#but seeing my peers do things with so much energy is depressing

[lemon-tea-is-the-best]

"can I get my vitamin levels checked? My body has been feeling extra painful and-"

"actually you just need to change your body, it is your fault it is the way it is, you are lazy and do nothing all day"

Fuck you. Fuck everyone.

[solelifauna]

Yandere EraserMic x Reader (Commission for @ayn-yurbestie)

Thank You so much @ayn-yurbestie for supporting my page! I hope you enjoy the fic!!

You had always prided yourself on your instincts. As a former pro hero, instincts were what kept you alive during missions, during late-night patrols in the dark streets, and in confrontations with villains. It was the same instinct that had once guided you to victory, the same instinct that told you when to strike and when to retreat. It was also that very instinct that was now screaming in your head—telling you that something was horribly, terribly wrong.

You were no longer a hero; that life had been ripped from you the day All for One had taken your quirk. All for One was gone now, defeated by All Might, but the damage he had done to you was irreversible. Powerless, you were forced into early retirement.

Sure your power wasn’t flashy or explosive like some of the top pro heroes, but it was something. You had telekinesis, the ability to move objects with your mind. It wasn’t the strongest quirk out there, and you knew that. You couldn’t lift entire buildings or hurl debris the way some of your peers could with their brute strength. But your quirk had its uses, its purpose. In the field, you were invaluable in the smaller, more delicate moments, where precision and care were needed more than raw power.

You were never the front-line fighter, but you had saved people—so many people—because of that careful control you honed over the years. Whether it was pulling civilians out from under rubble with a gentle thought or stopping a speeding car just before it could crash, your telekinesis gave you purpose. It was how you helped, how you made a difference. And in a world where quirks often defined your worth, it was enough. Even though you sometimes envied the heroes with flashier abilities, you were content. You were proud of what you could do.

But when All for One took your quirk, it felt like a piece of your soul was ripped away.

The day you found out your powers were gone for good was like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from. It was surreal at first. You remembered trying to move a small object, something as simple as a cup, just to see if the connection was still there. But it wasn’t. You tried again, harder, focusing with every ounce of strength you had, but nothing happened. The cup sat on the table, unmoving. And that’s when it hit you—the horrifying realization that you would never feel that connection again. The subtle hum of your quirk, the pulse of energy that had always been there, was gone. Just–gone.

Losing your quirk felt like losing your identity. Without it, who were you? The world didn’t need a quirkless hero. You no longer had the power to save people, to help. The purpose you had lived for, the very thing that gave your life meaning, was stripped away from you in an instant. It wasn’t just the loss of your powers—it was the loss of yourself. You weren’t important anymore. You were just another powerless person in a world filled with those who could still make a difference.

The depression that followed was like a suffocating blanket, and for a long time, you weren’t sure how to keep going. You’d always known there was more to life than your quirk, but it had been your purpose. Without it, the world became dull, every day a reminder of what you could no longer do. You stopped seeing friends, stopped going out, even stopped answering your phone most days.

And that’s when Hizashi and Aizawa stepped in.

They were your lifeline. They stayed by your side when the world felt like it was crumbling. Hizashi, with his boundless optimism, never let you sink too deep into despair. He would show up at your door with takeout or coffee and insist on dragging you out of the apartment, forcing you to see the sunlight, to breathe fresh air. Aizawa, on the other hand, was quieter in his support. He never pushed, never prodded, but he was always there. Sitting with you in silence when words wouldn’t come, offering a comforting presence that made you feel less alone.

You had leaned on them more than you realized at the time. They were the ones who kept you grounded, who helped you feel like maybe, just maybe, you still had some value. They didn’t treat you like a failure, didn’t see you as “just quirkless.” They treated you like you. And for a while, it helped. It gave you the strength to start rebuilding your life, even if it was a life without hero work.

You had always been grateful to them for that—for helping you when you felt like you were drowning. 

You never imagined that same support would turn into something more sinister.

After that, life had become quieter, less exciting, but you'd managed. You tried your best to adapt, to live a "normal" life—though nothing about being quirkless in a society full of heroes was truly normal. But lately... something had changed.

It started small—little things you tried to dismiss. Hizashi insisting on accompanying you everywhere, even to mundane tasks like grocery shopping; Aizawa constantly checking in on you, dropping by unannounced, or sending texts at odd hours to make sure you were "safe." At first, you thought it was just their way of looking out for you. After all, you were quirkless now, they were probably worried that you were more vulnerable. So, you just called it off as the two being worry-warts.

But as time passed, slowly, their behavior became more suffocating. Hizashi would show up at your apartment early in the morning, coffee in hand, saying he wanted to "spend time" with you, his energy far too high for the early hours; Aizawa would come in the evening, staying late into the night, lounging on your couch like he lived there. They would ask questions—innocuous at first, but they slowly grew more invasive. 

“Where were you going?” 

“Who were you with?” 

“What time would you be back?”

Something about the way they looked at you had shifted too. Hizashi’s usual bright smile now seemed strained, the glint in his eyes unsettling. Aizawa’s gaze, once indifferent, had become sharp, always watching, always observing. You started feeling like prey under their gaze, and the worst part was, they acted like nothing had changed, like this was perfectly normal behavior.

You tried to distance yourself. You told them you needed time alone, space to process your new life. You even started lying about your whereabouts, saying you were out of town, too busy to meet. But it didn’t work. They were always there, lurking, like shadows you couldn’t escape.

It all came to a head one cold autumn evening.

You had decided to confront them. Maybe if you explained your concerns, they would back off. Maybe it was all in your head, and you were just being paranoid. After all, they were your friends. Right?

You invited them over to your apartment, hoping to clear the air. The moment they arrived, you felt the tension crackling in the air. Hizashi’s usual cheerfulness was there, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Aizawa was as stoic as ever, but his gaze was piercing, as though he could see right through you.

“So, what’s up, baby?” Hizashi asked, plopping down on your couch with a wide grin, using that affectionate nickname that you once found endearing but now grated on your nerves.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “We need to talk.”

Aizawa leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his dark eyes fixed on you. “About what?”

You hesitated, unsure of how to put your feelings into words without sounding accusatory. But you couldn’t back down now. “I just–I feel like things have been different between us. I need space. I need to figure things out on my own, without you both hovering over me all the time.”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Hizashi’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing slightly. 

“Hovering?” he repeated, his voice deceptively light.

Aizawa remained silent, his expression unreadable, but the air around him seemed to grow heavier.

“Yes,” you said, trying to stay firm. “I appreciate that you care about me, but I’m not a child. I’m not helpless. I need to be able to live my life without feeling like I’m constantly being watched.”

Hizashi’s grin twisted into something darker, something almost predatory. “We’re just looking out for you, songbird. You know the world’s dangerous, especially for someone without a quirk.”

“And who knows what kind of people are out there,” Aizawa added, his voice low, almost a growl. “We’re the only ones who can keep you safe.”

You took a step back, your instincts flaring to life. Danger. The way they were looking at you now—possessive, controlling—set off alarms in your mind. This wasn’t the reaction of concerned friends. This was something else entirely.

“I don’t need your protection,” you said, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts to stay calm. “I can take care of myself.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. “No, you can’t.”

Before you could react, Hizashi was on his feet, moving faster than you anticipated. He grabbed your wrist, his grip tight and unyielding. “We’re not letting you go, baby! Not now. Not ever.”

Panic surged through you, adrenaline flooding your system.

“Hizashi, let go,” you said, your voice tight with alarm. You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, fingers digging into your skin with surprising strength. Your heart began to race as you looked over at Aizawa, who was standing silently near the door, watching the scene unfold with that same calm, emotionless expression.

Panic surged through you, adrenaline flooding your system. You yanked your arm back, managing to break free from Hizashi’s grasp immediately backing up towards the door, heart pounding in your chest. This isn’t happening. 

“Relax, baby,” Hizashi murmured, his voice unnervingly soft, “we’re not going to hurt you. We just–we need you to come with us.”

His words sent a bolt of fear through you. This wasn’t a misunderstanding. This was planned.

Your pulse spiked, adrenaline surging through your veins as the realization fully sank in. You jerked your arms free from Hizashi’s grasp, stepping back with wide eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?” you spat, your voice rising. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

Aizawa pushed off the wall, his expression cold, calculating. “That’s not going to happen, (Y/n). You’re coming with us, one way or another.”

Panic flooded your body, and you took another step back, your mind racing. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. They were your friends. You tried to reach for something, anything, to defend yourself, but before you could act, Hizashi lunged, grabbing you again—harder this time.

“Let go of me!” you screamed, twisting violently in his grip, but he was stronger than you. He always had been. Quirkless or not, you still knew how to fight. You swung an elbow back, connecting with Hizashi’s side, and he grunted in pain. The moment his grip loosened, you bolted. Instinct took over again, and you lunged toward the nearest object—a lamp on the side table. You swung it at Aizawa, who ducked just in time, but the distraction gave you enough time to bolt toward the door.

But Aizawa was faster.

Before you could even reach the handle, something whipped around your ankles, pulling you off balance. His capture weapon. You crashed to the ground with a sharp cry, your knees slamming into the floor. Pain shot up your legs, but you didn’t stop. You twisted onto your back, kicking wildly as Aizawa’s scarf tightened around you, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes were hard now, his calm demeanor replaced with a cold determination.

“Stubborn as always,” Aizawa muttered, pulling you back toward him with a slow, deliberate motion.

You struggled, kicking and clawing, trying to break free, but his scarf tightened around you, binding your arms to your sides. Hizashi was suddenly there, grabbing your legs and pinning them down.

“Fuck you!” you shouted, clawing at the scarf, trying desperately to loosen its grip. “Let me go!”

Aizawa’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t place—regret, maybe? It didn’t matter. His capture weapon tightened, and you could feel it constricting around your wrists, pinning your arms to your sides. “You’ll hurt yourself if you keep fighting.”

The anger bubbling inside you reached a boiling point. You thrashed in his hold, kicking and writhing as the fear and betrayal turned into a raw, primal rage.

Hizashi’s grin was gone, replaced with a look of dark satisfaction. “Come on now, baby. No need to fight us. You’re ours.”

“Please,” you gasped, your voice breaking. “Don’t do this.”

Aizawa crouched down beside you, his hand gently brushing your hair out of your face. “We’re doing this because we love you, (Y/n). You’ll understand soon enough.”

Before you could protest further, you felt a sharp prick in your arm. A needle. And just like that the world around you started to blur, your limbs growing heavy as whatever drug concoction coursed through your veins.

“No...” you whispered, your vision darkening. “No...”

The last thing you saw was Aizawa’s cold, calculating gaze and Hizashi’s too-bright smile before the world went black.

When your consciousness fully returned, you tried to focus, but the haze from the drugs still clung to you like fog. Your limbs felt sluggish, and your thoughts were scattered. As the seconds ticked by, awareness seeped back in, and with it, came the terror. You tugged at the restraints binding your wrists, but they didn’t give. The soft material was deceptively gentle, but they held you firmly in place. A glance around the room made the walls seem closer, the dim lighting barely enough to see. Panic set in as you realized the full extent of your situation. You were trapped. Kidnapped by the very people you had once trusted.

The memories rushed back—the confrontation with Hizashi and Aizawa, the struggle, the needle. They had taken you. Your stomach churned as the reality of it hit you with full force. These were the people you had once called your friends, comrades. You had trusted them, fought alongside them. Now they had taken everything from you, just like All for One had taken your powers.

That thought, the loss of your quirk, stabbed at you with an old ache. Your powers were gone, leaving you defenseless. You were no longer a hero; you were no one. Just a quirkless, vulnerable shell of who you used to be. Even worse, you had no family to notice your absence. You had distanced yourself from most of your friends after your forced retirement, trying to rebuild your life in isolation.

You were completely alone.

Nobody would come looking for you.

And who would even suspect them? Two beloved pro heroes, trusted by the public, adored by their students, respected by their peers. No one would ever believe that Present Mic and Eraserhead had kidnapped someone. That thought alone sending a chill down your spine.

Your breathing grew uneven as the weight of your situation pressed down on you. How had it come to this? You had always known something was off with their behavior, but you hadn’t imagined this. This betrayal felt like a physical blow, a deep wound that no amount of healing could fix.

And then it boiled over. The anger surged through you like a wildfire, burning away the fog in your mind. You yanked at the restraints, your muscles straining as you twisted in bed, trying to free yourself, but it was futile.

“Why?!” you screamed, your voice hoarse, desperation lacing every word. “Why are you doing this?! What is wrong with you?”

The door to the room creaked open, and they stepped inside as if on cue, as though they had been waiting just beyond the door. Aizawa was as calm and collected as always, his dark eyes expressionless, while Hizashi wore a soft, almost sympathetic smile that made you want to scream even more.

“You’re awake,” Aizawa observed quietly, his voice low and measured. “Good.”

You ignored him, focusing instead on the knot of betrayal and confusion that twisted in your chest. 

“Why are you doing this?” you repeated, your voice breaking now. “I trusted you! You were my friends!”

Hizashi stepped closer, hands raised in what he must have thought was a calming gesture. “We’re your friends, baby. We love you.”

“This isn't love!” you shouted, fury and fear colliding in your chest. “You kidnapped me! You drugged me! This is—this is insane!”

Your heart raced, the walls of the room closing in on you as the magnitude of what was happening sank deeper into your bones. Every breath felt tighter, like there wasn’t enough air, like the room was shrinking. You tugged at the restraints again, your body fighting against the impossible, but all it did was make your head spin.

Panic clawed at you, rising quickly, uncontrollably. It was a feeling you hadn’t had in a long time, not since–

Not since them.

