#i also just worry i don’t belong but that’s the depression talking

[hibanaraikou]

i’m sorry i haven’t been on. i keep trying to be but then i either end up taking long naps throughout the day or my brain is just (dial up tone) when i try to sit and write. i’m really very sorry; i was super excited to get back on tumblr & get into the swing of things but depression seems to be beating my ass right now. i’m going to try and actually do things this week, like the lyric starter & asks. please feel free to send me memes, i really enjoy getting them. thank you all for your patience.

[whoblewboobear]

Staring down that weird feeling of feeling like too much or out of place or annoying if I say too much or say things too loud or too off-putting to be like- WANTED in any given social situation. To try so hard to socialize just to- idk. I’d very much like to stop defaulting to that scared kid that was pushed away or talked over until I got old enough and desperate enough to say any and every rapid fire thought that comes to mind. Like filling space when there’s dead air then wondering if maybe I did the Too Much™️ thing again and A. Scared everyone away or B. Pushed everyone away so it would hurt less when they leave BC of A.

Of feeling like I need to be useful or smart or talented or pretty or SOMETHING worthwhile so people want me around. I can just be but then it’s like just being has never been enough for anyone to like- stay. Or care. Running is always a mistake bc it’s like riiiight.. no one noticed you ran, babe. You’re not even at the top of their list people to want around. And just feel so low about it that I talk myself into feeling miserable again.

I’m happy, ive been so much happier lately and i dont take it for granted bc it’s so rare that things go okay or that there’s a sense of peace for a moment. I’m creating again and im less hard on myself about it. I have hobbies again, I’m making friends. And still I’m like seeing the other foot start to drop in real time bc it’s like. You’re in, but are you? That constant nagging voice that sounds so much like my own going “lonely again? Good you deserve it”

[desos-records]

The part I appreciate the most in the Lockwood and Co show is how it handles depression and suicidal thoughts in teenagers. As a theme, it’s not often (ever) done well. Lockwood and Co is the only story I can think of that depicts it in a nuanced, realistic, non-romanticized way

but first, before I get into it: [if you’re in crisis or need someone to talk to and don’t want to/can’t use your national hotline, highly recommend Samaritans, genuinely saved my life] okay, let’s go

Lockwood is the most obvious, with his general disregard for his own life and admitted suicidal ideation. Lucy struggles with her self-worth and the intensity of the emotions she’s subjected to. George worries that he doesn’t belong, that there’s something useless or wrong about him. The show depicts these thoughts and feelings in a way that isn’t overblown or dramatized, it’s all but casual. Which is how it happens. Depression or suicidal thoughts don’t crash into you all at once, they creep into your life without you noticing

But more importantly (and again, something I’ve never seen anywhere else), the show also offers counterpoints to those thoughts and feelings. It shows that there is a way out, even though you may feel trapped and hopeless. This is crucial for the show’s target demographic. Bad media depictions of depression or suicide get internalized, contribute to the stigma, and make it harder for people to ask for help. This show doesn’t do that. This show tells its audience that, yes, things are scary and painful and it fucking sucks, but it’s not hopeless. And it says it so well

In the second episode, when Lucy wants to quit, she admits something that I’m almost certain she’s never told anyone

“sometimes I just think I’d be better off dead”

And when I watched this the first time, I expected Lockwood to react the way I’ve seen people react in my own life; with silence or panic or downright dismissal. But he didn’t. He stays calm and he says something that is so so important to hear when you’re struggling under the weight of feelings like this

“I understand that”

Saying this tells someone several things: that you’re on their side, they aren’t strange or monstrous for feeling like this, and that you’re not going to attack or abandon them because of it. And you can see the impact it has on Lucy, the way her face clears. She went from struggling to breathe and near tears to calm and steady. It’s no mistake that in this moment we hear his and Lucy’s theme for the first time (those simple, beautiful guitar strings)

The next thing he says is also important

“and it’s not true”

Simple, to the point, directly addressing her feelings, and (the most common mistake) doesn’t make it about him. Telling someone that you love them or that they’d be upset to lose you might sound nice, and it can be later on in the conversation, but in a moment like this, it’s infinitely more helpful to confront the thought itself

A similar moment in the first book stuck with me too, when they’re underneath Combe Carey Hall and Lucy almost steps into the well. What she’s hearing in her head (and the general phenomenon of malaise that ghosts produce) is very similar to depressive or suicidal thoughts. Before she can fall, Lockwood pulls her back

“no, Lucy, that’s not the way it’s going to be”

Depressive and suicidal thoughts deal in absolutes, so sometimes it takes an absolute to counter it

In the last episode, George has that heart-breaking moment where he says all the awful things he thinks about himself, partly because of the influence of the boneglass and Bickerstaff, but it’s also been building up, there in the background. Increasingly, it’s Lockwood and Lucy working together and George working on his own, which picks at old wounds (engineer, engineer, engineer, weirdo). He bonds with Joplin because he feels like she understands him in a way the others don’t

“it’s nice to have someone to show off to”

But Lucy pushes back against all that because she sees herself in all the ugly things George is saying, because she’s felt that way too. She understands that. She’s so surprised and horrified to hear him saying those things, resigning himself to dying down there, she’s not going to let him go on believing them

“you’re not a third wheel or an oddball or whatever it is that you think you are”

“you’re the best of us”

“we are not losing you, Georgie”

Flo called him that earlier too, but Lucy wasn’t there for that and coming unprompted from her it sounds so much like something you might call your slightly annoying younger brother. She’s so absolute about it all, with no opening for doubt, and you can see something like surprise on George’s face (but also pain because now Lucy’s in danger too)

For all Lucy knows, the boneglass will kill her. I don’t think for a second she genuinely believes her talent will protect her; she told Joplin that to protect George. It’s unclear when exactly she came up with the plan to use the skull, but she was willing to risk it anyway. And she knows, she knows, George will blame himself for this (because she would too, if it were the other way around), but even then, she’s very clear

“this isn’t your fault”

Their whole scene down in the catacombs is two kids trying to keep each other alive, physically obviously, but on the inside as well. And, oh god, George almost crashing down next to Lucy after he’s knocked over the boneglass, trying to wake her up. His voice

“Lucy, Lucy, it’s me, it’s me, say something, speak to me”

I think it’s down in those catacombs that George and Lucy really understand each other for the first time. In their own ways, they’re both curious and suspicious about the Problem and what causes it, trying to learn more about it (and stressing Lockwood out in the process). They both left their families; they both struggle with feeling strange and different than everyone around them. That connection pulls them both back from the edge

Lockwood, for all his confidence, is practically in crisis or was fairly recently (I suspect living with George helped). It’s fairly common, actually, for someone suicidal to overcompensate with an exterior shell to hide it, which can manifest in different ways depending on the person (they may not even realize they’re doing it, I didn’t)

And I love how the show handles it. He’s not made into this dark, tragic figure. He’s so full of life it hurts. He jokes around with George and Flo, fights with Kipps, admires Fairfax. He has dreams (plans) for the future. He’s struggling with trauma, they all are, but he’s not Broken™ in the way similar leading characters are often made out to be, in the way we often fear we are

And, of course, there’s Lucy, a wreaking ball through the precarious balance of Lockwood’s life. It’s not so much that she gives him a reason to live (although she definitely helps), but she holds him accountable in a way no one else does. This is the difficult part of recovery that no one talks about. Having people care for you (George) and sympathize with you (Flo) is great and necessary, especially early on. But at some point, you have to take responsibility for yourself and the noise in your head (you have to open your door on the landing)

What that looks like is complicated and messy and different for every person, but seeing it played out in a story is remarkable. I’ve never seen anything like it. This is a difficult thing for anyone to learn (many adults never even try)

That shot of George, Lucy, Lockwood (and Kipps) rising up on the catafalque sums it all up for me. Each of them fell into darkness alone and rose out of it together. They inspired each other to fight and win their individual battles, even when they couldn’t be there to help

[anangelwhodidntfall]

Scars to Your Beautiful: Dad!Jake Sully

Avatar Masterlist 

word count: 1.4k

Request: Can you please do a Dad!Jake × reader where Y/n has depression and starts being self harm and Jake finds out because Neteyam told him and Y/n gets mad at Neteyam because he promised not to tell anyone?

Taglist: @meteorstardust​

Warnings: Mentions of self harming, depression, unworthiness...so don’t not engage if you are triggered by any of these! ​

Jake had noticed the angry slashes on your wrists during breakfast and prayed that it wasn't what he thought they were. He watched you as you are trying to figure out if you were okay truly.

"Hey son, can I talk to you real quick?" Your dad asked your twin.

"Yeah Dad, what's up?" He asked.

"Your sister. I noticed some marks on her wrist today. Did something happen to her?" He asked hoping that maybe you had just gotten hurt while training or running around.

Neteyam was in a rough spot right now because he had promised you that he wouldn't tell anyone, especially your dad about the self-harming but he was worried one day you hurt yourself beyond repair. So with a final sigh and prayer of forgiveness to Ewya, he decided to tell your dad the truth.

"Dad....y/n she's been.... self-harming herself for a few weeks now possibly longer...I just found out two weeks ago..She made me promise not to tell you or mom." He said hanging his head and preparing for the lecture that ya'lls dad was about to give him for hiding this.

Your dad let out a deep sigh as he ran a hand through his deads, confused about how he didn't notice way before now that you had been struggling and hurting yourself in the process. He also couldn't be mad at Neteyam for protecting you especially considering he would've done the same thing for Tommy.

"I'm not mad at you son. I understand why you protected her. Did she give any reason why she hurting herself?" Your dad asked.

(Flashback)

Neteyam had returned home from his daily chores to grab his bow and arrow before going to meet up with Lo'ak and a few others when he heard movement coming from your room which made him confused as you were supposed to be out.

"Sis?" He asked pulling back the flap to your room and was met with a sigh he never thought he would see.

There you sat holding your wrist with your knife which had some blood on it next to you as you looked up at him in shock and confusion as he wasn't supposed to be here.

"What is this?" He asked kneeling so he was on your level as he brought your wrist closer to his face.

"Nothing! You wouldn't understand!" You said snatching your wrist back from him.

"Sis this isn't nothing. Why are you hurting yourself this way?" He asked genuinely concerned about you.

"I'm depressed Nete. I don't feel like I belong here...it's just been so hard leaving behind our home and starting over here...and the people they treat me like such an outcast...Nete I just want to belong....this makes me feel a little better, it makes me forget about how much I don't belong out there." You said looking outside as Neteyam's heart broke.

"it's alright sis...let's get you cleaned up." He said walking out of your room and grabbing the healing supplies.

"How long have you been doing this?"  He asked as heh cleaned your wrist.

"Since about the second week we got here. But you can't tell dad." You said pleading with him not sure how you would ever explain this to your parents.

"Sis..." Neteyam said unsure how he could keep this from your parents.

"Promise me." You said.

"I promise." He said reluctantly as he bandaged your wrist.

(End of flashback)

"She said that she had been having a hard time since we left home and started over here and that some of the people treat her like an outcast." He said as your dad sighed, he should've known that you would've taken the move the hardest.

"Thank you, son. I will talk to her." He said as Neteyam nodded his head before leaving to continue on with his day.

It was almost eclipse so you were making your way home from a relatively good day finally when your twin walked up to you and joined your walk.

"I uh kinda dad about your self harming." Neteyam said making your smile drop.

"You what?" You asked making sure you had heard him correctly.

"I didn't want to but he asked me and I couldn't lie to him." He said.

"You told him! I trusted you, I fucking trusted you!" You said pushing Neteyam as the tears fell down your face at the fact your twin had betrayed your trust.

"Sis I had to! He is the only one that can help you, I'm just worried about you." Neteyam said as your parents came outside to see what all the yelling is about.

"What is going on you two?" Your mother asked.

"Nothing absolutely nothing. Neteyam don't ever speak to me again." You said pushing past him and climbing onto your Ilu.

Your dad who had watched the entire scene unfold went after you but kept a distance not wanting to scare you off more. He watched as you climbed off of your Ilu and walked onto the small island before taking a seat and burying your head between your arms.

Your dad climbed off of his skimwing and took a seat next to you on the island and wrapping an arm around you.

"Neteyam didn't want to betray you. He only told me because I asked him after I noticed the marks on your wrists this morning after breakfast." He said as your crying died down.

"He didn't?" You asked quietly.

"No, he didn't. He's just worried about you like I am baby girl. Why didn't you tell me what was going on?" He asked.

"I was scared...everyone had been adjusting and fitting in pretty well so I assumed that there was something wrong with me..I tried to stop after the first time I hurt myself but then I did it again and realized that in that moment it made me forget about how sad I was." You said as your dad sighed.

"Hey, can you look at me, baby?" He asked as you slowly lifted your head and looked at him.

"I don't want you to ever keep how you are feeling inside again. I don't care if we are the happiest people in the world, none of that matters if you aren't happy, you hear me?" He said as you nodded your head.

"I'm sorry Dad." You said.

"There's nothing to apologize for, I get why you did. Just come to me next time, it's my responsibility to make sure you are happy and okay. I love you and don't want anything to happen to you." He said placing a kiss on your forehead.

"I love you too Dad. I think you should know I haven't done it in a few days." You said making him smile.

"That's good to hear angel, I'm so proud of you." He said hugging you.

You two spent some more time talking where you learned that your dad had been in the same situation as you before he got to Pandora and that made you feel seen and understood more. As you were talking you were thinking about how you would apologize to your twin for how mean you were to him.

"Whatever you do for him, he will love it, I'm sure." Your dad said the next day.

A few days later you had finished making your twin an armband out of some shells and beads you found and you were nervous to give it to him. You found him sitting on the dock feeding his Ilu, so you nervously approached him and took a seat next to him.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you, pushing you, and accusing you of betraying me to your dad on your own. I made this in hopes you might forgive me." You said placing the armband in his hand.

