#i started on antidepressants again this morning

[janebonbon]

Today has been... a day! I need a ribbon that says "I survived" to make me feel better

[chromolume-number-7]

Wow I’ve been like, incredibly depressed since July haven’t I?

[regular-ghosts]

ten minutes to midnight and i have submitted my last assignment for the summer semester making it oficially the first semester i finished every course and didn't drop nothing since 20-fucking-18 hallelujah

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝'𝐯𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝'𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝'𝐯𝐞 || 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠!𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐒���𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one: I knew you were trouble // part two: would’ve could’ve should’ve

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_The Capitol's Dream girl was depressed. After Snow broke her heart and returned only to haunt her. It only takes an official marriage proposal on New Year's Day, an interview with Lucky Flickerman and a rebel bombing to completely break you, and make Snow realize there's a place for one last person to love for the rest of his life.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ 10k words fic ups, reader is depressed, blood, violence, angst, tears, drama, reader makes some cruel things, antidepressants, nothing wild but they have sex so mdni 18+ , Snow actually loves reader (well idk). I couldn't add anything about the games of Mags SORRY.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞_main song for this is Would've Could've Should've, song added to my Coryo Copito's playlist. Also, listen to the 1 and memory lane!!!

♪ ♫ Coryo playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

____________________________________

Nights were longer now. You couldn't sleep. Nightmares of the games, how you contributed. The vivid image of the first time you saw Clemensia after the snake bite. Your mind made you recreate Sejanus being hanged in District 12. And finally, your mind also made you replay every moment you had with Coriolanus Snow since you met him at 17.

You wished you never asked to sit with him at lunch. You wished you never asked to see him again.

He would've been just another classmate. If the things that happened in the 10th Hunger Games were meant to be, at least you wouldn't have been involved.

It wouldn't have hurt you enough to feel so miserable in the present.

But this was as good as it was going to get.

You weren't the best driver, but since very few people had a car, you dared to take the one your chauffeur was meant to. It distracts you from staring at the window and overthinking.

Sometimes you wonder how it would've turned out if Snow won the prize without being a mentor, just like it was planned to happen. Would you have made a stop at his place? For him to get inside your car and kiss you good morning. Then drive to the University of the Capitol? Could've been fun.

But you made your way alone. Only listening to the music that played on the radio.

And you wondered what would've happened if Arachne was alive, Sejanus too, and Clemensia was fine to take classes in person. Would they have made fun of you and Snow entering University holding hands? Could've been sweet.

But again, you were alone. It's a cloudy day at The Capitol. Your long emerald green coat gets stuck with the car door. You roll your eyes, opening the damn door once again to set free the piece of fabric.

You started wearing high heels. It made you look taller and you loved the sound every time you stepped out of your home. Your mother had launched a new collection, and she loved seeing you wearing her creations.

For the record, you haven't seen Coriolanus Snow since the day you had your first counselor appointment. That was a month ago, and it was… great.

Actually, it wasn't, but yeah…

A lot of people greeted you, but none were your friends. You see, the University isn't very different compared to the Academy. The same architecture, and familiar faces that no longer wear the red uniform. And even so, you feel like a fish out of water.

Life isn't perfect. But you weren't ready to start your young adult days feeling so out of breath.

"Y/n!…" you turn to encounter Persephone. A sweet girl from the Academy.

"Persephone. Hi…" You do your best to smile. She was a classmate from the Academy. And she never was your friend but you always thought she was so sweet.

"How have you been? You're all over the news" For the first time in weeks you giggle, feeling a little blushed. The feeling of someone asking you how you were doing felt so good.

"I've had better days. But here we are… And you?" She tilts her head.

"I visited my grandma's lake house in District 4. It was so good. I heard you're in the science and law program" you nod. You also knew Persephone was on the law program.

"Yeah, you're in law too…."

"Is Coriolanus going to be there too?" You stop smiling.

In fact, you weren't sure. But probably he would also be in law. Tigris once said he wanted to pursue politics.

"I'm not sure… We-…we don't talk anymore" she gasped in shock.

"What? Oh, I'm so sorry. I thought you were…"

"No. But it's fine. He must be doing great…" you cut her off before she can ask more questions.

Your first class was okay. Until Snow walked in, wearing a perfect dark blue suit. His silly hair looked slightly longer than the last time you saw him, but still, nothing compared to his messy hair from months ago. You pretend you didn't see him, opting to keep writing something in your journal. But he had to stop beside you. There are some minutes of silence, but nothing would make you turn to knowledge of his presence.

"Can I sit with you?" His voice is colder again. You can notice through a little glimpse of a white rose decorating his suit. But you keep your eyes set on the page in front of you.

And you know you won't fail again.

"No."

He can feel the venom in your voice.

"I'm sitting here." He says after all.

You really don't have time to tear up on the first day of University. You want to stand up and leave, but you're so mature that you won't say anything else.

At least, for the rest of the class, he doesn't say anything else, but you know he occasionally turns to see you.

"Is it gonna be like this forever?" He asks when it's over. You dare to see him in the eyes, enchanting blue as always. But the young man in front of you isn't the boy you met. And yet, he still made your heart beat like he was the same who was once your lover.

"I don't have time for this. Have a nice day, Snow'' he looks as you leave the classroom. His hands shook, and that feeling of guilt assaulted him once again. You are the proof alive of all the pain he caused. So he needs to have you back on his side, so he can feel some humanity remaining in him after all the things he did months ago. Because he knows there's no good left on him, but he can't get rid of you like he did with Sejanus, Highbottom… and Lucy Gray.

You were meant for him. But he was so infatuated with the other girl. And Snow was aware that you deserve the best. You were his ally since day one. So having you by his side again… would seal his imaginary pact.

He looks at you and sees the girl that gave him the chance of his life. He promised his grandma'am you would be the girl he would give a home and a family.

But now, every time he asked Tigris how you were, she avoided giving details. grandma'am was growing suspicious that things weren't going great. Tigris had been a lot of times on your house and mother's shows. Your father would ask for Coriolanus but he didn't know all the things the young man did to his daughter.

So Tigris would say he was still serving as a peacekeeper. And you, you would say you haven't talked a lot with him.

Not anymore. Coriolanus would try every day. As he denied he loved you, he pretended he needed you as you were the one. Just that.

…

"Y/n y/l/n." Suddenly a peacekeeper comes to you.

"Yes?" You ask politely.

"Dr. Gaul demands your presence in her laboratory" you sigh. Of course, she would be the first to ask to see you.

It was the same laboratory. Only that now was near. The way to get there was slow, even peaceful. Maybe because the day was almost over.

The first thing you notice is how many empty water tanks are scattered.

"There you are, Ms. Y/l/n" she appears from the crystal stairs at the end of the room. Wearing a yellow set that made her eyes more bright. Her hair is the same. Looking as evil and cynic as always.

"Dr. Gaul" you greet. Stopping some feet away from her.

"A school new year means new planning ahead" You nod. Already hearing what she was about to say. Well, not entirely.

"The last games were a mess. Between the rebels and Mr. Snow's bright decisions. Our central ideas couldn't be fulfilled. However, I decided to give him another chance, there's so much potential in that boy" You don't know how to feel about that. So you just remain quiet.

"Speaking of the devil…" when you turned back, Snow was walking towards you and the woman near you. Immediately you avoided his eyes, knowing he was probably looking at your dress. The coat was long gone, leaving a soft and accentuating pink dress with long sleeves.

He knew it was inappropriate. But ever since he gained your trust and his feelings of attachment to you, he had a long time to accept he had a thing for your hips. The dress was extremely simple but looked elegant with some bright exotic earrings, and it was your body that created the most attractive shape he'd ever seen.

And soon, his view of you became sided.

"I believe I don't need to remind you of your actions from the last games, Mr. Snow," the woman said.

"It won't happen again." He answered with confidence.

"I know it won't happen again," Gaul says laughing. Making you wonder how much time she had been trying to get into the position she was now.

"This year, let's say you'll be under probation, Mr.Snow. On the other hand, Ms. y/l/n. Another year and another success from you" his eyes were on you again. Turned to his left without shame. And that's when Snow remembered since he came back from District 12 how smart you were. Without saying anything, even avoiding it, you knew he had cheated on the games. And probably, without talking to him anymore, you knew he wasn't a good man.

Only that…slowly, you were also turning into a bad woman.

"Those water creatures are fully developed. They're nothing compared to the snakes from last year. This new invention has marked a new era for us…" To be honest, you don't know how to feel about it. Everything related to the games made you remember your dear friend Sejanus Plinth. He would've hated this creation from you. But on the bright side, this was your future. These were the constant obstacles you would have if you were to achieve success.

"Dr. Gaul. An emergency message has been sent to y/n y/l/n" Immediately you turned confused looking at a new peacekeeper. When you look at your mentor, she nods, indicating to you that you're allowed to leave.

"Excuse me." As you walk away, another peacekeeper has a cable phone. One of the newest wireless ones. Red and shiny, silently beeping. You can hear Snow asking Dr. Gaul something, but the sound of your heels is loud enough to make it difficult to understand as you reach the phone

The peacekeeper hands the cable phone. You pick up, feeling your heart pounding.

"Hello?" The low breathing of your mother can be heard.

"Darling! Something bad happened…"

"What?" You ask. And you don't know but Snow is trying so hard to listen to your conversation.

"Our mines in District 12. Your father made a little trip there with some friends. The people caused a revolt. They bombed the mines." You frown, in shock. Already feeling anger building up in your chest.

"Is pa' okay?" She sighs, which stresses you more.

"Some burns. The peacekeepers saved him on time" Snow listens to Gaul but he literally has an ear on you and the other in the mentor.