The memories you had tried so hard to bury came rushing back. The League of Villains. All for One. The dark, cold rooms where you had been held captive for weeks, powerless and helpless. The suffocating sensation of being watched, manipulated, tortured, and toyed with. The feeling of having no escape.

It was happening all over again.

Your breath hitched in your throat as the panic attack overwhelmed you, your chest tightening until you couldn’t breathe. You could hear Hizashi’s voice, soothing, but distant, as though he was speaking from the other side of a wall.

“Hey, hey, easy now, baby. Breathe for me, okay? It’s going to be alright.”

His voice blurred with the rush of your pulse in your ears. You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. All you could feel was the crushing weight of being trapped, of losing everything again. Your hands shook uncontrollably as you tried to pull in a breath that wouldn’t come. The room tilted, spinning, suffocating.

Aizawa moved closer, his presence steady, grounding. He reached out, his hand brushing gently against your cheek. “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice calm, firm. “Breathe. You’re safe.”

Safe. The word felt like a mockery. Nothing about this was safe. You had been here before, in a different room, with different captors. But the feeling was the same—powerless. Trapped. Alone.

Tears streamed down your face, your body trembling with the force of the panic attack. You couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop the overwhelming tide of terror that drowned you. Your chest heaved, gasping for air that wouldn’t fill your lungs.

“Shh,” Hizashi whispered softly, kneeling beside you. “It’s okay, baby. We’re here. We’re not going to hurt you.”

Aizawa’s hand stayed on your cheek, grounding you, his gaze steady, but there was something in his eyes—a softness, a gentleness that contradicted everything they had done to you. It confused you. You had been prepared for cruelty, for punishment, for violence. But this?

“You’re not in danger,” Aizawa murmured, his voice still that same low, hypnotic tone. “No one’s going to hurt you. Breathe with me.”

You tried, gasping, struggling to follow his lead. Inhale. Exhale. Slowly–slowly, the world stopped spinning. The tightness in your chest eased just a fraction, but the tears kept coming, falling in silent streams down your face.

You were too exhausted to fight anymore, the adrenaline pumping in your body was beginning to crash, and your body too wracked with panic and fear to keep resisting. For a moment, a brief, fleeting moment, you let yourself believe them. You let yourself believe that you were safe, that they would protect you, that this was some twisted version of love.

Hizashi’s hand gently wiped the tears from your cheeks, his touch soft, tender. “That’s it. We’ve got you.”

You nodded weakly, your mind foggy, the weight of exhaustion settling deep into your bones. For a moment, you forgot that you were their prisoner, forgot that they had drugged you and taken you against your will. You forgot the gravity of your situation and simply let yourself be comforted.

But it didn’t last.

Reality crashed down on you again like a tidal wave, and the illusion shattered. You weren’t safe. You weren’t loved. You were trapped. You were their prisoner, bound to this bed, helpless, powerless.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice raw, broken. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Aizawa’s expression didn’t change. He regarded you with that same calm, detached gaze, as though the answer was simple. “Because we care about you.”

Hizashi nodded, his usual cheer replaced by a more serious tone. “The world’s dangerous, baby. You’re not a hero anymore. You’re vulnerable. We just want to protect you.”

“You’re lying,” you spat, your voice rising again with fresh anger. “You’re not doing this for me. You’re doing this for yourselves!”

Aizawa’s grip on your face tightened, just slightly. “It’s not that we don’t trust you,” he said, his voice low and measured. “It’s the world we don’t trust. You’re not safe out there. Not without your quirk. And we can’t risk losing you.”

Hizashi leaned in closer, his hand brushing your hair away from your face. “You don’t know how many people would love to hurt you, baby. We do. We see it every day. We’re just keeping you safe.”

The absurdity of their reasoning made your head spin. They spoke as if they were doing you a favor, as if they had taken you to protect you from some nebulous, unseen danger. But the real danger was right in front of you. It was them.

“I don’t need your protection,” you said, your voice trembling with barely restrained fury. “I don’t need you. I was fine on my own. You’re the ones hurting me.”

They exchanged a look, one that made your stomach drop. There was something unspoken between them, something dark and possessive that you couldn’t quite place.

“You’ll see, (Y/n),” Aizawa said, his voice calm, but there was an edge to it now. “In time, you’ll understand.”

Hizashi nodded, his smile returning, but it was softer now, more intimate. “We love you, baby. And we’re never going to let you go.”

You felt the bile rise in your throat. They weren’t going to let you go. You were their prisoner now, and nothing you said or did would change that.

—

Days bled into weeks, and the routine you found yourself in was both mind-numbing and soul-crushing. Every morning, you woke up to the soft clink of the shackles around your wrists and ankles, limiting your movements. The room they kept you in had become your prison, a far cry from the freedom you once enjoyed as a hero. The windows were bolted shut, their frames reinforced with unbreakable metal. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how desperately you searched for something—anything—you could use to break the glass, nothing worked. You were trapped, left to your own devices in this small, confining space while they continued their lives outside.

The chains only allowed you to move a few feet from the bed—enough to pace the room, to stretch your legs, but never enough to reach the door. Your muscles ached from the confinement, and your mind began to fray from the constant isolation. The soft clinking of the chains became a haunting lullaby, a cruel reminder of your captivity.

They were still pro heroes, after all. They had to leave for work, had to uphold their public images, and pretend to be the righteous, selfless men everyone believed them to be. During those long stretches of time when Aizawa and Hizashi were away, you were left alone in the suffocating silence, your thoughts spiraling as the reality of your situation weighed down on you like a crushing force.

You had no quirk. No allies. No one to help you.

Meanwhile, outside the walls of your prison, people were beginning to notice your absence. It had been too long since you last made contact with any of your old colleagues, and even though you had distanced yourself after your forced retirement, a few people still cared enough to be concerned. All Might had always kept an eye on you, even after you left the hero business. And Midoriya, who had once looked up to you as a mentor, had begun to voice his worries.

“Has anyone seen her recently?” Midoriya asked one day, his eyes full of concern as he spoke to All Might. “She hasn’t responded to any of my messages in weeks.”

All Might frowned, his brows furrowing in thought. “No… now that you mention it, I haven’t heard from her either. It’s not like her to disappear like this.”

They weren’t the only ones who noticed. Rumors had begun to spread among your former colleagues, whispers that something was wrong. Even the students at U.A. began to ask questions. It was only a matter of time before someone started digging deeper.

Aizawa and Hizashi, of course, played their roles perfectly. They acted concerned, pretending to be as worried as everyone else. When people asked if they had seen you, they would exchange concerned glances, shake their heads, and say things like, “She’s been through a lot. Maybe she just needed some space.”

But behind the facade, they were always watching, always planning. The more worried your former colleagues became, the tighter your captors’ grip grew. They couldn’t risk anyone finding out what they had done.

Your days were a cycle of monotony, designed to break you down piece by piece. Every morning, Aizawa would come into your room and release the chains just long enough for you to stretch and shower. He never left your side during those moments, his eyes always on you, making sure you didn’t try anything. Hizashi would prepare breakfast, cheerful as always, as if this were all perfectly normal.

Afterward, they’d leave for work, securing you in the room with a soft kiss to your forehead as if they were tucking in a beloved pet before heading out for the day. You hated how a part of you craved those small gestures, the human connection that you were so starved for. It was shameful, disgusting, but in your darkest moments of isolation, you clung to it.

When they returned, it was time for what they mockingly called “dates.” They acted like nothing had changed, like this was just the old days when the three of you would hang out, laugh, and enjoy each other’s company. But now, the dynamic had shifted, warped beyond recognition. You weren’t a friend or an equal anymore. You were their captive.

They would sit you down on the couch, unlock the chains, and put on a movie, as if you were simply unwinding after a long day. But the suffocating reality was always there, lurking just beneath the surface. You couldn’t enjoy the moments like you used to. Every second felt like a mockery of your previous life, like they were taunting you with what you had lost.

Believe it or not, here had been a time, not so long ago, when your relationship with Hizashi and Aizawa was far different from this twisted, suffocating nightmare. Back when you were still a hero, before your quirk was stolen and your life unraveled, they had been a source of comfort and light during some of your darkest days. It was hard not to feel drawn to them. They were both so different, yet their presence in your life had filled a void you hadn’t even realized existed.

Hizashi, with his infectious energy and boundless enthusiasm, always had a way of making you smile, even when everything around you seemed bleak. His bright eyes and easy laughter made you feel like maybe—just maybe—there was still something good left in the world. Aizawa, on the other hand, was quieter, steadier. His calm, rational demeanor always grounded you when the chaos of hero life threatened to overwhelm you. And though his face rarely showed emotion, there was a kindness in his gaze, a subtle protectiveness that made you feel safe.

It wasn’t long before those feelings of safety and comfort started to morph into something deeper, something you hadn’t anticipated. You found yourself looking forward to the moments when you could be around them, even if it was just sharing a cup of coffee or talking about missions. There was a time when you imagined what it would be like to be something more with them—what it would be like to let yourself fall in love with them.

But you never said anything. How could you? At the time, there was an all-out war brewing with the League of Villains and All for One. Every moment was tense, every mission a risk. There simply wasn’t room for anything as fragile as romantic feelings, not when the world could come crashing down around you at any moment.

Besides, you had always thought that Aizawa and Hizashi were more interested in each other. You saw the way they interacted—the unspoken understanding, the way they moved like two parts of the same whole. They had a bond that went far beyond what you shared with either of them, and you didn’t want to complicate things. So you buried your feelings, locking them away in the deepest corners of your heart. The feelings lingered, simmering beneath the surface, but you convinced yourself that it was enough just to be their friend. It had to be enough.

Over time, you learned to live with those unspoken emotions, content with the friendship you had built with them. You never expected things to turn out like this. You never imagined that the same men who once brought warmth and light into your life would twist that affection into something possessive, something terrifying. The betrayal stung even more because of those old, lingering feelings, and now you were trapped in this nightmare, bound by the very people you once thought you could trust.

And as you lay there, shackled and helpless, a small part of you couldn't help but wonder how everything had gone so horribly, horribly wrong.

It was almost laughable—almost—when you thought about it. If they had just asked you out, if Hizashi or Aizawa had come to you one day and expressed their feelings like normal people, you probably would’ve said yes. You’d spent enough time with them, trusted them enough that, had things been different, a romantic relationship could’ve blossomed naturally. You even caught yourself daydreaming about it once or twice—a casual date, coffee in the city, a lazy afternoon curled up on the couch together after a long mission.

But that was the thing about your life: nothing good ever happened the way it was supposed to.

Instead of a sweet, tentative romance, they had chosen to twist their affection into something dark, something that suffocated rather than nurtured. They didn’t ask for your consent, your interest, or your desire, they didn’t give you the choice. They had taken that from you, just like All for One had taken your powers. That was what stung the most—the loss of your autonomy, the fact that they didn’t believe you could love them without being forced into it.

It was ironic, really. The same men who had once brought comfort to your life had stripped away the last semblance of control you had left. And now, bound by chains—literally and figuratively—you couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at the thought.

A normal life? A healthy relationship? Maybe in another world, in another life. But not this one.

In this one, you were always destined to have everything go wrong, to have the things you cared about twisted into something ugly. Whether it was your powers, your career, or even your heart, you were cursed to lose it all in the most painful way possible. And now, here you were, shackled in a room by the very people who could have been your salvation if only they had given you a choice.

Now, you just had to bare this taunt–taunt of domesticity and of what could have been.

Sometimes, Hizashi would cook dinner, setting up a romantic atmosphere in the dining room, as though you were on a real date. Aizawa would pour wine, speaking softly about his day, his eyes never leaving yours. They acted as though this was love, as though this was how things were meant to be.

And slowly, painfully, you began to understand. You began to realize that the only way to survive, to have any hope of escape, was to play along.

So you did.

You forced yourself to smile during their twisted “dates.” You laughed at Hizashi’s jokes, even when your stomach churned with revulsion. You leaned into Aizawa’s touch, allowing him to pet your hair, to hold you like you were his most prized possession. It was excruciating, but it worked.

Over time, they started to trust you more. The chains became looser, the supervision less strict. They allowed you more freedom within the house, slowly granting you access to areas beyond the small prison of your room.

And one day, they made their first mistake.

The window was cracked just slightly, a minuscule error in Aizawa’s otherwise meticulous preparation. It was late, and the two of them had returned home exhausted from their day as heroes. Hizashi had fallen asleep on the couch, and Aizawa, for once, had let his guard down, leaving you alone for just a little too long.

It was all you needed.

With trembling hands, you wedged a piece of furniture under the window and managed to pry it open just enough to slip your body through. The adrenaline pumping through your veins pushed you forward, giving you strength you hadn’t felt in months.

The night air hit your skin like a shock to the system, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you were free.

You ran.

Your bare feet pounded against the pavement as you sprinted down the dark, empty streets, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You didn’t know where you were going—just away. Away from the nightmare that had consumed your life, away from the men who had taken everything from you.

But you didn’t make it far.

A dark figure appeared in your path, blocking your escape. Aizawa. His capture weapon lashed out with deadly precision, wrapping around one of your ankles and yanking you off your feet. You hit the ground hard,stars blurring your vision.

Before you could even attempt to get up, Aizawa was on you, his hand pressing down on the back of your neck, pinning you to the cold ground.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured, his voice frighteningly calm.

You struggled, thrashing beneath him, but he didn’t budge. His grip was ironclad, his body heavy against yours. “Let me go!” you screamed, tears streaming down your face. “Let me go!”