"Thank you, sis, I love it but I should be asking for your forgiveness because I could've lied to Dad." He said as you shook your head.

"Nonsense, I'm glad you told him." You said shocking him.

"Really?" He asked you.

"Yeah turns out dad knew what I was feeling and was able to help me. So thank you." You said hugging him.

"Your welcome sis. I just want you to be okay, I was really worried about you." He said.

Your parent's watched from ya'lls mauri with smiles on their faces at the sight of you two getting along once again and that you were gonna be okay.

[tempestmothstorm]

Man I love act 2 Natsuki so so much we gotta talk about her more aaugghhhh

I swear it was said somewhere that Natsuki was changed the least because out of all the club members Monika could make her unlikeable simply by proxy of Yuri being messed up too, someone who Monika saw as more competition compared to her. Similar to act 2 Yuri being a slap in the face to her self doubt about secretly being an overly pushy creep, changing Natsuki the least feels like a slap in the face to her whole side stories arc about feeling like an awful person nobody likes. Monika probably knows about all her self doubts too and is still basically like “you’re right :) you are so unlikable that I don’t even have to change you that much to make someone think you’re just as repulsive as a freaky yandere”

Because of this Monika was mostly focused on Yuri this whole time, slowly neglecting Natsuki until the narrative started doing it too. Between Yuri and Monika forcing themselves on the player, Natsuki who is notably less pushy gets instead pushed away and sidelined by them. Considering her whole backstory and arc in the side stories, it’s kinda ironic that the one safe space she has ended up neglecting her needs too.

It’s kinda depressing though man her old friends make her ignore her feelings and put up with their abuse. Her home life is ambiguous most of the time but at best her dad neglects her feelings and needs and by act 2 he’s abusive to the point of life threatening child abuse. And then her last and only safe space changes to become distant and rude, where they dismiss all her wants and concerns while putting down her interests and very existence in the club, all for a boy who just got here. This club was supposed to be a safe space full of welcoming people who would let her be who she is. It was supposed to be the one place she wouldn’t get yelled or sneered at for voicing her opinion. It was supposed to be the place where she could ~write the way into her heart~ or whatever. But now it’s just become another source of abuse in her life

She has to conform to everyone else’s needs instead, and no matter how much she may want to she has no power in her life. She has to watch as every person in her life abuses and neglects her. She never gets to be vice president. She never gets to be in the loop and find out why everyone is acting strange. She never gets to know why the club is tearing itself apart. The world is breaking and she can never learn why, she can only sit by in silence and suffer in the background as everyone else takes hold in the narrative. She tries reaching out but nobody actually respects her enough to let her do anything, and the only thing keeping her from giving up and leaving is the fact that she has nothing else, and maybe this time things will get better. But they don’t. She doesn’t belong anywhere. She has no power here. She can’t change things no matter what she does

Yet despite this she ironically ends up becoming the most normal person ever in the club. The girl with literally zero healthy relationships in her life. The tsundere. Is the voice of reason.

Monika you suck at your job

Everyone around her is going insane. Yuri is becoming obsessive to the point of uncharacteristic aggression, Sayori just doesn’t exist, Monika is ignoring it all and acting like everything’s normal, and mc as the closest thing to normal this club is gonna get is also becoming more and more of a blank slate. She’s alone in this.

And yet despite all of that she still cares about her friends. Even if Monika tries to get her to ignore it, she still cares about Yuri and is worried about her more than anything. Despite Monika’s attempts to dehumanized the club, Natsuki never yields to her control. She’s the one to call everyone out on how weird everything is, cutting through Monika’s facade and realizing that something is wrong. She desperately wants things to be okay again, for Yuri to be okay even after seeing the way she acts, for you to listen to her since you’re the only other person who could do something.

She tries reaching out with her last note, pleading for you to do something. Even if Monika takes that moment away because she still wants to act like nothing is wrong, the player remembers. You remember that Monika tried to get you to leave you club members to suffer, and you remember that Natsuki is still a real human being reacting to these things, not just a set of scripts. And the player recognizes that Natsuki cares, even if they can’t do anything about it.

Despite Monika trying to reinforce her being a bad person, Natsuki’s character ended up shining way more than it would have had it just been act 1. Even through all of Monika’s attempts, Natsuki still makes it apparent that she can be a good person and that she really deeply cares about the people around her, even if it takes a lot to show it. While a stubborn tsundere is hatable, her stubbornness here to just be herself ironically ended up as a strength. The anime trope ended up as a boon. Suck it Monika 😎

Throughout the constant dehumanizations as cliche lines of code, Natsuki retains her humanity until the very end. While Sayori and Yuri’s last moments are them succumbing to Monika’s control, her final moments let her retain her humanity.

By puking in the floor yeah. But with all of Monika’s efforts to get her to act like nothing’s wrong, her having a normal human reaction to a three day old corpse compared to complete nonchalance makes her seem more human than Monika ironically enough. She probably would have wanted Natsuki to ignore it too, but no matter what she did she couldn’t stop her from being herself. Her desire for perfection compared to Natsuki seeing the world how it is a bit of a rebellion to everything Monika stands for, and in the end, Natsuki gets to have the win in some little way.

Natsuki being the least altered is interesting cause on one hand it says some about a person when Ms. Access doesn’t bother hitting you with the asshole beam to make you look like an asshole, but on the other hand she does still try to make Natsuki look bad, and its interesting to think about how that ended up failing. She’s still whole compared to the others who are altered beyond belief, and who she is isn’t all that hatable compared to what Monika wants you to think. Her best qualities still shine through, and despite all she perseveres until the end where Monika can only delete her to get rid of her.

Despite all of Monika’s attempts to twist the club apart, despite everyone else in the club becoming hostile and unfamiliar, despite everyone in her life treating her like she’s worthless, Natsuki is still herself. She’s stubbornly herself until the bitter end. And honestly who she is is pretty great. That’s all. Natsuki cool

[seoafin]

nail in the coffin

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru warnings/tags: established relationship, definitely not healthy relationship dynamics, explicit mentions of sex, dubious consent, happy birthday to my babygirl geto suguru im sorry this is so depressing, not exactly angst but not exactly fluff, unhealthy jealousy. talk of pregnancies and children. also mandatory gojo warning tag and he's not even in the fic. word count: ~3.8k read on ao3

“I don’t know what to get Suguru for his birthday.”

Shoko looks up from her paperwork at you. You lay on the infirmary bed closest to her desk, hands neatly folded over your stomach, as if about to relay all your worries to a shrink.

Your distress must be palpable because she shoots you a look of pure amusement. “You’ve done fine these past few years. I’ve never seen a man so happy to receive a potted plant.”

You stare at the ceiling, gnawing on your inner cheek. “It’s different now.”

“Oh?”

It is different now. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe you’re overthinking it, about all the infinitesimal ways things have changed when they haven’t. It feels like you’re the only one floundering, overwhelmed, trying to navigate the dynamics of your new relationship with Suguru and Satoru. Except the two of them are the same as they’ve always been: smiling, laughing, touching you like their hands belong on your skin, bringing you close with the same confidence of two high schoolers ready to take on the world.

Except it isn’t exactly new, according to your two boyfriends. Satoru had said nothing would change. Suguru told you that you didn’t need to be scared, that now, the three of you could stay together forever, and isn’t that what you had wanted in the first place? A relationship was a promise. A promise the three of you shared.

You’re still uncertain. Terrified.

Maybe nothing had changed for the two of them. But you approached the idea of a romantic relationship with apprehension and the panic of a fleeing hare. You’re not made for it, built for their love in a way anyone else would be. A normal, happy person would be ideal. You’re formed a little too oddly: not exactly straight, bent and twisted in sharp angles, and battered in places only a child can reach.

But when they hold you, the world feels like a better place, and everything feels a little more okay. You wonder if they feel the same. And when they kiss you, you do all you can to cling to that feeling, otherwise you’d drown in your constant worries.

It’s a temporary solution to a sinking ship. 

“You’re spiraling,” Shoko hums, the pen in her grip twirling around her hand. “Come back.”

You blink, feeling suddenly restless. “I just…want it to be special. More special.” You hesitate. “Satoru’s abroad too, so…”

Suguru hadn’t said anything about his upcoming birthday. Not even a mention of it. As if he had wanted to spare you this exact mental and emotional turmoil. Overthinking and agonizing over a seemingly mundane event. This morning, he kissed you, a brief passionate thing, before heading to Kyoto for a meeting at Kyoto Jujustu Tech, promising to be back before six. He had headed out the door only to come back three minutes later to take you on the counter, leaving you breathless and sated, your mind in twists and knots. Then while you had been in a daze, he had smoothed over your clothes, hands running over your body (a teasing pinch here and there), drawn you back back on two feet, and kissed you again, murmuring low declarations of love against your lip. 

I love you. I’ll see you soon.

Love, love, love. 

He pocketed your panties.

“You’re overthinking it,” comes Shoko’s reply. “From you, he’d be happy with a rock.” She eyes you as if she can discern every thought. “You don’t need to overcompensate. You’ve always been enough.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest at her words, tension unraveling, despite your uneasiness, and you appreciate them. Any other year, a new book and your sorry attempt at baking a cake would have sufficed. But now you aren’t sure. What do people get their lovers on their birthday? What had Satoru gotten for Suguru on his previous birthdays? Suguru for Satoru? You won’t be able to measure up. Not with all your failings in romance.

After a disastrous first date, and Satoru’s absence, you only want to make him happy. 

You reluctantly rise from the bed. “If Satoru were here…” You trail off. Two weeks abroad in the Philippines experiencing the last of torrential monsoons, discovering the sweets of a different culture, and documenting it all for you and Suguru and Shoko. You never get used to the feeling of missing him.

His presence would be welcome, but you aren’t sure this is something you could confide in to anyone but Shoko. Sometimes, you think your doubts are something they just wouldn’t be able to comprehend.

Just as you feared, a romantic relationship is profoundly different from sex. A purely sexual relationship with Satoru and Suguru had also meant your friendship could remain intact. Separate. Maybe at first, you had told yourself you didn’t mind, not when it made them so happy. Maybe you had always wanted it, but you didn’t need it. You were happy before, content. You don’t know how to be a lover. You don’t even know how to love, not in the way they deserve.

Bent and twisted.

You glance at the clock, feet hanging over the bed. “I should go. Tsumiki’s going to help the girls make a cake for Suguru.” You smile at the thought. Of course, you’d be relegated to clean up duty, but you wouldn’t be alone. Megumi would keep you company, just as he always did. A small extension of your shadow glued to your side while the girls fed batter to Megumi’s divine dogs and laughed, chattering about school assignments and their upcoming school field trip to the aquarium. 

Only then would you be able to forget about your worries for a while.

Getting to your feet, Shoko stops you.

“If you’re really that worried about a gift. Have you considered pregnancy?”

You nearly trip over your feet.

She shakes her head, laughter on the tip of her sigh. “That got your attention, didn’t it?”

……..

Suguru comes home just as the cake has been wrapped and placed into the oven to cook. Nanako immediately moves to stand in front of the oven with Tsumiki, their bodies blocking the cake. Suguru feigns ignorance about the cake as Mimiko clings to his leg. He picks her up in his arms and plants a kiss on top of her head, drawing Nanako away from the oven to demand a kiss for her too.

You’re washing the dishes, giving them to Megumi to dry when Suguru’s arm snakes around your waist and brings you chest to chest. Before you can utter a syllable, Suguru kisses you.

To the delight of the girls, and the great suffering of Megumi, who wrinkles his nose, places the dry plate in his hands on the rack, climbs down the stool, and shuffles away, divine dogs nipping at his feet. The girls follow after him, giggling. Video games in Megumi’s room, you’re sure.

He’s unusually happy. You could’ve sworn he had been whistling the same tune you often hear from Satoru’s lips. “I’m home.”

You place a steadying hand on his chest, a slow smile spreading on your face. “Welcome home.”

Suguru chuckles, brushing the hair out of your face fondly. “You sound like a housewife.” Then he glances at the apron tied around your waist, and kisses you again until you’re breathless, fingers fisted tight in his shirt.

“I was thinking,” he says, not disheveled in the slightest. Unlike you. “How about we go out tonight? There’s an izakaya that just opened up not far from here. We can go and decide whether or not it’s good enough to appease Satoru’s high taste.”

As long as there were sugary drinks and more sugar, you’re sure that would be more than enough to keep Satoru quiet for dinner.

“I don’t mind.” You look on the counter and realize Suguru brought home takeout KFC for the kids. Mimiko will be delighted. “I thought you had to get up early tomorrow—”

“I can be late,” he replies, lips curling into a mischievous smile. “I wasn’t planning on an early night anyway.”

Your face heats at the implication. At the memory of his lips this morning, the shape of his hands, and the burning desire of his gaze. You look to his pocket, unconsciously, and his lips pull into a teasing smirk. You look away, embarrassed. Feel heat pooling between your thighs underneath his darkening gaze.

You don’t get to ask him about what he might like for his birthday, what Satoru’s gotten him on his previous birthdays (before you had been added to this convoluted romantic equation), or anything of that note. Mimiko runs back into the kitchen and demands Suguru’s attention for a school project.

……..

The izakaya is bustling, close to bursting open with the amount of patrons seated around the wooden counter and in small, packed tables around the restaurant, forcing people leg to leg, shoulder to shoulder. Suguru leads you in, and you can’t help but be amused at the way the waitress brightens at his arrival, and the sight of her disappointment when she catches sight of you, next to him. There are two empty seats at the counter and you raise an eyebrow at Suguru. On a piece of paper in front plastered to the front door: No reservations.  

Upon being seated, Suguru and the waitress, Akari chat about the popular items on the menu as you look around the small area bathed in dim lights, and the scent of meat grilling on charcoal. You’d like to come here with Shoko on your next night out, and drink. Cheers erupt from across the izakaya. Five or six tables haphazardly pushed together to make one long table seating what looks like drinking college students. Girls on one side, guys on the other.

