven’t seen any part of the show since last October when I watched a few episodes while visiting a fandom friend (so we basically HAD to do it, amirite?), and I feel like I’m forgetting a lot of the details and just remember the general vibes. I agree, the magic of Brio is in the unspoken. Or rather, unverbalized. Sometimes they understand each other perfectly regardless, and sometimes they don’t (and someone gets shot on accident.)

I’ve named this scene before, but I really love their little discussion about Smurfing. I have more detail about why I love it in this post from a while back which tumblr for whatever reason isn’t letting me embed in a link so here is the whole entire thig https://www.tumblr.com/michelleelizabethtanner/704994865351622656/girl-i-love-all-your-analysis-and-meta-and?source=share

That post also has mention of some of my other favorite moments between them. Some sexual, some not. But always romantic.

If you think about it, they’ve had so few real interactions between them that almost all of them are laden with meaning. There are your obvious ones like “the dubby” and all of 4.08 and his broken little “you just didn’t choose me.” (Whyyyy can’t I link back to my old posts on these topics, this is so annoying!) But there’s also these quiet sideways little glances between them. The dropped eyes. The missed moments when one is pointedly ignoring that the other is watching them.

The “I’m worth it” when he finds out the feds made her an offer, followed by his little shoulder touch with an offer of the whole bottle of her bourbon as a thank you gift when he thought maybe she’d chosen him. So reminiscent of that empathetic little shoulder touch and an offer to drink on his tab from back before things went so bad between them, when she’d told him her husband took her children. That history! Their shared understanding and him showing her both times that he understood her position because maybe he’d been in both those positions himself before.

The quiet “how’d you get that?” when he shows up all embarrassed with his black eye which he’ll never tell her he got over her.

The hurt and bitter “you, me, we – it’s just business,” when he knows they’re nothing of the sort. When he’d killed a woman and made Beth watch to hurt her, and when he couldn’t bear to watch her cry afterwards. And the fact that she’d even sought him out to cry to him at all in that moment. She had no one else. Annie and Ruby both sought comfort in those they loved. And so did Beth, I suppose. She held it all in until Rio showed up and despite his anger she showed him her vulnerability and her tears. And he couldn’t even look at her.

I guess I’m kind of partial to the heavier moments tonight haha. Which ones do you like or that resonate with you most?

[yuyuconfessions]

"I've noticed that younger fans seem to have trouble connecting the dots that a lot of adults on this website were kids younger or close to the age of Yusuke when this series was originally airing back in the 90s in Japan and the 2000s in the west.

Although these fictional characters' stories ended for them at 18 it doesn't mean that Yusuke and the gang stop being important, interesting, or compelling to us. It also doesn't mean that we have to stop loving these fictional characters and their stories after we turn 19.

If you as a minor 14-17 or someone aged 18 - 25 thay feels comfortable shipping these characters, viewing art of them, and reading fic about them ESPECIALLY NSFW art/fic; but your skin crawls that people older than you are creating that content, then you need to sit down with yourself and ask yourself if fandoms that are literally older than your existence are places that you are ready to be socializing in.

Fandoms that are older than your existence will have fans that are MUCH older than you and they are making content and having interactive conversations.

Yu Yu Hakusho is not an Adult Only fandom but it is a fandom that is Mostly Adults.

I fell in love with this show when I was a pre teen. I'm in my mid 30s. The show's target audience is teenagers. But here is the thing: it's target audience was teenagers back in the 90s and 2000s and that's still most of its audience today because Togashi told a fun and resonant story that tends to stick with its audience.

If you can't handle shipping content or adult conversations (conversations about mature topics and themes not necessarily 18+/NSFW but these are definitely present also) about Yu Yu Hakusho then you should try to avoid adult spaces when searching for discussion or content and stick to spaces specifically for minors.

A space specifically for minors would have a ban against all 18+/NSFW content that is strictly enforced. It would not have an 18+/NSFW section at all.

Tumblr and most of the discord servers for YYH that I've seen are adult spaces. Because there is an expectation that while minors are allowed on the websites they must be over a certain age with parental permission because adult conversations happen here where minors could see them.

All of this to say: Unplug from the adult spaces if you feel uncomfortable with adult themes and content or 18+/NSFW content.

Talk to friends irl about Yu Yu Hakusho or find a minor focused space online to talk about it. Come back to the adult spaces in a few years.

This applies to the 18 - 25 crowd also. If you can't handle seeing someone ship these characters or if someone ships them in a way that you don't agree with and it's so upsetting to you that it's causing you a great deal of anger or distress then you need to consider if you really want to be in the Greater Online Yu Yu Hakusho Fandom at this particular point in your life. Or if maybe you want to filter tags on tumblr and drop sites that you can't filter to make your fandom experience more smooth.

If Yu Yu Hakusho has lasted 30 years then it'll last another 3 or 5 years while you get adjusted and engage with Yu Yu Hakusho in minor focused or safely filtered fandom spaces. Trust me. Yu Yu Hakusho will be somewhere on the greater internet when you're older and you've gotten better at self regulating your intake of content online and your response to seeing content online that you don't like.

Yusuke, Kazuma, Kurama, Hiei, Keiko, Botan, Shizuru, Yukina, Genkai and the rest will be here when you get back. That's the great thing about resonant media. It sticks around because people connect to it.

You can love them as long as you want to. They'll always be there. They're not going anywhere."

This mod would just like to add

No one shipping Yusuke x Keiko is sexualizing or exploiting minors; yes, even if the person shipping is 35 years old. These are cartoons, fictional, 2d drawings. If you want to play cute with "but they're 14!" No. Yusuke was created in 1992. He is 31.

If any of the above makes you, a minor, uncomfortable, then get out of adult spaces. Back in myyy day (que groans), any show I liked and looked at online had adult content, like Inuyasha or Naruto, even Teen Titans. I'd be 12 and see suddenly complete porn of Raven, and as a teen, I'd just exit out of it. Now, kids see things online, things they shouldn't see because the internet is NOT safe for kids without parental oversight, and their response is to... yell at the people making the content... for other adults.

If you wouldn't walk into Spencers and yell at the employees there for the vibrators, don't yell at adults drawing porn of Yukina and Hiei fucking. Exit out, or ask your mommy and daddy to put restrictions on what sites you can access. The internet is NOT your babysitter.

[sophie1973]

I am yours, you are mine (let's not fuck around)

Can be read HERE or under the cut

The girl looks familiar, but Henry can't place where he's seen her before..

It doesn't matter. He only cares because Alex has been engrossed in conversation with her for the past 15 minutes, all smiles, warm eyes, and subtle touches, and Henry's heart aches with a mix of envy and resentment.