“You know we can’t do that,” he said, tightening his hold. “We gave you freedom, and you tried to run. You betrayed our trust, (Y/n).”

Before you could respond, you heard footsteps approaching, and then Hizashi was there, his face pale with shock and fury. His usual cheerfulness was gone, replaced by an expression of raw, hurt and anger.

“Why, baby?” Hizashi asked, his voice trembling with emotion. “We trusted you. We thought you were starting to understand.”

Your chest heaved with sobs as you lay pinned to the ground, Aizawa’s hand still pressing down on you. “I… I’m sorry,” you choked out, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I just–I can’t do this. I can’t stay.”

Aizawa’s grip on you loosened slightly, but he didn’t let you up. “You don’t have a choice anymore.”

Hizashi crouched beside you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We gave you everything. We’ve taken care of you, kept you safe. And this is how you repay us?”

You closed your eyes, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. “I never wanted this. I just wanted my life back.”

Aizawa’s grip tightened again, and his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Your old life is over. You belong to us now. There is no going back.”

They dragged you back to the house, back to the prison they had made for you. The fleeting taste of freedom you had experienced was gone, and in its place was the cold, hard reality that they weren’t going to let you go. Not now. Not ever.

As they secured the chains around your wrists once more, you felt the weight of their anger and disappointment settle over you like a shroud. This time, there would be no more illusions of trust, no more moments of freedom. They had made that mistake once, and they wouldn’t make it again.

Hizashi helped you to your feet, but the restraints remained in place, a constant reminder of their control over you. The night air felt colder now, your escape attempt now a fading dream as you were led back toward the house, their grip on you firmer than ever before.

After the night of your failed escape, everything changed. When they brought you back to the house, it was as if the last thread of trust they had given you had snapped. Whatever illusion of freedom they had let you believe in was gone, and in its place was a harsher, more suffocating control.

The chains no longer came off. Not even for the brief moments when you had been allowed to stretch or walk around the room. Now, they kept you bound at all times, the cuffs around your wrists and ankles rubbing raw against your skin. The shackles were short, giving you just enough movement to sit or lie down, but not much more. The freedom to roam the house, to take cautious steps beyond your bedroom, was gone; in its place was a constant reminder of your failure: the cold, unforgiving weight of the chains that kept you in place.

Aizawa and Hizashi no longer trusted you with the smallest liberties. No more solo showers, no more time alone without supervision; every aspect of your life was now micromanaged, controlled by them. When Aizawa brought you food, he would sit nearby, silently watching you eat, making sure you didn’t attempt anything. Hizashi had stopped his usual playful banter, and now his cheerful facade was replaced with something darker—a quiet disappointment that lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive.

As a punishment, they kept you isolated for longer stretches of time. They would leave for work early in the morning, locking the door behind them with the chains still in place, and the hours stretched into agonizingly slow days. You had once been left alone for shorter periods, with moments of relative freedom, but now they kept you confined to this room for nearly the entire day, the windows remaining bolted shut, and the darkness outside became a reflection of the suffocating isolation that filled every corner of your mind.

At first, you tried to resist, clinging to your anger and resentment. You reminded yourself of what they had done, what they had taken from you. They had betrayed your trust, warped their love into something controlling and manipulative. But as the days passed, the isolation began to wear you down. There was no escape, no reprieve from the constant silence, the never-ending loneliness.

Without them, there was nothing. No sound, no presence, no life. You spent hours staring at the walls, your mind circling endlessly around the same dark thoughts. You tried to distract yourself, tried to hold onto whatever fragments of sanity you had left, but it was impossible. The isolation gnawed at you, piece by piece, until all that was left was a hollow ache that you couldn’t ignore.

And then, something worse started to happen.

You began to miss them.

It wasn’t like before, when their presence had been a reminder of your prison. Now, after days spent in silence, you found yourself waiting for the sound of the door unlocking, for the moment when one of them would return. You hated yourself for it, but you couldn’t deny the twisted relief that washed over you when Aizawa stepped through the door after his patrol, or when Hizashi’s bright voice called out a greeting from the hallway.

It wasn’t that you forgot what they had done. You didn’t. You could never forget. But the need for human interaction, for any kind of connection, had become overwhelming. Your mind, starved of contact, began to cling to the smallest scraps of attention they gave you. You were so, so utterly alone, that even their possessive touches and controlling words felt like something you could hold onto. Anything was better than the crushing loneliness of your room.

You tried to fight it. You tried to remind yourself that they weren’t your saviors—they were the ones who had taken everything from you. But it became harder and harder to maintain that anger when you were trapped in that room for days on end with nothing but your own thoughts to keep you company.

But the loneliness warped your emotions, twisting them into something unrecognizable. You found yourself anticipating their return, eager for those moments when they would sit with you, talk to you, touch you. Even if their affection was twisted and wrong, it was still something. And in your isolation, even that “something” became precious.

You hated how your body responded when Aizawa gently stroked your hair, the way your heart skipped when Hizashi smiled at you, even if his smiles no longer carried the same warmth they once did. It was disgusting, shameful, but you couldn’t help it. You were human, and humans weren’t meant to be alone. Not like this.

It became your routine: waiting. Waiting for the sound of footsteps outside the door, waiting for the moment when they would come back and break the silence that was slowly driving you mad. You didn’t want to feel this way—you wanted to resist, to fight back—but how could you fight against something as basic as the need for human connection?

When they finally came back from work, you found yourself relaxing in a way that scared you. The familiar weight of their presence in the room brought a twisted comfort, even if it was accompanied by chains and control. They would sit with you, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking as if nothing had changed. Hizashi would brush his fingers through your hair, and Aizawa would sit beside you, his quiet presence grounding you in ways you hated to admit.

There were no more "dates," not after your escape attempt. Instead, they kept you tethered to your room, the shackles around your ankles and wrists reminding you of your place. But they still tried to give you affection, as if they believed they could make you love them again.

And in your darkest moments, you wondered if they already had.

You hated how you looked forward to the simple touch of Hizashi's hand on your shoulder, or the rare moments when Aizawa would sit close enough for you to feel his warmth. It was twisted, and you knew it. They had stolen your freedom, taken your life, and yet, your body craved the attention. It was sickening.

You had nothing else. No friends, no family, no life outside these four walls. Aizawa and Hizashi had become your entire world, and no matter how much you wanted to resist, you couldn’t deny that part of you—some deep, desperate part of you—needed them now.

It was a slow, agonizing process, but as the days turned into weeks, you began to accept your new reality. The loneliness was unbearable, and the only relief came from them. You found yourself smiling at Hizashi’s jokes, leaning into Aizawa’s quiet presence, not because you forgave them, but because it was the only way to survive.

You told yourself it was a strategy, a way to make them trust you again. You needed to play along, to make them believe you were starting to accept this life, so they would loosen the chains, and give you more freedom again (yeah, like they'd fall for that trick again). And maybe, one day, you would find another opportunity to escape.

But deep down, you weren’t sure if that was the truth anymore.

Sometimes, in the quiet moments when you were alone, you wondered if you were starting to lose yourself. If the isolation and control had finally broken something inside of you. You despised the chains, but the thought of being left completely alone again terrified you.

So you played along. You smiled when they came home, you laughed at Hizashi’s jokes, and you leaned into Aizawa’s comforting presence. 

You were losing yourself, piece by piece, but you couldn’t stop. It was the only way to survive.

And the worst part? A small, shameful part of you almost didn’t mind anymore.

[cautious-soup]

Obsessive!Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader

Part 1

Summary: Suguru Geto finds himself unwillingly fixated on you. Infuriated that he's so preoccupied with such a weakling, he sets out to make you suffer.

CW// metaphysical non-con, degrading internal monologues directed at reader, stalking, weirdo behavior

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The obsession from him was pure. Unadulterated, delusional, eye-twitching nail biting obsession--with you. Obsession with making you cry, making you hurt, making you bleed, and reveling in otherworldly ecstacy from your wails of pleasure (and agony).

You're normal. Well, you're unique in your own way, everyone is, but you're normal, a regular person, a non-curse user.

So, naturally, he hates you. Because honestly, how dare you? You're nothing special, you're weak, you're a waste of space. Yet, the biggest space you occupy is the space in his brain, pressing against the walls of his skull, driving him batshit insane.

You? Really?

You came to him because you were depressed, and anxious, and your shoulders hurt all the time even though you bought a fancy new bag online that was supposed to make them hurt less.

So, with nowhere else to turn, you go to see Suguru.

He was new, and expensive, but according to your peers he worked. He was good at what he did, and you could hardly stand to raise your arms for more than a few seconds without clenching your jaw in pain.

Suguru scoffs internally when you first meet him because, well, you're just another client. Another useless weakling with insignificant problems. He exorcises you and sends you on your way like he's always done.

But this time something's wrong.

It starts quietly, almost insidiously. He thinks he's fixated on you because he's stressed, unhappy, craving sex because whether he admits it or not, he's still a man with needs. (Pathetic needs.)

So, he figured he'd mess with you--quietly and systemically terrorize you until you manifested a curse strong enough to suit his appetites, then do away with you. Maybe he'd force himself on you, but only to speed up the process if things went to slow, make your negative feelings more potent.

Then, when the job was done, he'd kill you. That part was always just for fun.

He learns you're in Japan as an English teacher. Before Suguru removed your curse, you had to grit your teeth to keep from snapping at your students due to the pain.

The stress of work had only manifested a low grade curse, and he had no use working with that.

So first, he studied you. What did you like? What did you hate? What did you fear? He took note of it all.

He took note of your height, then your weight, then shoe size, then skin, eyes, hair, nose, mouth, teeth, lips.

He decides he's documented enough about your physical atrributes when he tries to estimate your cup size.

But he knew it wouldn't be enough. No, in order to truly terrorize you, he'd have to talk to you.

You're unnerved when he approaches you for the first time. The market street is bathed in sunset orange, and you've just picked up your end of the week snack, ready to go home and binge Netflix, but he's there. Suguru.

It's strange, you thought the oppressive energy you felt when you'd gone to see him had something to do with the old temple. But you felt it here too, almost before you saw him. Whatever it was, it followed him.

"Y/N," he said pleasantly, "I trust you've been well."

You take a while to respond, before laughing nervously, "Uh, yeah! Yeah I've been much better, I appreciate it a ton."

"..."

Not much for small talk, I guess you think when Suguru doesn't respond.

"Well, I'll be on my way then. It was nice seeing you."

Suguru watches you leave, pulse throbbing in his neck and jaw clenched. It wasn't enough. Why, why wasn't it enough? You were nothing--nothing. It would take too much singular effort to coax out negative energy from an average weakling like you, he'd be better off hunting for special grades like usual.

Still, he followed you home.

And a week later, Suguru decides to take things up a notch, or several notches.

You don't usually remember your dreams too well. You have pieces from over the years--learning to fly, falling, running, chasing

But tonight, it's vivid. Vivid and panicked, you feel so panicked, but you don't know why.

It's so dark. The darkness feels alive, like it's touching you. No, it is touching you. The unmistakable feeling of a hand clasps your shoulder, your hip, you choke.

"Hk," but you can't move.

The darkness combs over you, leaving cold in its wake against your skin. Why can you feel cold? Why can you feel any of this?

It isn't like feeling in the waking world. You can almost see it, you're confused, you're scared.

The touch of darkness grows rough, violent. It tugs at your hair, gropes at your thighs, your chest, prods at your mouth until it's open. It chokes you when you try to scream, wrenches your thighs apart, and then--

"HHHHH-"

You shoot up so violently the room spins. Awake, you fumble for your lamp, reaching vainly for your breath as you hyperventilate.

The ghostly cold still lingers on your skin. You fold your knees up to your chest and sob.

All the while, Suguru revels in this little bit you give him, even though it's nowhere close to enough.

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Part 2

[fangsyouverymuch01]

Just friends

Summery: The hero of Baldur's Gate greatest battlefield is now drunkenly returning home from the tavern because your connection to the arcane world is dying, and it has been for months. Adding to it, is your unresolved feelings from a certain vampire you've sworn to forget.

Rolan and Lia, aiding you in your search for answers, are determined to divert your mind from troubles. Unbeknownst to you, this night is destined to change everything.

Pairing: Astarion x f!tav, Astarion x f!reader , Rolan x reader

Warnings: Fightning, sort of depressed reader, drinking, Astarion being a prick

Tags: Slow burn, friends to lovers

Note: This took way too long to write, and tbh I'm scared to publish it. Had a hard time coming up with a plot that would make sense (and yes this is the underdark/menzoberranzan fic)

Nevertheless, hope you enjoy and stick around for more parts in the future.

In front of you is an array of literature varying from books, scrolls and notes. Just like yesterday and the day before that. Picking up yet another scroll and unrolling it, the words painted on it turns into a blur. Arcane symbols dance before your eyes but the contents of the page escapes your fleeting mind and it drifts to past memories of Moonrise Towers. 

“...And all I had to do was not fall for you… Which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart,” he pauses, searching for the right words to continue. “You’re incredible. You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

Stunned by his confession, your own voice momentarily failed you. The Elf spoke again, revealing a truth that cut through your heart like a blade.“Being close to someone - any kind of intimacy - was something I performed to lure people back for him.”

Astarion further explains his train of thought, you could see his mouth moving but not a word reached your ears. Sadness, confusion, happiness and anger; the emotions mixed and collided within you. Was your relationship built on lies? Had you somehow forced him to sleep with you? It was all so much.

“I don't know how else to be with someone, No matter how much I’d like to.” 