“A mixer,” Akari says, almost apologetically, as Suguru takes your jacket and hooks it behind him. She takes out a notepad and a pen. “I’m sure they’ll be ready to leave soon. You know how college students can be!”

“A mixer, huh,” Suguru muses. “I don’t miss those.”

“I’m sure you were popular with all the girls,” Akari blurts out. As if realizing her words, she flushes prettily. Suguru looks faintly embarrassed at the compliment, ducking his head.

“Well, I doubt I would’ve noticed either way,” Suguru says with a short chuckle, apologetic. “There was only one girl I was only ever interested in so…”

He’s looking at you. Even though the izakaya is thoroughly heated to stave off the winter cold outside, your face warms, insides twisting, and you swallow. Suguru takes your hand, massaging, warming it up from the biting cold.

“Oh!” She replies, clasping her hands together dreamily. “How long have the two of you been together?”

“Three years, give or take. It feels like we’ve been together since highschool though.”

You blink. Three years? Since high school? According to your estimations, it’s only been three months. You don’t have time to dwell on it because Akari asks if you’re ready to order. 

Suguru orders a little bit of everything. Braised foods, grilled foods, potato and cucumber salad, tuna and salmon sashimi, and two large pints of hakkaisan. You hadn’t planned on drinking tonight, but Suguru only grins conspiratorially, (“you have to try the seishu if you want to come here with Shoko”) and he’s right. Only the best for her. You note the menu has an entire subsection dedicated to western ice cream sundae desserts. Satoru will definitely like that.

Akari takes your order and briefly returns with your appetizers and two large pints of Hakkaisan. Suguru takes a picture and sends it to Satoru. Your phone vibrates from the force of the rapid stream of texts sent by Satoru's fast fingers. You turn your phone on silent.

When you take a large, long sip, it’s Suguru’s turn to raise an eyebrow. He wipes the foam off your lips and licks it off his thumb. You pointedly look away. Suguru’s laugh is good natured.

“Now,” Suguru murmurs, still audible despite the increasingly present background noise. He lightly bumps his leg into yours. He looks concerned. “What’s on your mind?”

Three years. High school. Birthday presents. His birthday. It all dies on your tongue.

“How was the meeting?” You ask instead.

Suguru doesn’t push. “Fine. Boring. Naoya was there.”

You down the rest of your Hakkaisan as Suguru looks on. You don’t know if you can be sober for this conversation. You don’t know if you want to. Satoru- kun , Suguru- kun . You frown. When there’s nothing left in your glass, you let him feed you a glazed meatball.

“Nothing about—”

“If Naoya wants to inherit the clan, leaving Megumi alone works in his favor. We both know how he feels about his inheritance, and I doubt he’ll change his mind.”

(Megumi, aged ten, coolly staring down at a seated Naobito: No. Thanks.)

“ Killing Megumi works in his favor,” you point out. It’s awful. He’d do it too like the coward he is. You’d previously held no strong feelings towards the Zenin other than annoyance and mutual dislike. He had liked Satoru and Suguru well enough, trailing after them while thinking you an eyesore, severely annoyed at your resistance to calling him Naoya- sama like his servants back home. Where, to him, is exactly where you belonged.

At least Shoko- chan is useful . Even if she is a woman, he’d said. You didn’t need him to tell you what you already knew. When he crudely told you that there were more useful things she could be doing, like passing down her reverse cursed technique, you had activated your own cursed technique and pushed him into the lake.

You supposed he was still sore about that, although you, yourself, had forgotten about it. After that altercation in high school, you never saw him again. Until Megumi.

“They won’t take him.” You say severely. “I won’t let them.”

Megumi and Tsumiki were yours , just as much as Mimiko and Nanako were Suguru’s, and you’d fight tooth and nail, just as you had when you were a high schooler to protect them. 

“ We won’t let them,” Suguru says gently. “We’ll protect the children.”

You relax at his words. The three of you. Just like it had been in high school. But also it’s not really the same is it? Now Suguru and Satoru kiss you like they’ve always been doing it. Nothing’s changed, you hear Satoru say in your head, but everything has. Now you regularly fall asleep to the sound of soft breathing, sandwiched between two bodies, and wake up to hands roaming your body as if they belong there. And when they fuck you, it’s so tender you’re unsure of what to do. You never dwell on it too long, you can’t, because they’re insistent on keeping you with them, in the heat of the moment, until you’re so strung out you can’t formulate words. Again and again, over and over—

Have you considered pregnancy? 

You aren’t even sure Satoru or Suguru want children, least of all with you. You’d be a horrible mother. Children—

You don’t know. Not anymore. It’s all so confusing. So you order the strongest whiskey cocktail on the menu, and ask for an extra dose of whiskey as Suguru looks on, and when Akari delivers it along with your first courses, you down the entire thing. And then order another.

……..

To everyone’s great astonishment, you had been twelve drinks in when Suguru cut you off. You’re not drunk. You think. Everything is slightly tilted towards the right but that might just be the weight of your head tilting precariously to one side. Even the dim lights are bright to your eyes. Okay, you’re drunk.

Suguru is looking at you, slightly swaying on your stool with such a lovestruck expression that the tangled bundle of nerves in your stomach slightly settles. You love him so much. But you also know that you are poisoning this relationship, this thing you have Satoru and Suguru, with your fears and concerns. It’s not right. It’s all your fault.

You love him and Satoru so much it feels like your heart might burst. You’re so happy that any day you’re terrified it might come to an abrupt end. You’re not ready for it to end. It will end. It always does. And it’ll be your fault for being so weak. For giving in. 

You stand, placing a hand on Suguru’s shoulder to steady yourself. His hand automatically goes to your waist.

“Washroom,” you tell him and you slowly make your way to the door, Suguru’s gaze following you all the way inside. The buzzing of the fluorescent lights scratch your eyes as you hover over the sink and sigh. You shouldn’t have drank so much.

You breathe, splash water on your face, and wash your hands. You aren’t sober, but you’re on your way. When you exit the bathroom, two college aged girls are sidled up to Suguru, and you stare.

You aren’t quite sure what to do. From the looks of it, they could just be having a conversation. You’re ill equipped and unprepared to handle a situation like this. But then the brunette puts her hand on Suguru’s shoulder and smiles, white teeth flashing, lips ruby red. Her friend with dyed blonde hair and a voluptuous chest begins to start playing with a lock of Suguru’s hair.

The hair that he had left down because you liked it down the most.

Everything’s changed, you think, making your way over. It’s not fair for Satoru to say it hasn’t. If it had been before you would’ve been fine. You would’ve quietly excused yourself and made yourself scarce. You would have encouraged it. You would have wanted them to be happy with a nice, normal girl. It was alright when it was just sex. They promised that that was all that it was. Just sex. A way all three of you could feel good. Mutually beneficial. But they had to kiss you, bring you to tears and then kiss those tears away.

Maybe if you give us a kiss first , Suguru would croon, underneath you, watching your heaving, desperate body with lidded eyes. Satoru’s nearly luminescent gaze hungrily trained on you as you struggled to form words.

They had to want more than you could give them.

When you get to your seat, conversation falls to a sudden silence. The two girls size you up, but you don’t pay them attention. You don’t bother to say anything. You grab a still seated Suguru by the middle of his shirt and pull him up into you for a long kiss.

You try to keep it chaste, but Suguru doesn’t let you, doesn’t want to. There’s a nip at your bottom lip, a demanding swipe of his tongue, but you refuse him entry. He’s smiling into your lips when you squeeze his shoulder, hard enough to hurt, and the two of you separate. He’s not even out of breath. Just so pleased with himself you wonder if he planned this, let some random girl touch his hair, touch him.

You tell yourself you don’t care. 

You turn on your heel, leaving him with the bill.

It doesn’t even take him five minutes to catch up with you.

“Are you mad?” He asks, your jacket on his arm. “You forgot your jacket—”

“Suguru,” you say. “What do you want for your birthday?”

You can tell he hadn’t been expecting that, because he momentarily blinks. Then smiles. When Suguru is taken off guard, it’s difficult to tell. Because he always smiles, but there are tells in his expression. “Anything wou—”

“Shoko said I should get pregnant.” You leave out the part where she had been joking. “Is that what you want? You and Satoru? How many children?”

You’d be lying if you said you had never thought about it. Birth control was only so secure, and Satoru and Suguru liked it, finishing inside of you.

You wouldn’t be averse to it. Satoru would give you a girl. Suguru, a boy, and maybe another girl. 

Suguru’s throat bobs, watching you. He thought you were joking. You’re not. “A couple,” he says slowly, gauging your face. “Girls,” he says, expression soft as he looks at you. “Satoru wants girls. A boy or two, so Megumi wouldn’t be alone.”

There’s a future here. It terrifies you so much. They want it, the both of them, this future you aren’t even sure you’ll be present for. 

“Now,” you say, licking your lips. You won’t let him look away, not now. “Tell me what you want for your birthday.”

“You,” he breathes out. He looks sad. “All of you.”

“Okay,” you say simply. Quietly. You’d do anything for him. For Satoru and Shoko. You look down at the frost lined streets and let your breath mist in the chilly air. You wordlessly take your jacket from Suguru and put it on.

You press your face into his chest. His arms envelope you. He’s warm, and for a few seconds you listen to the steady rhythm of his heart.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You don’t mind if they hurt you. Never did. You look up at him. “I love you.”

His hands are surprisingly warm when he cups your face like you are the most precious thing in the world. But now you’ve made him sad. “I love you,” he says softly. “I love you so much.”

His words are undeniably true. He loves you. He and Satoru, in ways you never asked for. In ways that have brought them nothing but suffering. You don’t know if it’s worth it. You wonder if they regret it. You would’ve been forever content as a spectator.

In four days Satoru will be back home, right back in Suguru’s arms. He’ll kiss you greedily, all consuming, as if to make up for the lost time, and then the three of you will end up in the bedroom the three of you now permanently share, clothes strewn all over the room. Satoru will fuck you first if he hasn’t already had Suguru. Then Suguru. Then he will spread the rest of the night buried between your thighs, below you, on top of you, leaving his mark on your body, as if to make up for the lost time while Suguru takes your mouth. Then the two of them will fuck you together. You will cry, cling to them, and kiss them. Messy, cum swapping, consuming exchanges that swallow you whole. They will kiss you back to devour you, and only then will they be satisfied. 

In the pale light of the morning, sometimes you press your ear to their chests, close your eyes, and listen. Like listening to the call of the ocean, the tides, in the opening of a conch. No two heartbeats are the same. Not even theirs.

But right now Suguru is not asleep. You close your eyes and dedicate yourself to memorization. In four days you will lie awake on Satoru’s chest, and listen to the heartbeat that makes him human.

Right now though, you think, this is enough, and you are content.

a/n:

-when i conceptualized this it was initially haha you get drunk and kiss geto. wouldn't that be cute. and then it turned into this. in an effort to defend myself i will say that the people wanted an established relationship!

-so i know this fic ends on a debbie downer mood but i swear they will talk about it. sometime later. maybe. rip!mc is just a lillll dumb so. she just needs space y'all (and maybe an apartment (to herself))) and we all know what boundaries mean to One Gojo Satoru. also yes geto can be a male manipulator at times. that's why we love him.

-yes rip!mc attempts to murder naoya yes she forgets about it right after. that's just how irrelevant he is. she probably saw a cat right after or smt idk.

-rip!mc still does not know stsg have been pining since hs. shoko is like you still haven't told her and geto is like. baby steps.

-nail in the coffin is a whisky cocktail made with japanese whisky. i thought it was hilariously ironic. also if ur a true shoko fan you should know she orders whisky cocktails in the light novel!!!

[apollosrambling]

Cold rain, warm comfort.

@real-levyanno Asked: Heyyo so I was reading a few of your posts and I am in awe of them. I was wondering, when and if you had the time, if you could do Slytherin-depressed-former prefect Reader x Twins? Maybe Pansy finds out Reader isnt a pureblood like everyone thought and so they all turn on him. He becomes depressed and his prefect badge given to Draco. No one seems to notice how affected he is until the twins find him trying to drown in the black lake and that's when they decide to help/confess their feelings?

It’s truly a mystery how long this has been sitting in my inbox. Sorry I made you wait 🤍🖤 also sorry it’s more of a warm up, I haven’t written anything other than AP style in years.

It’s been noticeable, the shift in your mood. The way you haven’t gotten up early to make sure the first years are awake and heading to breakfast, once of your favorite morning rituals. The way your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, or the way you brush off compliments like they’re meant to be deflected.

It’s impossible to know when it started, but the catalyst was that night in the common room, surrounded by your fellow Slytherin’s as the highlands rain beat on the windows.

“You’re a mudblood, aren’t you?” Pansy Parkinson had looked so proud of herself. The quiet laughter and chatter of your peers dying out.

Rather than answer, you stood and left. Only the cloak of night sheltered you, but it was two boys with red hair and blinding smiles who found you perched on the high docks of the lake. Teetering on the edge as you contemplate letting the wind push you into the black glass below.

You’re close to falling when a warm hand grabs yours, nearly searing after the cold that’s settled into your bones.

“What are you doing?” Fred Weasley is holding on to you like if he lets go, you’ll disappear. Maybe you would.

George, who was holding a warm blanket, slides to your side. Before you can protest, you’re bundled and sat. All three of your legs dangling over the docks edge, far enough away to not worry about wet toes.

“Looks to me like our favorite person was about to become an icicle,” George answers. It’s been so long since anyone spoke that you forgot Fred had asked a question.

“Yeah, maybe. Or perhaps he was trying to become one with the merfolk.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here.” Your voice isn’t as strong as you’d have prefer it been. The halfhearted kick at George’s feet does nothing other than cause the twins’ eyebrows to raise.