He’s acutely aware that he has no right to feel this way, yet jealousy churns within him, deep and unsettling.

The thing is, it has been a bit weird between them since New Year’s Eve.

Since what was meant to be a chaste New Year’s Eve peck on the lips when the clock struck midnight had unexpectedly transformed into a ten-minute, full-blown make-out session.

Which had been brushed under the non-existent carpet in their shared flat on January 1 as if nothing significant had happened and blamed on the alcohol and the fact that they had both been painfully single for a while. And now Henry was supposed to go on with his life as if his best friend hadn’t shoved his tongue down his throat - a very skillful tongue, by the way. 10/10. No notes.

It’s one thing to quietly pine for your best friend, keeping your feelings hidden for the sake of the friendship. It’s another thing entirely to know firsthand what that best friend can do with his mouth and not be able to enjoy it on a regular basis. They had always been very affectionate, never thinking twice before hugging or cuddling on the couch during movie nights. Alex had come to terms with his sexuality a few years ago, before meeting Henry, so Henry had accepted that even if Alex was attracted to men, he wasn’t attracted to him. As long as he had Alex in his life, he was content with that.

But Alex, tonight, is a frustratingly perfect sight. Clad in black jeans and a white henley, his curls in charming disarray, he has the girl completely captivated. Henry can’t really blame her.

“Pretty sure this girl has done nothing to you, so why the glaring?” A voice resonates in his ear, and he turns around to meet the knowing smirk of his other best mate, Pez.

“I do not glare,” he instinctively denies, even though he knows it’s useless. Pez reads him like an open book and has figured out his feelings for Alex long ago.

“Could have fooled me,” Pez mutters, and Henry can’t help himself.

“Who is she? She looks familiar. Do you know her?”

Percy shoots him such a disbelieving look that Henry gets slightly defensive. “What?”

His friend lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I always brag about how smart my best mate is, and then you go and remind me how much of an oblivious sod you are as well sometimes.” It’s said with a gentle pat on his shoulder and in such an affectionate tone that Henry can’t get mad and snorts instead.

“Well, enlighten me, then.”

“Her name is Georgia. She’s a law student, hence how she knows our dear Alexander, and she’s from Australia.”

Henry frowns. “Ok, that doesn’t ring any bell.” 

“I also call her the Australian Henry,” Pez whispers conspiratorially.

“What?”

“Just look at her, darling.”

Following Pez's advice, Henry observes Georgia again, scrutinizing her sandy blond hair, porcelain complexion, blue eyes, and full lips stretched over a bright, gummy smile. She’s dressed in a soft blue sweater and a denim skirt. It strikes him then, noticing his own attire mirroring hers with a similar blue jumper and jeans.

I call her the Australian Henry.

Oh. Oh.

“No wonder our dear Alex seems so smitten,” Percy adds with a nod to the young student who’s currently laughing out loud at whatever Georgia told him.

Oh great, she’s funny too. Alex only ever laughs like that when Henry uses his sarcastic wits and…

The realization of what Pez implies hits him like a freight train, and he stumbles slightly backward, his hand gripping the table behind him to find some balance.

“And at last I see the light, and it's like the fog has lifted…” Pez starts singing, his face full of glee.

“I…No, it’s not…I mean…how…” Henry stammers, struggling to process the revelation. His brain refuses to cooperate, overwhelmed by the enormity of what this could mean. So he follows his first instinct: flee from the potential threat (the threat being, in this case, a broken heart. He doesn’t precisely fancy the idea.)

“It’s just a coincidence,” he asserts firmly. 

Pez's eyes roll with such intensity that Henry fears they might become permanently lodged in their sockets.

“Look, Hazza, We’re in America, so Land of the Free and all that. Do with that information what you will. You can keep your pretty head in the sand or decide Alex is worth taking a leap of faith. Your move, darling. Toodles!”

Henry shakes his head, feeling a blend of exasperation and fondness as he watches Percy depart. Deciding he needs a distraction from his preoccupation with Alex and the charming Australian, he heads to get another drink. Taking a sip, he winces at the overly sweet taste of the punch.

He should have stuck with his usual gin and tonic.

"Is it really that bad?"

Henry smiles as his classmate, Oliver, approaches and gestures at the drink. 

"Worse," he chuckles, setting the cup on a nearby table. Henry remembers Oliver is a member of the frat house hosting the party. He's also attractive, with brown hair, green eyes, and a kind smile. They'd met a few times, chatted after class or on campus, and exchanged notes, but they'd never really talked in a more casual setting.

"Where’s your boyfriend?"

"My... Oh, you mean Alex? He’s not my boyfriend—just my best mate. And roommate as well."

Something shifts in Oliver’s expression.

"Uh, I always thought, with how he looks at you..." Oliver's voice trails off, a hint of uncertainty in his tone as he steps closer. “Good to know I was wrong.”

Henry's brows knit together in confusion. "The way he looks at me?"

"Hey, I've only seen the two of you together a few times, so I just assumed… I'm happy to hear he’s not, though." Oliver's smile widens, his chuckle growing bolder. "I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while, but… So, how about we grab coffee sometime?"

Henry’s brain screeches to a halt for the second time that night. He really hopes this constant mental whiplash doesn’t leave him with permanent brain damage.

Amidst the turmoil in his mind, two distinct facts pierce through :  First, two different people have hinted at the possibility of Alex harboring a crush and/or deeper feelings for him. Second, Oliver's sudden proposition has caught him completely off guard.

"Actually, I drink tea," he responds a bit awkwardly. Oliver laughs as if Henry has said the most amusing thing.

It’s endearing.

Henry can't find a reason to say no. Yes, he knows he should consider what Percy and even Oliver said about Alex. Still, a part of him vehemently refuses to believe there’s any real possibility of it being true. That part of him always wins because hope often brings with it the risk of crushing disappointment.

Besides, Alex is a big boy. If— and that’s a big if— he really has feelings for Henry, surely he would mention it, right?

Henry opens his mouth, ready to accept Oliver’s offer.

"Ah, there you are!"

Both of them turn as Alex joins them, a broad grin on his face but an unusual glint in his whisky-colored eyes. He extends a hand towards Oliver. 

“Alex,” he says, his voice casual, carrying an undercurrent of something. 

“Oliver. We’ve met a few times, though.”

Alex doesn’t bother to reply, instead draping an arm around Henry's shoulder, a gesture he’s done countless times before. Still, this time, it feels different, especially when he says in that particular voice, “I was wondering where you disappeared to, Baby.”