You’d decided to remain just friends, and it had felt like the right choice. Liberating even, seeing Asterion grow into a person no longer controlled by fear. But now, you wallowed in selfishness due to your aching heart. Now it is the thing that keeps you from focusing on the task ahead. Now it is the thing keeping your from nights embrace, your body twisting and turning when the moon shone through the curtains. Now it is the numb feeling whilst faceless men sing your name between your legs. The decision, made with the intention of preserving your friendship, now felt as liberating as a chain strung to your neck. 

Moreover, you haven't seen him in weeks -  or could it be months? The passage of time blurs and certainly eludes you. Yet, effortlessly, his image flits into your head - bouncy white curls, piercing crimson eyes, a sharp nose and that godsdamn smirk. Interchangeable in your memory - forever young - he remains a vivid specter that refuses to fade.

Breaking your train of thought, there is a tap on your shoulder, a figure crouching over you to peer at the discoveries revealed in the scroll. 

“Found anything of interest?” Rolan spoke, eyeing you from above. 

“Ehm no, just lost in thought.” you replied, attempting to shake off the lingering memories that had clouded your focus. 

“Well, neither have I.” he puffed out a breath of air, “My best bet is to return to the House of Grief for more answers so I could study the mirror you spoke off.”

“I’m not sure they’d warmly welcome me back after my latest visit.” you let out a strained chuckle, struck by a memory of  Viconas lifeless person as Shadowhearts struck the merciless final blow to her chest. 

Since your time in the House of Grief, your bond with magic has slowly dwindled. The once-familiar currents of arcane energy now seemed distant. Magic had been an extension of you, and its absence felt akin to a cruel mutilation and you were desperate to feel magic coursing through your veins once more. Your desperation had led you here - Sorcerous Sundries, for any clue or hope that you might become whole again.

"Anyhow, have you heard from Gale yet?" you inquired, seeking a distraction from your thoughts.

"He deemed Waterdeep fruitless in our search and should be arranging plans to continue in Neverwinter as we speak," Rolan replied, his eyes pacing the floorboards beneath him. "Maybe we should pause our search for today; the sun is setting, and you, my friend, are in desperate need of a drink." His suggestion hung in the air, a respite offered amidst your futile search for answers. 

You had no energy to protest, you truly wanted to go, you really did. But what you needed was to dive into the mountains of untouched texts sprawled in a ring in front of you. 

Lazily tracing the arcane figures, partly lost in deliberation you answer “Thank you for the offer but I shouldn’t, you go and I’ll stay here.”

"Come on, just one drink. It won't solve all our problems, but it might provide a momentary escape," he insisted, recognizing the heaviness in your gaze. "We can resume our search tomorrow with clearer minds. Trust me, it's what you need right now."

A defeated sign escapes your lips “Fine, one drink but no more than that”. 

Laying a victorious touch on your arm, the tiefling grinned, "That's the spirit!" Helping you up, he proceeded, "The Elf Song in an hour; I need to run something by Lia first." With determined steps, he led you away from your search for answers in the pile of books. 

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The warm light emanating from the Elfsongs' painted windows cast a glow over your figure as you linger outside the bustling door. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses weave together, that should beckon you inside but it doesn't. Nothing seems to pique your interest these days. The hero of Baldurs Gate was but a mere shell of what bards sang about and the thought of being recognized, of eyes filled with anticipation that lingers for extraordinary tales to be told - you can't stand it. 

Adding to your dread, are the invasive questions about your companions - about Astarion. Head spinning and lips slowly drooping to frown, you instinctively recoil from the entrance. 

With a heavy sigh, you reach into your bag, fingers wrapping around a familiar flask. The cool metal brings a small comfort, and in contrast your throat burns as you gulp down liquid courage. 

Stealing yourself against the prying questions and the weight of everyone's expectations, you push open the tavern door, stepping into the warm embrace of the tavern, where Rolan and Lia await, immersed in their own stories. You offer them a weak smile as you approach the booth. 

“There you are, I almost thought you wouldn’t show but I’m glad to be proven wrong.”

“Come, sit!” Lia urges, patting the cushion beside her. As you settle into the booth, you can't help but notice the curious eyes around you.

Gods no.

Instinctively, your finger twirls and you mutter a spell to cast disguise self, only to be reminded of your uselessness. A tinge of frustration tightens your jaw, quickly masked by a forced smile. You divert your gaze, hoping to shield yourself from the unwanted attention. 

“What’s your poison for today?” Lia asks, a mischievous smile spreading from cheek to cheek. Her breath smells of alcohol; Lia and Rolan had clearly begun drinking ahead of you. Not that you could judge them, having indulged in your trusted flask outside the tavern minutes ago. 

“I’ll have what you’ve had.”

“Coming right up!” Lia responds, her enthusiasm undeterred. She signals the bartender, and soon enough, a trio of drinks arrives at the table. 

Rolan is the first to grip the glass and then clear his throat, “To us,  and Gale - and hope that tomorrow will give us more answers.” 

One drink turns into four drinks, and at some point, you lose track of both time and the units you’ve allowed to warm your gullet. Honestly it’s quite funny, why did you worry so much before? Silly you with silly thoughts! Almost as silly as Rolan’s eyes focused on your neck. He looks funny with his eyebrows furrowed, and a chuckle escapes your lips at the sight.

“You’ll get wrinkles if you keep staring at my neck like that, Rolan.”

“I did no such thing!” he retorts as a flush creeps up on the tiefling's cheeks.

Lia heartily laughs, swaying a bit, and offers her hand to you. “Join me for a dance, will you?” The music in the tavern entices you and despite the blurred lines of inebriation, you take Lia’s hand and step into the lively dance floor.

Lia practically dragged you through the crowded tavern, Rolan following closely behind to his best abilities. The dance floor was filled with twirling bodies, in rhythm with the bard's melodies. Pulling your arm up, Lia spins and chuckles as you reach the bards scene. Rolan, with a playful twinkle in his eyes, reaches the two of you and joins the dance. The world seems to sway with the music and for the first time in a long time, a genuine smile spreads across your face. 

As you moved to the music, you sensed Rolans’ proximity. His hand found its way to the small of your back, guiding you through the intricate steps of the dance. The unfamiliar warmth of his hand against your skin was a stark contrast to the memories of Asterion's cool touch.The bard's music kept on playing, the tunes bouncing off the plucked strings, the odor of alcohol on his breath, and hot uncontrolled bodies clashing against your person -  Gods, its too much. You can't stay a minute longer or you might suffocate. 

“I need some air,” you mumble and offer an apologizing smile, excusing yourself as the dance continues without you. 

“Wait!” a muffled voice calls out, but you pretend that you’re too far off to hear. 

Faces blurred into a sea of strangers, and the lively chatter became an indistinguishable hum. Your breath quickened, and you couldn't shake the feeling of faceless men and women judging your every step. Because now they know - they know that you were no hero of Baldur's gate, just another drunk who couldn’t even cast a simple spell to disguise herself from embarrassment. 

Pathetic. 

As you stepped out into the cool night air, the contrast between the warmth of the dance floor and the refreshing chill outside sent shivers down your spine. Crouching down you plant your hands to your knees, trying to catch your breath and ease your mind. 

A moment later, the tavern door swung open abruptly, an curly haired man emerging as he wrestled with another almost feral one. The creature thrashed and snarled at the curly haired man as he strained against the frenzied movements. Caught off guard, you stood up in the shadow beside the entrance, your breath hitching again as you observed the scene unfold. 

Seizing the opportunity to make sense of the situation, you assertively approached the struggling men, dagger clutched and ready strike if needed. The curly-haired man's eyes flickered toward you and your gaze met his.

Deep crimson eyes, ivory curls, and are those fangs?

No, that can't be.

"Astarion?" you uttered, your voice a hushed whisper that sliced through the night, your eyes fixed on the elf's face in utter disbelief. There he was, right before you.

Astarion's attention shifted to the rabid man, deftly maneuvering to subdue him. He restrained the creature, halting any further erratic movements. With precision, Astarion extracted a flask from his belt, causing the man's struggles to intensify. Despite the increased resistance, Astarion's actions remained calculated and exact.

With the man momentarily contained, Astarion secured him in place with one hand, the other retrieving a flask. He raised it to his mouth, a subtle glint of fangs emerging as he skillfully removed the lid with his teeth.

"Hello," the rogue spoke, pausing to inject the man with the unfamiliar substance. The feral struggles ceased, and Astarion continued, his tone now imbued with a nuanced warmth, "darling."

Stunned you remain constrained where you stood. This is real, Astarion is here after days, weeks and months of him plaguing your thoughts every waking moment. Your mind races, trying to process the surreal present. A rumble in your stomach seems to pull you out of your trance, nausea spreading in your throat. 

Keep. it. down. 

“Care to help or do you intend to stand there and just gawk?”

Once more the door beside you swung open, a tall figure emerges with swaying strands of long hair catching in the wind, intent on reaching the paralyzed man and Astarion. 

“We said no killing, remember?" he spoke.

"Oh, my apologies, brother. I must have forgotten our little agreement when I was wrestling the feral dog whilst you were nowhere to be seen.”

At that moment, you recognized the man - Leon. His expression remained stoic, though a flicker of irritation crossed his features. "Your theatrics aren't amusing, Astarion. We need to keep them alive; this is not the time nor place for you to display your unique methods."

You finally had a surge to act, fumbled in your bag and searched for any potion or scroll that could help. A glass vial of what seemed to be a healing potion met your fingers, and you pulled it out, unscrewing the cap with shaky hands. 

“Here take this,” you called out, holding the potion aloft, offering a forced smile amidst the charged atmosphere. 

As you step forward to give Leon the vial, Rolan stumbles out the tavern door, tipsy and eyes searching for something in the night. You’d completely forgotten about Rolan and Lia, they’d probably been worried since you hadn’t returned. His eyes widened at the chaotic scene before him, and he instinctively moved to stand in front of you, a protective gesture. His hand flickered with a small flame, ready to defend against any potential threat. 

"What in the hells is happening here?" Rolan demanded, a mix of concern and bewilderment in his voice.

Before anyone could respond, Astarion let out a small laugh, one that you couldn't seem to decipher the meaning of. What was so funny? Rolan certainly wasn't amused, and the flame rose higher from his palm at the elf's dismissive laugh. Leon's gaze moved to Rolan, his hands raising in a gesture of peace, showing that they were no threat to him or you.

“Got yourself a knight in shining armor, have you now?” Astarion remarked, a sly grin playing on his lips.

Knight in shining armor? The words stung, and a spark of anger flared within you. Rolan didn't need to save you nor did you want him to. Opening your mouth to retort, Leon interjected, his voice firm and commanding.

“Astarion, don’t,” Leon snapped at him, a stern edge to his voice. He then looked directly at you, his expression softening. “We don’t want to fight you. Let's find a quieter spot to talk, and we’ll explain everything.”

You nodded, the tension in the air making it clear that this was not the time for confrontation. Rolan, still wary but trusting your judgment, lowered the flame in his palm. With cautious glances exchanged between the group, you began to move away from the chaotic scene, guided by Leon's lead to a more secluded spot where answers awaited. 

[kpopimaginings]

Trying - Lee Know

Trigger Warnings: Depression, Mental Health

You were doing your best. You kept telling yourself that if you can just get out of bed every morning things would be ok. Just getting up and getting dressed drained you though, let alone attempting anything else.

By the time you'd done the bare minimum to keep yourself functioning, you were utterly exhausted. This left no energy for socialising, including talking to your boyfriend. Even replying to his texts just felt like too much in the moment.

Lee Know knew there was something wrong. He was constantly checking his phone as text after text went unanswered. When rehearsals finally ended, he decided enough was enough and headed over to your place.

Hearing the knock at your door, you let out a groan. You didn't remember ordering anything and neither you nor your apartment were exactly suitable for guests. When you pulled the door open to find your boyfriend at your threshold you didn't know how to react. You just stood there, no emotion discernible on your face.

Luckily, no words were needed. Lee Know simply stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you. That was all it took for the damn to break. You lost track of time as you stood in your hallway, sobbing into your boyfriend. Your fingers clutched at his clothing, keeping him as close as humanly possible. He returned the gesture, holding you tight and letting you release everything you needed to through your tears.

It wasn't until your sobs subsided that Lee Know relaxed his grip on you. You followed his lead, releasing his hoodie and dabbing at your damp cheeks. His hands remained a comforting presence on your waist.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he offered.

"There's nothing wrong though," you said, before realising your words didn't quite make sense. You'd just been sobbing on him, clearly everything wasn't right. "I mean there's nothing to talk about. I don't know what triggered me, my brain just hates me right now."

"That's ok," he assured you.

You loved that about him. He knew you didn't always have a concrete reason for your change in moods, but he never dismissed your feelings because of it..

"Can I help?"

"I don't think so," you told him. "And I don't have the energy to actively hang out with you."

"Ok, you go and relax, I'll sort out some of the chores you couldn't do."

All you could do was smile half-heartedly before heading back to bed. Knowing that the little jobs you'd been putting off were now getting done let you rest much easier and actually recuperate somewhat.

 After a refreshing nap, you ventured out of your bedroom to see if your boyfriend was still around. It didn't take long to find him in your kitchen, which was much cleaner than the last time you saw it. Lee Know was stood at the counter, preparing some food for dinner. Hearing your footsteps, he peered over his shoulder at you.

"How are you feeling now?"

"Eh," you shrugged. "Better than I was, but still not right."

"At least there's some improvement," he encouraged.

"I was actually hoping for a hug," you told him.

Immediately, he put down his knife and wiped off his hands so he could wrap his arms around you, squeezing you tight.

"I don't think you realise how much it helped knowing you were sorting the chores. That was the best rest I've had in days. I didn't need to feel guilty that there were things I should be doing."