“We’ve noticed you’ve been a bit…” Fred trails off, as if he’s unsure the right way to deliver the blow.

“Sad? Quiet? Melodramatic and rather a downer?”

“That’s not helping, George.”

“Sorry, Fred.”

You watch them poke at each other. Reaching across you and shoving at each other as if their lives aren’t in danger. You worry they’ll accidentally knock each other off.

The absence of your head boy pin feels suffocating. You reach up to the empty space on your sweater, as if expecting it to come back. It won’t, though. It was now resting in Draco Malfoy’s hands, cold and stunned when you had wrenched it from your body and dropped it.

“I quit being head Boy”

The brothers freeze, looking at you with an uncharacteristically serious expression. George leans his body against yours.

“Why’d you go and do that?”

“Parkinson called me a mudblood. She’s right, I don’t even belong in Slytherin.”

The look on George’s face is downright foul. “That’s the biggest load of rubbish I’ve ever heard. You’re one of the most ambitious, determined people I know.”

“Yeah,” Fred weighed in, letting go of your hand to gesture into the air. “Everyone knows you’re the best Head Boy in the school. The first years love you.”

“They did,” you laugh a humorless thing, “they wont anymore. There’s not much to love.”

Now the twins look truly offended.

George doesn’t answer, he just takes your recently freed hands. Pulls your fingers from where they had been picking at your nails, and gently kisses your finger pads.

Fred runs a hand through your hair, fingers brushing along your jawline and the touch of stubble that threatens to poke through.

Having their hands on you is nice. It’s grounding, warm and pleasant in the cold air.

“There’s plenty of you to love.” Fred’s voice is quiet, almost a whisper.

“Some ancient opinion from old, dead wizards means nothing to us. You, though.” George leans close, his hair nearly tickling you. “You mean a whole lot.”

You hope the flush on your cheeks can be excused to the rain that’s slowed to a drizzle, but you know it won’t be.

“You’re just saying that-”

“No,” George is still holding your hand, still caressing your finger tips. “You’re incredible.”

“So kind,”

“And funny.”

“Yeah, Fred and I think you’re going to change the world.”

“Or rule it,” Fred jokes, before his face tightens.

“I’m sorry we didn’t say it sooner.”

“Say what?” You ask, leaning back a bit as the cool wind nips your face and their heat keeps you from freezing.

“That you’re damn near the most perfect person out there.” George’s words are soft but his lips are softer. It’s surprising, in a way. You half expected them to be chapped.

When George pulls away Fred takes your jaw, gently redirecting you to him.

“You’re wonderful.”

[jeonminhao]

Home • Minghao

Pairing : Xu Minghao x Fem! Reader

Genre : angst, fluff

Word Count : 1.1K

TW : mention of depression(?)

A.N. I'm trying to go back to writing again, this time with Seventeen :) since I am back into the Kpop world lmao. Pls lmk what you think! <3

"I cry, even without tears now. I cry again, just like breathing. Though I try to take a step away from the sorrow that has become my home, I cry on the doorsill. I cry, even without knowing it myself."

Tablo - 집 (Home) (Feat. Lee Sora)

Minghao stood in front of the glass door, his eyes fixed on the CLOSED sign. The flower bouquet he had been holding was wet from the rain, the petals falling pitifully on the gray pavement from how tight he was clutching the bouquet. He was late. Again. And he wasn’t sure if he’ll be forgiven. He quickly took out his phone once he found a canopy that could shield him from the rain, reading the string of texts you had sent him hours prior.

I am here! It’s pretty crowded. I found a place at the very back of the restaurant so we can talk. Saw Jeonghan and Wonwoo at the restaurant and he said you’re still at the studio? Hao, Where are you?  Is everything ok? It’s been 2 hours so i guess this means you’re not coming or forgot we’re supposed to meet up :) I’m gonna head back home. I think it’s going to rain soon. Don’t forget your umbrella. Text me soon.

He sighed. He didn’t mean to ignore your texts. His phone was set on his usual silent mode whenever he was working on his paintings. He swore he had remembered that you were supposed to meet at 8 PM in this new place Mingyu recommended the other day. He didn’t know when you two started to make this a thing, trying new places once a week and just hangout and talk about your lives. No. He did know. It was your idea and your twinkling eyes that always looked at him as if he was loved and deserving of one. And who could say no to that? To your gentle smile and warm hand that always finds its way wrapped in his. And he did enjoy it. How couldn’t he? He fell in love with you the first time Jeonghan introduced you to the group three years ago and had been ever since. But life seemed to have a way to fuck up everything he desired. 

He knew a bad day was inevitable and the darkness that wrapped around him like a blanket was not an unfamiliar feeling. Every day seemed like a chore. It was just exhausting. Even breathing exhausts him. But he thought it would be different this time. He thought having you by his side would lessen the pain. And maybe it did, to an extent. But he was drowning and he was just exhausted to even want to try. 

As if it wasn’t enough, his art project wasn’t progressing as well as he’d like and he kept scraping layers of paints and changing his canvases when they finally gave up on him. He had destroyed a half finished painting due to frustration and would’ve destroyed the rest of his paintings if you didn’t knock on his studio door.

And in the midst of his worries and struggle, he started to push everyone away. It was better to be alone. The coldness in his heart was more familiar than the warmth of your embrace and he was terrified. It was too foreign for him, the happiness, the warmth, and the feeling of belonging, of being home. 

“Hao?” Minghao startled, eyes quickly focused on the familiar figure standing under a black umbrella. 

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” was all he could say, mouth forming an ‘o’ shape. You were supposed to be mad at him for forgetting your ‘adventures’ for the nth times. You were supposed to throw tantrums and threaten to block him and end this friendship. But there you were, standing in front of him with the black satin dress he bought for you last month and the leather jacket that he realized was also a gift from him. You took tentative steps towards him, a smile blooming in your face once you finally stepped under the canopy.

“You texted me?”

Minghao looked down at his cold hand, the phone on his hand was still on with your chat window opened.

‘Sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m late again. Iloveyou. I’m s osoorry.’

He didn’t even remember when he typed those texts nor did he remember pressing the send button despite the typos.

He reread his text again and froze. “Y/N–,” 

“Did you mean that?” You asked, taking another step closer and Minghao could smell the familiar perfume on you and the scent of your favorite shampoo. “Did you mean it when you said you love me?” You asked again, this time in a whisper. 

It had been 3 years, 970 days to be exact (not that Minghao is counting) since he first fell in love with you. And not once, even in his drunken state, did he let himself text you and confess. Especially not in such a dumb way. He prided himself as someone who was always in control of his emotions, keeping everything hidden to make sure you wouldn’t be uncomfortable. But there he was, sober and doing the stupidest thing a Minghao could do. Not even drunk Soonyoung would do this, he fleetingly thought before he turned his attention back to you. 

“I brought you flowers. They’re ruined. Sorry. I know i shouldn’t be late and forgot but everything has been shit and–”

“I love you, Minghao.” Your words stopped his trainwreck of a thought. His eyes widened as he looked at you. “I thought you hated going with me and doing this… But Jeonghan said you kept telling him about our time and he said you really love it. And I noticed you’ve been kinda withdrawn ever since I saw you at the studio. You do know you are not alone right, Minghao?” You took his hand in you. It was cold but it was okay. Minghao was Minghao and he was anything but cold to you. “ It’s okay to have a difficult time, but don’t forget you have a lot of people who would do anything for you.”

“This seems more like an intervention than a confession.” He blurted out before both of you burst into giggles, the cold rain suddenly didn’t feel so cold anymore now that he had wrapped his arms around you, the bouquet long forgotten on the wet pavement. 

“It’s both.” Was all you said before pressing your lips against him. A gentle and wary kiss, as if you were terrified he’d hate it. He let go of one hand and cupped your cheek, pulling you into a deeper kiss, sighing in relief, his body relaxing under your touch and heated kiss. Murmurs of apologies and I love you’s keep spilling out of his lips as your hand clutch the front of his sweater as if he was your lifeline. 

Maybe the unfamiliar was okay. Maybe he could get used to this.

[mrsjavierp]

Where You Belong?

Chapter 7 - Torture

Javier Peña x latin!f!reader

Summary: Running away from life as you always knew to start a new position as Head Chief on a DEA Office, far away, on Colombia. There, you'll face violence, as you never thought you could. There, you'll meet Javier Peña, your stubborn agent...

Warnings (to the whole fic): +18!, angst, smut, cheating, last relationships, drug dealing - Narcos Universe (not so accurate), bad spanish, english is my second language, use of Y/N and Y/LN. No physical description of the reader, only your clothes (sometimes). The POVs are shifting between reader (first person and Narrator - 3rd person)

(If I forgot anything, tell me, pls!)

Word Count: 2,6k

A/N: I'd love to know about you're thinking about it so far! Your opinion is really important! Tks <3 Btw, I'm tagging @pedrostories! Babe, let's show'em why we're so much in love for that man!

Obs: Oops, I did a "past x present situation" again, so, anytime you see something written like this, is past. If not, it's just Javi's memory about the night he won't (and can't) forget... And neither can you, reader <3 Let's be honest, how would we forget a night like that?

***

Narrator's POV:

Javier went to see how Steve was doing, after Connie left.

The apartment was a mess, with empty bottles all over.

If ever Steve were sober, it was before his girls went back to Miami.

He was so depressed... Made Javier think about his family as well, but in a different way: if it was him and Lorraine, would he try to do some or anything?

Steve sniffed and cleared his throat, handing Javier a beer, bringing him back from his thoughts.

"Have you, uh... Had anything to eat in the last 24 hours?" - he asked.

"About Y/LN..." - Steve ignored Javier. - "Do you think she's gonna send me back? Did she say anything?"

"To be honest, I think if she was going to send you back, she'd have done it already. We know she doesn't put up any shit."

Steve sputted.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Do you think I am out?"

"I don't know." - Javier answered.

"Well, I ain't ready to go home yet, Javi. I'll tell ya that." - Steve threw the top from his bottle away. - "Damn it! She's fucking..."

Javier got up, he needed to do some or anything.

"Take a shower. Sober up." - he suggested to the friend. - "I'll get back to you."

Steve sighted, sitting back down.

**

"Thanks for talking to Y/LN again, man." - Steve thanked, while Javier was driving to their new office. - "I mean that... You saved my ass."

"One more fuck-up, Murphy..."

"Oh, I know." - he responded.

"Is it gonna happen again?" - Javi asked, worried.

"I don't know. I really don't." - Murphy seemed lost in thoughts.

"Let's hope for the sake of our careers that is the first and the last one."

Shortly after they arrive, you show up by helicopter, wearing a black tight suit, heels and sunglasses. Javier was already shivering.

Making an effort to change his focus, he said to Steve:

"Get ready to get your balls snippet." - and they both smirked.

*

Steve and you sat down at your office, his expression was awful: sad, bitter, hangover.

“So Connie left… You’re upset, knocked a few back to numb the pain and then decided to take it out on some Wall Street pendejo”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Isolated incident?”

“Yeah.”

“You still don’t trust me? That’s fine. But if I’m gonna have your back, I need to know that I can trust you. Otherwise, I have no problem sending you back to Connie in Miami… Am I making myself clear or do you need a drawing?”

“Loud and clear, Jefe.” - He sighed. 

“Dismissed, Murphy. Go to work.”

He got up and left your office.

He was just a ghost… A resemblance to what he was, when Connie was here. God, you felt sorry for him.

*

Hours later, you sat down at the bar, close to your office, after all those hours, alone.

You just wanted peace.

So much happened and you also got quite some happening.

Steve and his bullshit, Escobar on the run, Crosby up on your ass...

"A Dry Martini, por favor. Seco." (A Dry Martini, please. Extra dry.) - you order.

"¿Señorita, dry martini? ¿Seco? ¿Estás enferma?" (Miss, dry martini? Extra dry? Are you sick?)

"No, amigo... Soló necesito olvidar algunas cosas." (No, my friend… Just need to forget a few things.)

He knew your drink was a neat scotch, he never saw you drinking any other thing.

You hated how the gin burned while going down your throat. You could almost remember when Javier fucked your throat at the same time you used your vibrator because he wanted to see how you've done by yourself... He convinced you to pick it up at your place because he needed to ruin you, as you did to him...

"Díos mio... I don't wanna remember anymore, please, make it stop..." - you whispered like a secret prayer, closing your eyes.

*

About 2 hours later, taking off his tie, Javier walked into the same bar.

He sighed, so frustrated, so hurt, so pissed off.

Lorraine just had put the cherry on top: she wanted to leave Laredo to Dallas or Austin, because... He didn't even understand why. She asked for more money, his visit for a few days... The only good thing on that call was his baby boy, Lucas, who your so called wife insisted on calling Luke. Sometimes, he felt a little prejudice from her against his latin origin.

And she demanded again! Javier was trying to delay it, but she was coming on strong at him.

The worst part is… He didn’t care about Lorraine. Not that he ever did in the first place, but… 

In reality, he was just sad... 

Sad that he spent an intimate long night fucking you and... Nothing.

You just disappeared. Left him hanging.

Javier didn't even get to listen to you masturbating anymore.

He asked for a scotch, neat.

Just like he purred to you that night…

Sometime that night, you sat down on the armchair by his bedroom window, lit up your cigar, while he served you a glass of whiskey. You wore nothing but your red panties...

Javier kneeled down, again, for you.

There you were, smelling like your cigars, whiskey, sex... And Javier.

His hands worshiped your figure, opening you for him, again.

"Javier, I'm a little occupied..." - you said to him, almost purring.

"I don't care. I need to touch you. Go ahead with whatever you drink or smoke. It's sexy as fuck."

He loved that your scent was just like his. Make him feel like you belong to him, only him. 

“When I'm done with you, you're gonna smell just like me… Like my come, my perfume, my spit, my sweat… You ruined me, cariño. I'm just returning the favor.”