"Is it too bad? Like… putting our wealth in danger?" You whisper the last sentence. Your mother is a proud woman. But in the privacy of her family, she allowed herself to be vulnerable.

"I don't know, darling. We still have the mines in District 1. But the ones on the 12 represented greater materials" There's no time to cry and you know it.

So after some soothing words to your mother, you hang up. And you're not thinking clearly. You just know you're angry, and convinced someone had to pay. If you started disliking District 12 after the last games, now it was getting personal.

When you go back to stand beside Snow. You hear Gaul explaining to him how most of the lessons would go. But as soon as she turns back to you, there's an idea that leaves your mouth before you can breathe or blink.

"I was about to say that we should change the arena of the games. Each year it should change, like the seasons. Wasting the opportunity to use the water mutts sounds like a waste of potential for the views. If we still want a spectacle like the one from last year." The woman analyses your words. And after some seconds of silence, she speaks.

At the same time, Snow can't comprehend how poisonous you sound. He knew the call enraged you, it must've been bad.

"Then I'll ask you to find some suggestions for the arena"

"And… I have some ideas for this year Reaping" the woman's evil smile grows. She knows she's turning two young adults into monsters.

"I can't wait till Summer of next year" Gaul giggles, then lets you go, commenting that the next day the actual lessons would begin.

You sigh once she leaves. Finally acknowledging what you just did. Dooming a bunch of kids to fight for their lives with those water monsters. You remember Sejanus. The way he screamed in anger when his tribute was punished for trying to escape.

You're also a monster.

Snow turns to your side, looking as if you have just been cut with something, and he's searching for the wound.

"Are you okay? What happened?" he asks worriedly, caressing your forearm.

"Your beloved district 12. That's what happened." You spit with venom, squirming away from him.

Your harshness takes all over the place as you move away from him.

…

It's New Year's Day. A bright morning, and you already have your first guest. Clemensia Dovecote.

She still wears turtlenecks. But the gloves are gone. You can't stop smiling after seeing her smile and laugh as she drinks tea on your patio.

"I can't believe it worked, y/n," she says changing the subject. The first dose you gave her was after the games, in late summer. And now, at the peak of winter, Clemensia looked amazing. The cracked and raspy yellowish skin she had, the bright yellow eyes that contrasted her dark brown irises, all of that was mostly gone.

"To be honest, me neither…" you admit smiling proudly. Her skin looked slightly covered in scales, but the texture was soft. Like a snake that shines with a new layer of skin. Her eyes were still a little yellow, but the white was coming back.

"How did you come up with it? The treatment and everything?" you gulp nervously, sipping at your tea. If you opened your mouth, there would be no turning back.

Clemmie knew Snow had cheated, she swore to keep quiet about it. She knew about his exile. But she didn't know everything.

Then you thought you owed nothing to Snow. He owed you a lot, and yet, the way he paid was… cruel.

The only thing you were not in your right to share was about… the boy he killed. And as you'd never know he killed many more, Clemmie wouldn't either.

"He chose her. The songbird" Clemensia's eyes widened, she left the cookie she was about to eat.

"No…" you nod, confirming your words.

"Yes. During the games… he sacrificed everything for her. When I confronted him, he said nothing. After he was exiled, he committed a bribe to ensure his service as a peacekeeper on the 12" you spit with hate. The pride you carried each day, had a big crack thanks to that man, and like broken porcelain, it would never be healed.

"But he only had eyes for you… The Christmas after you arrived here, I asked him out and he said he had eyes on someone else. I can't believe him…" you giggle, rolling your eyes.

"He only had eyes for my money and father's position. He had the chance to win the prize and got obsessed with winning something by himself. The girl was just the cherry on top" You quickly added more as you were about to reveal he was… poor. Not because of him, but for Tigris and her grandmother. Tigris would lose her job and your mother would likely turn her down. So no, you weren't as bad as Snow yet.

"After he left. I realized how much he traced the scar on my face. I simply started hating it. And sooner I dreamed I had it gone. So I thought… Why can't I make something for my dear Clemensia and myself at the same time?" The black haired inspected your face.

"Your scar…" she remembered your face back then. The long pink line across your face. Clemensia did once see Snow caressing your face, his thumb traced the line across your nose until it landed on your lips.

Not it was just a memory as your scar. It was gone. Your face is clean, shiny, and perfect. Too bad that just your face was able to get rid of the touch of Snow.

You can't tell her he asked you to marry him. That was embarrassing enough to say it out loud.

"That's now the boy I knew. He had always been a little cold but… he was good. Now… I just can't stand what he did to you. And while I'll thank you for the rest of my life, you helped with my condition. I will ever feel sorry that you came up with it from such pain" Maybe before the bite, Clemmie was a little narcissistic. And her ambition led her to lie and get bitten. But now, she was all about being thankful and seeking peace everywhere.

"It's okay, Clemmie. Even after all, with Sejanus gone, all of what happened last summer… I'm happy that I have you" she smiles, offering you a big hug.

"Yeah, you won't get rid of me next year" She was officially coming back to class at the University after the winter break was over. Now Snow wouldn't be able to sit next to you.

"I won't mind…" Suddenly your mother comes out from one of the many balconies of your house.

"Girls! The stylist is here!" She lets you and Clemmie know.

This year, the annual New Year's Day will be at your house. The patio where you had breakfast and tea with your friend was already decorated with long tables. Porcelain plates are perfectly accommodated with wine velvet bows decorating them.

Clemensia's father talks with you about the revolt in District 12 and the burns he got. After that… more peacekeepers were sent. And slowly… the whole territory was becoming marginalized.

You ignore it, you only have eyes for the dress writing you on the other side.

When you open the door of your room, there it is.

A golden dress. Shinny and full of sequined beats. With metallic gold puffy fabric resting on your lower half back and ending around your wrists. Bare shoulders style.

You feel bad for not asking Tigris to style you, but she was already busy.

"I... I can't believe this…" you gasp, touching the elegant fabric of the dress. Clemmie can't stop saying how beautiful the dress is.

"With red lipstick and burnt pink eyeshadows… it'll look fantastic," the stylist says to your mother, already visualizing the look.

…

The patio is full of people. Elegant bonfires make everyone warm. Most of the guests look at your dress as you greet them. The last guests were Tigris and her grandmother, you placed them both in a table full of fashion contacts of your mother.

Clemmie is talking with Festus, Persephone, and other classmates.

Everything goes well until you set your eyes on the garden's entrance and you spot Snow entering.

Your eyebrows immediately frown. The night had been peaceful. And ever since winter break started, you haven't heard of him.

Why did he have to come? Was it for his grandmother?. Doesn't matter, you don't want him in your house.

He spots you and knows you just turned angry. You grab him by the arm and pull him away.

"What are you doing here?" You ask annoyed.

"You invited Tigris and Grandma'am" he shrugs.

"Yes. Tigris and Grandma'am. Not Tigris, Grandma'am, and Coriolanus" For the first time in months, you say his name.

"I have to talk to your father," he admits. You are confused, but he won't say anything yet.

"You look lovely tonight" You ignore the praise in his voice. But he genuinely believes you look astronomically beautiful. Snow was trying to act confident, but deep down he was nervous.

And it worsened when your dad interfered.

"Coriolanus. I'm glad you made it on time. Just an hour away till the countdown" you turn to see your father, offering him a glass of champagne. Neither of you should be drinking yet. But the elite of The Capitol was allowed to break the rules a little.

"No, of course I couldn't. I was just saying how gorgeous y/n looks tonight" your father smiles. You knew your father was believing Snow, that he was a gentleman.

"My one and only child. Perfect as always…" your father answers, putting his arm around your shoulders.

"I would like to discuss something with you. In private…" your heart beats faster.

"Be my guest, boy…" he tells him to enter the party. And as they leave you feel nauseous.

…

There are twenty minutes left till New Year's Day. Your father hasn't come out with Coriolanus yet. You nervously want to chew your nails. But you do your best for Clemmie. It was her first public appearance since the summer.

You had been trained to satisfy The Capitol's expectations since you were a kid. You knew what you could and couldn't do.

But none had prepared you to hide your shock.

"Dear guests. Family and friends. I would like to give an announcement" Your father appears, the sound of the glass capturing everyone's attention.

"With a new year around the corner, changes are too."

It couldn't…

Snow walked through the tables, towards you.

No, no, no, no.

"It is my pleasure to announce the engagement between Coriolanus Snow and my only daughter, y/n"

You swear you can't breathe.

You don't see Clemmie's face of horror. Tigris is highly confused. Grandma'am at the verge of tears.

"For my darling and her fiancé. Whom I wish eternal luck and happiness" your father finishes the toast.

Snow is beside you, he's not happy either. But he is the first one to start acting for the sudden flashes and cheering.

"How couldn't you tell me you wanted to get married, dear?" Your father asks, being the first person to hug you.

Your shock is so big that you don't even remember smiling for the pictures. You don't remember feeling his hand around your shoulders. You don't remember bursting into the house.

Snow follows you. It's empty, everyone is cheering because the countdown is about to start.

He calls your name. But you don't listen. He follows you through the kitchen and living room.

"WHAT?" You explode before being able to go upstairs.

You see his desperate eyes.

"I didn't know your father was going to announce it that way." He notices your face is red from anger.

"Listen to me, Coriolanus Snow. NO MAN will come and take away the pride of the woman I am." You scream in his face. You won't go quiet like the first time.

"YOU WERE NOTHING!. YOU OWE ME YOUR LUCK!" Snow can only fix his eyes on the sequins of your dress. He had never seen you screaming like that. And nobody would hear anyway.

"If this was your way to make me surrender and get me back. You're so wrong. Because you are going to be in debt with me for the rest of your life. Unless you want a rebel wife like it was your beloved Lucy Gray Baird." His eyes widened at your sudden attack. He has to process every word, every disgusted face you are making. He hadn’t thought about the songbird in many days. Hearing her names sent chills to his spine.