"Anytime you feel like that, let me know," he told you, still cradling you in his arms. "First, y shouldn't feel guilty for letting yourself rest when you need to. Second, I'm always here to help. Even if you don't have the energy t socialise, just text me what you need doing and I'll do my best."

"How are you so sweet and so perfect?"

"I love you," he answered simply. "And when you love someone you do everything you can to make sure they're ok."

"I just wish I could return the favour. I feel bad for taking up your time like this."

"You do return the favour," Lee Know assured you. "You're my little safe haven. If works been busy or stressing me out, I can come to you and not think about it for a while. Just your presence helps me more than you know.

There was a moments quiet then as you stood in Lee Know's embrace, allowing him to gently sway you side to side.

"How about I finish cooking and we get a nice healthy meal in you?" he asked eventually.

You pulled away then and nodded.

"Thank you," you said with a small smile.

"Anytime," he replied.

NAVIGATION |  STRAY KIDS MASTERLIST

[nicki0kaye]

Some dumbass in the comment section of a youtube vid about how AI Art bros are jersk tried to make the argument that genetics determine talent and I kind of popped of. Turns out the comment thread I replied to is like 200+ comments deep and now no one is going to see my small novella about genetics v talent, so I've decided to share it here...IN TWO SEPARATE PARTS bc apparently it is too long and tumblr cant handle it alskdjflskjdf.

Hi, I'm the genetically gifted artist you're trying to cite for your argument. Both of my birth parents were artists in several fields and despite being adopted by a different family, I know that I've inherited most of their interests and am proficient at all of the things they excelled in; art, writing and performance to be specific. I now make a living as an artist.

You're also entirely wrong about how 'talent' works and how inheriting 'talent' works. What I inherited from my parents were their mental disorders. Adhd, Autism and chronic depression. Autism forced me to be far more observant of my peers if I wanted to have a social life. Adhd gifted me time blindness and the ability to hyperfocus on whatever tasks gave me dopamine, and Autism complimented that nicely with a shock to the nervous system when I was expected to change gears out of what I felt was safe into something I did not.

I had many avenues before me because of this; theatre was what my adopted parents assumed I would pursue. But then chronic depression came in with the steel chair at the end of highschool and no, no I did not do theatre, that shit takes too much energy for too long of a period of time.

So. Art.

Why am I so genetically good at art? Well, and this is again Probably The Autism, I'm very good at recognizing and retaining visual patterns, I'm super interested in body language and costuming and micro-expressions--all things I need to pay attention to if I wanted to be liked by allistic classmates--and drawing quite literally regulates my nervous system, so I'm gonna do it often just to cope.

I don't have a fucking 'artists' gene. I have a brain that is predisposed to certain pattern recognition and through access to resources (GLASSES, I AM BLIND AS SHIT AND WITHOUT GLASSES NONE OF THIS WOULD BE POSSIBLE) was able to find and cultivate hobbies that either worked with or helped regulate the myriad of bullshit I won through the genetic lottery.

I'm a good artist bc I put in the work. I put in the work bc my brain is wired to really like certain work. It didn't have to be art. If i were less depressed, it could have been theatre--either writing, performing or directing. If I was less autistic, it might have been something with more abstract thinking and less focused on decrypting human expression and repurposing it in ways that I Personally Like. If I was less ADHD, it could have been more academic studies, like Marine Biology since I really wanted to do that when I was little. If I didn't have exercised induced asthma, it could have been competitive swimming, bc my swim teacher really thought I had a gift for it. If I didn't have dyscalculia, it could have been something that involves number crunching and long distances, bc I don't understand that shit for beans, completely locking me out of a large chunk of possible careers.

And maybe without all of that, I wouldn't have had the perfect cocktail to give enough of a shit to be good at anything. Maybe I would have just been an office clerk, making a decent wage and filling my cubicle with anime figurines.

[violetjedisylveon]

It is Disability Pride Month!

I would suggest using the opportunity to learn more about all the different disabilities and how they impact the lives of people with them, and how that struggle is made worse by ablism in our society.

Take the chance to learn from actual disabled people, talk to us and hear our stories, listen to us when we tell you how to help us and make our society more functional and accessible.

Learn about disabled history, about the crimes and injustices done to disabled people. Look up disabilty holocaust and you will get a bunch of articles on what the nazis did to disabled people. It's depressing, but important to learn.

Disability isn't a bad word, it's an accurate description unlike calling someone differently abled. They aren't the same. Disability = not abled, like not able to walk because you are a leg amputee, not being able to do things like everyone else because you have no executive function capabilities. Differently abled = something like left handed, you are still fully abled, you just do it differently but you do it without any aid or tools.

My friend @poeticallydisgraced gave that example when our school put up a sign about recognizing differently abled students. And I think that fits the situation very well.

If you're curious, I've given a bit of a description of my experience under the cut.

Happy disability pride month!

I am nuerodivergent, Audhd, I have autism and Adhd. I also have chronic health issues with severe allergies and I get some bad migraines. I have hearing issues too but wouldn't call myself hard of hearing, it's more of a disconnect between what's said and what I hear. Makes for some entertaining conversations.

I tend to get over stimulated in social settings, too much noise and too many people really mess with me, light and sound trigger my migraines which can last for days, which is never fun.

I have no social awareness, and can't tell the difference between teasing and bullying, the line is super blurred/non existent for me.

This causes a lot of problems, because when people make those jokes and tease me, I don't get it, and to me it's rude and mean, but it also goes the other way cause when I joke I cross a line I can't see, and then everyone gets mad at me even though I'm doing the same thing as them.

I technically have a minor hearing loss in my left ear from a surgery as a child, but I had started having those hearing issues during the phase of development where you learn to speak, so my understanding of language is a bit skewed and I frequently hear things wrong, or don't hear the words said and have to ask for people to repeat it.

My family is starting to get annoyed and won't repeat anything but it's not like I'm choosing to do it, and it is very frustrating when they refuse to repeat it.

All these things leave me feeling a little isolated from my family and people around me.

I am expected to change and be someone else that is more acceptable to nuerotypical society, I jump through hoops and put on an act to appear less different, I've always been singled out as weird and other, and while no one has bullied me, at least that I was aware of, I got left behind by my peers.

The constant masking and acting like something I am not is exhausting, after a week of school I am fully drained of my energy and ability to put on that act.

My mom has gotten upset that I don't act the way I do at school at home, but I shouldn't have to act like a different person with my family.

I am not ashamed to be nuerodiverse and disabled, no one should be shamed or looked down on for something they can't control. A lot still needs to be done to make our society accessible to everyone, the current disability protection and aid laws are insufficient and full of loopholes that allow for disabled people to be ignored.

Have fun learning!

Happy disability pride month!

[finnified]

the waves beckoned finn easily from the darkness. 

he sat with his knees pulled to his chest on the cool sand. the foam scampered up the ground and then slid back, an eternal game of keep-away it would never win. 

ships sailed in the night ocean. it counted the flags, peered to see the colors- heron, kestrel, heron again. no kites on the water this time of night- some kind of awful symbolism that made it want to roll into a little ball on the sand. 

his ears perked as that sand shifted in a noticeably particular way, not just from the wind but from- 

footsteps? 

finn whipped his head around and was greeted with a lanky, dark-eyed individual with chocolate-colored spikes of hair standing up all over the back of their head. dozens of polished trinkets caught the moonlight on their body- rings and necklaces and little bits of silver hanging off their belt. finn blinked, trying and failing to locate a faction insignia amidst the layers of fabric. 

“bit chilly out for a good old fashioned brood, isn’t it?” the heavily accented voice laid strongly in the air between the two, the standing pirate leaning down slightly to observe the sitting kite.

“you’re the new lad, aren’t you?” the dark-haired stranger asked, sticking one of her legs out to settle in the sand next to him. “blackwood, innit? you used to be a kestrel.” 

“regrettably,” finneas grumbled, flicking an ear at them. “am i supposed to know you? are you a kite?” 

“it’s better that you don’t, but i am,” the stranger laughed. “the name’s adalwulff- captain adalwulff.” she stuck out her hand strongly in front of finneas, and although he had to twist his body awkwardly to shake her hand he still did so. 

“what’s a fine young man like you doing out on a winter’s night all alone?” the captain offered finn a conspiratorial look, as if they were close friends and not completely strangers. something about their energy was strangely familiar to finneas- like a hearth that was the same kind of comfortable no matter where the fire was lit. it flicked its tail twice, considering adalwulff briefly. 

“someone i know tried to cut off one of my fingers today,” he settled for, deliberately avoiding looking at his hand, which was still firmly jammed into his breast pocket. adalwulff gave him a curious look, not quite sympathetic but not judgemental either.

“well, the salt’s not going to help it much, hm?” the captain offered, her dark spikes of hair waving back and forth in the bitter wind pouring off of the ocean. “you should probably take care of that. you need a hand?” after a moment, their face lightened. “my bad. maybe you need a finger?” 

finneas doesn’t quite laugh, but some sort of pale, twisting levity breathes deeply behind its eyes. adalwulff hauled themself to their knees, and then their feet, their dark red pants trailing out behind them and catching salt crystals from the tide. finn kept its hand jammed firmly into its breast pocket, but took with the other the grip that adawulff offered to hoist him to his feet as well. 

it spared one more long glance out over the ocean, watching a heron ship disappear off towards the heron ports. a gaggle of seabirds circled noisily over the sheer cliffs. mist rose over the water.

finn jumped as a strong hand clapped its shoulder. “distractible little thing, aint you, blackwood?” captain adalwulff steered him up towards the driftwood steps that would bring them to the ground level of the public kite living space. “you should work on that- not a good trait on the water.” 

“trust me, i know,” finn grumbled miserably, but for some reason still allowed himself to be led like some sort of lost child under the guidance of someone he could trust. 

—

local boy has depressive episode/panic attack on beach, picked up nonbinary woman for his wet-cat esc tendencies <3

[inspiringgrowth]

We Men Are Wired for Strength

Part of what it means to be male and to be a man in general involves strength; being strong and using the strength to do things. It gets even better when we do things that benefit not only ourselves but others as well. And as we get stronger, we naturally want to do more of this being a constructive part of people's lives. It's a great feeling when we engage in this process. I saw it in my father and as I get stronger and more upright, I'm seeing it in myself.

As I get stronger people around me seem to be taking notice. Not only in my looks but also in my helpful, loving and positive actions.

I'm psyched; however, I wasn't always this way. In fact, my life started off lacking strength and health. I was frequently sick, weak and in pain. I became depressed and others around me not seeing what they expected, behaved badly toward me. There were times when I returned home from school with blood streaming down my face as my peers would hit me with their books and even rocks. Not everyone was like this. There were compassionate people I could connect with, and I am grateful for them. They gave me hope.

On an aside, to this day I don't know for sure why other kids wanted to hurt me. Did my having a different ethnic background bother them? Was it my physical weakness? Was it because I was traumatized by the violence around me? Or was it just meant to be. . . I know one thing; it drew me close to God.

Even so, four years ago, it all came to a head and in a burst of anger. I through a very large heavy object. The movement ended up herniating one of the discs in my back. The pain was unbearable. I kept pressing on though hoping and believing that God would get me through it. It was very difficult to do my work but my work at the time was all I had going for me, so I pressed on through the pain.

I also went to physical therapy and did the exercises prescribed. At first it was minimally helpful. Then 6 months ago the PT said she was moving to another state. She said to me that even though my core was much stronger after 4 years of doing the exercises, I still had pain and perhaps it would benefit me to go to a gym and start lifting weights and maybe even start a bodybuilding program. It was her idea that the muscles around my core needed to be built up. She gave me strict guidelines to prevent aggravating the disc. I agreed and got started. Within 3 months of consistent diet and exercise as prescribed, all the pain receded.

This was a huge turning point for me. I am now stronger and healthier than I have ever been. I am so happy to not only do things for myself without pain, but I can also help others with this newfound strength and energy. I feel great!

We men are wired for strength and the more we get stronger and use our strength to help others the more we are who we were made to be. We get this strength by keeping our eyes on God and working consistently on ourselves while helping others.

[madisonrooney]

2014 was arguably the most formative year of my life, so forgive me as i continue with posts about 10th anniversaries of things cuz anniversaries get me emotional and this year is a big one.

i dont remember the exact date, i wish i did, but some time this month marks 10 years since i started watching shake it up.

i rarely talk about this show, but it was deeply important in my getting back into disney channel. as ive talked about many a time, i didnt watch new disney channel shows, and even fell behind on ones i was already watching, around 2011-12 not bc i was actually growing out of the channel, but bc i felt like i was being forced out of it by my peers, in particular my abuser, and even once that situation had improved, the resulting depression didnt allow me the emotional energy to get into new shows for a while.

as i continued to recover, i decided to binge it leading up to my summer 2014 disneylans trip. binge watching it over a short period im sure is most of if not the entire reason it didnt have the same lasting impact on me that shows like liv and maddie did, but not only did i DEEPLY love it at the time, but it helped me take a big step in the direction of getting back into disney channel as a whole. my growing interest in liv and maddie was simultaneous with this, so i think all this happening at the same time was kismet. i even remember one night thinking "i cant decide if i like shake it up or liv and maddie better." obviously, that decision would be made soon enough, but like i said, i think had the circumstances been different, shake it up may have been even bigger in my life than it was. i feel like theres a parallel universe where it takes the place in my life liv and maddie has since had lol.

and disney channel coming back into my life carries more importance than just it defining a lot of my personality and interests to this day. it was the means by which i continued to move past my abusive friendship. she had made me feel like an embarrassment for enjoying these shows, and even specifically said about shake it up that she didnt want me watching it bc she knew i was gonna like it. so the more i fell in love with it, the more i felt i was gaining my individuality back.

other than helping me get back into disney channel overall, i think it had two other notable impacts, the first being seeing characters i enjoyed helped me identify those personalities in the people around me, like in my high school, and understand and read their emotions better (thats the undiagnosed-at-the-time autism for you). i remember a couple reminding me of deuce and dina and a classmate that i really wanted to be friends with reminding me of rocky. this would be one of the first of a number of shows to have this effect on me.

i also was just enamored with rocky and cece's friendship and, as cheesy as it sounds, it made me learn to value my best friend even more.

again, plenty other disney shows following this would expand and help me understand the world around me similarly, but this was the beginning of it.

so thank you to shake it up. although i don't shine a light on it as much as i do my other favorite shows, i don't think my disney channel fandom and relationship with the shows and characters i love, or even with the world around me and with myself, would be the same without it.