“Javi…”

“You know where you belong, don't you?” - his index and middle fingers entered you again. You moaned. - “You belong with me, cariño. I'm not letting you go.”

“Oh fuck…” - you moan. - “You also smell just like me, Javi…” - his eyes widened, surprised. - “You also smell just like my french perfume, my spit on your dick, my sweat on your skin… My come all over you…” 

You were so distracted you didn't even notice when he walked in and sat across from you.

When he spotted you, Javier went up to you.

"Martini, Y/N? Gotta say, did not see this coming."

"Bite me, Peña." - you responded through your teeth.

"I wish I could, cariño, but you won't let me get near you. I miss you. Don't tell me that you don't remember or you didn't like it." - his mouth came closer to your ear and murmured: - "You came so many times in my mouth that shirt I wore still smells like your cum, even after I washed 3 times already... Wanna know where it is?"

You sighted slowly, catching your breath, eyes closed.

"My bed, cariño. Right where you left your red panties, where you belong. Where you should be." - he continued to whisper in your ear.

"Peña..."

"No, not Peña. Call me Javi, babyboy, obedient soldier, anything but as if we were working… We both know that’s not under your obligations."

You looked at him, in pain.

"I-I-I can't. We gotta be a part, Peña."

He hit the bar with his fist.

"Bullshit! You may be an award winning actress, but you can't pretend any of that. I remember it all too well... I remember you telling me that was a fucking dream and you didn't wanna wake up! I remember you melting under my touch..."

You laughed.

"Peña, I quit smoking and drinking whiskey because of you."

"Why?"

"Because it tastes just like you." - aside from the scotch, he smoked cigarettes, not cigars. Your eyes are almost in tears.

He looked at you with those puppy brown eyes.

"Cariño... You don't have to..."

"Yes, Peña. I do... You don't get it, do you?"

"Actually, no, I don't. Enlighten me, then." - Javier responded, rude. He couldn't bear to be hurt one more time. He wanted to be yours and you to be his, only his.

"It was a mistake, Peña. You're overthinking what happened... I... We..." - you didn't know how to say or justify. You were lying and you were such a lousy liar... Javier could see right through you.

"Don't! Don't you dare to continue to say anything like that!" - it was his time to respond through his teeth. - "You don't get to do that! I won't accept these lies! You're not fooling me nor anyone… Days ago you were moaning and coming all over me... Now you want to take it back? News flash, you can't! You can’t change the past, you can’t change the fact that we fucked worse than rabbits, cariño. I told ya, I’m greedy as fuck." - his voice went from pissed to almost cooing at you.

You were feeling awful. Guilty. You shouldn't want Javier so badly, but you wanted.

"Peña, I'm your boss. We've got a job to do. I can't get involved with you, it was a mistake!"

Javier's heart was pounding. You couldn't do that to him.

You tried to get up, but your liquor betrayed you, almost throwing you on the ground, but Javi picked you up before you got hurt.

"Vamos, cariño. I'll take you home, vecina." - he said.

You only cuddled with him, holding up all you could.

*

Javier helped you get inside, paying attention to what you needed: You needed to eat, to take a shower and lay down, unfortunately, too drunk to do it alone.

First, Javier prepared a bath for you, a warm one.

"Peña, I just dumped you... You don't get to see me naked again." - you said to him, while you were sitting on the closed toilet and he took off your shoes.

He laughed. You were a cute drunk.

"Don't call me Peña. I already told you. Right now, I'm not calling you by 'jefe' or 'Y/LN' either. You're cariño, hermosa or even babygirl."

You began to take off your clothes, while he took off his jacket and folded his sleeves.

"I like cariño, Javi..." - you almost purred. - "I shouldn't. But I do..."

"Good. Cariño will be, Hermosa."

He helped you finish undressing and getting in the tub.

"Oh, it's gooood. Thank you, Javi..."

He remained outside it, just taking care of you, not letting you lay down too much or sleep.

When you finished, he covered you with a towel, leaving you alone for a few minutes to look for some medicine, as hangover prevention, and some food.

A little like him, your fridge only had whiskey, water and a leftover pizza.

You two were more alike than any of you wanted or expected.

He used the oven to heat it, at the same time you put a red and lacy nightgown.

"Oh, fuck, cariño... Had to be this one?" - he asked you, trying not to sound so horny.

"It was this one or none. Pick your poison, Javi."

He sighed. What a fucking brat you were, even drunk as a skunk.

"Sit, please. There you go, eat it. Where do you keep your painkillers?"

"My bedroom..."

"Finish your dinner, cariño. I'm going to give you some, we've got work to do tomorrow, you need to bring your A-game."

"Peña, I always do. Don't mess with me."

He snorted. Feisty one you are, as usual. He liked that about you.

You finished your slice and he took you into bed, made you take your medicine. He didn't lay down, he just sat next to you, observing.

"He never took care of me like that, you know?" - you revealed, almost sleeping.

"Who, cariño?"

"Ben..."

"Who's Ben anyway?" - Javier asked, pretending not to be curious, but you were too drunk to notice anything in his voice.

"My ex fiance... A cabrón... Malparido." - you cursed.

"Remind me, cariño, why?"

"You know... All the cheating, all the lying..." - you yawn. - "I'm tired, Javi..."

"Sleep, cariño. Buenas noches, hermosa... I'll bring breakfast tomorrow morning, before we go to the office."

But you slept before he even finished his sentence.

Javier left you safe and sound, at your apartment.

However, he never felt worse.

He wanted to be with you, more than sex. More than he ever wanted to be with any woman. 

The problem is...

He's also a cheating bastard. He also fucked half of Medellin and Bogota.

He doesn't deserve you and he knows it.

Javier doesn't care.

He's not going to give up on you: on the contrary, he's going to solve all that he can before you ever find out...

But how? How is he going to keep Lorraine away? How will he manage his boy's custody?

Too many questions, no answers.

“One problem at the time…” - Javier told himself, crossing the hall and entering his apartment.

He looked around: all in order, but you were missing. He wanted to do it right…

Javier laid on his sofa… But it smelled like both of you. He got up and sat at the table in the kitchen, Lorraine’s letters organized in a box. 

Pandora's box, as he joked sometimes to himself.

“Fuck…” - he cursed. - “How am I going to pull it off?”

* 

Next morning, he knocked on the door, anxious.

The seconds before you opened it felt like hours. He was bringing you breakfast from Mrs. Hernandez's café: arepas with cheese and eggs, mantecada, marquesa and, of course, black colombian coffee.

You open, holding back a smile, wearing a black dress and boots.

"What are you doing here? Something happened?" - you sound surprised.

Javi smiled, coming in as you let.

"Yes, cariño, I told you I would bring breakfast... I don't get the surprise. Wait, you don't remember? You were that drunk?"

"Oh, fuck! I forgot... Sorry, by the way."- you said as Javi entered your home.

He pulled you into his embrace, after putting the food at the table, and held you close, smelling your hair. - "I miss you so much, cariño... Don't push me away, please." - he begged.

You took a deep breath, Javier's scent was so good, so masculine and strong... You miss him too, but how can you manage it all?

You look deep in those puppy eyes.

Fuck, you hate that effect on you.

"Can we talk about it later? I'm very thankful that you brought food and took care of me last night... But things are not that simple. I don't quite remember, I was really drunk. But I do remember that I said I dumped you."

He laughed, stroke your hair.

"Not exactly... But you did reveal a few things, including that you quit smoking and drinking whiskey because of me."

You turn your face away. You felt a stupid girl, alcohol in and truth out. Your own mind betrayed you.

"Oh, fuck. Peña, I... Really, let's eat. After work we can talk, okay?"

He agreed and you both set the table. It was all delicious, he brought everything you like.

"Was Ben at least thoughtful during your hangovers?" - he asked, casually, with a smirk on his lips.

"Peña, what the fuck? How dare you? That's none of your business!" - you screamed towards him.

How and what does Javier know about my ex? - you thought.

"Cariño, you're the one who brought him up last night. I was just curious..."

"Peña, you have no right! Leave my home! Right the fuck NOW!"

"Y/N, what the fuck?! What the hell happened to you from last night to this morning?"

"I got sober, my senses got back to the right place. And you know what? I was only delaying what I was going to say. We're not getting together again. That night was a huge mistake!"

"Your car is in the garage, by the way. Keys in the ignition. See you later, jefe." - he picked up his coffee that was on the travel mug and left your apartment, not looking back.

Next

[thormanick]

Ok, some Fontaine Archon Quest impressions/recollections:

- The twins are lovely. Lynette had some great one-liners tbh

- Freminet is precious

- Furina is the queen of chaos. We love that

- The local justice system drives me completely insane with anxiety lol. Everything happens too fast and I have no idea how they manage not only to survive with it, but also to create energy from it. Also, putting faith in a machine, even if self-aware? No thank you on my part, I’d rather not hehe👀🙂also the way I was nervous with all the collected evidence presentation-

- Childe: *discusses his recent mood swings*

Me: …but have you considered the possibility of talking to therapist-

(My immediate thought was “ah, depression” (or something equally heavy), idk, it just… was a bit sudden turn of events, I guess? Like, I know Childe has been though a lot, but just to see him admit he’s not feeling too well… idk I’m worried for the boy🥲🥲🥲)

- SKIRK MENTIONED. YAY

- The way it absolutely took me out that I didn’t realize for a couple of minutes what the transcription for “Father” meant when Lyney and Traveller were taking about Arlecchino, when it was literally just… exactly what father means but in Russian lol

- Furina yay, beautiful job by VA. She is secretly a teenage girl in her spirit and would be great friends with Fischl, I don’t make the rules

- Neuvillette! Is indeed! Very nice! Idk why I’m surprised by this turn of event but like. He is very nice. Good for him

- To be honest, I did not expect to like Navia as much as I did. She was a delight, as well as her two guards(?)

- That collection of named belongings of the girls was a scary find. I really got quite unnerved. The justice in the end of the quest felt very… right.

- To be honest from all that I’ve seen, I expected Traveler to really dislike Lyney and Lynette after the reveal. But they were just… shaken and needed time and space to process the info? And we’re very calm? Sure, just leaving at the end of the dialogue was a quite cold, but very understandable in my eyes

- was Neuvillette bleeding the first time we saw blood in-game? Like, actively on the character?

- Overall I’m quite stressed but VERY very much intrigued. *mimicking Furina’s tone* Can’t wait for the unraveling of the story in full it’s glory!

- P.S. Jakob Ingolt is the same Jakob from the world quests, right? Man has a lot of behind-the-scenes presence (and, well, on-the-scene presence, if we take the world quests into consideration) in Fontaine…

-Also Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale is my personal "Her Excellency, the Almighty Narukami Ogosho, God of Thunder"

[berrypass-de-murdler]

2 - 56 The Movie Theater Murder

In times of despair, Murdle is always here

HOWEVER

I DON'T LIKE THAT THE CAT IS HITTING ON IRRATINO

And this MurdleJr was ultimately unsolvable lol. Clicking on June 23 would result in nothing happening (hope you've memorized your star signs kids) and I couldn't tell if Captain Slate was beside a tiny windmill or undefined.

But not both!

Also how the fuck does the CAT declare an accusation??? Can he just speak English now?!

berry getting so heated over important things

DON'T READ THE EPISODES WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS!!

Irratino goes to the theater. That might seem inconsiderate, since he’s supposed to be looking for Logico. But don’t worry, there’s a good reason! The coffee grounds from last episode told him to come here for an esoteric clue to Logico’s disappearance. (Or! He could go to Drakonia, where he already knows he is. But anyway.) 

Most importantly, he promised Gainsboro he would take him to a movie to help calm him down. They sit down alongside people who LOVE movies (because they work in the Industry!!!) - Abalone, Agent Applegreen, and Silverton the Legend!

ABALONE: 🎵A-LIST ABALONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY! APPLEGREEN: Oh my god be quiet!! I wanna watch the movie! GAINSBORO: Wait for me, WAIT FOR ME. Nobody ever WAITS FOR ME. SILVERTON: Bookie Gainsboro? I thought you liked books.  GAINSBORO: I can watch a fucking film now and then! AND BOOKIE IS NOT MY NAME.

The movie never begins, because the projectionist was murdered. Nobody knew what they were going to show anyway.

SILVERTON: I’d say it’s for the better. They’d have to refund me anyway if they showed a film with THAT on the screen! IRRATINO: With… what? SILVERTON: THAT.

He slowly crawls all the way over to pick a single hair off the screen. No wonder everyone hates him!

ABALONE: WHOOPS! SORRY! I bumped into it during my magical entrance! SILVERTON: And left such a sizable BLEMISH without cleaning up after yourself? ABALONE: Oh my GOD! The oil stain on your suit is more visible than that hair! SILVERTON: There is no oil- OH!!!

They get into a slap fight. That seems to happen a lot. Instead of looking for clues, Irratino looks up the movie that was going to be shown. Knives Out.

IRRATINO: Aw, really? APPLEGREEN: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT. I love Knives Out.  IRRATINO: Yes, it only appealed to people with a specific star sign. Not a very good advertising method! GAINSBORO: My favorite movie is Who Framed Roger Rabbit. APPLEGREEN: Isn’t that a cartoon? GAINSBORO: YOU’RE A TALKING APPLE!!!

Irratino dusts for fingerprints, something he can’t believe Logico has never done, since it’s the most logical trick in the book. Hell, it’s the most detective trick in the book! He discovers a dagger belonging to Abalone.

ABALONE: Ooh, forgot about that! Thanks! 

She points it to Silverton.

SILVERTON: SAVE ME!!! IRRATINO: Only if you tell the truth!

How is that supposed to work?