Henry curses internally. Alex is always generous with terms of endearment, often calling people ‘sweetheart,’ but ‘Baby’ is reserved solely for Henry. And he both hates and adores how it turns his spine into jelly every single time.

But something about Alex’s sudden, timely appearance and his cheerfulness, which seems a bit too forced, doesn’t sit right with Henry.

He stiffens and crosses his arms. “I’ve been here the whole time,” he says a bit curtly, biting his lip to stop himself from mentioning that Alex had been talking to Georgia the entire time and didn’t seem to be looking for him very hard.

Alex’s smile fades slightly as he senses the shift in Henry’s demeanor, giving him a thoughtful look.

Leaning towards Oliver, Alex whispers a few words in his ear. To Henry’s utter astonishment, Oliver nods and says, “Of course, I understand, man,” and without sparing a second glance at Henry, he walks away, leaving the two of them alone.

What in the Bloody Hell...?

“What just happened?”

“He just wanted to fuck you.”

“He was asking me out for coffee, and I was about to say yes.”

Alex shrugs. “Coffee, fucking, same difference.”

Henry feels his irritation bubbling to the surface. Who does Alex think he is, flirting with some random girl, then pulling some ridiculous territorial stunt the minute he sees Henry talking to someone else?

“You don’t even know him. He’s one of the kindest guys I know,” Henry argues.

Alex's expression softens to something almost like pity, and seriously, what the fuck?

"Oh, Hen. Do you know that 32% of those 'nice guys' turn out to be serial killers?" Alex retorts.

Henry sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to rein in his aggravation. “You’re making that up.”

“Not even close. Law student, remember? I know my statistics. And as your best friend, I have to make sure you don’t end up on the ten o’clock news.”

Henry closes his eyes, torn between the urge to laugh at the absurdity of their conversation and to cry in frustration because, really, what is Alex’s deal?

“Whatever you say, Alex. I’m going home.”

He strides away without glancing back, done with the maze of mixed signals for tonight. As he steps out of the house and reaches for his phone to call a taxi, Alex catches up to him.

“Wait, you’re actually leaving?”

Henry ignores him. He just told him he was leaving; he sees no point in repeating himself.

“What did I do?” Alex asks, his voice tinged with genuine confusion and that Henry can’t ignore.

“I was having a nice chat with a guy - who happens to be a classmate, by the way - and you barged in and chased him away for no bloody reason!” 

“I told you…”

Anger rises back up in Henry’s throat, and he steps closer. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Alex, do not give me that serial killer bullshit again. It makes no sense, and you know it. Go back to Georgia,” he spats. It’s probably a bit too spiteful, but he doesn’t really care at this point.

Alex frowns. “The State?” he asks with a look of bewilderment. “Why would I go there?”

“Oh my God. Not the State! The girl you’ve been talking to all evening. Because no one was rude enough to interrupt your conversation ?”

“Oh! She left with her boyfriend. I don’t think he would appreciate it if I tagged along.”

Henry’s anger falters at this tidbit of information. Not that it changes anything. So he desperately focuses back on his phone, still trying to call that stupid taxi.

“Hen, please,” Alex says, soft contrition coloring his voice. Henry hates himself a little for how those words tug at his heart, softening his ire. Staying mad at Alex for any significant length of time seems like an impossible task.

That part of his brain, the one that's hopelessly, irrevocably in love with his best mate, makes it all the more challenging. It’s maddening and endearing all at once.

Even more so when Alex catches one of his hands, his thumb caressing his knuckles in a soothing gesture and remorse evident in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep like this. I’m a fucking moron. But he was not good enough for you.”

There’s a tense silence for a moment, and then Henry can’t help but soften at his earnestness, even if he’s still confused. 

"How could you possibly know that? You barely talked to him for two minutes."

I don’t need to know him. I know you. You would be bored out of your fucking mind after twenty minutes.”

Henry sighs, turning his head away so Alex doesn’t see his anger dissolving into a reluctant smile he can’t fully suppress. 

“You are such a bloody nuisance,” he mutters, though there is no heat in his words.

“But I’m your nuisance, right?”  

He looks back at Alex, his breath catching in his throat. Beneath the humor in his voice, there is a vulnerability Henry hasn’t heard before - at least not directed at him - and something in his gaze is troubling and intoxicating.

Something in Henry snaps. Fueled by a sudden, almost reckless determination, he takes a leap of faith, hoping Alex will meet him halfway and not let him fall into the abyss.

With one hand firmly on his chest, Henry pushes Alex backward until his back presses against a sturdy tree. Gently cupping the back of Alex's head, he brings their faces closer, halting just as their lips are a mere millimeter apart. He offers Alex a moment to pull away, to say that he doesn’t share the same feelings.

Alex doesn’t. Instead, with a barely audible gasp, he leans forward and closes the distance between them, their lips finally meeting in a soft, tentative kiss at first.

 Henry’s heart races as he deepens the kiss, his hand sliding from Alex's chest to wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. Alex responds in kind, his arms encircling Henry's neck as he leans into the kiss, all hesitation melting away. 

The world around them fades into a blur as Alex lets out a soft, needy moan. He pulls Henry impossibly closer; their bodies pressed together so tightly that it feels like their heartbeats merge into one. The kiss grows more intense and desperate as Henry’s hand slides into glossy, brown curls, tugging not so gently, and Alex growls.

“Fuck, baby,” He pants, and if Henry weren’t already half-hard, the urgency in Alex’s voice would have done the trick. “I need you in me like, yesterday.” 

A few whistles snap them back to the present, reminding them they are still in the middle of the street, engaged in something that could get them both arrested for extreme public indecency. Given the unexpected and exciting turn his evening has taken, jail is the last place Henry wants to end up tonight. Not when he has a large, comfortable bed at home where he plans to do very bad, unspeakable things to the gorgeous man still holding him.

“Right. Hold that thought,” Henry says to Alex, stepping back. Alex reluctantly lets him go, his eyes still smoldering with intensity. Henry shifts his attention to his phone's screen, forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand instead of the fiery spark in Alex’s gaze.   

“Where’s that taxi?” Alex grumbles, breathless. Henry can’t help but feel a bit smug hearing the strain in his voice. He definitely plans to leave Alex completely speechless soon. Henry knows it's a formidable challenge, but he’s nothing if not determined—especially when it promises plenty of satisfying orgasms.

Obviously, they will need to have a conversation at some point, but Henry can only hope they are on the same page right now. After this night, their friendship will be irreversibly altered, opening up uncharted territory between them. However, something in Alex’s eyes, beyond the raw desire, suggests his feelings run much deeper than mere lust or the chance for a one-night stand.