[templeovnuit]

i’ve been chronically severely suicidal for 5 years and it’s worse now after the drugs, repeated abuse and prolonged record breaking manic psychosis that have triggered a cognitive dysfunction and chemical anhedonia that is immovable and an isolation from reality i haven’t the presence of mind or energy to tackle im just waiting until i have the right means and i won’t have to continue this way. not having wants or needs, feeling the hollow space where my identity and self concept used to be, not having any sense of obligation or care for a single thing or person. the complete bleakness of being. doing nothing. playing catch-up with my pain in hopes i’ll retrieve a contentment i used to know

my body is squalor. you should see the emptiness that’s developed. i am certainly not competing with anyone and have never cared to but i promise you have never seen apathy and frustration with a very existence such as mine

no one has answers for this disruption and why it interrupts every second of my sleeping and waking stare. “schizoaffective” “depersonalization” “depression” …there are no words to truly describe the experience as it expands and tears me from the fundamental practices of existing on a planet with no objective answers to anything. there’s nothing i can do about it, and as much as i assume the position of ambivalence to the mystery, it doesn’t make the mountains and the faces i know any less foreign. even if there were answers, the apathy would persist. language is so ineffective for this dilemma, everything is so massively disappointing and dystopian.

there is such a profound space between my unlucky consciousness and the human design at large. the trance of life used to hold me, i didn’t have this oppressive rupturing and dread. i witness a variety of darkness unbeknownst to most, even those who harbor hurts i don’t know. unconcerned by the passing time, unconcerned by the absurdity of their flesh. the utter mundanity we’ve crafted. the operations don’t land with me. i watch peers and strangers move thru it so easily, entertained even. i wanted children once, i wanted true love, i indulged in the mystical and took it too far. i thought it possible to have passion for many things and juggle it all flawlessly, now all the minutiae bothers me. not a single tide of lust for anything under the sun i’ve grown to fear. indifference is so positively spoken of, but it’s the very thing that suspends me in pensive inertia.

i seek nothing other than nothing, what’s the use if even that can’t satisfy me

disappearing isn’t enough if my consciousness doesn’t follow. i don’t care who i hurt unfortunately.

i have complete acceptance and anticipation of my death as if it’s already arrived and it’s though i’m just waiting for the motions to complete themselves. its strange when you’ve tried most methods of suicide yet the one thing left doesn’t promise you escape

morals don’t exist anywhere else but earth in this universe, this materialization of time and space there’s no crawling out of. im so claustrophobic in its infinity…how funny is that ? all the earthly concepts i could think of have broken apart in their relevance and sense. there is no coherent substance to what i used to understand about being alive

who out there could call giving me a gun mercy like i do, rather than suicide ? im doomed to even less than mediocrity as if it even matters. i can’t tell the difference between absence of emotion and complete and utter pain

[stewardofningishzida]

Chapter 12: Double Double

Whoo! I know it’s been a while people, but the meta-fic lives! Everyone just needed to do some life stuff, but we’re back! Here’s the latest chapter. Enjoy!

TRIGGER WARNING: Mention of eye injury, mention of depression

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*My sleep is still troubled.  It’ll probably be a while before the nightmares completely subside.  Though at least my legs are a bit better today.  Lab work isn’t as strenuous as scrambling through an abandoned mine.  They’re still aggravated, but it’ll eventually calm down in another day or two.  Trix and Stephen are still making sure that Tear and I are recovering.  Tear, although still recuperating from the shock of her near-death experience, looks a little better today after having some actual sleep.  Stephen has us meditate again after breakfast to help us continue to stabilize.  He stays behind once more to continue his work while Tear and I go to our shifts.  I get back on-time this evening, at least.  Though I’m starving because I had worked through my lunch break to make up for yesterday and catch up.*

Me (tired):  Back.  I finally fixed everything at work.  What a day…How’s everyone else?  *I’m squinting slightly because I have a headache.  So, I wander off to the bathroom to get medication while listening to my friends.*

Tear: *Looks up from her laptop and removes her earphones* Today’s been easier, I guess. The café and bakery are still standing, and I’ve been doing a few ingredient cost corrections. We might have to change providers for our egg supplies and those negotiations are always tiresome.

Trix: I’m doing fine. I’m still on vacation and haven’t heard anything from work about things going catastophic.

*Stephen is quiet and tense.  He seems to be concentrating while staring at his hands.  He gingerly lifts one up to check it for something…It’s trembling.  Not too badly, but ever so slightly.*

Stephen (trying to hide his fear and desperation):  This…This shouldn’t be happening.  My spell isn’t working.  

*He utters the incantation, trying again.  It fails.*

Stephen:  Why isn’t this working?  *He stares at his shaking hands.  His voice gets quiet.*  Shit…

*We’re all fully alert now.*

Tear:  Stephen? *I place my laptop down and uncurl from my position on the couch, eyeing the research he had spread around him to see what had prompted his actions*

Trix: What’s going on?

Me (worried):  Stephen, are you okay?  *I peer out from the medicine cabinet.*

Stephen:  I…I don’t know.  My abilities appear to be fading.  *He pauses for a moment to think before the realization dawns on him.*  I’ve been outside of a non-magical universe with no real mystical sustenance for too long.  Damnit…  *He’s at a loss as to what to do.*

Trix: By magical sustenance…do you mean that the thing about not being able to sustain yourself on just human food is a real thing? Because I don’t read the comics but I heard…things.

Stephen (trying to contain the mounting anxiety and despair):  …I can usually just channel mystical energies from the multiverse around me to cast spells.  Though the more you use magic, the more dependent on it you become.  Eventually, your body starts to require intake of magical substances to maintain your abilities…I have nothing here.  As a human sorcerer, I still need to maintain my normal self through regular food, but to actually use and maintain my abilities, I need to absorb magic from other things.  *He sighs harshly.*

Me:  …Could we do anything for you?  Like, maybe we could each cast the spell that PrettyWitch from the group text used on you?  It could be us taking turns with one of us casting it each day.

Stephen (trying to be patient):  That would only buy me a few days at most and you would all be heavily weakened.  It takes too much out of a normal person and even rotating, you wouldn’t have enough time to fully recover.

Trix: I mean, it’s worth it if it can help get you home. Aren’t there things we could use to, I dunno, boost the power? I’ve always heard of moonlight boosting crystal energy, is there something like that that could help?

Tear: Yeah! Besides, buying you a few days could prove to be pivotal. Out of everyone in this room, you are the one with the highest chance of finding a way back home through your magic. I’d gladly use my energy to give you that extra time.

Stephen:  All of you have already done so much for me.  I can’t let you do that to yourselves.  Especially with multiple people in your group still recovering from the last major incident.

Trix: I guess…but are you sure?

Me:  I’m fine.  Please let us help you.

Tear: Come on. If there’s something superheroes have taught us, is that we must rise to the challenge. We’ll always have time to rest up and recover once the problem has been resolved.

Stephen:  No, ladies.  You’ve all done enough.  Just…I need to be alone right now.  

*He has since grown past outbursts.  Now, he’s on the brink of despair.  Stephen needs some time to himself to think about what’s starting to happen.  To somehow steel his courage and keep looking for some way, any way, to get home.  We let him have some space and time to himself.  A while after Stephen has some time to himself, he gets a text.*

PrettyWitch (text):  Hey. How are you?

Stephen (text):  Not good.  I’m losing my abilities and given the level of energy drain you’ve experienced, the group’s proposal of rotating individuals for the spell would not be sustainable.  Your group has done more than enough for me.

PrettyWitch (text):  Okay. Well we can find some other way of helping you. There has to be one.

Stephen (text):  How?  Your group and I have been tirelessly researching and attempting all possibilities in this forsaken universe…Even to the point of two of you almost dying.

PrettyWitch (text):  I didn’t almost die.

Stephen (text):  No, but Tear and Steward were nearly killed in the last attempt at finding a source of magic a few days ago.  There was a collapse in an abandoned mine and Tear nearly fell down a chasm while Steward suffered a psionic assault from an interdimensional rift.

PrettyWitch (text):  😧Oh my God…

Stephen (text):  I can’t let more of you sacrifice yourselves.

PrettyWitch (text):  So what? You’re just gonna try fixing this all by yourself, now?

Stephen (text):  What choice do I have?  It’s only getting worse.

PrettyWitch (text):  Yes, but if you don’t get help then where will that leave you?  Do you really wanna be stuck here forever?

Stephen (text):  No…I just need to think so I can figure something out.

PrettyWitch (text):  Okay. Let us help you.

Stephen (text):  How?

PrettyWitch (text):  Well, maybe we can start looking through other Wiccan books or books on alchemy, those must have something.

Stephen (text):  Are there any that we’ve missed?  Here is the list of the ones I checked.  *He gives an incredibly long list.*

PrettyWitch (text):  Oh damn! That’s a lot.

Stephen (text):  …Yep.

PrettyWitch (text):  Alright. I’ll just keep sending you protection magic until you find something.  Hell, maybe try manifesting your magic back!

Stephen (text):  No…Teach the others.  Rotate.  The spells you’re doing will keep draining you.  If you keep it up, it’ll start taking years off of your life.

PrettyWitch (text):  Okay. Fine, I’ll do that. In the meantime look into manifestation.

Stephen (text):  …Okay.  Thank you.

PrettyWitch (text):  You’re welcome.😊 but please don’t hesitate to ask for help. You have a bad habit of trying to fix everything yourself so you don’t hurt other people.

Stephen (text):  I know.

PrettyWitch (text):  Yay! 😊🫂Good luck! and don’t hesitate to text me if you need a pick-me-up. Also say hi to Cloakie for me.

Stephen (text):  Will do.

*At this point, the only reason Stephen hasn’t been as stubborn lately is because he feels more and more ground down by his predicament.  There’s only so much willpower that he can continue to muster as his ability to act diminishes further.  Meanwhile, the group members get a ping in the group text.  PrettyWitch has called an emergency meeting via Discord video chat so we can learn the ritual she used to help Stephen.  When people are available, we get online to figure this out.*

Me:  Okay, PrettyWitch.  Let’s see what you got.

Tear: Do we need to get anything ready for this ritual? I’ve no idea how any of this works…

Me:   I have some sage, crystals, salt, essential oils, incense, and a few basics if needed on my end.

Stephen:  I’m here to observe.  *The Cloak is on him as usual.  It seems more clingy than normal.*

Trix: I do more tarot and crystals myself but I’m willing to do more to help.

PrettyWitch: (staring in awe at Stephen…Before she realizes how creepy she seems and snaps out of it.) Sorry. First time seeing you in the flesh.

Stephen (awkward, but no longer as snarky as he once was):  Erm…?  Ah, right.  Well, nice to meet you, PrettyWitch.

Prettywitch: It’s nice to meet you, too.

*I show up on his screen momentarily because I’m hooking his iPad up with the charger*

Me:  Sorry.  Old iPad.  Needs power.

*I go back off his screen and back onto my own on my laptop.*

Stephen:  So, what’s first?

PrettyWitch: Well, the first thing you need to do is imagine yourself conjuring a little ball in the palm of your hands. I usually envision mine as a white, transparent ball.

Me:  Okay.  We’re following you.

Stephen:  One at a time would be better so you don’t all burn yourselves out.  Who wants to try this?  PrettyWitch, not you yet.  You still should take time to recover from your first time.  It’ll take a few days before your energy gets back to normal.

Prettywitch: Okay.

Trix: I can try it first since the rest of these guys did the mine.

Tear: *I cross my arms and slouch back on the couch, pouting* It’s not like we ran out of turns to help though…

Me:  What’s the next step?  *We watch her.*

PrettyWitch: Next step would be to think of the person or object you’re looking to protect and envision them inside the magic ball you’re casting. 

Me:  Okay.

Stephen:  Sounds reasonable.  

Trix: Got it.

Tear: So picture Stephen in a hamster ball, got it. *I immediately close my eyes in regret and pinch the bridge of my nose* Great, now that’s one image I won’t be able to get out of my head.

*We await further instructions.*

PrettyWitch: Then you say the phrase, “Protect [insert person’s name], who I deem needing. As I say it, so mote it be.” Then you can just cast the spell out into the ether. That’s what I do. Then to get rid of excess magic energy, just brush your hands off to the side, like you’re sweeping away dust.

Me:  Huh…That’s pretty straightforward.

Stephen:  Effective, though.  I’ll admit that.

Trix: Well, some of the most effective things are simple to keep its potency. *follows PrettyWitch’s instructions* Protect Stephen Strange, who I deem needing. As I say it, so mote it be. *brushes hands off to the side as instructed*

Tear: *Watches Trix cautiously* …Well, at least you didn’t combust or anything.