"I wanted this to be different. I had to "You hate him. You can't stand seeing him in his perfect grey suit, his perfect hair and eyes. You really hate him.

"YOU HAD NOTHING!. IF YOU WERE GONNA HUMILIATE ME LIKE THAT, YOU HAD TO GET ON YOUR KNEES AND BEG TO MARRY ME!" Whisking away, he grabs your hand, and when you turn, you find him on his knees.

"Please…" you feel he placed the ring in your hand. And it's too much.

You slap him. And then run away to your room.

As you lock the door, you throw the ring. And when tears start streaming down like a waterfall, you hear the first fireworks.

There's a bottle of pills in your vanity. The treatment for your low mood. You only need it once in a day. But you take two hoping it would knock you out and make you forget about the night.

It's officially a new year.

…

Three weeks later, Lucky Flickerman is interviewing you and Snow in his late-night show. You can't stand how Snow is caressing your hand. The way he slightly giggles and smiles at you, whenever there is a silly question.

You only do this because nobody knows the truth. Just Clemensia and Tigris.

"Sources tell us that it'll be a spring wedding. Is that right, y/n?" The man asks. You sigh, smiling.

'We're not sure yet, Lucky. There are so many details. Especially with my dress. But my man here is patiently waiting" the interviewer laughs, throwing a sarcastic comment about the dress.

"And what about kids? Is a baby on the plans?" Immediately, both of you blush.

"Yes. We want to have kids one day" Snow hurries to answer. You want to laugh.

He would be a terrible father. Some days ago, he was at your house for a family gathering and while he liked seeing you with your baby cousins, he knew he wasn't good with them. He didn't know how to play or make them laugh. But he had to make everyone believe he was a man of family and marriage. Even when both of you were still nineteen.

"Oh. Well, you're still young. There's plenty of time, pair of lovebirds" You make the strength to turn and smile at Snow. He returns you the smile.

And he wants to believe it's an honest reaction from you. He really hates that everything happened this way. He wanted to wait personally and privately ask you to marry him again. Not like this.

"Y/n… How did you know Coriolanus was the one?" It takes you aback. You can't lie. There's a truth.

"When I met him, he made me feel comfortable. He was so sweet and he trusted me. He made it hard for me not to love him. He has these gorgeous ocean eyes, that every time I see him I get lost in them. It reminds me of the kind boy I met some time ago…" Everyone feels emotional. Coriolanus is aware of the real meaning behind your words, and he can't help but honestly smile. He knows he realized it, but he couldn't bring himself to admit it.

"These ladies and gentlemen… is a couple in love!" Lucky laughs and points at you and Snow excited. And he says that he'll be back with the broadcast for the weather, he thanks you and your fiancé for being there.

"Take care, guys. Don't forget to invite me to the wedding!, I'll get some people inside to bring the news anyways…"

And finally, both of you are behind the set. You don't even glance at Snow. But he hurries to stop you, interfering in your way.

"I'm sorry. For everything…" you cross your arms.

"No. You hate me. That's why you keep doing this to me…"

Your assistant appears handing you a glass of water and a little plate of something Snow can't see.

"Here's some water and your antidepressants, miss" You blush and ignore the way your fiancé is looking.

As you walk away, Coriolanus only feels worse.

…

You stare at the public library. Now closed just for your wedding happening in a couple of hours.

There are white roses everywhere. Petition of your mother to commemorate Snow and his family. You hated it.

It ended up being a spring wedding. But a very cold one. By early June, summer would start. And for now, snowflakes still fell upon The Capitol.

"The dress is ready…" Tigris says, appearing on your side. She sees how you stare at the whole place with dismay.

"How could this happen?" She asks, wondering.

"My younger self would've loved this day. But now… is different" You didn't want to insult her cousin.

"His younger self would've also loved this" Tigris remembered how enchanted was Coriolanus for you. Saying that he made a rich friend who was so sweet. Soon he admitted you were gorgeous and delicate. Now forgetting to mention you only when Grandma'am asked.

"He's trying to get you back," Tigris adds. And you question it.

Ever since the engagement. He always reached for you. Asking how you were. The kisses on the cheek to greet you. Felt honest. But you doubted you would ever forgive him. Even if you ended up having his children someday…

"I know it won't change anything. But I'm sorry. You didn't deserve this…" the young woman lamented. After you confessed most of the things Snow did to you, she added that to her list. And slowly, Tigris had slightly brushed aside her cousin.

"I didn't. But what's pissing me off is the wedding night" Tigris coughed awkwardly. And you rolled your eyes.

"No, Tigris. It's not about the sex. It's about me having to leave my house forever. I refuse…" She relaxed.

Honestly, you hadn't thought about sex. You knew it would happen anytime after marrying. But you wouldn't give Snow the satisfaction to even give hints.

At least, your father suggested Snow temporarily move in with you in your room since his new penthouse would be only for Tigris and grandmother. He would sleep in your tub.

"It's a great place for a honeymoon. Capitol's north is full of mountains, fancy restaurants, and actual snow" Somehow, you laugh.

"Fitting for my new legal name" Tigris joins you and laughs, hugging you tightly.

You stare at the flowers, and the hundreds of seats, and you aren't ready. But there's a smile on your face. Because at that point you don't even care.

…

Coriolanus was alone. He thinks Sejanus could've been there. Annoying and smiley as always, but he would've been the best man. Chosen by him because there wasn't another option. But it's only him. Staring at his mother's ring.

Pure gold, a medium size rectangle-shaped diamond. Shining ridiculously in white and small rainbows.

You look just like your father on his wedding day.

Your mother was so happy. Spinning and laughing as your father danced with her.

Remember. As you take a wife, you are choosing a life partner. You have to remember every morning why you chose her. You have to respect and protect her. Give her a home, a warm place to grow old together.

Y/n is the perfect woman for you. She's so lucky to have you, my boy.

All of those things, Grandma'am had said to him as she handed the ring.

And now sitting alone in a room. Suit ready, in black, and very little gold details in the white shirt under. Tigris said it was going to match your dress.

Your father actually loved your mother, Coriolanus. Treat her right. That is the least you could do…

She knew. Tigris had to know everything.

Coriolanus wondered how you would look. A princess-style dress? Maybe velvet? And he imagined your face.

That's when he can't take it anymore. He cries. Because everything was going to be a lie. He cries because it could've been true. If only he had made better decisions. If only you weren't so smart that you discovered him.

He's a broken man.

But he grips the ring on his palm. Wiping the tears and deciding that he's never going to fail you again. As he knew you had never failed him. And even when you hated him, neither you would.

…

There are three mirrors. Your hands trace the shiny beats of your dress. From the strips to your breasts, to your waist and hips. The end was full of them. Combining gold, and even dark brown or grey. It was simple, slightly sheer. But extremely elegant. Made with crystals from your family's mines. Representative of your native District 1. Your hair is down, perfectly cut in that shag haircut you had when you were a teen. It fits perfectly with your veil. Also covered in tiny pieces of crystals that cover your head, to the tail of the dress.

You looked like a Capitol's bride.

And for some reason, you can't find the tears. It's just you staring at the mirrors. Accepting your doomed life.

As you open the door, you know there are already tears on everyone but you.

Clemensia, Persephone, your mother, and Tigris sob and look at you in shock.

"Oh my god, my baby. You look perfect!" Your mother cries, caressing your cheeks and sobbing. You smile at her, just that.

They keep talking about the dress when you hear a knock followed by the door of the room opening.

"Is there any time for this old woman to see the bride?" Tigris smiles at her grandmother, inviting her to join.

"There's only ten minutes left. Everyone hurry!" Your mother says. They exaggerate, only Tigris gives you one last retouch, and hands you the bouquet. With white roses and some lilies scattered.

She kisses your cheek and smiles deeply.

"It's gonna be fine. I swear…" and with that, she leaves.

Grandma'am only looks at you with love. She always liked you for his grandson. And she believed love floated around you two. For the record, she said it two weeks ago in a rehearsal you had.

"I knew it from the first day my little Coriolanus came home rambling about you" she smiles.

"And from that day, it always had been you, my dear. Even today… always saying you are the love of his life" Your eyes water. Coriolanus wouldn't lie to his grandma about something like that. He could lie about killing someone but not about something he knew would make her happy.

"He did?" You ask as she takes your hand.

"Of course. I know I'm old, and I can't tell he has committed some errors. But I know those blue always are so in love with you, my child" That couldn't be.

"Do you love him?" You won't cry. But you're fighting the lump in your throat.

"I do. Ever since the first day…" you admit.

Maybe you would always resent the man you were going to marry. But you would always love the memory of the boy you once had.

"Promise me you will make him happy, dear. He has so little when we lost everything once. Take care of him. Give him a family, that's all I ask" You can't say no to her. You just can't.

"I promise." She hugs you. And you swallow the lump, looking at the door.

…

The moment had arrived. The doors opened, the music started and everyone turned back to see you entering by the hand of your father.

Sounds of shock, admiring, and more are very low but noticeable.

For Coriolanus, it's only you. Your hair was like when you met him. The dress is so perfect. Your makeup too. And he promises to keep the image of you in his mind for the rest of his life.

He genuinely smiles. And you are feeling so confused. Could his grandmother have been telling the truth?

Coriolanus actually loved you? The way he had been smiling and treating you for the past months. Had he really been feeling sorry?

Would you forgive him if that was the case?

You can't tell because your father has dropped you at the altar.

You didn't even feel his kiss on the head and promised good luck.

You just feel Snow taking your hand. It's warm, even soft for his calloused hands.

And you can't turn to see him.