“I still haven’t called it. I got sidetracked listening to you ramble on about stupid serial killer statistics.”

Alex grins. “Oh yeah, I totally made that up.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “No kidding,” he deadpanned, finally placing his order with a satisfied hum.

Alex, who seems unable to keep his hands to himself - and Henry already knew that, but not to that extent, obviously - comes behind him and wraps his arms around Henry’s waist, trailing his lips on Henry’s throat

“I meant what I said. I was a fucking moron.”

“You’ll hear no argument from me, love,” he replies, laughing at Alex’s indignant ‘Hey!’ but his laugh turns into a gasp when Alex slides a leg between Henry’s, his muscular Lacrosse player thigh pressing against his groin, creating a delicious friction.

Henry whimpers, his head leaning back on Alex’s shoulder as he feels Alex’s hand venture dangerously close to the waistband of his jeans, grazing the soft skin under his sweater. Henry thinks that if the taxi doesn’t arrive in the next two minutes, he will throw years of proper British education and etiquette through the window and have his wicked way with Alex in front of the whole bloody frathouse. 

“I’ve been dreaming of having your dick in my hand, my mouth, and my ass for months, baby,” Alex whispers against his throat, “Can’t blame me for being a little eager.”

“Do you hear me…ah!...complaining?” Henry exhales as he feels Alex’s tongue trace a fiery path on his neck, right at the sensitive spot beneath his ear.

With immense effort, Henry checks his phone and sees that the driver is one minute away. He disentangles himself from Alex, ignoring his protests. It doesn’t seem necessary to put on a show for the driver.

The journey to their flat is brief, filled with shared smiles and knowing glances. They refrain from touching, afraid of scarring the driver if they only lose a fraction of the control they struggle to maintain.

Once in their apartment, though, all bets are off.

The front door is barely shut before Henry shoves Alex against it, their lips crashing together in a searing kiss. His hands slip beneath Alex’s henley, fingers grazing over his stomach's firm, soft muscles. Alex emits a shaky groan, and Henry revels in the sound, feeling slightly intoxicated by the power he now holds over the man he has adored from a distance for so long.

Henry steps back, pulling Alex by his waistband while skilfully unbuttoning it, and they make their way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothes behind them until they find themselves naked, standing by Henry’s bed.

Henry’s heart races as he pauses to look into Alex’s eyes, his gaze soft and filled with want. They stand close, skin against skin, the room around them quiet and serene, encapsulating them in a comforting bubble. Henry gently brushes a stray curl from Alex’s forehead, and Alex smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners—an expression that always makes Henry’s breath hitch. Alex wraps an arm around Henry’s waist, his hand cupping Henry’s cheek as they share another kiss, their bodies melding seamlessly together.

"Are you sure?" Henry asks, giving Alex one last chance to change his mind. Truth be told, if Alex does, Henry isn't sure his heart could handle it. Now that he has had a taste of Alex, freely roaming his hands over Alex's gorgeous body, the thought of returning to their previous status quo feels unbearable.

The devoted, warm look in Alex’s eyes reassures him immediately. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life, Baby.”

Henry shivers at the pet name because it definitely holds a more profound, intimate meaning now.

Henry takes his hand, and they both kneel on the bed, facing each other. He gasps Alex’s name as his fingers trail down his side before reaching their intended target and wrapping around Henry’s cock, pulling a noise from his chest he’s never heard before. It’s been a while since he had a hand that wasn’t his own, and the fact that it belongs to Alex sends pure electricity throughout his body. Alex grins against Henry’s mouth as he says in a gravelly voice, “I want you to fuck me so hard I have to bite the pillow so nobody hears my screams.”

Henry bites his lip, long, slow swoops of desire curling in his belly. “What if I want to hear you scream?”

Alex smirks. “Well, bring it on, then, Sweetheart. Lube?” 

"Drawer on the right," Henry pants, and Alex reaches toward the nightstand, grabbing the bottle. They don’t mention condoms since they are both clean, and neither had engaged in any encounters since their most recent medical tests.

He hears a soft thud followed by a heartfelt "Shit!" from Alex.

"What?"

"I dropped the bottle."

Alex leaps off the bed, and Henry watches as he disappears, crouching next to it on his knees. "It rolled under," Alex informs him. "I can't find it."

Henry listens to Alex cursing as he fishes under the bed with his arm. Unable to contain his laughter, Henry says, "God, you're a bloody disaster," feeling his heart swell with love for the naked dork next to him.

He’s not letting the night end without professing those words to Alex, consequences be damned.

"You know, there's this thing called a vacuum cleaner, Hen. You've got a whole colony of dust bunnies under here," Alex comments casually, despite them being moments away from a significant shift in their relationship. Henry snorts.

"I'll take your advice under consideration, darling.”

“Aha!” A triumphant shout erupts as Alex reappears, holding the offending bottle. It is indeed covered in dust, as is Alex’s arm and hand.

“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back,” he says, jogging to the bathroom. Henry hears water running before Alex returns, handing the now-clean bottle to Henry, seated on the bedspread. 

"Thank you, love. Now, on your hands and knees."

Alex grins and eagerly complies. "Bossy."

Henry keeps his expression neutral, raising an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"

Alex's grin falters slightly as he gulps. "No."

Henry smirks and pinches one of Alex’s buttocks, making him moan deeply. "Good boy," Henry purrs, the sound sending a thrill through him. He opens the bottle, squeezing some onto his hand. He spreads Alex’s cheeks, bringing a finger to his rim, and rubs the tip softly, almost teasing but not quite.

He’s savoring the moment.

Alex’s breath stutters as he reaches to brace a hand on the headboard, pushing back against Henry’s hand. Henry methodically presses in one finger, then another, maintaining a leisurely pace.

"You can add another, baby, I’m ready," Alex pleads, desperation tinting his voice.

Henry smiles sweetly. "It’s adorable that you think you have a say in this, darling."

"I’m not above begging, you know."

"Then let’s hear it," Henry murmurs. 

Alex shoots him a heated look, a mix of exasperation and desire. "You’re such an asshole."

Still, Henry takes pity on him, adding a third finger and sliding deeper, preparing him, opening him. With the next thrust, Henry finds his prostate, eliciting a cry of pure pleasure from Alex.

"Oh fuck, yes! Right there…Oh, God."

Henry hums, leaning in to kiss Alex’s shoulder. “Henry’s fine.”

Alex huffs. “You’re not as funny as you think, Sweetheart.”

"Good. I wasn't aiming to make you laugh. Didn't someone mention something about screaming my name?" Henry teases.