Me:  Anything else we should know or is that it?

PrettyWitch: (shrugs) Not really. Magic, the way I understand it, basically works if you visualize it in your mind, first. Though incantations still exist.

Stephen:  Depends on the type of magic, yes.  Though in your universe, it seems that this is the only way to make it work.  Even then, with mixed results.

Trix: Well, I think it worked! *slightly swaying*

Stephen: Thank you, PrettyWitch, for teaching us this spell…and thank you, Trix, for providing me with energy.  *He’s sincere.*

PrettyWitch: You’re most welcome. Anything to help my Marvel Boy.

*Stephen turns slightly red and coughs.*

Stephen:  Haven’t heard THAT nickname before…

Prettywitch: Eh, when you’re terminally online, you tend to pick up the lingo.

Me:  Any other news from anyone or should we call it an evening?  It kinda looks like Trix is about to pass out…Are you okay?

Trix: It feels like college when I was too stubborn to sleep and forgot to eat at the same time. Or one of my ocular migraines because I cannot see properly.

PrettyWitch: Oh dear. It’s probably cause she’s not used to it.

Stephen:  We should probably call it a night so Trix can rest.  I’ll check on her.  *He’s genuinely concerned.*

Me:  Yeesh.  Okay.  So, let’s note when each person does it so we can rotate and not burn ourselves out.

Tear: That would be smart. It can also help us ensure Stephen always has a constant flow of energy, small as it may be.

*Stephen has gone onto Trix’s screen and is checking on her.  He’s being quite gentle.*

Trix: I’ll be good eventually! You’d be annoyed with how often I get like this on a normal day with no magic! *tries to make light of the situation*

Stephen:  Take it easy for a while, okay?  

Me:  I noted the dates that PrettyWitch and Trix did the spell.  I’ll go next when it’s time to do it again.  Tear can go after me.  Are you okay with this, Tear?

Tear: *I bite my lip and eye Steward carefully* Maybe I should go first. I didn’t have such close contact to the negative energies within the cave. You could use a few extra days to replenish properly.

Me:  Are you sure, Tear?  You got rattled pretty badly too…

Tear: Physically, for sure. But not mentally…spiritually? I should be fine to send Stephen some good vibes.

Me:  Okay.  If that’s everything, we’ll say good night for now.  Thanks, PrettyWitch.  You’re a lifesaver.

PrettyWitch: No problem, love.

Tear: We’ll text you and ask for help if Trix doesn’t get better or has other odd side effects.

Stephen (carefully helping Trix to the couch):  Good night.

Trix: Night! *Attempts to wave but kinda flops her arm around*

*I wave before ending the call.*

*Over the next few days, we rotate through performing the spell to sustain Stephen while the research continues.  Tear heads back home and we both continue juggling our work with helping Stephen. Though unfortunately, another wrench in the gears shows itself on Sunday.  The Cloak, it seems, is becoming more and more sluggish.  It doesn’t leave Stephen at all now and it moves ever so slowly and slightly.*

Stephen (worried):  Not you too, Levi…

*He looks the relic over, concerned.  It gives him a small, reassuring wave.  The Cloak unfortunately requires magical energy to sustain itself too.  So, in a desperate attempt at self-preservation, it has been siphoning whatever remaining dregs it can from Stephen when he isn’t using magic.  Stephen’s hands continue to tremble.  Though he can still somewhat control it when he needs to.  We do what we can to comfort him.  He flatly refuses to let us double our energy donations.*

Stephen (protective of us):  This is risky enough as it is.  Plus, you have jobs and lives outside of this.  Please.  I want you all to be healthy and safe.

Me:  You have a life too, Stephen.

Stephen:  Yes, but you’re all doing more than enough for me.  Just get to work safely and do your best, okay?

*I look at him for a moment before nodding sadly and heading off to the lab for some experimental data collection.  A few hours later, there’s a text on the university’s safety alerts.*

Text:  ***Incident in the Biological Sciences Dept.  2 injured.  Labs closed for the rest of the day.***

*There’s a scrambled text from me on the group thread.*

Me (text):  Need ride.  Eyes huer.  Burmt.  Gas.

*Stephen reads it over and over, anxiety starting to flood him.*

Tear (text): Anyone else with a car can go pick up Steward? I can’t leave the bakery yet.

Prettywitch (text): I can. I will pick up Stephen too. *A few minutes later, I arrive in the driveway and ring the doorbell.* 

*Stephen answers*  

Stephen:  Okay.  Let’s go.  *He’s already ready to go.* 

*PrettyWitch nods and helps him pick me up. When I get into the car, I stink of ether gas and am half-conscious.  The smell eventually fades.  A few minutes later, we get to the hospital.*

*Stephen is pacing.  He’s frustrated that he can’t do anything here.  He doesn’t have an MD in this universe.  So, no authority here.  After being checked and treated, unfortunately, my eyes and the skin around them have been burnt by a UV sterilization lamp.  I’m currently blind, but since the cornea heals relatively quickly, I should regain my eyesight in a few days.  I still need to take medicated eye drops to ensure the healing process works properly.  Stephen goes to lead me to the car and we get back to my house.  I’m sitting in my chair.*

Me (voice shaking):  I…Oh God…I-I know it’s temporary, but it could have gone so much worse…*I’m trying to stay composed.*

Prettywitch: It’s alright, love. Just go with the flow. It’s okay to feel scared, even if it’s temporary. I know I’d be freaked, too if I were you.

Me:  How am I supposed to help now?  I can’t work either…*I’m trying to calm down.  Hundreds of thoughts are swirling around in my head right now.*

Prettywitch: You can still help. My magic requires visualization in your mind.

Stephen:  She needs to conserve her energy to heal more quickly.

Me (protesting):  Stephen!

Stephen:  No buts.

Prettywitch: No, he’s right. You need to conserve energy.

*I sigh*

Me:  Fine…Just…What do I do now?

Prettywitch: Just relax for awhile, we’ll keep an eye on Stephen and Cloakie.

Stephen:  I’ll help you when you need it, Steward, okay?

Me:  Okay…

Stephen:  You’ve lost a bit of weight, PrettyWitch.  Eat something while you’re here.  *He’s making sure she’s okay too.*

Prettywitch: Okay. I’ll have some cheesecake, then.

Me:  It’s in the freezer.  Just microwave it for like 30 seconds.

*He sits with me and PrettyWitch, keeping us company.*

*PrettyWitch is uncertain of what to say as she eats her cheesecake. She thinks of things to say, but she always feels like any questions she has for the Good Doctor would seem inappropriate at this time and she doesn’t want him humoring her when he’s pretty bummed, too.*

*I fiddle around with the edge of the tablecloth.  It seems to be a sort of soothing action so I can at least sense something near me since I can’t see.*

Stephen:  I’ll let the rest of the group know that we’ve sorted everything out.  

*He pulls out his phone and dictates the text.  His hands are shaking worse than ever right now.*

Prettywitch: Do you need help?

Stephen (getting slightly frustrated with autocorrect):  *sighs*  …That would be nice, yes.  *He reluctantly hands his phone over to PrettyWitch.*

*She quickly types in a message and holds Stephen’s phone out to him.*

Prettywitch: Here.

Stephen (grateful):  Thank you.

Prettywitch: You’re welcome…

Tear (text): Thank you for the update and getting Steward! I’m finishing a meeting with the accountants and then I’m heading over to help. Be there in a bit.

*Trix comes to the house to check on the situation, but she’s a bit drained because she just finished donating energy to Stephen.  So, she stumbles as she enters the house.  The sorcerer helps her get to a chair so we can all hang out together.*

Prettywitch: Are you going to be okay, Stephen?

Stephen:  Honestly, I don’t know.  I’m losing my abilities, albeit more slowly thanks to your help, and we’re running out of ideas to get me home.  That and more of you are getting burnt out or hurt as this continues.  It seems as though things keep getting worse.

*He’s tired of his usual confident guise and teetering on the brink of severe depression.*

Prettywitch: *Gently places her hand on one of his wrists to avoid hurting his hands.* Hey. We’ll get through this, you’ll see. You can’t give up now.

*He accepts the comfort and lets her get close.*

Stephen:  I know…I don’t know what more to do yet, but I’ll have to keep looking…

*He looks tired and wracked with guilt and helplessness.*

Prettywitch: Look, if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you’re one stubborn son of a bitch. You never give up. Even if it’s at risk to yourself.

Stephen (small chuckle):  That, I’ll admit.

Prettywitch: Good. Then use that to your advantage. If the multiverse exists and you can perform magic here, then there’s no reason to assume that you can’t find a way to contact Wong.

Stephen:  Just a matter of figuring out how, yeah.  If your manifestation spell can work here, then there HAS to be something…

*Trix and I have just been listening quietly the entire time.  Honestly, hearing other people nearby is comforting.*

Prettywitch: (With sparkly eyes) Yes! There’s the Stephen I know and love!...Umm…sorry, I’m kinda weird like that. The important thing is that you don’t give up…Uh, you too, Steward…

*She feels bad for not talking to Steward much.

*I grunt.  I’m kind of in my own thoughts at the moment anyway.*

Trix: We’re just chillin’ there’s no prob! *she tends to get pretty loopy after donating energy and is camped out next to Steward*

*I can feel Trix close by and lean slightly towards her, appreciating the company.*

Me (grim, but staying strong as best I can):  We can’t give up anyway.  There’s no other way but forward whether we like it or not.  So, we have to work with what we’ve got.  It’s a hard lesson to learn, but it can get you through tough stuff.

Stephen:  You’re a better sport than me.

Me (sincere):  Admittedly, I’m only as calm as I am because this condition is temporary.  If this were permanent, I probably would have broken down by now.  However, one thing I always try to keep in mind regardless of what’s happening to me is that we’ve all got something going on.  It’s more a matter of making an effort to try and make things suck a bit less for everyone by being there for each other.

Trix: *slightly more serious* One of the best things I learned in college was that there will always be something that doesn’t go as planned and you just gotta be ready to troubleshoot. Running weekly live tv shows for your degree really hammers that in hard. We’ll all be okay, we just gotta figure out the newest puzzle!

*Tear arrives from her work then, carrying bags of groceries and a tray full of hot drinks for everyone gathered.*

Tear: I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier, but I thought I could help lessen the load around the house. I got you a few extra groceries to ensure you wouldn’t have to go out while you heal, Steward. And I wasn’t sure if you could drink caffeine with your new meds so I brought some fruit tisanes for everyone instead. *I place the hot drink cups in the middle of the table where everyone can go through the flavor labels before I proceed to put away the groceries* Are there any new advancements I missed?

Me:  Thanks, Tear.  *I’m genuinely grateful for her and my other friends being here.*

Stephen:  Well, there’s one last thing I saw in one of the books your group found.  Something about harmonic resonances of different metals used as conduits for cosmic energy…It sounds very similar to how certain relics work.  Maybe…Hmmm…Seeing as you guys are fans of movie props, do any of you happen to have a replica of a Sling Ring?

Tear: Sorry, I do but the size would be too small for you…

Trix: *flops hand almost drunkenly around but makes sure not to hit Steward* I am a sucker for merch!

Stephen:  So, that’s a yes?

Trix: *grins goofily* Yup! I can’t walk right now but it is in my office in my house!

Stephen:  What is it made of?

Trix: Mine isn’t one of the real props so it’s a base metal so it’s a bunch of random scrap metals mixed together. It’s what most fashion jewelry is made of. You either need to make a mold of that and get whatever metal you need or we need one of the actual props from the movies~

Stephen:  Hm.  The best ones for resonance are a mix of silver, copper, and gold.  

Me:  I’ve got some souvenir 24 karat gold from an old class field trip to Sacramento.  Could donate that to be melted down.  It’s not much, though.  Maybe we can get some gold leaf from a craft store to get more?  Silver, I’m allergic to nickel and such.  So, most of my jewelry is made with silver or at least plated with it or gold.  Copper, I can probably buy some off of the chemistry lab.  They use it as a reagent sometimes.  So, that’s the metals covered.  

Trix: Fuck, my boss and the goldsmith at work like me enough. If I send you with the sling ring to get a gold one custom made we could get the gold at cost. 14k would probably be the sturdiest as 18k might be too soft. If you make it in 14k rose gold, that would bring the copper into the mixture and would leave out other impurities. I’ll just pay him back when we’re not trying to send Stephen home. Shouldn’t be over $800 at least…I think. Just say you’re my brother in law and you came over to help while I’m injured.

Stephen:  All right.  Is there anything else you want or need me to do?  *He’s being nice and genuinely wants to repay us for our kindness.*

Me:  I’m good for now, but might need help with the burn medication later on.  I don’t want to fumble around and spill it everywhere.

Trix: Snaaaaaacks *back to being unfocused because blood sugar is low*

Stephen (gentle):  Will do.  In the meantime, here.  *He offers Trix some fruit.*

Trix: *grins* Thank you~ Key to my place is in my mini backpack near the door. Ignore the fact that it’s Marvel themed. Go forth sorcerer on your side quest!

Stephen:  Wait a minute, I don’t have a license here.  PrettyWitch, could you please drive me to the jewelry store after I get the replica from Trix’s house?

PrettyWitch: (Salutes) You got it!

Me:  Please be safe, you two.  

Stephen:  For now, since we don’t have the money or all of the metals yet, I’m just grabbing the replica and requesting a mold.  Trix, you may need to call your boss and the goldsmith to confirm so they don’t get suspicious of me.

Trix: *holds up phone* Way ahead of youuuuu~ Texted my boss already and said I’m sending you his way for a special project. They won’t question making a ring like this because they know all about how I’m a marvel nerd and wouldn’t question ‘family members’ being the same. If they ask, my migraines are worse than normal and that’s why I can’t stop by with you.