There are many people taking pictures of you and him.

Everyone loved the Capitol's Dream Girl and her handsome wealthy fiancé ever since the engagement.

When you last expected it, you are officially Mrs. Snow.

"You may kiss the bride…" you know he's doubting. But there's no time, so you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him.

It takes him aback, but soon, his hands find that damn spot, in your hips. And it doesn't feel wrong, for some reason.

You just see him and you realize he's your man now.

Neither of you can understand the emotions flowing at the moment. You like seeing him smiling at you like that, but you also feel sad. And he loves the way you look, he feels so attached to you.

In other words, both feel like it was real. But both knew the truth.

You don't dare to eye any of your family or friends as you leave by the hand of your now husband.

…

The reception was just as big as the ceremony. With the most elegant music, food of all kinds, and a varied menu.

Your husband has chosen to give the option of fish florentine, mentioning to you that his uncle used to get the best food from District 4 before the war.

For you, it was fried steak with three types of cheese and coated with mushroom cream.

There's a picture for everyone. You and Snow enter the party. Your father says a little speech about how much of a great marriage you would have.

You dance with your baby cousins. Lucky Flickerman was able to ask about your dress and possible honeymoon location.

You ignore your husband for the rest of the night. Only when the cake has to be sliced. It's a 5 layer cake, covered in white and very little baby pink roses. Snow and you agreed to make it white chocolate with raspberries and cream.

He cleans some cream from your cheek, and before you can even think about it, you laugh.

He danced with you but you only decided to hear his heartbeats, instead of seeing him. It made you understand that lonely days were over. But at what cost?

…

That night, you are already seeing the mountains and green woods covered in white at the top. You sigh, looking at the metallic silk nightgown. You didn't want the traditional white or pink silk gown. This was short, offered some cleavage, it shined in orange and pink tones when it was supposed to be lavender.

During the whole hour trip to the residence of the honeymoon, you didn't say anything to him.

When you come out of the bathroom, he's sitting at the edge of the bed. A dark grey robe on him and you wonder if he was naked too.

Ignoring him, you go to the giant vanity in front of the bed.

You try to focus on the plenty of assignments you'll have after the honeymoon. With less than three months before the next games, your water mutts had already killed a person. Gaul only laughed and insisted on you to feed the beasts with the corpse.

Little did everyone know that on the Reaping day, District 12 people would receive a tiny stain of liquid Mercury on their ballot. Within months of inhaling that thing, they would be sick. It was your revenge for the revolt in the mines that almost killed your father.

But for now, you can only feel his eyes on you. Like the first day of school. You know he wants to touch you. He wants to claim you as his wife. But he doesn't have the right.

So he stays seated, hoping you will make the first move.

Ignoring the way your heart beats, wanting to feel something. Your heart was blind, thinking you could make love with Coriolanus.

Once you have finished with your facial cream. You turn off the light. Only the balcony offered some glimpses.

You step between his legs, hands on his shoulders. The smell of tobacco leaf and vanilla bean perfume hits him, making him gulp. Unsure whether to touch you or not.

"Wait, y/n… Are you-… Are you sure?" He asks, unsure of what is happening. He kind of thanked you for turning off the lights. That way you couldn't see how blushed he was. After all, this was going to be his first time. After actual years of desiring you, he gets to have you for the rest of his life.

Then you lean, inches away from his lips.

" I don't want to hear you" and you don't say more, neither does he. In the darkness, he finds your lips and there's plenty of time to kiss you slowly. With wet sounds, your hands fly to his hair. Making him moan for the first time. It shouldn't be turning you on. But it is, so you slightly move your head, and maybe he understood, 'cause he started kissing your jaw, soon your neck.

He feels you pulling out the nightgown, and it's making him so fucking hard.

You kiss him again and he's free to wander across your naked body. Now his…

It's his first time, just like it is yours. So when he tries to touch you past your lower belly, you guide him.

Softly making him slide his fingers across your wet folds. You moan and he thinks it's the most erotic thing he's ever heard in his life. He knows you are skilled even when it's also your first time. He knows because of your timing, the way you swayed your hips any time you walked, and the way you balanced touching him and moaning at the same time.

Before you, he rarely touched himself or thought about sex. But soon after kissing you for the first time, he would hate himself for thinking how you would look underneath the Academy uniform.

And now, there you were, naked, taking his virginity as you slowly rode him. You swear he has to be big enough to be able to feel him and his details inside you. The pacing was so soft yet hard. Soft because of your slick, hard because of the pleasure.

All you could hear was his sighs, but the stars of the night were your moans and little yelps for him. No words exchanged, just the sound of your desire and his response.

And when you start going faster, holding onto him as if your life depended on it, he was over the edge to say it. But he couldn't.

Your first time should've been with him on top. Tigris said it was traditional. But he let you take the lead, and it was turning out better. You even let him paint your walls with his cum. You let him kiss and suck your nipples as he felt the last spasms of his climax, prolonged by the way you squeezed him.

Even with the silence, both of you knew. It was the hardest and best orgasm of your life.

…

At the outsides of The Capitol, there's an office. All University students needed to submit their petition to graduate two years prior to the ceremony. Gaul demanded you and Snow to go as soon as you returned from the honeymoon.

Now, two months married, you feel slightly lighter. You talked a little bit more with him. Breakfasts were quiet but peaceful. At the University he always tried to protect you.

The news was all about the wedding. Saying it was the event that officially marked the end of the war. People loved you and encouraged your husband to pursue a political party to start campaigns, hoping to win the presidency. As for you, rumors had spread that you were going to be the next game maker of Panem. Evenings were to study and go for some walks. And most of the nights you repeated the same formula. Ending up tangled in your bed with the darkness reigning.

You couldn't help but wonder if something had changed.

Coriolanus Snow was still cold, serious, a man of few but harsh words. But to you, he seemed warm. Like if fucking him had made him switch and now he was eating out from the palm of your hand.

Still, you still felt like the past was haunting you. With memories of the last games and the moment you lost your lovely blonde guy.

"It's done," Snow says coming out of a private office. The green tiles stop being attractive to your eye, making you blink twice to stare at your husband.

He's yours, just like you wanted. With his perfect eyes, perfect smile, hair, body, and dream life.

You sigh with relief. He had insisted on submitting both papers to soothe you from stress.

"We are likely to receive a letter next year. The woman said it was basically approved for us…" you nod. He offers you a sweet smile, that you can't help but reply.

He offers you his arm to take, ready to leave the office.

Lately, Coriolanus has been worried for you. The antidepressant treatment was over, but you were under pressure because you had created the arena and strategies for the 11th Hunger Games. People debated your capacity and ideals. And he knew that would stress you.

He was patiently trying to make you feel comfortable on his side. To make you feel again like you said in the interview with Flickerman.

"Thank you." You say to him.

"Of course."

After taking the elevator, you two are ready to walk out. Until there's a loud explosion near. You exchange looks with your husband, and as he squeezes your hand tighter, what feels like another explosion makes you and Snow fly away.

When he opens his eyes, the building is literally on fire. He reacts quickly, realizing there has been another bombing.

He's okay, just his neck hurts, but there's no blood. It's you who's worrying him a lot.

He calls your name but you don't respond.

Through the ashes and hazes of dust, he looks out for you.

A few feet away, you are coughing, lying on the ground.

He runs and kneels beside you.

"Y/n, please. Can you hear me?" You nod slowly, barely moving.

"I-can't breathe…" Snow sees how your nose bleeds and there are some glasses making your arm shake a little. The sleeve of your cardigan is drenched in blood.

He panics and goes into a full panic attack. Not even when he was in the arena and got hurt. He truly feared losing you.

"I'm taking you out of here" he looks around and notices there's no one around.

He carries you, doing his best to run out of the increasing fire.

"I don't want to die, Coriolanus" you gasp, trying to breathe. He looks down at you, now looking at the dirt in your face.

"You won't die, love. Just calm down and breathe" In fact he knows you could die. But he refuses to accept it as he finds the exit of the building.

There's chaos on the streets.

And in the middle of the disaster, he starts asking for help.

"Please… I need an ambulance for my wife!" He pleads to some people who seem to be helping a group of kids.

A woman listens and calls for a man.

"Help is coming, y/n. Do not close your eyes" The rush in him impeded him from crying. Because he was so freaked out.

"Mr. Snow, I'm a doctor. I'll help your wife get into a hospital" A middle-aged man gets closer, inspecting your face. You can't hear anything. Your eyes close by themselves, and you still feel so out of breath.

It's the sound of the ambulance that works as a lullaby and makes you pass out.

…

It's uncertain. But reliable sources said it was a direct target from rebel allies, a direct target to you. Because the next game maker needed to be erased from Panem before she could even start. Snow is shockingly angered. And he adds another point to his hate for rebellion.

"I won't quit." You affirm from the hospital bed. Your mother frowns.

"I don't think you're understanding the seriousness of this situation, y/n" she suggests, to which your father also nods.

The door opens and Coriolanus enters, hurried to inspect you.

"Are you Okay? The doctor said it wasn't that bad but-" you smile, caressing his shoulder.

"I'm fine. Just inhaled too much smoke. And my arm, but that's it" You show him your left arm covered in gazes.

He kisses your forehead.

"I was so afraid," he whispers in your ear.

And maybe it was all about your emotions after the shocking day. But you finally feel it. You love him. And the way he had acted since the engagement made you believe he could possibly feel the same. But you aren't sure.

"I won't quit. That would only give the rebels a point. I will make this games memorable. And nobody in Panem will ever question my methods" Your words shouldn't have made your husband proud. But it does.

"You're so right, dear," he says, making you smile nervously.

…

You are allowed to leave the hospital that night. And the whole ride, you have to fight the tears. You can't take it anymore.