He senses Alex shivering beneath him, and his stomach flutters at the sultry gaze Alex directs his way from under those fucking eyelashes. He puts a caressing hand on Alex’s buttock, spreading the cheek as he takes his cock in hand, the anticipation of being soon buried into Alex’s heat making his skin tingle.  

"Wait, baby, I want to see you." Alex requests.

Henry retreats, and Alex turns over, lying on his back with his legs spread open, inviting Henry to crawl back over him. They share a tender smile.

"Hi," Henry greets, unable to conceal a gummy smile at the sight of Alex spread eagerly beneath him.

"Hey yourself."

"Are you ready?"

"Do your worst," Alex replies cheekily, making Henry snort.

All traces of humor vanish quickly as Henry slides in, pushing to the hilt in one sleek motion. They both let out a keening moan. Henry leans in, his tongue tracing Alex’s bottom lip, and Alex lifts his head, pressing his mouth to Henry’s in a hungry kiss. 

Henry withdraws almost entirely before smoothly reentering with a single deliberate motion, drawing a groan from deep in his throat that echoes Alex’s gasp at the friction. Alex digs his heels into Henry's lower back, arching up to meet his every thrust, ensuring their bodies remain intimately connected. Henry responds with a throaty whimper as Alex's movements drive him in deeper. The slow thrusts, paired with Alex’s cock trapped between their bodies, create intense pressure.

“Fuck, Hen, I’m going to—” Alex's voice cracks as he nears his peak, the overwhelming sensation turning his cry into a sob. Henry slides a hand between them to stroke him through it, murmuring praise against Alex’s gasping mouth.

“You feel incredible, love,” Henry gasps, his voice thick with emotion.

“I want you to come inside me,” Alex breathes.

Henry’s thrusts intensify, becoming deeper and harder, each thrust driving him closer to the edge. It only takes a few minutes until the heat spirals low in his belly, blood thrumming through his veins. The pleasure that explodes behind his eyes is blinding, a kaleidoscope of sensations so potent and overwhelming that it steals his breath away, 

Henry collapses next to Alex, who instantly turns towards him, draping a leg over Henry’s thighs and an arm across his chest. As they both catch their breath, Henry hopes the wonder in Alex’s eyes mirrors his own. Their fingers intertwine over Henry's chest, and Henry keeps his gaze fixed on Alex, admiring how his eyelashes flutter prettily against his cheeks as he fights to stay awake. An exhale escapes Henry's lips, a contented sound mingling with the heady scents enveloping them— the musk of sweat, the lingering trace of their lovemaking, and that indescribable, intoxicating essence uniquely Alex.

For a few minutes, they doze off, basking in the afterglow, their breath synchronizing until the stickiness on Henry’s stomach becomes uncomfortable. Henry softly presses a kiss to Alex’s forehead and gently caresses his arm to rouse him. “We should clean up, love.”

“M’comfy,” Alex mumbles, shifting his leg and brushing against Henry’s cock, which, to Henry’s surprise, twitches with interest.

"Seems someone is eager for another round," Alex teases playfully, one eye cracking open to reveal a mischievous glint.

"Do you think there's enough space for both of us in the shower?" Henry quips, raising an eyebrow as amusement dances in Alex's gaze.  He’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

Alex's eyes light up with mischief. "Only one way to find out," he declares, seizing Henry’s hand and tugging him toward the bathroom.

They step into the bathroom, and soon, the sound of rushing water fills the air. They both manage to squeeze into the surprisingly spacious shower, warm water cascading over their bodies.

Henry wraps his arms around Alex, pulling him close until they are pressed together under the spray. "Looks like I was right," Henry murmurs, his voice low and playful.

Alex grins, tracing a finger along Henry's jawline. "You're right more often than I like to admit," he teases, tipping his head back to let the water soak his hair.

With a sly smile, Henry leans in, capturing Alex's lips in a slow, passionate kiss before Alex falls on his knees, taking his sweet, sweet time to take Henry apart, and Henry sighs blissfully, his heart swelling with love at the care and devotion in Alex’s every touch. 

Once done with the shower and having dried themselves, Henry climbs back on the bed, ready for a cuddling session with his boyfriend - yes, he’s aware they haven’t labeled it yet or even properly talked. Still, to be honest, he’s already planning his proposal in his head. He’s that far gone, and he is absolutely fine with it.

But Alex doesn’t follow him, lingering in all his naked glory next to the bed, a look of uncertainty on his face, and Henry’s heart stops for a second.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, a tremor in his voice, suddenly wary of what Alex might say, of having completely misread what happened between them.

“Should I…I mean…Do you want me to go back to my room?” Alex asks tentatively, his vulnerability tugging at Henry's heartstrings.

Henry’s heart breaks a little because he’s familiar with Alex’s dating history, his struggle with his ADHD, and how it has affected most of his relationships. His partners deemed him ‘too much’ after a few weeks, sometimes even a few days. The irony is that what those people saw as flaws are some of the numerous reasons why Henry loves Alex so deeply.

He’s not too much. He’s absolutely perfect. And Henry will make sure that Alex hears it every day for the rest of their lives.

“What I want is for you to bring your gorgeous ass back to bed with me and not go back to your room tonight. Or ever, preferably.”

Relief floods Alex's features, his lips curling into a smile as he swiftly joins Henry under the covers. Their bodies fit together seamlessly like puzzle pieces, seeking closeness and comfort. Henry's hand glides in lazy patterns over Alex's back as they nestle together, Alex nuzzling his nose against Henry's neck, peppering soft kisses along his throat.

“Hen?” Alex’s voice breaks the silence.

“Mmmh?”

“Just to put it out there…” Alex's voice wavers with a mix of nerves and sincerity. 

Encouraged by Henry's loving smile, Alex takes a deep breath, his eyes fixed on Henry with intent. A slow smile spreads across his face as if reaching a decision.

“I love you.”

Henry’s smile matches his own, and a happy laugh bubbles out of his chest. Leave it to Alex to pour out grand declarations immediately after their first night together. Henry is so in love with this man that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

“I love you too, darling,” he whispers against Alex’s lips.

They will have time tomorrow to have a deeper conversation, but at this moment, as their mouths come together in a fervent kiss, no other words are necessary.

.

[deadinsidedressage]

The absolute worst and ironically best turn of events happened to me in 2022 when my abuser started cheating on me. After investing a decade into molding me into the ideal victim who would never speak against him, he got bored with it. I didn't fight back anymore. I absorbed daily verbal attacks. The random violence he would perpetrate didn't spark a reaction. I would just accept it. I was numb. I was walled off. I had internalized the abuse so much and my depression fed into it.