SILVERTON: HAHHAEHAHUhuhaha… Fine, you got me! I wanted him (the projectionist) to screen my favorite film - the last one I starred in, MMMMMMMURDLE! But he refused. So I ‘did him in’! But think of the publicity angle: the star of Murdle murdered for the movie. This is going to DEFINITELY raise the profile of the film, and guarantee a sequel. IRRATINO: Actually, what would guarantee a sequel is ACTUALLY FINDING LOGICO!!  SILVERTON: True, I guess otherwise the sequel would be pretty depressing…

And so will Irratino’s life, if he doesn’t get going fast. Who decides to see a movie after you hear the love of your life is safe ‘for now’?

The end!

'All the suspects who talk at 90% higher volume' - Fletch

I hope everyone is safe and okay right now <3

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[steviestits]

WIP Wednesday - By the Pricking of My Thumb Ch4 Part 2

Sorry that it's been so long. I really did honestly mean to make this into a thing before the depression hit. Here's the next part of the chapter. You can find the last part here and the previous chapters on Ao3 here. Anyway, hope you like it.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Rating: T Summary: After Jonathan bashed Steve’s head into the pavement, Steve remembered he had powers, setting off a chain reaction from Nancy breaking up with him early to certain enemies showing up sooner than expected. Trigger Warning: Child abuse because Brenner is in this part.

Sitting at the chair set out for him, Steve looked down at his plate to see that there was an extra amount of whip cream on his waffle. He didn’t mind whip cream, but this was a little much given how high it was piled onto his plate that he couldn’t see the waffles that were supposedly underneath. His stomach was already churning uncomfortably at the thought of having to choke all of it down couldn’t help wondering if he’d done something to offend the police chief.

“El wanted me to make yours extra special,” Hopper said as he sat down, guessing what Steve was thinking. “She only let me stop when she thought you had enough.”

Steve raised a curious eyebrow. “Enough was the whole can?”

“Hop said you had a bad day,” El replied earnestly.

“I did, but I don’t remember telling him about it. Is this about the argument we had?”

“No, it’s about what happened at the arcade.” Hopper frowned. “You were with the Munson kid. Then- Well, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. The only thing I remember is Eddie finding me as the kids were...”

Trailing off, Steve felt a sharp pain in his head as he tried to recall the events after he left with Eddie. He knew that he’d gone with him to talk, but it was all jumbled after that. He could remember shouting and screaming, begging him to wake up. Steve also remembered hearing his mix tape, the one that he’d made for El. When Hopper was home, they’d all sit in the police cruiser to listen to it. Cyndi Lauper was a particular favorite of hers, and “Time After Time” was the first slow dance that he’d shared with Robin at Prom, which firmly cemented their ride or die mentality towards each other.

Hopper would sometimes play it when she wasn’t around, queueing it up to that song since he knew that it put Steve in a better mood. Eventually, Steve had come to understand that this was Hop’s gruff way of trying to support him, to be emotional without getting all emotional. That was probably why the song was so special, not only did it belong to El and Robin, but when Cyndi Lauper played, he knew that Hopper had his back.

A heavy hand on his shoulder pulled Steve from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Hopper’s worried expression. “Kid, you honestly don’t remember what happened?”

“I don’t,” Steve said with a shake of his head. “Why? Was it bad?”

“Bad is an understatement,” the police chief huffed. “You were hovering in the air with your eyes rolled back. Your arm just snapped-”

Suddenly, instead of being in the old hunting cabin, Seven found himself back in the facility, lying in bed as he waited for Brenner to come retrieve him. There were other doctors, but Seven had never dealt with them as much as the other numbers did. While Brenner tried to act like “Papa” to the others, he couldn’t run every test on them himself. That was unless the tests were on Seven, then Brenner always saw to them personally. It was because of how different Seven’s powers had developed, setting him apart from even Four and Eight. He said he wanted to see how far he could push Seven’s abilities, and that required Brenner’s undivided attention.

Brenner was a little late today, though Seven didn’t have time to think too much on it, because as soon as he did, the door opened, revealing the man himself. His eyes flicked across Seven’s plain room, since unlike the others, Seven didn’t display his artwork. That seemed to be wrong as the doctors and other numbers always tried to encourage him to tape the drawings up on the wall, though he didn’t see the point. No one actually cared about them. They only wanted to make the cold room feel like home, and though he didn’t truly understand what the word meant, Seven knew that this place wasn’t it.

“Come along, Seven,” Brenner said gently. “It’s time for your tests.”

Seven got to his feet then followed Brenner silently down the white hallway towards testing room that had the chair bolted to the ground and straps that could hold a person down, even someone like him. It was that time again. Time to get a fresh tattoo since the one on his arm had healed. What had started as routine, slowly became something more, like a personal fight, a struggling of wills. One of them had to break, and Seven knew Brenner wanted it to be him.

“Stop dragging your feet,” Brenner chided. “Do you want me to have an orderly force you in again? I will, Seven. Don’t test me.”

Rolling his eyes, Seven picked up the pace as requested, following Brenner into the room. He sat in the chair and was strapped into it almost by the orderlies almost immediately. They were all afraid of the kids here, afraid of what they could do with their minds. It was why some were crueler than others, feeling they had to assert themselves before any of the kids realized that they could fight back. Cages didn’t always need keys, just efficient wardens.

Benner didn’t coddle Seven and took out the tattoo gun and meticulously etched “007” into his wrist. The process used to hurt, but after going through it so many times now, Seven was used to the pain by now. Though, from the look on Brenner’s face, he seemed disappointed that Seven hadn’t reacted, since this was one of the many tortures inflicted on his test subjects.

When he was finished, Brenner took come wipes then began to clean the excess ink from Seven’s wrist, and ash he do so, he prompted, “What do you say?”

Seven stared at him blankly, knowing what Brenner wanted, but he refused to say it.

“I gave you your tattoo back. Took time out of my busy schedule to do it myself. Even cleaned it for you. So... Isn’t there something you need to say to me?”

“Thank you, Doctor Brenner,” Seven replied defiantly.

The hand on Seven’s wrist tightened. “Papa,” the man said angrily. “You have to call me, Papa! All the others do it! Why can’t you!?”

Truthfully, Seven didn’t know why he didn’t call Brenner as the others did. He didn’t know the word in any other context than that was what Brenner wanted them to address him, but it felt wrong. A deep part of Seven even felt disgusted at the very thought of calling the man “Papa.” Slithering coldly in his throat, the word wrapped around him, coiling there dangerous and deadly, as if Seven ever uttered it, it’d suffocate him.

[intercoursefluids]

WDIB Chapter 6

Jon was freaking out.

Plain and simple, freaking out.

He took a deep breath, this was fine. Well, it wasn’t, but it would be.

Break it down, pros and cons.

Pro: He met his sister!

Con: She didn’t know about anything.

Pro: They look very similar!

Con: She got possessed by an evil butterfly.

Pro: She was able to get unpossessed!

Con: She was CURRENTLY UNCONSIOUS.

The cons were winning.

“Damian?! Damian, she fainted! What do I do?” Jon shouted, looking between his sister and his best friend rapidly.

Dad always told him to look for a rock when he was freaking out.

Damian was a good rock.

He never freaked out.

Not visibly at least.

Damian made a move to walk over to them when he was intercepted, shoved out of the way by a girl with red hair and glasses.

Jon was fairly certain he had heard that her name was Alya. He should have paid better attention, but then again there was…

Everything that had just happened.

“Move!” She shouted, pulling his sister from his arms.

Alya (he was guess/hoping was her name) leaned her head down, pressing her ear against his sister’s chest.

She hummed, rubbing his sister’s arm soothingly as she pulled away, holding her hand out.

“Uh…” Jon said, looking around for what she might be asking for.

He didn’t have to worry about it though, the boy with the red hat (Nino? Maybe? He needed to ask but that felt… rude at this point.) took off his hat and handed it her.

She placed it on his sister’s head, using it to block the sun from her face.

She aggressively waved her hand again and, thankfully, Nino (Please let that be right.) seemed to know what she was saying.

He walked over, bending down a scooping her up.

Alya (Please let him be right…) turned to him, gesturing to the group as a whole.

“I think we need to talk.” She stated, standing up and waiting for him to stand.

“Ah, yeah. Yeah, sure. Okay!” Jon rambled, scrambling to his feet and standing next to Damian.

Nino stared at him, wide eyed.

“Oh… That’s… Familiar.” He said, shifting his grip on Jon’s sister and looking down at her.

Alya nodded, turning around and walking.

“Yep. Let’s go.” She said, walking with purpose.

Jon looked to Damian, nodding his head towards them before also following.

They walked silently, following after the two of them when Damian spoke up.

“Where did the others go? Your heroes, I presume?” He directed the question to Alya, she seemed like the one in charge at the moment.

She looked over her shoulder at them.

“They usually leave pretty quickly; they don’t tend to stick around.” She answered, stopping mid-step.

“Hey, Nino? Where should we go, yours or mine?” She asked turning to him.

Jon did a mental cheer; he had at least gotten one of their names right.

“May I propose a different option?” Damian had moved to stand next to them, Jon rushing to join him.

He could see his sister better from here, she looked tired…

“Why don’t I rent out a hotel room? It would provide a more neutral environment for all of us. As well as a more public space.” He offered, making his case to them.

Alya hummed, seeming to be thinking before turning to Nino.

“Well, that’s not a bad idea, Dude, but I’m not sure I can afford to blow some cash on a hotel room that we’re barely gonna use…” He said rolling his shoulders.

“I will be paying for it, I am the one who had the idea after all. Besides, we will need to rent anyway, we hadn’t been planning to stay in Paris longer than it took to pick her-” He gestured to Jon’s sleeping sister. “-up and gather her belongings.”

Alya rubbed her chin, looking down thoughtfully. “Fine, we need to talk in private anyway. I’m not sure how much privacy we would get at either of our homes. Lead the way."

Tag List:

@Toodaloo-kangaroo

@Ev-cupcake

@animegirlweeb

@Vroomtaka

@rosesandsailboats

@depressed-bitchy-demon

[peytons-depression-land]

Aimless in a Karaoke Bar on Friday the 13th

I felt that if I didn’t get out of my room I was going to writhe, bedridden, in depressed agony all night long until I would ultimately reach some sort of breaking point. It was the type of lonely, depressed feeling I get all too frequently where my chest ends up physically hurting from how empty I feel.

The irony inherent to my whole evening was that the night’s torment started because I decided to flake on attended a birthday celebration I’d been invited to; the old neurotics conundrum of being damned if you force yourself to “get out there” but also damned if you don’t. The reason I’d decided to stay home was: 1.) the event was at a bar 30+ minutes away through Friday night LA traffic, when I’d already spent part of the day driving to and from places and felt averse to getting back into the car. 2.) The party was for someone I’d only met once and barely knew, meaning a near assurance of it being an event where I’d know basically no one, with the onus thrust on me for its duration to mingle and meet people; to simplify, the indication of it being an outing where I made some small talk but ultimately stood awkwardly alone for most of the time was too high. And 3.) I just generally felt too self-loathing and shitty (all downstream effects of my current bout of unemployment and artistic stagnation, combined with the usual depression and low self-esteem) to attempt a bunch of forced gregariousness, feeling that my heart just wouldn’t be in it and that it'd better for everyone if I just abstained.

But, like I said, my neurosis-driven caution proved to prevent shit-all in the way of suffering, and so I decided to “get out for a bit.” The problem here was that, outside of meals, I’ve never been particularly comfortable going out to bars. Alone and usually in a sullen mood, I always felt awkward and invasive, as if I was making a fool of myself by trying to act like everyone else. At sports bars, even though I enjoy watching sports, I feel like a little weenie nerd who doesn’t belong. In LA, many bars are just flat out too expensive for me to justify the patronage, a single cocktail nearly $20. Which bring me to an aside: how the hell were all the underemployed 20-somethings of the past constantly affording to go out and get drinks and hang out? It seems like in every account from artists and writers and even real life acquaintances of mine, that it’s always been bog-standard for people my age, even when struggling to make a name for themselves or unemployed, to go out to bars and drink to excess and have a good time. Has inflation really hit that hard? Were drinks in comparison to wages back in the days of the 60s/70s/80s/90s that much more balanced and reasonable? Because I don’t know how the hell they all did it without going flat out broke.

Back to the topic on hand (what little of it there is), I pretty much always feel like an awkward loser when I go to bars. This despite the fact that I like cocktails, don’t cause trouble, and keep to myself. I reckon that it all might just be “in my head” self-consciousness, but I just find myself worrying over waltzing into a bar and immediately being pegged as an unwanted outsider. So, in an attempt to mitigate this insecurity, I decided to go to a bar with what seems the lowest barrier of social entry: a so-called “geek bar.”

The bar I ended up at can best be described as a millennial-nerd coded nook for adults to drink and play board games, while classic rock hits deemed status quo, and maybe the occasional quirky novelty song, play on the jukebox (ie: a phone connected via Bluetooth). It’s about as toothless and approachable of a bar as one can get outside of EPCOT. Not to deride it too much though, as it’s a nice, cozy interior of inviting dark wood and plush red cushion, classically styled, but with bits of hyper-commercialized nerd ephemera scattered about, like the model of Thor’s hammer that sat in the corner of the bar. I’d gone with the hopes of having a cocktail or two, a small basket of fries, and maybe read some of the book I’m currently working through. Unfortunately, when I arrived, I quickly learned it was karaoke night.

As soon as I entered, I was hit with a wall of sound: a young guy belting out “Street Rat” from Disney’s Aladdin. The place was packed – understandable enough from a Friday night at 8:45 – but the one two punch of the air-filling karaoke and the crowded room was enough to immediately rattle me upon entrance. An older guy looking somewhere between a warlock and an old timer prog rocker approached and asked for my ID; he was an unexpected bouncer (partially due to the fact that I hadn’t expected this kind of place to even have one at all) but friendly enough, though part of me wondered if, at his age, he was able to handle if customers got unruly and required removal. Then again, he was fairly tall, even with his stoop, and I don’t want to assume feebleness just due balding and a grey beard. The room being packed, I made my way to one of the few empty seats down at the end of the bar. To give the place its dues once again, the physical bar itself is quite nice – the type with the plush liner to rest your forearms on and brass-looking metal fixtures and railings.