As soon as you get inside your room. Coriolanus starts running the tub to clean you up.

You get on your knees. Your throat already feels as if you were choking. He spots you on your carpet, looking so vague and lost.

"Please, Coriolanus." He's watching you carefully. And by your face, he feels you are about to say something from the bottom of your heart.

"What? Are you in pain?" He asks scared, kneeling in front of you. You don't answer and that terrifies him. Until you do.

"Tell me you are in love with me. Just once, doesn't matter if you never say it again for the rest of my life. If you mean it, say you love me." Tears start flowing, your face turns red, and Coriolanus can't help but feel vulnerable by seeing like that.

"Because if you say you only insisted on marrying me because of the money, and my father's position… I'm gonna hate you till the day I die. For all you did to me and everything that could've been" he has to close his eyes. To not see you as a tear falls without a warning from his left eye. He has to decide. Is he going to break his promise? He said he couldn't love anyone again. But you weren't new. You were the first. She was the last.

Coriolanus wished to be your boyfriend soon after meeting you. And from waiting for the right moment to ask, he ended up ruining everything for his ambition. From believing she was different, that she was worth it. Ignoring all the pain he caused to you.

And until that moment he realized he had almost obligated you to marry him.

He already had what he wanted. The money and his power were growing, and he had the girl.

Crying on her knees in front of him. Asking him to end her pain. Just by loving her after all the pain he caused her.

Slowly, he reaches for your face. Your sobs became almost silent. Your heart was beating so fast. And if Coriolanus didn't speak now, you would end up having a second mental breakdown.

But he caressed your cheeks. And he traced your face. Where your scar should've been. New waves of tears fall as you feel what he's doing. Only making shut your eyes harder.

"Look at me, y/n" you can't. You're not ready to hear him saying he used you once again.

"I can't." You whisper, sobbing. He decided then to grab you by the waist. Being so gentle, made you feel like two years ago when he was still your lover.

He placed you carefully on the bed. Making you hide your face against the pillows, ruining the white satin with your makeup.

He doesn't care. He just wants to be honest. Real. He's still young. Coriolanus knows he can't live the rest of his life married to you, making you believe he never loved you.

Only you would be able to see who he really was. Even if he ended up having children with you someday. He would never love them like you.

He could be cold and his decisions would be considered cruel. But the only person on earth that would judge him was going to be you.

"Please look at me, y/n" he caresses your cheek, smiling softly. Slowly, you sit, facing him finally.

You can see your old and sweet Coriolanus with the smile he's giving you. And it only makes you cry and cry again.

"I love you."

You stop. Hiccuping, you look perplexed at him.

He's still smiling.

You know he killed two people, probably three.

You'd never know he sent Sejanus to be hanged.

You know he's not the best person.

You'd never know he had a letter he was going to send to you before going to District 12.

You know he caused you so much pain.

And yet you thought you'd never hear him saying those three words.

"I made you suffer. I ruined everything. You know what I did just by looking at my eyes. How can we love each other after all?" You shrug. Trying to control yourself and answer him properly.

"Maybe because we never got the chance to make it real." He chuckles, taking your hand.

"You know I also did cruel things this year." He nodded, having no right to judge you. He wondered if you did all of that from rage, for everything that happened.

"And I still believe you deserve the world, Capitol's dream girl…" he makes you laugh. Out of embarrassment from the silly nickname Flickerman gave you.

"My father was a bad man, and yet, he always treated my mom right. I can't promise I'll be perfect, but I will never hurt you again" You brush his hair. Dishevelling it in the process, making him look like a year ago.

"Promise me. Just you and I, getting each other's back" he says. And you know you'll go to hell for being with him. But he was the love of your life.

"Just you and I, my love" he smiles again.

"I'll make you First Lady of Panem one day. It'll fit better for your current nickname" you roll your eyes.

"What will we do with that much power?" He stares deeply into your eyes. You changed his hair, and he hoped he could still see the scar on your face. But it was gone. Just like the girl he met two years ago. So was the boy he was. But it was okay. Because he'd make you be like him. And nothing would matter more than you and him.

"Everything, dear" you smile. And feeling like teenagers again, both lean at the same time to kiss. Like it was the first time.

"Can I?…" he asks on your lips. You nod, hugging from his neck.

He kisses you finally. Soft, slow but demanding.

And you remember you made it. Your husband would have the power, but you just won control.

And for the next two weeks, during summer break, Coriolanus and you spent your days in District 1. Spending the days eating in the best restaurants, visiting museums, and swimming in private pools. Spending the nights exploring each other for the first time. He marked you his and you marked him yours. Watching the moon and forgetting about the university, moving into a new house, letting the past die.

Maybe the memory of Lucy Gray Baird would haunt Coriolanus for the rest of his life, but you were going to be there to turn it into haze. And maybe you would never forget the pain of losing thanks to him, but he would paint your days golden. He would be a good husband who would make it up each day.

…

The first day of your second year of University started differently. Coriolanus refused to learn to drive and refused to let you do it. But you convinced him it was okay.

You left home together. And arrived together on campus. Went through the stairs holding hands.

"Look, it's The Capitol's trendiest couple" Persephone, an old classmate from the Academy but also a new friend said. Festus, Clemmie, and other new friends were there, laughing and making fun of you and Coriolanus.

And you blushed. Abruptly stopping your steps. Your husband turned to see you.

"Everything is fine?" You nod, smiling.

"I just… This is exactly how I wanted to begin University last year" It made his heart clench.

"Only… he's missing it" Like a needle taking him aback, Coriolanus knew what you meant.

"He'd hate what we have become though" It's bad, but you laugh.

"You're right, dear" you agree with your husband.

"But happy for us…" he adds, and you nod. Grabbing his arm to finally enter the building.

Soon, two peacekeepers call you to Gaul's office, just like last year. She's not there. But there's a letter on her desk.

You exchange looks with Coriolanus. He tilts his head and follows you to the desk. Carefully, he grabs the envelope and opens it.

Students, as the summer ends, I hope you had a pleasant summer.

Congratulations on your success after the games, Mr and Mrs. Snow.

Given the circumstances of Dean Highbottom's death last year, I won't be able to begin with the preparation for the 12th Hunger Games.

I believe you two have gained enough knowledge to start without me.

You'll find materials in the backroom of my principal laboratory. You'll find it quite interesting.

Make me proud and you two will be the first and automatic option to replace me in a couple of years.

And keep in mind what I always ask. What are the games for?

Dr. Volumnia Gaul

No words are exchanged after reading the letter. Coriolanus only nods to you, agreeing to the message.

So you go to the principal laboratory. It's clean and the sound of different animals is the only sound inside.

There are two long tables, and it's obvious, that there are at least six corpses covered in white blankets.

When you pull away the blanket, you gasp in shock.

The corpses that were once humans now seemed a mix of animals.

Until you see what it is.

"Coryo. These are the corpses of the death tributes" You are shocked. He was also surprised.

"The mutt bite… transformed them?" Slowly, you nod. He hands you some gloves and a face mask

"Every year I end up creating something more vile" you admit touching the slimy skin of the corpses, turning dark and the human face blemished. Only a girl from District 4 had won Mags. A lot of people loved her. But the cheer wasn't very loud, thank you and your marriage.

"These were also the people who probably agreed on the bombs. They hate us, y/n" he's right.

"They need a yearly reminder that war is over. That we won and that you won't give up" You turn to face him. There's the anger and hate you disliked about him. But now you have plenty of reasons to agree with him.

"They deserve this."

"You're right"

He sees you making some tests to study the altered DNA and smiles. He was so fucked up.

"Don't stare, silly. Come here and help me. There's a lot to do" you say playfully. So he smirks mockingly and starts helping you.

"Maybe we could have some resting after this" he suggests, you laugh.

"Here? With deformed corpses? I don't think so, dear"

"Not here. We can go to the private ladies' room." Sometimes you made fun of him for having the kind of a pervert teenager. Ever since you decided to make up with him, Coriolanus and you were the biggest switching couple in the history of sex.

"Oh, my goodness. Can you behave for once, Mr. Snow?" You ignore him, sealing some glass containers with pieces of skin, fluids, and more from the corpses.

"You know what? Forget it. We haven't done it in the upper living room, or the library. Yeah, I can wait." Brushing past him, you laugh.

"I swear I will turn you into a mutt if you don't shut up, Coryo" both of you laugh. And Coriolanus feels happy. He thinks he has your back. He finally won.

He won the money, the fame, and the power was growing. And he won the girl.

…

It was already dark when you were done doing the practices at the University. Coriolanus helps you with your coat and bag as you make your way to the car.

"After you, dear" he indicates that you should sit first. So you do, and after you start the car, you turn to see him.

He has rebellious hair hanging on his forehead. He lets you brush his hair and smiles, relaxing after a long day.

There's time to catch your lips and kiss you deeply. Hands on your hips as usual and yours tangled in his hair. Even after brushing it.

"Do you think she'll notice?" He asks agitated, breathing unevenly. You giggle, fixing your dark purple lipstick through the mirror of the car.

"She gave us six bodies, but seven doesn't make much difference. Right?" He smiles too, even giggling a bit.

"I can't wait to take a shower," he admits.

"I can't wait for you to take me to bed after shower" Before you make it outside of campus, he kisses you again, squeezing your inner thigh, almost making you moan.

"Me neither…"

___________________________

Taglist: @sarnbarnes @user0440822 @poppyflower-22 @h-l-vlovesvintage @zxrcle @gloryekaterina @dakotali @especiallythewomenandthechildren @mymadokamagica @drvnkn-dazed

In my head… this was the wedding dress<3

[hotchfiles]

smells like roses — aaron hotchner x gn!reader

WHUMPTOBER ENTRY FOR @tobias-hankel; prompts: suicide/attempted suicide, "you can't save everyone"

Aaron thinks you might be mad at him, so he tries to surprise you with flowers and a cozy night in. He finds your dead body instead.