He wanted to get caught. He didn't hide it at all and he let my paranoia over not being good enough (which he practically had told me daily for years) build and build until I was questioning him. He would reassure me he wasn't cheating and I think the way I was constantly anxious was fun for him. Then he essentially left hard evidence out so I'd find it. He wanted to break me and he did.

My multiple, rapid fire suicide attempts after finding out were largely due to the state of psychosis I was in. My 10 day stay in a psych facility did nothing to assist with my psychosis. It then persisted with varying amounts of lucidity for the next month, month and half that my abuser maintained contact with me after I was released into the care of my parents.

In a lot of ways, psychosis is a lot easier to live with than high reactivity PTSD. My path to mental health management post spousal abandonment in a psych facility has had greater volatility than the crypto market. Compulsive hypersexuality as a near impossible to control symptom of my PTSD was actively tearing my life apart at points. What I didn't expect as much was the transference of reactivity onto hobbies, places, and even people that were a major part of my life pre-psychosis.

I dated someone, who retrospectively a totally sane me would've only been friends with, for about a year and he introduced me to psilocybin. Which is something I have gained a tremendous amount of healing from. I dated someone, who retrospectively I just should've been fuck buddies with, for about 6 months who inadvertently helped me break my codependence. I met another abusive narcissist who love-bombed me and then dropped me when he decided to find another girl to cheat on his fiancée with. Which definitely launched me into a short period of psychosis and a longer period of out of control hypersexual compulsions, but which I didn't take lying down and did in fact do my best to ruin his life by contacting the "ex-girlfriend I'm roommates with" aka, fiancée.

You find out who you have real long-term compatibility with in quite a jarring way when you are at times going completely off the rails as a former abuse victim trying to restart their life. Some friendships go by the wayside as you unlearn personality mirroring and people discover they don't have as much in common with you. Others go down in flames mired by an inability to reconcile with the way severe trauma does not create a healthy person. New friendships emerge as you discover there exist people who resonate with those parts of your personality you thought were unlikeable, unlovable.

This time last year, I was about to experience a relapse of sorts. I got wrapped up with another abuser and the way that would end was far too familiar. I felt like I was reliving the night I was taken to the psych facility when I learned the truth of who that person was. I became suicidal and in trying to prevent myself from acting on that and take care of myself, I lost my job. A job I'd held for about a year and had really enjoyed.

At full speed, I went crashing into compulsive behaviors I knew would destroy me. I was sexually assaulted. I was cultivating a full "social calendar" and using sex to numb myself. I felt like it was all I had to offer anyway.

My low point was also miraculously how I met my other half. I was laying in the bed, well floor mattress, of a two strike violent felon. In the unfinished basement of his NA sponsor's house while he was on the phone with his drunk alcoholic ex-girlfriend. I opened Tinder and started swiping.

I had no idea the sad looking Navy boy I matched with would make me feel like I had reunited with the missing part of my soul. We married within 10 days of meeting, but kept that a secret for about a month after he'd left for his homeport.

For the first 18 year of my life, the thing that kept me alive was horses. During the decade I suffered physical, verbal, emotional, and sexual abuse it was my involvement with horses that kept me sane. Realizing I had to give up that part of who I was in order to start my new life has been incredibly painful. I don't know who I am without horses. I don't know how to keep my mental health in check without horses. I feel such immense guilt over failing to hold on to my dream horse and give her the life I imagined I could. I breakdown and I cry over the loss of Mia, the struggles but ultimately joy I found in Chevy, and just the compounding list of reasons Mitzy and I weren't ever meant to be.

The thing is, I would and will sacrifice anything for that sad looking Navy boy who turned out to be the most beautiful thing that's ever happened to me. The sweet southern gentleman who risked pneumonia while I drug him through every inch of my local zoo and had the courage to tell me about all the worst parts of himself without knowing if I'd accept them. The man I describe to our friends as "me but with a penis" who in turn reminds everyone I'm just "him with a vagina".

I know I haven't permanently closed the chapter of my life as an equestrian. I know because my husband reminds me when I'm breaking down in the shower about how lost I feel without horses that being without them is temporary. It's painful to be without something that I've felt has so defined me and that has been so instrumental in how I've managed my mental health.

Learning to navigate life as a military spouse, living so far from my family and my best friends (who so graciously kept my marriage a secret until I was ready to announce it), figuring out how to survive underways and an eventual deployment sucks so much ass now.

This period of feeling lost will pass.

One day I will again be popping over logs, hacking bareback, bemoaning the parts of a dressage test I'm struggling with, going foxhunting, midfielding in polocrosse, riding aside, and considering 3ft to be a big jump with a non-conventionally bred horse I love for its willingness to try anything with me.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

I read your last fic and it’s so heartwarming

I don’t know if you take fix requests still but if you do, can i ask for husband! Sihtric comforting his wife!reader after losing her best friend. and she obviously suffers from grief. she just wants to be held and told it’s okay to grieve and there’s no shame in hiding it? if it’s okay can you make it sihtric’s pov too? the rest is up to you.

sorry i just have been missing my dead bestfriend a little more and i have no one to comforts me.

Thank you

Authors note: Dear Anon, I don't know how to express how deeply sorry I am for your loss. I lost my very good friend and colleague three years ago to cancer. It was Covid time and nobody was even allowed to her in the hospital. It still haunts me. I don't know whether what I have written resonates with you, as it probably draws a lot on my own feelings. I hope it offers you at least a small bit of solace. Today another very special person left this world and made me want to post this short drabble today. I have included a small quote from my beloved Dumbledore, that I thought very fitting. I have marked it in bold.

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Warnings: mention of death of a close friend, grief

Word Count: 3,1 K

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek

If you want to be added to the tag list - write to me.

The moonlight streamed through the gap in the thick curtains, casting an ethereal glow upon the bed. The sheets rustled as Sihtric shifted, feeling the cold spot where you should be. This was not the first time he'd awakened to find the bed beside him empty. 

Sitting up, he ran a hand through his unkempt hair. The faint, familiar scent of you still lingered in the air — a mixture of lavender and the distinct scent that was uniquely yours. 

The air was cool, and the silence of the night seemed almost oppressive. Sihtric knew very well what was gnawing at you. He had pieced everything together already days ago, even if you hadn’t told him a single word about it. The messenger last week had brought bad news to several houses of the village. The sickness was spreading and  the roads were supposed to remain closed at the order of the King to prevent it from taking over the whole realm. For some it had already been too late. Your best friend, a beacon of joy and laughter in your life, had been taken by the sickness; Sihtric had found out by talking to the other villagers.