To say the place was loud would be an understatement, as the Karaoke – both singers and backing tracks – were loud enough to cover all other noise in a thick cloud of distortion, to the point that even yelling to the person or sever directly in front of you required a healthy dose of lip reading and gesticulation to communicate. I think it was a combination of the place’s small size, the volume of the belting singers, and the compact audience that made for such an ear ringing experience. I like karaoke well enough, but the vibe of the place was, to me, like being locked in a car with the radio cranked all the way up, next to someone singing along at full volume - someone who you don’t particularly find to be a good singer. The music selection for Karaoke while I was in the place stayed in the pretty narrow lane of 70s/80s classic rock and 90s alternative. A middle-aged bald guy with a goatee rang out a rendition of Styx’s “Come Sail Away” and another middle-aged guy, this one with hair, screeched “Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns ‘n Roses (one of the worst bands in existence, by the way).

With some difficulty, owing to the volume, I ordered a Mai Tai and a side of fries. The Mai Tai was sweet, with the right amount of citric/alcoholic tang, and the fries – despite my initial apprehension over their seeming thickness (I hate steak-cut fries) – turned out to be quite crispy and well-seasoned. I left my tab open, thinking I might decide to splurge on another drink. The entire time I sat drinking and eating, the bar was bustling on both sides, a constant stream of walk-up costumers on one, and frenetically busy bartenders on the other.

Due to the loudness of the karaoke and boisterousness of the place, even attempting to read the book I’d brought was unthinkable. The only thing I thought to do was start jotting down the stream of conscious thoughts that would serve to be this piece’s opening lines in the little notebook I carry with me in my bag. However, I found myself constantly apprehensive of the possibility of the non-stop comers-and-goers of the bar seeing what I was writing, causing me to frequently stop and casually cover the page with my forearm while taking a sip or a bite, in effort to obscure my work. I recognize the petty insecurity of this, but I couldn’t fathom another bar patron happening to see the depressed, self-absorbed ramblings I was writing while alone in a bar on a Friday night. The thought of that embarrassment, even if the person said nothing or didn’t react, felt enough to operate with extreme caution. Not to mention that I was also self-conscious the whole time of the very act of appearing as a lone person at the bar, writing in a small notebook while others conversed with partners and friends and sang karaoke. Did anyone notice me doing this? Did they perceive me as some sort of freak or loser, scrawling a manifesto or bitter ramblings? The whole situation did not prove to be a conducive environment to relaxation or unencumbered writing.

I thought it pertinent to note that, while wallowing in cocktail enhanced self-pity, a girl came up to the bar to order. She’d been up to the bar before with her friend, not long after I’d arrived. Back again now, waiting to be noticed by one of the busy bartenders, she leaned over and yelled to me, attempting to cut through the karaoke symphonics, “is the food here any good?” in reference to the fries I was eating. “The fries aren’t bad,” I shrugged, with a halfhearted polite smile back. I only make a note of this because it’s the first time I’ve had a non-customer service person speak to me in several days. It was nice to be asked of my opinion, however inconsequential and fleeting it was to the girl, who was kind enough. If the bar wasn’t intolerably loud, I might have attempted to make some amount of friendly conversation with her, but that simply wasn’t in the cards for the night.

As the karaoke wailing continued and the fever pitch of activity and noise in the bar seemed to rise, I decided that, having finished my drink, I was ready to leave. So, I scarfed down the remaining fries with my normally rapid eating speed (which others, in the past have commented on and made me self-conscious about, but I none the less seem beholden to). I’d planned on getting another drink, but decided I just couldn’t take the overwhelming atmosphere of the bar any longer. I closed out my tab, which was $23 dollars and some change – again, intolerably high prices for one drink and fries to someone currently unemployed – and decided to leave, giving the bartender a $5 tip, which I hoped was enough.

I walked next door to the all-night grocery store where, giving in to depressed impulses, I bought a slice of chocolate cake, a mid-sized bottle of Captain Morgan (because I was out of liquor at home and hoped buying some would, in the future, prevent me from bar experiences like tonight’s), and a pack of Diet Dr. Pepper. I’ve found that if I don’t keep soda stocked in my fridge, I’m liable to frequent the 7/11 adjacent to my apartment building and buy Big Gulps, which, in the long run, cause me to spend more money than the price I pay for bulk soda at the store.

A surfer-ish dude of indiscriminate older age with a mop of greasy hair was kind enough to let me go in front of him at the checkout, owing to the fact that he had a full cart and I only three items. I was, and still am, none the less appreciative of his small gesture of kindness. I paid, tucked the rum into my bag, grabbed the soda box in one hand and the cake in the other and was on my way.

The Mai Tai on a partly empty stomach was starting to hit as I arrived home, still feeling in a sour mood. There’s something to be said, though, about pulling yourself out of the rapids of an encroaching depression spiral by way of getting annoyed, as sometimes it’s preferable to feel something, even frustration and irritability, rather than hollow, depressed pain. I immediately went to work transcribing my bar notes, beginning the writing you’re now taking in; just stream of consciousness letting all the thoughts I had about my night flow out. I ate the cake, and it was good, as late-night chocolate cake always is. I was in a sorry enough state that I didn’t feel like cleaning a glass to mix a drink, so I instead opened a diet Dr. Pepper I’d let chill in the fridge, drank a little of it to make more space, and then poured a bit of rum directly into the can. A bit spilled onto my desk and I sopped it up with my finger. As I drank, I started feeling better and better. I threw on a movie: Abel Ferrara’s romantic crime drama China Girl and laid back. By now I was feeling pretty OK.

Now, on the next day, trying to write a conclusion and reviewing what I wrote, what am I to take from my night? While not all that remarkable of an experience, it typifies a reoccurring core aspect of my depression: that I’m at my worst when left to rot in loneliness and inaction, and that I’m often able to put the fog of existential dread at bay when I force myself into activity. Being out, around people, even if alone, gets me out of the mental prison cell of sitting alone in my room, and frees my mind up to think and, hopefully, be distracted enough not to feel so bad. Giving myself something engaging to do, even a little bit of writing as aimless, ephemeral, and frivolous as a mundane piece about my thoughts and feelings on a boring Friday night is better than succumbing to anxious, fretting inaction where I do and create nothing out of impotent fear. I think I’m beginning to understand the appeal of the drug and alcohol use famous to so many artists and writers, as the removal of inhibition is such a key quality in the creative process; and, when that trait has not yet been achieved or cannot be achieved on one’s own volition, being drunk or high or whatever can really help. I mean, for good or ill, it helped me write this screed.

[serafiel-jacobs]

I spy (Fanfic)

New chapter from my main series 🩷

The phone of the house started ringing, Pinocchio took a deep breath and answered. Thankfully before Pinocchio could get angry, the person from the other line spoke up first.

“Hello, is this Giuseppe Geppetto’s number? I’m speaking from the Bastard Stalkers' office” Sabertooth said from the other line.

“Um yes” Pinocchio was relieved, then he shouted at his father that someone wanted to talk with him. Pinocchio heard from aside the conversation.

“Yes, I see” Geppetto’s voice sounded melancholic, “Oh no you don’t have to come all the way to my home, I’ll pick them up myself” They were trying hard to convince him that they should go see him instead of him coming all the way there but they failed.

After that his father hung up the phone, explaining that they needed to pick up Carlo’s belongings, apparently, they were cleaning the offices and it was taking up space. Obviously, Geppetto can’t carry them by himself so he will need his son’s help, who is eager to help.

—-

“It’s not much, however, we found it best you kept it rather than throwing it away” Sabertooth had a fake smile on her face.

“I practiced with Carlo before” Lion was trying to act friendly as well, “He would have been a great stalker”

“Yes… he would have” Geppetto was trying not to get depressed about the past, about what if things would have been different.

Geppetto and Pinocchio looked at the box containing Carlo’s belongings, some of Romeo’s belongings were there too.

There was a journal used to write down his schedule, and a few notes were written by Romeo, mainly love reminders for Carlo; a few grinders for weapons; the clothes they used for stalker duties, and…

“Mmm, what’s this?” Pinocchio grabbed what looked to be one of those dog puppets but miniature, although it didn’t look finished.

Geppetto looked at it, then scrolled the pages of the journal, looks like Carlo was building it himself as some miniature pet, he wasn’t always at the apartment he and Romeo shared so he thought having a dog, living or puppet would make it sad to be constantly alone, so he was making one he could always carry with him.

“It’s actually quite impressive” Geppetto could see that building something so small to fit in your pocket would take a lot of effort, not to mention how this looks different than the average dog puppet, more detailed.

“Have you thought about becoming a stalker?” Lion asked Pinocchio.

“It’s not really my thing” Despite the fact that Pinocchio got confused many times as a stalker in the past, he always felt a little uncomfortable with the title, although it’s not as if he could correct them back then, admitting you are a puppet during a frenzy is not a good idea.

It also seems like a lot of people seem to glorify that type of work when in reality is dangerous hard work.

“What shame” Sabertooth sighed, “Carlo was-”

“I’m not Carlo” Pinocchio interrupted her, he isn’t dealing with comments like that anymore.

“My apologies” Sabertooth gave a fake apology, on the inside she was fuming, “I did not mean to offend”

“Well thank you for giving it back to us” Geppetto gave out a sigh, “We will get going”

“Wait” Lion knew they couldn’t leave yet, “The streets of Krat are very dangerous currently, we didn’t mean to offend, just that Krat could use more help”

“That is true, no one is safe nowadays,” Sabertooth said, “Have you heard? Adeline Corday has gone missing, someone influential like that gone like that? It’s tragic”

Pinocchio started feeling worried, the last time he saw Adeline was in the Opera House, did she get hurt somehow, and no one noticed? He still has the necklace.

Even so, no is no, plus he already has his hands full with the King of Riddles.

“I’m sorry, I’m not interested” Pinocchio stood his ground.

“I’m sad to hear that” Sabertooth isn’t sad at all, it was already ridiculous when Carlo brought Romeo, something like that isn’t happening again.

At least they know so far that he doesn’t want to be a stalker, in their minds that means he has less fighting capabilities than them. Underestimating Pinocchio’s true strength.

With that said, Father and son left, leaving the stalkers to continue on their other duties. Slowly gathering Pinocchio’s information and Frederick’s other request.

Lion tried to speak with Sabertooth before she left in a rush, Lion hates it when she does that. Why is Saber the one in charge? She is smarter and even better, prettier than her.

Another stalker came to speak with her, she ignored them, something about if anyone had any clues about Adeline as her family was desperately looking for her. Whatever, Adeline probably ran off with some man it’s not as if she has something to show for aside from her voice and looks, looks that Lion tops definitely.

She took off her mask, it’s a mascarade mask because she needs to show off her pretty face as much as possible. Right now she has an appointment at a spa and cannot miss it.

Lion has a special date tomorrow, she is already looking for a husband and she won’t settle for anyone who doesn’t meet all her expectations. Once she finds the one, she can quit her stalker hobby, fighting is fun but is there anything better in this world than being a trophy wife?

—-

“Is something on your mind pal?” Pinocchio decided to hang out with Gemini while his father was working, sitting on a park bench at Rosa Isabelle Street.

“I’m thinking of the dog puppet Carlo was building,” Pinocchio said, “Father looked sad when examining it”

Geppetto mentioned how it was so brilliant, how he didn’t know Carlo was interested in building puppets even if it was a hobby or a side project, while looking inside the notebook notes about it were found. He recognized those types of notes, most likely Carlo had copied some of his in one of his visits.

“Did he really not think I would have liked to help him? Did he still thought I hated him?”

Pinocchio had heard his father mumble that under his breath.

“Why not try finishing it yourself?” Gemini was sitting on Pinocchio’s shoulder, moving his tiny feet in the air.

“I guess because… it doesn’t feel the same?” Carlo was making it, not him, if he finishes it then it’s no longer something special his brother was making.

“I get that” Gemini can understand, “Why not make your own then?”

“Ehhh that’s a good idea but…”

But he has no clue how to even start, he read the notes alongside his father and it seemed like a different language.

“Well I guess you have always been on the more artistic side” Pinocchio is very skilled at music and art, also writing even if Pinocchio tries to hide what he writes because he feels embarrassed it’s not good, “But come on how hard can it be? You learned to fix yourself when your father wasn’t there for you, you can do this”

“I’m not sure” Pinocchio still didn’t seem convinced, “Shouldn’t I be looking around for clues or something?”

“Krat is a big city Pinocchio” Gemini chirped, “And unlike before the streets aren’t empty, you could end up causing some trouble”

“That’s true” Pinocchio stood up from the bench and decided to walk back home, he was having this strange feeling that he was being followed but that must be because he was worried about Arlecchino.

“Nothing out of the ordinary” Tiger mumbled to himself.

Why does the doctor even care about Pinocchio? He is just a regular boy living his daily life. Tiger did manage to sneak in a picture, not that in his opinion it would truly change anything but at least he has proof of his work duties. He felt weird doing so like he was harassing the poor boy.

Speaking of pictures apparently, his parents want him to go to the Mallum District and take some there, ugh, them and their dumb journalism, he needs to take pictures of beautiful things, not ugly decrepit places.

What is even the point of showing bad things in pictures? Why waste valuable effort on something like that? It doesn’t matter, no way he is stepping foot near a place like the Mallum District, he wouldn’t be able to face others if he got caught in a filthy place like that.