Wordcount: 1,094

Content Headsup: SUICIDE. Main character death (apparently I'm never stopping the always kills the reader allegations). The suicide is not graphically described, reader is found inside a bathtub but I didn't write in the method, the state of the body (aside from dead, heavy and drenched), so it isn't THAT bad. This is pretty much just Aaron's POV to the day he finds you dead, so HEAVY ANGST, but not graphic. It is not implied that Aaron was at fault for it, the reasons behind the suicide are never discussed, reader is just depressed. Also, no dialogue and no use of y/n.

You can’t save everyone.

You can’t save everyone.

You can’t save everyone.

Those are the words flowing around his head. He can’t save everyone and that has always been his biggest fear. His Achilles heel.

He can’t save everyone and worse than that: Aaron couldn’t save you.

It’s his curse, really. Falling for someone only to inevitably lose them. It has happened every single time before: Haley, Kate, Haley again. Beth moves to Hong Kong and he meets you. He should’ve realized sooner that he wasn’t born to love or be loved for long.

Still, when you first smiled at him that one Monday morning back in June two years ago he knew he had to try. He had no choice but to love you.

And he did it so easily, made an effort to show you what he effortlessly felt for you from the beginning, as if he was never hurt before, like a teenage boy with a crush on someone pretty.

First time he saw you taking pills Aaron didn’t question it, thought to himself they were probably vitamins or something unimportant like that. Then he witnessed the panic in your eyes when you thought you had run out of it before your appointment for the prescriptions.

Antidepressants. He felt the guilt of not noticing it wash over him like a tsunami, his chest tight, his heart heavy. A profiler and your boyfriend and he missed all clues hidden under your smiles and your loving touch.

Aaron made sure not to let guilt paralyze him, calming you down, showing you no judgment and helping you find the missing pills you still had.

He acts normal on your good days but doubles the way he cares for you on your bad ones, even when busy on a case he calls, reassures you of his love, sends you food and asks to see you eating it.

He thought that would be enough. You were medicated and seemed effortlessly happy most of the time. Aaron really believed that and being by your side would be enough.

He worried. Worried about your well being. Made sure you wouldn’t starve yourself or forget to care for yourself on bad days. But he never worried about having to try to save you and failing to do so. He never laid awake thinking about finding your lifeless body in your bathtub. He wasn’t prepared for this.

The day started as it always does for Aaron, so early it can’t be considered bright. 5 AM on the dot, fresh coffee being made by the smart coffee maker you got him for Christmas last year the only noise heard as he quietly enters his boy’s bedroom. It’s too early and he feels sorry for Jack, but he has to be taken to his aunt’s before Aaron heads to the BAU.

Jessica’s car is at a mechanic and will only be done after lunch, it will be easier for her to take the metro with Jack this way.

Normal issues of a normal day. The worst he imagined could happen was an impromptu case, a flat tire even. If only he knew how his day would end.

It’s 10 AM and he should’ve paid more attention to the fact you haven’t texted him good morning. No breakfast pictures, no horoscope screenshots. But you’ve been working so hard and have been so obviously tired that he’s glad you’re sleeping in. You might be more of a workaholic than he is and Aaron just wants you to enjoy resting for a bit.

By noon he is swamped, drowning in paperwork and consultations that need his full attention, and Aaron knows he’s not at fault for doing his job but he wishes he did more than just snap a picture of his salad, he wishes he noticed it sooner, how you didn’t react to it, how he still didn’t know what you had for breakfast or what the day held for Scorpios.

8 PM he finishes work and it dawns on him how absent he was and how silent you’ve being. He curses under his breath, silent treatment was never a thing for the both of you so he assumes you must be extremely mad and Aaron learned from past experiences that he’s not the best at noticing subtlety when it comes to his love life. Maybe it was something he did or said, maybe it’s something he forgot.

Since meeting you he has been trying not to associate flowers with apologies, buying you singles or full bouquets almost every week, but still, that’s the first thing he does after leaving work, however mad you are, flowers and a surprise visit should be enough to melt it away.

He’s happy, annoyingly so if he thinks back, he’s not worried, it’s always easy to solve problems with you and he’s excited to see you, it wasn’t on his plans and that makes him extra giddy, a night surrounded by your scent and your voice is all he needs to feel recharged.

Aaron texts Jess to ask her to keep Jack for the night, tells her he can pick him up if she needs to, but he’s lucky she always seems to be prepared when he needs her, which is often, but less now with your help.

Maybe it would be better if he was worried. It would be less painful, less shocking.

Maybe if Aaron didn’t think you were just asleep when he turned the keys you gave him only to find a dark silent living room, the pained shriek that left his throat after following the bathroom light wouldn’t have been so loud.

But he didn’t worry. So when the bathtub overflown water hit his shoes, the flowers hit the floor, desperately let go as he yelled your name, his arms flying quickly to your cold body, trying to get you out as much as hugging you.

There’s something to be said about lifting dead drenched weight, especially over wet tiles. He slips to his knees before being able to, ends up dragging you out with him.

Aaron does CPR, the paramedics called by the neighbors don’t hide the pity in their eyes when they arrive and see him still trying.

Your name a begging sound, hurting more than the sore muscles of his arms from trying to lift and CPR a dead body.

The wet and stepped on roses leave a lingering scent, one he won’t ever forget.

He’s been trying not to associate flowers with apologies, and now they are forever linked, intertwined with death. Yours.

[mariaofdoranelle]

Look at Us Now - ch. 28

Fic masterlist

Not me disappearing and coming back with angst

Warnings: you might be mad at me by the end of this chapter

Words: 3,8k

There was a lot of gross things that, as a mother, Aelin was willing to do, but gift-wrapping a peed stick for her boyfriend wasn’t one of them.

Instead, Aelin texted Rowan asking him to pick Maisie up alone. After work, she went straight to get her pregnancy confirmed with some blood work that’d be done tomorrow, then went to the mall to find a cute envelope to put the test in.

Aelin was supposed to go straight home after, but she got sidetracked by the baby stores. Sue her.

Though it was getting pretty late. So late she had to pause the onesie window-shopping because her phone started pinging with Rowan’s texts.

>> Baby

>> Working late today?

>> I’m cleaning my closet for when you decide to bring your things

>> I made soup for dinner

>> Maisie and Fleetfoot are sleeping

>> And my cock is already hard for you

>> Don’t make me miss you too much

His texts brought a smile to her lips. Torn between her promise to stop lying to him and the truth potentially ruining her plans, Aelin decided she’d just not say anything to him—only when it was time.

Her reply began with a devilish grinning emoji.

<< Or else?

<< I’ll be home soon

<< Buzzard

<< Love you

She put her phone away, not knowing the cause for the quiver in her stomach—something between morning sickness, being too in love and nausea from antidepressant withdrawal, now that she had to switch her medication to something more pregnancy-friendly.

Aelin wanted to suspend all her medication for the baby’s sake, but Dr. Blackbeak advised her against it—and was unkind enough to remind her about what happened when she last did it.

Her history with postpartum depression, the main reason she was freaking out about this pregnancy. She’d always wanted this second baby—now or later, surprise or planned—but as much as it didn’t change the outcome, it also didn’t change how anxious she felt about it.

Being a second-time mom, people would think Aelin wasn’t scared. Truth was, she was fucking terrified. Even more so than in her first pregnancy.

This wasn’t the cold rush in the pit of Aelin’s belly, making a mother-to-be wonder about how her new journey would be. This was the sheer dread of a woman who went to hell and back not a very long time ago.

Aelin took a deep breath, clutching the little onesie for dear life as if it’d steady her. She let herself sniff it because it smelled like babies, rainbows and unicorns, then blinked back a few tears because pregnancy hormones and the moodiness from antidepressant withdrawal weren’t a good combo.

Morning sickness made her dehydrated enough. The last thing Aelin needed was to cry like a baby at the mall.

When the timer went off a few days ago and Aelin saw two lines on the pregnancy test, she shrieked with joy. Her chest inflated like a balloon, overcome with the most exquisite feeling, and then memories of a tiny, breakable Maisie flooded her thoughts. That’s when her smile died down.

She remembered her daughter’s cute nursery, and how Rowan would shout at her when he visited because he was over-sanitizing everything Maisie came near, but Aelin would rather kill herself than get out of bed to pick up a broom.

She remembered dizziness and black spots in her vision because Aelin wasn’t eating as much as a nursing mother should.

She remembered wondering how well-off Maisie would be with just Rowan, and remembered toughening up and shaking these thoughts off because growing up without her own mom sucked.

She remembered not remembering Maisie’s first year like a proper mom would, because her faulty brain deemed it safer to erase it than allow Aelin to relieve it in any way.

Still, she could do this again. She would do this again.

And while Aelin had no certainty over how having a newborn baby again would look like, she knew the outcome would be better if she allowed herself to rely on Rowan.

Aelin was self-sufficient enough to not really need anyone, but she also could admit that Rowan had a skill-set that complimented hers. They made a good team. Therefore, though Aelin didn’t need him, she was ready to allow herself to.

And right now, she could really use his restorative cuddles or the meals he’d prep when she was pregnant with Maisie. Everything at the hospital cafeteria made her stomach riot, so Aelin had a bag of IV fluids for lunch, after she felt ill at the end of a 6-hour surgery. Rowan would freak the fuck out if he knew.

But then she saw a White Hawks onesie, and every worry flew out the window for a moment. It was one of the first things he bought for Maisie, and even today, he got her a new jersey every time she outgrew one.