Sihtric understood your sorrow. What he didn’t understand was, why you hadn’t told him anything. You kept going as if nothing had happened. No, not really. It was as if you had turned into a whirling tempest, always moving, always busy. He hadn’t seen you sitting down or taking a moment for yourself the last few days. You had transformed into a whirlwind of activity, offering help to neighbors, taking on tasks and duties, and barely allowing yourself a moment of rest.

Sihtric had observed the change with growing concern, but what truly worried him were the nights. The countless times he'd awaken in the dark, the bed beside him cold, only to find you downstairs, occupied with some chore. The dark circles under your eyes were becoming more pronounced and your face paler with each passing day.

The last few nights had been restless also for Sihtric, the worry for you gnawing at him. Tonight was no different. The bed felt too vast, too empty, without your warmth beside him. He could hear you downstairs and the quiet sounds of you hurrying around only amplified his concern.

Making up his mind, he was about to swing his legs over the bed to search for you when a sharp, echoing crash cut through the silence. He froze for a split second, the sound immediately putting him on high alert.

Pushing off the blankets, he moved swiftly yet silently, following the direction of the noise - downstairs to the main room, where he found you. The shattered remnants of an ale mug lay around your feet. Amidst the shards, you knelt, looking both surprised and sheepish, your fingers gingerly picking up the larger fragments.

Sihtric rushed to your side, his hand gently touching your arm, as he knelt to help you. "Are you alright?" Sihtric's voice was full of concern.

You blinked, slowly lifting your gaze to meet his. The lost, pained expression in your eyes tore at his heart. "I didn't... I didn't see it," you murmured, your voice barely audible and in the next moment you nudged him away, lowering your gaze.

"Just go back to sleep. Let me do this," you whispered, continuing to collect the shards.

 Sihtric took a moment, watching you, taken aback by your sudden reaction. "It's just a mug. It can be replaced," he said gently, trying to offer reassurance, knowing so well that this surely was not about the broken mug.

But you didn’t respond, focusing intently on the shards as if they held answers to unspoken questions. 

Sihtric's gaze landed on your hand, and his heart skipped a beat. Blood oozed from a jagged gash, staining your fingers and dripping onto the shards you were holding. The cut on your hand bled profusely, but you seemed not to notice it as if detached from the pain and the world around you, concentrating solely on the shards on the floor.

Sihtric swiftly placed his hands on yours to stop you from picking up more pieces. "Your hand..."

You glanced down. "I didn't even notice," you murmured, wincing as the sting of the wound. “It’s nothing serious. Don’t worry.  I can handle that,” you withdrew your hands from his gentle grip.

With a sigh, Sihtric sat back, giving you the space you seemed to need. "Please, let me at least help with your hand. It's bleeding quite a bit."

You glanced at the gash, the reality of the injury sinking in, but still, you remained adamant. "I can manage," you replied, voice quivering slightly.

You continued your frantic gathering, and Sihtric watched you, his heart aching. Each movement you made seemed fueled by a rising panic, your breathing becoming more erratic, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Before another moment passed, Sihtric grasped your hands again, halting your motions. The shards dropped from your grasp.

You tried to pull away, but Sihtric's grip remained steady as he pulled you up to your feet, trying to lead you away from the broken pieces. You avoided his gaze, focusing on the floor. "It's nothing, Sihtric," you mumbled, your voice shaky, "Just clumsy, that's all. I'll clean it up."

"Y/N," he whispered, voice thick with concern. His mismatched eyes, intense and searching, locked onto yours. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

You swallowed hard, willing the tears to stay at bay. "Everything’s fine," you insisted, trying to put a convincing smile onto your face. But it didn't reach your eyes, and your lower lip trembled ever so slightly.

Sihtric's brow furrowed as he watched you carefully. "Y/N," he began, his tone gentle yet persistent, "you're cleaning mugs in the dead of night. Mugs that were already clean. How can you say everything's fine?"

The tension in the room grew palpable. Sihtric sought to draw you closer, but you pushed back with equal force, a flare of anger igniting in your eyes. 

"Sihtric, you don't get it!" you exclaimed, wrenching your hands again from his grasp. "I don’t want you to see me like this – broken, lost. I don't need your pity!"

He looked taken aback, his usual composed demeanor faltering for a moment. "Y/N, it's not a pity. It's a concern. It's love. I love you and I just want to be there for you."

"There's nothing you can help with," you replied tersely, taking a step back. "I need to handle this on my own."

Sihtric reached out, trying to bridge the gap, but you evaded him, the pain evident in your eyes. "Why can't you understand? Just let me be."

Ignoring your words, Sihtric slipped one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back. In one swift motion, he gently lifted you off the ground, carrying you over to the sturdy wooden table. 

"Sihtric! Put me down!" you protested, your voice a mix of exasperation and surprise. You squirmed, trying to break free from his grasp, but he continued, undeterred by your struggles, his strength undeniable and the warmth of his body against yours unexpectedly comforting.

As he set you down, you shot him a look of surprise and indignation, but he met your gaze with unwavering determination.

"Hold still," he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the sight of your bloodied hand brought the reality of the situation crashing back. The adrenaline and the rush of emotions had made you momentarily oblivious to the pain and the seriousness of the cut.

Sihtric moved quickly, rummaging through the nearby cupboards to find a clean cloth. Fetching a bowl of water, he returned to your side, carefully soaking the rag. His touch was gentle as he dabbed at the wound, cleaning away the blood and inspecting the depth of the cut.

"Y/N," he began, his voice soft yet firm, "whether you like it or not, I'm not going to stand by and watch you get hurt, inside or out."

You looked up at him, your anger slowly melting away in the face of his resolute care. "Sihtric..."

He shook his head, cutting you off. "Later. We'll talk later. Right now, let me take care of this."

The two of you fell into a heavy silence, the only sound being the gentle lapping of water as Sihtric tenderly cleaned your cut, his hands firm yet gentle. Every now and then, his fingers brushed against your skin, sending a fleeting warmth through the chilled silence.

You could feel his gaze on you, not judging or pressing, but patiently waiting, giving you the space to process your emotions,  a silent invitation to share.

The moments stretched on, and the weight of the silence became heavier. Sihtric finished bandaging your hand, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary and then he suddenly turned your hand over, pressing a kiss to your palm, a silent plea for understanding. The warmth of his lips contrasted sharply with the coolness of your skin.

 With a final, gentle squeeze, he pulled away, still saying nothing.

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

As Sihtric wrapped the clean bandage around your hand, his movements were methodical and gentle, but his mind was a storm. He had always been your rock, your steady anchor amidst life's tempests, and now he felt lost, unable to grasp the reason for the distance between you.