He should go to the Opera House, the place is open again and the structure is simply stunning, maybe he could get a special shot of those spider puppets while they sing. Tiger can then waste time by watching a show, ignoring how his parents want him to “take life more seriously”

—-

It was by pure accident that Rusty stumbled across Pinocchio, her older brother was supposed to be taking care of her but he got distracted, or rather he wasn’t even paying attention to her to begin with as usual. So when she ran off to chase a cat she ended up getting lost, starting to cry because she couldn’t find her way back.

“Are you okay do you need any help?” Pinocchio was about to get onto the tram that connected to the path home when he saw her crying, he could wait for the next one.

Rusty didn’t recognize him at first with tears in her eyes so her first instinct was to pull out her weapon.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you” Pinocchio didn’t seem intimidated by the child who was somehow holding a sword twice her size.

Rusty calmed down, she knew that she shouldn’t talk with him directly but at that point, she didn’t care and asked for help, maybe she could say she got lost on purpose so that she could interact with him.

When they found Rusty’s brother he barely even looked up from what he was writing in a journal, he didn’t even look at Pinocchio in the eyes and gave a half-assed thank you.

Pinocchio looked worried about the girl yet he needed to go back home so he was hoping this was a one-time occurrence.

“Hey,” Rusty tugged on her brother’s shirt, “Aren’t you going to ask if I’m okay?”

“You are okay” Her brother looked annoyed, “Why wouldn’t the prodigy be okay?”

She became a stalker at a ridiculous age, her older brother recently turned 25, and their parents wanted him to become one, so they forced him to take classes. It was a family of generations of stalkers so he should be one. Her brother no matter how hard he trained wasn’t able to, he simply didn’t have the physical strength or skills to do so, not to mention how he hated every second of it.

So when Rusty was born her parents spoiled her, she was their second try, the second try that succeeded beyond their expectations. Rusty ignored her brother’s coldness, Mother and Father say he is only jealous of her.

“In fact, tell them to hurry up and find you another nanny fast because I’m sick of your shit”

Her brother is taking care of her because her last nanny quit, this is the 7th in a row, they just don’t understand her, why don’t they get that she should do whatever she wants? She is the honor of the family, Mother and Father say she is the entire world so the rules given to other kids shouldn’t apply to her.

——

“UGH I GIVE UP!” Pinocchio put his hands up to his face in frustration before composing himself, “This is too complicated”

“Calm down buddy” Gemini was trying to reassure him.

“I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong” Pinocchio kept re-reading the notes, it wasn’t working at all, was it the design? Was it that he kept missing something?

“Maybe you are right, it’s not going to work because you aren’t Carlo” Gemini was standing on the table next to him.

Pinocchio was quiet, he felt like he wanted to cry before Gemini spoke up again.

“So you shouldn’t try to do it how Carlo did it, you should try to do it your own way”

Pinocchio faintly smiled, Gemini was right, this was supposed to be something he made. The notes should only work for the basics, he needed more ideas, to be more creative. So he went to his father’s workshop to find any material he could find and maybe blueprints that could help.

“Ow!” Pinocchio yelped as he opened the closet door, the arm of god falling on top of him, “Why did we even keep this?”

“I’m sure it can be of use later” Gemini is aware that Geppetto probably knows how to put it to good use or perhaps Sophia has some idea.

Pinocchio put it aside as he looked inside, finding what he needed, then he grabbed a folder that contained many of his father’s notes.

Pinocchio had a smile on his face when he found something unexpected, he took the folder and put a clip on the page to show to his father later, for now, he needed to work on his tiny pet.

—-

“So whatever happened to the arm of God?”

Sabertooth was listening to her parents talk with a man, he had come here before, his skin was pale and he had strange green hair.

“I assume it must have been destroyed when Geppetto’s son killed Simon” Giangio lied with a smile, “I did look for it, nowhere to be seen”

“Don’t you think it’s possible he took it?” Sabertooth’s mother asked.

“Nah” Giangio was acting too casual, no way he is letting them know Pinocchio has the arm, if someone will steal it, it has to be him, he only needs the perfect opportunity, “Trust me, I almost cried when I realized we lost it”

“You are acting more relaxed than usual” Sabertooth’s father looked suspicious, “Why is it that you aren’t helping again?”

Sabertooth found it strange how apparently this man was so well respected among the alchemists, she didn’t believe her parents at first when they told her he was the one who made her weapon.

“It’s personal you wouldn’t get it” Giangio smiled, “Plus I have my fun on the side, as long as I send information from time to time it’s not a problem”

Even if he doesn't get directly involved, he is an alchemist, he has a duty to fulfill as part of the organization.

“I’ve heard that you got into a fight with Frederick is that true?” Sabertooth’s mother took a sip of her tea, she didn’t seem as worried as her husband, being more used to his playful nature.

“Don’t worry it was something stupid he will get over it” Giangio laughed it was fun to remember it.

Giangio gave the doctor a small visit, he greeted him with a friendly wave, and in return he was greeted back with “How the hell did you get inside my house?!”

“But if you must know…” Giangio played with his hair, not giving it much thought, “He got a little mad at me for talking back, you know how he is, doesn’t like it when others don’t take his verbal abuse”

“Ugh I get that” Sabertooth’s father rolled his eyes, “I respect his mission, not so much how entitled he gets”

Sabertooth feels like she is overhearing some petty work drama, it looks like you can’t escape that no matter the place of work. Although she is the one who loves to start the drama.

Being a stalker is boring, that's why she likes to give herself some entertainment, she has the fighting skills, and she loves the battle, but she hates all the other stuff like the dumb codes of honor. But alchemists don't get much action, not to mention how you can count with your hands those who are skilled fighters, plenty died when Simon was doing his plans, although they mainly relied on special guns or mutations due to their experiments. There was that woman, what was her name? Ariana? Adriana? Whatever, Simon had a fangirl who would follow him around, she was a skilled fighter, and apparently so is this green-haired manlet. People have been singing her praises because of her fighting skills, there is no enemy she can't take out almost instantly, and rarely does she ever get a challenge. Currently, she gets rid of those interfering in the alchemists' plans.

It's odd, she wanted to be an alchemist, she does have an above-average knowledge of the subjects without being one, mainly due to her family. But she was always a fighter, not a researcher, Frederick has commended her for the secret services she provides, she has been doing this way back since Simon took charge (although Simon wouldn't praise anyone not even if his life depended on it) despite being young, although she is the oldest of her gang, being 27.

Perhaps Rusty is the closest one that can match her, but her family must be giving her drugs or something because to this day she can't believe how strong she is, at that age, Sabertooth was breaking all the expensive toys her parents would buy for her.

“What were the two of you talking about?” Sabertooth’s mother was intrigued, “What exactly did he say?”

Since Frederick didn’t like him breaking into his home in the middle of the night before going to bed, so he started shouting at him.

Giangio has a huge grin on his face “He called me a lunatic with mommy issues”

Okay maybe he does have some mommy issues considering he killed his mother, but that just made Frederick even more furious with his response.

“So I said, takes one to know one” Giangio laughed again, and Sabertooth’s mother found it amusing as well so she laughed too.

“It truly was something stupid” Sabertooth’s father didn’t look amused, “It’s true he will probably get over it soon, your help is always valuable, it would be a shame to lose your support fully”

Giangio stopped playing with his hair, according to the investigation he did on his favorite doctor, that comment probably hurt him way more than he let on. Unlike Frederick, he is self-aware about his issues.

“Unfortunately I have to leave” Giangio stood up, saying his goodbyes, and going towards the door, he turned to look at Sabertooth, her finally realizing he knew she was spying on the conversation all along.

Giangio gave her a devious smile, opening the door to leave.

“Chao~” Giangio hummed in a playful tone.

Sabertooth went up to her room, she was bored lying in bed, then she had an idea to have fun, she pulled this stunt once in high school, and she should do it again, so she went to buy some condoms and decided she would put them into one of the other female stalker bags randomly tomorrow, it's going to be fun who gets labeled a slut and has to leave out of shame.

Honestly, she is the best stalker already inside their organization, there is no need to get rid of the competition, this is only for fun. She once heard someone say she has a “superiority complex” It's not a complex if you are better than everyone else already.

Suddenly, her father enters the room, saying how he has been shouting at her to come downstairs.

“Are you ignoring us on purpose? I can't believe you weren't hearing us”

Dammit again with her hearing problem, they don't know that yet, frankly, she doesn't want to end up taking their weird fucked up cures so she lies saying that she took a nap and got too carried away. She should find a cure for herself, she has the skills, the resources, and the medical knowledge.

An experiment sounds fun, she has assisted in some, truly she has the best deal out of this, she can do research and she can show off her fighting skills. She has it all, she is intelligent, beautiful, strong, and wealthy. She has always been the center of attention because she deserves it, people adore her, and better yet they fear her.

—-

“Father welcome home!” Pinocchio had rushed to his father’s side when he arrived, giving him a big hug, “I have two surprises!”

“Two surprises?” Geppetto didn’t know what to expect.

“Look!” Pinocchio grabbed a box, he opened it to show what he worked so hard for.

“Oh, that’s…” Geppetto was surprised, it looked like one of the traditional puppet dogs in miniature, almost the same as the ones he designed, except this one was black because Pinocchio had painted it and it had a bow on its neck, “Very creative!”

Geppetto was impressed, still, he had one question, “Why does it have a drill for a face?”

He knows excavation puppet dogs were made with his base design, it’s just something he didn’t think Pinocchio would know about. His son then explained how he had fought some of them before during the frenzy, which made Geppetto more confused about why Pinocchio would build it like that.

“Behold” Pinocchio looked so proud of him, as the dog was turned on, and when Pinocchio put one of his pencils near it, the dog began to sharpen it with his drill. Now his little dog can always help with his art projects.

Geppetto in return was so proud of his son’s ingenuity.

“This is something I found” Pinocchio then grabbed the folder he had found in the closet his second surprise, showing his father the note that was left behind.

Geppetto saw how it was missing some blueprints, only a small piece of paper left behind.

—--𖦹—--

“Dear Father, I took your notes for something I wanted to make, but I lost the original prints,

You probably don’t need them anyway, but in case you find this before I show you what I’m working on, sorry”

-Love Carlo ♡ (Please don’t get mad)

—--𖦹—--

Geppetto shed a few tears, he wiped them away and smiled.

“Thank you, son” Geppetto played with his son’s hair, “Now, why don’t you tell me how you made this?”

Geppetto misses Carlo, but right now Pinocchio is in front of him, that’s what matters. Besides how can he not be excited to hear how his son built something so special?”

Pinocchio was beaming with joy, he started explaining how he did it, Geppetto listened attentively to his son, they were having a good time, it had been a while since they had a bonding moment like this.

“Do you still hate puppets for mining now?” Geppetto teased his son.

“Yes!” Pinocchio didn’t even hesitate, his doggy wasn’t for that and wasn’t evil, “I almost lost my Legion Arm!”

When Pinocchio returned to Hotel Krat, his Legion Arm was barely hanging by its cables, sparks of electricity coming out of it and his shoulder had been dislocated.

“I remember that” Geppetto was the one to fix Pinocchio after returning, and added a few updates with Quartz that came in handy when he later faced champion Victor.

“I could tell you were angry at me but didn’t want to show it” It was rather cute, Geppetto smiled remembering it.

Pinocchio was looking away the entire time, his face red with frustration and when Geppetto asked what was wrong he said it was nothing in the least convincing way possible.

“I was too polite back then” Pinocchio pouted, “I should have called you out”

“Hey I didn’t build all those puppets” Geppetto was teasing his son, “Your uncle Venigni is also to blame here”

“But you made them evil not him!” Pinocchio was not letting that go, those puppets traumatized him.

“Fine, you are grounded”

“What?!” Oh no, he shouldn't have brought Law 0 again, Pinocchio regretting what he said.

Geppetto pitched Pinocchio’s cheek, “I’m joking, you are a good boy for being so brave”

“Father!” Pinocchio was embarrassed and relieved that his father didn't get mad this time.

Gemini watched from afar their conversation unfolding, the small cricket happy to see father and son have a strong bond. Glad to see them relax after everything they are going through, even if it only lasts for today and they go back to the mess they unfortunately got tangled in.

Everyone does deserve to have some fun, even in the hardest of times.

[amistytown]

Any advice on depression? Putting this here because I don’t have anywhere else. Going to up my dose, but anyone have any advice on how to cope with depression, especially during rough patches?

More context below.

I had a lot happen, and my anxiety and OCD were terrible. I finally saw a doctor and started taking medication. A couple months later I got a job. I felt very positive and was in a better place. I thought I could take control and live the life I wanted after overcoming these hardships. 

I used to have more confidence. My past relationship on top of trauma crushed me. It literally felt like my soul shattered. I have highs and lows. Lately, it’s been more lows. I’m worried I’ll be stuck working minimum wage for the rest of my life. That I’ll never have my own place or car. I already feel terrible about this. 

Then I think about my mental struggles on top of everything else. I feel horrible about myself. I can’t see why anyone would be friends with me. I can’t believe anyone would love me. I’m too much. 

Now I’m dealing with the fatigue, which I think is from anxiety and depression, of course, but also overstimulation. I don’t want to self-diagnose, but the last couple years I’ve wondered if I’m on the autistic spectrum. It’s something I want to talk about with a doctor, though I get discouraged because I think the only one who kind of believes me is my mom who already had her suspicions.

I’ve always had this feeling of not belonging. All I can describe it as is feeling alien in this society. It’s frustrating, and I cry a lot, because all I do is want to fit in and succeed and have friends and be a good person and friend.

Work completely drains me although I actually love it. But I feel like I’m wearing a mask all day, dissociating, and then when I get home I’m completely exhausted. I usually get a huge mood drop too.

And I beat myself up over this because I should be able to do these simple every day things. 

Anyone relate? Or have advice?

Just want to feel worthy of love and life and stop feeling guilty of my existence.

I also feel terrible for constantly venting here. I don’t want to seem like an attention seeker. A lot is just going on inside my head.