She took one off the rack and smiled. This wasn’t the original plan, but the envelope with the beta hCG test was definitely coming with a gift attached now.

˜˜

“Again?” Sorscha, the hospital’s pharmacist, frowned at Aelin’s request.

“What do you mean, again?”

“I heard you came here asking for the same thing earlier today.”

Fucking hospital gossip.

On the way home, Aelin had to pull over and ended up retching inside one of her shopping bags—but had the time to get the onesie out before she made its bag unsalvageable—so she decided to do a quick detour back to work and surreptitiously snatch a bag of IV fluids.

It didn’t take a PhD to know that intravenous medication was more effective than tablets, and Aelin happened to have easy access to it and a medical degree to take care of herself.

But now Sorscha’s unwillingness to help was kinda ruining her plans.

The pharmacist continued, “Did you see a physician before coming here?”

Absolutely not. If Aelin told a single soul inside this hospital about her pregnancy, there was a chance someone might congratulate Rowan about it before she did it herself.

Instead, Aelin said, “I am the physician.”

“Really? You broke a bone so bad you need anti-nausea and B1?”

Aelin crossed her arms, shooting daggers at Sorscha. What was even her point here?

Still, she pressed on, “Does Captain Whitethorn know you’re here?”

“That is none of your business,” Aelin said slowly, her tone and glare hard as steel. “I came here for saline, electrolytes, glucose, vitamins and ondansetron; not relationship advice. Can I have the fluids or not?”

Sorscha’s jaw worked, her tiny frame now filled with anger. Aelin didn’t mean to be a jerk, but the woman crossed a line by mentioning her boyfriend.

“Sorry, Doc. I only take orders from physicians when they’re on call,” the pharmacist said before turning her back on Aelin and leaving her alone in the hallway.

Aelin walked about two halls and found chairs by the administrative area, and texted her resident.

<< Nox

<< Who’s on call tonight?

Thank Mala her response came fast.

>> Bas and I

>> Need anything?

<< No you’re not

<< You just pulled a 24h shift

<< Tonight you’re getting a good night’s sleep for Mr. Faliq’s carpal tunnel fix.

<< Come by Yellowlegs’ office so I can scold you in person

Aelin tucked her phone back inside her purse—she didn’t need to wait for a reply, he’d be here.

In the meantime, she self-soothed the discomfort in her throat and stomach with deep breaths while she didn’t have her IV, and thought of what the hell she’d tell Rowan when she got home, now that it was after ten and she wasn’t ready to tell him about the baby yet.

If Rowan knew that she: (1) was at the hospital because her (2) pregnancy symptoms were overlapping with the (3) antidepressant withdrawal, so she was (4) throwing up so much it was hard to keep food inside while also (5) freaking out because Baby #2 could potentially wreck years of progress Aelin has put into her mental heath ever since Maisie was born…

It was safe to say that Aelin wasn’t eager to put all cards on the table for him right now.

Rowan will find a million things to worry about, whether they’re an actual concern or not. And if she does give him something to be concerned about… nope. Not happening. Aelin needed to get at least part of her shit together before he went all dadzilla on her.

On the other hand, she needed him. Also, Rowan might freak out, but she couldn’t lie just to shield him from a problem that regarded both of them, as a couple.

But hurried footsteps announced her resident’s arrival, so Aelin tucked those problems away for her near-future self.

“Hey, Doc!” Nox shouted, running her way. “Just finished the night round. What’s up?”

“Just feeling a bit under the weather.” She waved him off before he decided to doctor her. “Nothing much. Sorscha won’t give me an IV because I’m not on call, can you get one for me?”

“Again?” He asked, mentioning her mid-surgery break earlier today. “Are you sick?”

“Not sick enough to let you fix Mr. Faliq’s wrist unsupervised, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He raised his brows and had his palms facing up and tried to clarify, “That’s not—“

“And I’m not trusting that wrist with a sleep-deprived resident.” She circled a finger in the general direction of his bloodshot eyes. “You better be looking sharp and ready at the OR tomorrow, Dr. Owen.”

He pointed at the bags under his eyes. “I think these will take a lot more than one night to fade away, Doc.”

Aelin humphed and quickly scribbled down the components she needed for her fluids. Truth was, she liked Nox. Being older than the average resident—older than her, even—he was fun company, but not a buffoon like some of her students. As an attending surgeon, she needed to give him a hard time sometimes to establish dominance, but Aelin could easily see herself befriending him once they were equals in the surgery food chain.

She handed him the note. “Would you get these at the pharmacy and find me at the observation room?”

He nodded and scanned the note. “Sure, and about tomorrow—wait. I know this. My sister would take it when she was—” Nox’s pulled down eyebrows went impossibly up as his eyes widened. He cleared his throat and schooled his face into neutrality. “But that’s none of my business, is it?”

“Good call,” Aelin said, and tilted her chin to the general direction of the pharmacy. “Now go.”

˜˜

“Are you sure you can drive like this? I don’t mind staying longer,” Nox said at the observation room, right after he didn’t let Aelin stab the IV needle into herself.

There was a 50/50 chance he was sucking up to her to get more surgeries, but it wasn’t bothering her as much as it would on a regular day.

“It’s a five-minute drive,” she reminded him. It went without saying that Aelin lived at the Air Force gated community, most doctors here did.

He hummed, still checking everything before he left. “And you’re alone with Little Bean tonight?”

“Nope.” She leaned back on the recliner chair, biting back a smile. “Papa Bean and I moved in together. Now I can be sick without worrying about Little Bean.” She wiggled her eyebrows, gloating about this newfound small luxury.

Not that she didn’t have help per se but, a year ago, Aelin would rather overdose on painkillers than ask Rowan for help.

Before she could continue conversation with Nox, a figure oddly similar to Papa Bean himself showed up in her peripheral vision.

She saw him before he saw her. Nox closed the partitions that separated her from the other patients, but not the one that faced the corridor—which allowed her to see Rowan’s back as he talked to a nurse at another part of the room.

Why on earth was he here? This wasn’t protocol. Aelin wasn’t injured in a way that made the staff make calls—hell, she wasn’t even officially a patient, she pretty much made her resident smuggle some fluids and medicated herself here.

She glared at Nox, but he looked just as confused. By the way he was coddling her, Aelin doubted he’d call Rowan behind her back. Which led to one other suspect.

When Rowan found her and his features relaxed in relief, all murderous thoughts about Sorscha vanished.

“Gods, Aelin.” He sighed, then hurried to her chair and cradled her head to his chest, ducking his face into the top of her head as if in this moment he wanted to embrace her with every inch of his body. “What happened?”

The snap of Nox’s gloves as he threw them away caught her attention before she could reply. “I should go. See you around, Doc.” He nodded at Rowan. “Captain.”

Rowan briefly thanked him for assisting Aelin, closed the last partition to give them some privacy and brought a chair closer to hers. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing much. I just felt a bit under the weather and stopped by to get some fluids. Do you remember who notified you about me being here? That’s not protocol.”

He blinked. His gaze slowly hardened until his jaw worked, and that’s how Aelin realized it was the wrong thing to say.

“A friend of Aedion’s that works here told him and asked if you’re okay, and then he called me asking if you’re okay.”

Fucking hospital gossip.

Rowan quirked a brow up and crossed his arms, waiting her to say something, which she didn’t, so he continued, “Now, imagine how I felt when I didn’t know if you’re okay or why you’re in the hospital, because you completely disappeared on me all evening—“

Aelin opened her mouth to speak, but Rowan held a finger up to signal that he wasn’t finished, in a way annoyingly similar to the one he used with Maisie. “And, after I made Aedion run to our house to watch Maisie and drove like a maniac here, imagine how I felt when I find you hanging out with your resident, right next to your phone, just not feeling in the mood to tell me you’re in the goddamn hospital?!” His voice got harsher and uneven in the end, an indicator that he was trying to keep it down given their surroundings.

Knowing her boyfriend, she could imagine very well. It wasn’t pretty but, in her defense, the hospital visit was completely unplanned and part of some news he wasn’t supposed to know yet.

Aelin nodded, her demeanor serious but not chastened. “I understand this isn’t ideal—“

“Ideal?”

A sigh. “I understand you’re pissy, then.”

“No, pissy doesn’t cover a fraction of it. The entire evening, where were you?”

“I had things to do.”

“And I suppose you’re not going to tell me until you want to?”

Aelin didn’t reply, and she was relieved when he kept quiet as well. If she was going through an inquisition, it was better to do it at home, away from prying ears. Besides, she was almost done with the IV.

As they waited to go home, Rowan’s face—along with the crossed arms and brooding aura—spoke volumes. And while she understood why he was upset with her, whatever Rowan wanted to know, he could wait until the pregnancy reveal tomorrow. Aelin was so not spilling everything now at the worst moment ever.

Baby #1 revealed in jail and Baby #2 at the ER. Mala help Baby #3 if they keep this shit up.

But then an inkling of why he might be this upset hit her, along with memories of her and Nox hanging out when he arrived. This sounds like such a silly concern.

Just like co-parenting a child with him meant dealing with millions of silly concerns that took over his days.

Shit.

Aelin wished she had the self-control to stand the weird vibe, but she didn’t. Without letting Rowan notice, she took off her own needle and disposed what was left of the fluids before she had finished it. She did take enough to get through the night, which was her goal.

Once they were in the parking lot, she broke their silence.

“I was alone—the whole time. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Rowan cast her a sideways glance of poorly-concealed disapproval, as his steps towards the car didn’t falter. His jaw worked.

“I never doubted your fidelity, Aelin. Knowing you, I’d be less worried if that was the case—at least I’d know what the fuck you’re up to.”

Aelin reared back, his words hitting her like a blow.

“You don’t mean that.”