With each moment his thoughts grew more intense, spiraling with doubt and insecurity. Why won't she tell me? Have I done something? Failed her in some way?

He took a moment, glancing up at your face, searching for some sign, some clue that might help him understand the walls you'd built, either to protect yourself or him. Why doesn't she trust me anymore?

His heart ached with the weight of unspoken words. He'd always believed that your bond was unbreakable, founded on trust and mutual respect. This silence, this growing gap between you, drew him mad.

He was angry at himself for failing you, angry at you for shutting him out, but above all, there was a profound sense of helplessness. Does she still love me? 

Sihtric knew he had to speak, to voice his concerns, but he couldn’t find the right words, leaving the two of you captured in a web of silence and unspoken emotions.

Every instinct in him screamed to pull you close, to envelop you in an embrace, to shield you from whatever demons were haunting you, but he also couldn't ignore your demand for distance. He was willing to give it to you, if that was what would help, even if it pained him.

Torn between wanting to be your protector and respecting the boundaries you'd set, he found himself thinking he would prefer hundred battles to this torment of not knowing how to help you. 

His gaze settled on you once more, taking in the subtle signs of your pain — the faint tremor of your hands, the distant look in your eyes, the way you drew in on yourself. It was clear to him that your pain ran deep, and he simply yearned to soothe it.

Why won't you let me in? he almost voiced the question that was burning him from inside, feeling sadness and anger flaring within him. 

Taking a deep breath, he made a choice. Slowly, with utmost care, he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The touch was feather-light, a silent question seeking permission. 

His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft, almost a whisper, "I'm here for you, always. Whether you need space or a shoulder, just say the word. I'll always choose what's best for you."

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

It was so simple. In his quiet strength and unwavering love, Sihtric had offered you a choice. There was nothing else as understanding and love in his gaze as his eyes met yours.

The ball was in your court. The question hung in the air, whether you would let him in or push him further away and continue to suffer in silence.

You could feel a lump forming in your throat, a weight pressing down on your chest, making it harder to breathe. Words danced on the tip of your tongue, desperate to be released, but every time you tried, they got caught in the whirlwind of emotion threatening to consume you.

"I can’t sleep. I just... I need to keep my hands busy," you finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "It helps... distract me, from the thoughts. It’s easier during the day, when I have a lot to do, but at night… There is no escape from them and from the dreams…. It feels like I'm drowning. Keeping busy, even with pointless tasks, keeps them at bay... if only for a little while.""

A tear slipped from your eye, rolling down your cheek, betraying the emotions you struggled to keep at bay. Without a word, Sihtric reached out, brushing it away with his thumb. 

Taking a deep breath, he began, his voice soft and measured. "I heard about your friend," he began, choosing his words carefully. 

Your eyes widened in surprise, not expecting him to know. Before you could react, he continued, "I know I can’t  fully understand the depth of your pain, the bond you shared, the memories. But that doesn't mean I can't stand by your side in your grief."

You blinked back tears, your emotions threatening to overwhelm you. Sihtric sighed, and cupped your face. "You don't have to pretend with me," he whispered, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek.  "You don't have to go through it alone. I'm here. Always. Let me in. Let me help."

You could hear the raw emotion in his voice and it made your heart ache even more, adding another layer of complexity to the storm of feelings inside.

But the wall you'd built around yourself was sturdy, a defense mechanism to protect not just yourself, but him as well. You believed that by bearing your pain alone, you were sparing him. But in reality, it was causing him just as much anguish, watching you suffer.

"I can't bear to see you like this,” Sihtric whispered. “Please, let me share your burden. Let me help carry the weight."

You blinked back tears, the truth of his words hitting hard. The pain of losing your friend, combined with the frustration and helplessness of not being able to be there at the sick bed, was a weight too heavy to bear alone. 

"I wanted to be there, Sihtric. I wanted to say goodbye. I didn’t tell you, not because I didn’t trust you to understand what I’m going through. It was just too hard to admit that this had really happened, that there will be no shared laughs anymore, that I will never hear the familiar voice, that the last letters I wrote will never be read and there will be no answer to them. I thought…, I thought that as long as I don’t admit it, it can’t be real. It was so foolish of me," and as you spoke, you felt the world slowly crushing around you as tears welled up in your eyes and started to flow down your cheeks, your shoulders shuddering in unstoppable sobs.

“Why?” you cried. “We dreamed of so many things, and now it will never come true. It’s so unfair.”

Sihtric pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms strong and comforting around you. "I know it’s hard to accept," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. "Do not pity the dead, my love, pity the living, and above all those who live without love. Your friend knew how much love there was in your heart, I’m certain of it by the way you speak. It's okay to be sad and to grieve," he said softly, his voice carrying a gentle strength. "You don't have to hide it from me or from anyone, even from yourself not. Everyone has moments of darkness, of pain, and it's okay to feel them, to let them wash over you."

"You don’t have to speak about it if you're not ready,” Sihtric continued. “ But please, don't push me away. Let me be with you, to hold you, to just keep silent with you."

His fingers slightly touched your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his and you felt the walls you'd constructed starting to crumble. Sihtric's sincerity, his unwavering love, made it hard to keep him at arm's length and you melted into his embrace, letting him hold you as you cried out your pain and despair. 

"You need to rest," he said softly after a while, when you had finally calmed down a bit.

Without another word, he moved towards the fireplace and settled himself on the furs laid out before the comforting warm flames, pulling  you with him. He extended his hand towards you and waited.

Swallowing hard, you finally nodded. You took his hand and nestled between his strong thighs, your back resting against his broad chest. You could hear his steady heartbeat beneath the fabric of his tunic, a stark contrast to your own erratic one.

His arms encircled you, drawing you closer until nothing could pass between you. The world outside, with its pain, faded away, leaving just the two of you. Sihtric's fingers found their way to your hair, softly threading through the strands, his touch gentle and soothing. The rhythmic strokes, paired with the warmth of the fire and his embrace, slowly began to unravel your tension.

As the minutes turned into hours, you felt your eyelids grow heavy, sleep slowly overwhelming you.

Sihtric felt the change in you, the way your body relaxed as you succumbed to the fatigue. He pressed a gentle kiss to your head, a silent promise that he would stand guard, ensuring your sleep will  remain undisturbed.

And as the night deepened, with you safely curled up in his embrace, Sihtric remained, keeping you close to his chest and watching over you. The gentle rise and fall of your breathing was the only sound he needed, to know that all his doubts had been in vain, that you trusted him and that he had finally managed to break through the wall you had built around yourself. And as dawn began to break, painting the room in hues of gold and pink, he still held you close, afraid to move and break the fragile peace that had settled between you two.