Stephen:  Okay.  Will do. Tear, please look after Trix and Steward while PrettyWitch and I are out.

Tear: *Salutes playfully* You can count on me, Cap’n. I had laser eye surgery last year, so I’ve got all sorts of ideas to make sure Steward rests and doesn’t get bored. I’ll make something to eat for when you guys come back, as well.

Trix: *grins* Godspeed! 

*He goes to change into normal clothes, grabs Trix’s key, and heads out with PrettyWitch.*

***To be Continued***

[phoenyx-embers]

I can relate to this. I didn't even realize it until someone else pointed it out. I have a large mixture of neurodivergency, mental illnesses, and chronic illnesses. It's also not enough to be considered legally blind because the smallest portion of my sight can still be helped with glasses, but I am on the cusp of what is considered legally blind and my vision constantly gets worse. I almost didn't meet the vision requirements to get a driver's permit with my glasses still on. It's so hard for me not to become hateful to myself because I'm not able to do the same things I used to be. I'll be unable to move a single inch at all from pain and stiffness in my back for hours, or I'll have migraines so bad I can't even see or perceive anything around me, or huge rashes that show up unannounced and then disappear before I can show a doctor because they come and go and they don't want to show up on camera properly, chest pain that feels like I'm constantly being stabbed, constantly feeling like I'm being electrocuted, joint pain and stiffness, fainting, constantly dizziness, being sick and unable to eat food all the time, cramps that feel like I'm being stabbed, and my insides exploding (because I had a ruptured ovarian cyst and they sent me home and told me to take tylenol and ibuprofen even though they literally gave me fentanyl, morphine, tramadol, and zofran, and I could still feel the pain at the ER. But actually I might have more cysts still and it seems like more than 1 is rupturing, but they can't tell because I'm a minor and it would require invasive tests they don't want to do.) It seems like I keep adding to a list of health problems I have, and mental illnesses. Why would I have the energy to shower if I felt like my insides were being ripped apart? My bedroom is the most distressing, embarrassing mess ever, and it makes me feel worse every day. I can't clean it because I can barely stand how much everything hurts. If course that wouldn't help my depression. It sure as hell doesn't help my depression when doctors go "well erm actually there's nothing wrong with you because you look like a normal teenage girl, you're just being dramatic." and "have you tried tylenol or ibuprofen? Taking more than the maximum dosage every day? Not my problem." I am so mad at myself for how disorganized I am. I'm autistic and I love to be organized and have schedules, but I also have ADHD, so I'm disorganized and cannot stick to schedules, especially with my chronic pain. I am mad at myself for falling behind with my schoolwork, or not being able to stay on the same level with my peers. I'm almost 18 and I still don't have a drivers license. I am trying to get a job this summer, but most places require hours and hours of standing, which I know I won't be able to do. There's quite a few food places I couldn't work at either because that type of food makes me extremely nauseous when I'm around it for a while. Specifically, pizza. I don't what it is but pizza makes me sick. I can't keep up with my schoolwork because of the brain fog and pain so bad I can't ignore it. I used to be such an overachiever. Some people say I still am, but I am nowhere at the level I was before. Without names for what I'm going through, I get mad at myself for not ignoring the pain and getting things done. I can't though. So I just get mad.

i am disabled and i didn’t realize it until i was 31.

and the way that i learned that i was disabled was when a friend of mine tagged me in a tweet that was asking for recommendations for disabled queer and trans poc creators.

when i saw that tag my immediate reaction was to dm them and say, “thanks for the tag! i’m not disabled tho”.

and right before i hit send it suddenly dawned on me

the cocktail of mental illnesses that have plagued me my entire life, that have caused me to spend countless days in bed unable to function, that have necessitated that i try twice as hard to keep up with my peers, that have caused me to struggle in school, that have caused me to lose jobs, that have caused me to lose friends, that have caused others to mock me, that have been the source of so many tears, that have been the source of so much self loathing

ARE disabilities.

and the only reason i didn’t see them that way was because of internalized ableism.

i didn’t hit send. i sat down and cried. i cried tears of rage and frustration for all the times my parents, partners, friends, teachers, and bosses told me that i just needed to try a little harder. i mourned for my inner child who spent so many days crying alone because they felt broken. and i cried from relief because i finally understood

it’s not my fault. it never was.

[shinra-makonoid]

Do anti-anxiety meds work that fast? I though those were like you have to take them consistently to work. I've never taken any anti anxiety or depression meds and I would be nervous to, but do those meds normally make people stop daydreaming? Doesnt everyday dream at all times, unless being spoken to or like watching a movie?

Benzodiazepines are a muscle relaxant, so in about 20mins or so you're supposed to feel more drowsy/more relaxed/drunkish/slower. In my case there is certainly a part of placebo-effect going into it, I've been using them about once every month or every 2 months for more than 7 years. However, the effect of the specific med I should usually lasts for a couple of days. The next day from taking it, I was still visibly slowed down as one of my peers remarked. Which is why I usually try to take it before the weekend begins for ex.

My anxiety (again idk how other people work but that's how I see it in myself) tends to build up over time until I freak out, and I often have to take one antianxiety every one/two month. So I usually get one or two to get back to a baseline functional level, and then it builds up over time again. It's some kind of background anxiety thing going on. I won't have a panic attack like I used to, but it's always there like a static sound going on, and the static becomes louder and louder with time, until all I can hear is the static. And nothing really helps but those pills to really decrease it. Sport only marginally reduces it, even though I do sport twice a week, which is annoying but eh, one benzodiazepine every one or two months to function normally is not the worst either. This is a difficult and stressful year, which is probably why.

I think it doesn't stop people from daydreaming, more like, for me daydreaming is at least partly from a coping mechanism from anxiety, which is why I said maladaptive. Reality becomes too bad and too stressfull and so my brain is like "time to get some specific fantasies in your head because reality is awful" and I could spend the whole day doing that because of it, and nothing else. So when I get less anxious, I daydream less, because my brain can face reality without freaking out. Idk how other people work, but the only times I've been extremely obsessed over something and/or daydreaming constantly, were during times where I felt I had no control over my life and was extremely anxious. It's escaping.

I feel that way currently because this year is hell. I can't really afford to give up because it's still going on and I want to become a doctor nonetheless. But I don't have the time to really process what this lack of control means for the next few years either. I have doubts, even tho I want it. So my brain is noping out of it and I have to carefully negotiate with it in order to continue, basically. And when it doesn't, well... I have no choice but to use meds.

It's not like I choose to daydream in those case, it's like daydreams have little grabby hands catching me and I have to put energy into resisting it, which brings brain fog and tiredness etc. I used to daydream all the time including during school, and I could very much daydream in a movie, I could stop doing everything just to go to my bed and daydream the whole day no problem. I wouldn't consider that a typical everyday person daydreaming. You could argue this is normal behaviour, it's debatable tbh, I don't consider it normal for me because of precedents showing me when this typically occurs (horrible moments of my life). Moreover, it impacts my ability to function, to study, and so I can't really afford doing that this semester. I will be able to when classes are finished, and this perspective gives my brain something to hold on to to focus in the present time.

I can still daydream a bit when I'm on the bus or before sleeping, and I do, but I don't feel the urge to literally spend my whole day daydreaming, like I got during this weekend. So whether it's placebo or the med, it helped me.

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Fics Named After Locations Masterlist

a plaque on the wall in singapore (ao3) - apeirophobia calum/ashton, harry/louis T, 5k

Summary: “What do you do?”

“Other people’s boyfriends, apparently.”

(In which Ashton has no fucks left to give, and Louis finds he still has a few.)

Or, Louis isn’t sure if he’s hitting his lowest point, but at least he’s hitting something.

Caught in Seattle (ao3) - cornflowerblue (daydadahlias), thesaltyspice calum/ashton, other(s) E, 82k (WIP)

Summary: or, the one where Calum is supposed to be sober but, somehow, he finds himself a new addiction in the form of a cowboy hat-wearing groupie

Destination: Perth (ao3) - onlythevoid luke/ashton T, 34k

Summary: The stranger swung into the seat next to him and sighed contentedly. Luke stole a glance from under his hat. It was a boy with light-brown messy hair, reminiscent of surfers Luke saw on the beach in Brisbane - he had a t-shirt on and black jeans, and fade-tint round-frame sunglasses propped on his straight nose.

The stranger caught Luke’s eyes.

“Hey?” The stranger asked. Shouldn’t have looked at him, Luke thought. Too late.

The stranger had set his sunglasses on his head and was peering below Luke’s cap. “Dude. You look terrible. Are you okay?”

Oh, so the stranger was one of those guys. Too friendly and ever-inquisitive. Yes, Luke looked like shit; he’d been crying for an hour at a time, every few hours, and all he’d had to eat in the past two days was some wet broccoli at the hospital and a bag of chips he’d bought that morning in Brisbane, and there were bruises all up and down his right arm from a car crash he wished he’d died in.

Luke didn’t say any of that. He prayed his voice would be steady and said, “Yes. Thanks.”

The messy-haired boy did not seem convinced. After a pause, he offered, “My name’s Ashton, by the way.”

Hotel California (ao3) - persephone_evans michael/luke G, 5k

Summary: Ashton wakes up in the most expensive hotel he’s ever been in. Only problem, he can’t remember how he got there or how he paid for it. But when he meets Calum and gets introduced to Michael and Luke, he doesn’t care anymore.

a hotel california au that i wrote in a fit of depression

LA is not for the weak (ao3) - gardener luke/ashton M, 34k

Summary: Anybody who has ever lived in LA can second that the vibe is off. So much goes down in Los Angeles every single day that there is no way you can know everything about this city. Negative energies have the tendency to spread much quicker than positive ones, and it shows. Having lived in Los Angeles for as little as a couple of months, perhaps even less, can change you for the rest of your life. Some people recover from LA, almost as if it were a flu, but some people can never seem to snap out of it. For those of the last category, even if they are on the other side of the world, they are still in LA. Or, really, LA is still in them.

After everything that has happened in the past couple of years, Luke Hemmings is not doing okay. Los Angeles has really started to take its toll on him, and the constant pressure of being in the public eye doesn't make it any easier.

The Sun Is Burning Down Los Angeles (ao3) - galacticsugar luke/calum M, 40k

Summary: Calum probably signed a form saying he wouldn’t fall in love with the lead singer of the band. And he really doesn’t want to. What a cliché. It’s just…people get famous for a reason. This guy got famous for all the reasons. 

Calum moves to LA to work for 5SOS.

walmart sonata (ao3) - kaleidoscopeminds Luke/Calum M, 33k

Summary: Luke shakes his head. He doesn’t really understand Calum. What is this beautiful man doing being sweet and kind to him in the Walmart he works at several times a week? Luke’s life doesn’t include things like this. He just smiles at Calum slightly disbelievingly, it’s not like Calum will ever really see him perform. He’s just a hot stranger from his grocery store.

Wembley (ao3) - smol_whale michael/luke G, 2k

Summary: 5sos are playing a show at Wembley and Cal, Ash and Luke bet that Michael is going to hurt himself on stage.

With a New York State of Mind (I Wanna Take My Heart to the End of the World) (ao3) - Lxverxofmxne G, 1k

Summary: 4 strangers, same destination. One road trip, 14 hours max. — “This is going to sound really weird, but do you wanna road trip with me?”

The men stared at Luke weirdly. He shrugged before continuing.

Woke Up in Japan (ao3) - hollyster luke/ashton E, 4k

Summary: in which Ashton and Luke go on a picnic date and end up having sex in the shower

Woke Up In Japan (ao3) - Shipalltheships (Destielshipper100) luke/ashton, calum/michael, shawn/everyone M, 2k

Summary: Shawn calls Ashton asking if he and the rest of the band would want to hang out. The four men put a mischievous plan into place.

[the-angry-nerd]

Thursday, September 12, 2024

Well, week three of the semester is coming to a close. I feel more accomplished and on top of my game than ever. I often find myself running away from tasks that involve speaking to people. Being a senior means that the anxiety must leave in order to get what I need out of my professors and peers. I am trying very hard to face difficult situations head on instead of avoiding them. It turns out most of what I was running from was not even that difficult or taxing. I was just letting other mental factors control me. It feels good to not have anything weighing on my mind. To be able to go to sleep and know I did everything I could to make the most of a day.

That’s how I feel about being a creative. I was always so worried I had no time or energy to make art. I almost do not even recognize myself as an artist anymore because it had been so long since I have been creative. Getting back into the craft has helped me in so many ways. I feel much more fulfilled in my days. When I spend time collecting photos and then editing them, I feel a spark get reignited. Even with writing, with school being back in full swing I am writing all the time. However, writing for myself or on this website makes me feel like a creative again.

I just feel happier and lighter than I did a year ago. I feel more open and at peace. I know life is full of ups and downs in which I am truly enjoying this up. It feels like years since I have felt this up. I have been putting in the work though. I spend time doing yoga and meditating.

My whole life people would respond to my anxiety with, “Just let it go, it’s not worth getting yourself crazy.” Well, it was how my body responded to the world around it. I never realized that I can control my body, that as its inhabitant I have a right to decide how I will feel/react. I did not want to live the rest of my life anxious, depressed, or angry. I simply wanted to live. I am starting to understand it is a choice to not be anxious. It is a thing you have to train your brain to do, to decide it is not worth losing the grip on your reality and experience. This is also how I’ve been working through my anger. It is a process but I am finally seeing results.

I am loving life and making moves. I cannot wait to see what this next week brings for me.