Rowan got inside the car without sparing her a glance, but she followed suit, undeterred. Sat on the passenger seat and decided to spill every part he needed to know at the moment without waiting for his reaction.

“I had a long day at work and needed to clear my head, so I went to the mall.” Not a lie. “Then I threw up on the way home and stopped by the hospital for some anti-nausea medication. Dr. Blackbeak changed my antidepressant, I’ll have withdrawal symptoms for the next few weeks.”

Among other causes for nausea.

“You didn’t tell me—about any of it.”

“I’m telling you now.”

“You went to Dr. Blackbeak almost two days ago, Aelin.”

Rowan’s speed wasn’t nausea-friendly, and he must be really pissed off to forget about his safety-first driving style.

“Well, you know—“

“Why did she change your medication?”

“I’m not the shrink, am I?”

His sharp turn brought a taste of bile to her throat. Shit, couldn’t he give time for her meds to work before driving this unhinged?

Rowan stopped at a red light, then rested his head against the steering wheel—more like banged his head against it, but the quick horn didn’t have many cars to disturb at this late hour.

With a heartbreaking waver to his voice that tugged at her heartstrings, he said, “I’m trying so fucking hard to be understanding, to be a better partner, to be someone you deserve, but I can’t be that to you if you won’t let me.”

Guilt. Aelin closed her eyes to take some deep breaths for her rebellious stomach, letting the raw emotion of his statement wash away the confidence about the way she acted tonight. Flashes of Rowan’s worried glances and tentative conversations about Aelin’s mood he started with her the past weeks came to mind.

It was only then that Aelin realized Rowan noticed every symptom of her pregnancy—the fatigue, mood swings, change in appetite—before she did herself. He just assumed she was having a depressive episode instead.

He saw all the signs and decided she was depressed instead of carrying his baby. The Buzzard.

Aelin never lied to him about Maisie or things she deemed important for him to know, but she did lie to him about her mental health. Repeatedly. Over the course of six years. This being the main reason that broke them apart.

Knowing this, she could see more clearly the reason behind his outburst.

Aelin slowly reached his shoulder and caressed it with her thumb. “Baby, I’m fine. You have nothing to worry about.”

Lies, lies, lies. Almost—but she wasn’t telling him whole thing now.

The light turned green and he picked up speed, to her stomach’s chagrin.

“Aelin, that’s not how ma—how a relationship works. You can’t let me know about shit like this only when it’s convenient for you, and I thought we were over this.”

Cold sweat broke on Aelin’s skin, and she felt lucky she could process what he said over the lightheadedness.

“I know, baby. And you’re the first person I go to, always. But sometimes I feel more comfortable sorting things out on my own first.”

Rowan let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen? Me freaking out because someone else told me you’re at the hospital?”

With breaths too shallow, her mouth flooded with saliva and made her jaw clench.

“Stop the car.”

“What?” Rowan asked, confused.

“Stop the car,” she repeated with no energy to shout, which he complied—too abruptly.

Aelin practically jumped off the car once it stopped and knelt on the grass of their gated community, trying to take deep breaths as her diaphragm contracted itself, preparing her for what was to come.

Her boyfriend quickly circled the car and crouched next to her. His trademark frown was frownier than ever. “What’s going on?”

“I just. Took. Nausea shit,” she managed to say, still breathless. “Could you not drive like a maniac?”

“Fuck. I’m so sorry, baby.” He held her hair. “All this from the medication withdrawal?”

Aelin couldn’t answer even if she wanted to, given her current state. A moment or two later she sat—more like slumped—on the grass, potentially ruining her jeans, feeling glad that there was a lot of dry heaving, but she didn’t throw up. Thank you, modern medicine.

She knew she had to address what Rowan said tonight, but it must be nearing midnight, Aelin had surgery first thing in the morning, and she was so incredibly tired.

An entire day’s worth of fatigue crashed down on her, just as much as her pride vanished. She didn’t bother trying to hide any of it from Rowan anymore, who watched her with hawk-like attention.

“Can we fight later?” Aelin said with a pleading look.

“Of course, baby.” Rowan scooped her up from the floor and effortlessly sat her on the passenger seat with the seatbelt on.

Aelin never thought she’d ever enjoy being coddled like this, but she’s had a rough day, and she needs her person.

Back in the driver’s seat, Rowan gave her a once-over before turning the car on, but Aelin stopped him once more. They’d get home to Aedion demanding answers, then crash and wake up to Maisie being loud in the morning and a whole day of work. Some things needed to be said first, so he doesn’t get the wrong idea.

“I just want you to know that I know that what happened was very uncool of me. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll get over it.” He gave her a watery smile. “Do you wanna talk about it just the two of us, or should I book an appointment with Yrene?”

Aelin wrinkled her nose, playfully discarding the idea of an early trip to the family therapist’s office. “Just us.”

“Whatever you need.”

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[trollprincess]

On Election Night 2016, I called the national suicide hotline.

Okay, well, first I had a panic attack at work for obvious reasons. I was working as a temp at the place where I work weekend nights now, and as the attack was ramping up I decided to go home. It was a really bad attack. Like, I have a ten-minute drive home and I shook the entire way home.

I got home and was in the middle of my attack when I realized I was holding some of my medications. I can’t remember grabbing them. I don’t remember grabbing them. I do remember sitting there and thinking, “Maybe.” And so I picked up the phone and dialed the suicide hotline.

It kept ringing. And ringing. And ringing.

No one picked up. I hung up, then tried again in five minutes. I got through this time. I didn’t take it as a good sign. You know, in general.

I unloaded on the poor woman who answered. Which is, you know, their job, but still. I think I spent five minutes demanding she not find some way to direct cops to my apartment. I’ve told my brother the same thing, if I go to him because I’m having a breakdown. Never call 911. Never risk the cops coming. Never risk the cops deciding the middle-aged depressive is a threat.

The thing is, I knew what was coming. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it. And I wasn’t. The only reason I’m still here most days is the thirty-pound lump currently asleep on my foot.

Part of my plans for the day of the election is putting all of the medication I have - iron pills, antidepressants, clonazepam, Midol - in a bag and taking it to my parents’ house. I’ll probably do it in the morning. Stuff the bag under my brother’s bed, text him the next day when I think I’m okay. Maybe text him I’m not, and to keep it a little longer.

All the “glorious revolution” folks who want to start some shit if everything goes wrong again .. I just can’t even. It’s vulnerable people on the chopping block, and people seem just sort of fine with that.

I don’t imagine getting people hurt for whatever delirious fantasy pops into my head. But I do imagine hurting myself. Five and a half years of two jobs and a podcast, no money, no retirement on the horizon, debt up to my earlobes, publishing looking more and more like some silly idea I had once that’s propping up a table somewhere in my apartment. A life I sometimes only barely manage to tolerate for the simple fact that my goofy, chicken-hogging dog needs me. What’s the point? What is the *point*?

Where does the point even go if the next four years do what the other four did?

I sound dramatic. I’m an anxiety sufferer, a disaster podcaster, a writer. Of course I sound dramatic. Ducks are going to quack.

I don’t think I can do this again.

… I mean, pity my therapist, I guess. She’s got to talk to me tomorrow after a month-long break and I am … you know. *gestures at the rest of this post*

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 2 / next.

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader (You), Lydia Martin, Scott McCall, Allison Argent Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 6.7k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, emetophobia, parental death (rip to your fake mom), descriptions of burning, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Scott’s new-found abilities and the murky world they’ve been dragged into is making it pretty damn hard to keep his promise. 

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real and old family skeletons rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive? 

Maybe, the real question is how long will they want to? Chapter Summary: After an awkward encounter with Lydia Martin, Stiles realizes that his new acquaintance might be the perfect person to jumpstart his 15-year plan. You, on the other hand, aren't interested in discussing your ex-best friend; you're much more focused on the man who was attacked by the mysterious beast ravaging the town.

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support so far. So many of y'all have been so sweet :') Comments and reblogs are love.

Monday came, and you’d forgotten about Stiles Stilinski and his sweatshirt. In all fairness, you almost forgot your essay too. Lack of sleep, maybe, or perhaps lack of Wellbutrin—you’d also forgotten if you’d taken your pills before you left for school.

You crinkled your nearly empty can of Red Bull a few times and twisted the tab in circles until it snapped off. Nervous habit. You flicked the tab into a trashcan and squeezed the can until it crumpled in on itself. Okay, you’d definitely forgotten to take your pills. However, on your list of things to forget, homework outranked antidepressants by several places, so your day wasn’t off to the worst possible start in the world. Dr. Lin always said that you should spend at least five minutes every morning changing your ‘self-talk’ to ‘gratitude, not negatude’—she also said that consistently taking your meds was imperative to your mental health, but one out of two wasn’t so bad. See. Positive thinking; you were killing it. 

It was, however, pretty damn difficult to put a positive spin on a bloodied school bus cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. 

You lingered on the outskirts of the swarm of teenagers gawking behind the barricade that a few deputies were fruitlessly attempting to enforce. The back door of the bus was crumpled in the middle, wrenched open, and barely clinging to life with a lone intact hinge. More concerning, was the blood smeared across the yellow paint and the bloody handprints pressed against the windows. You peered through the mass of shoulders in front of you and cupped your hand over your eyes. There were four large gouges in the door and tears in the vinyl seats—claws: you realized. They were claw marks. 

Baffling. The entire scene was, in all sincerity, baffling. 

Awful, you quickly corrected yourself. The carnage was awful, first and foremost. It was awful, horrific, and totally tragic…but it was also bizarre. Animals, wild or not, generally didn’t hunt on school grounds; that honor was reserved for creepy super-seniors and perverse volleyball coaches. You chewed on your bottom lip and stewed. A bear seemed most likely, given the battering the bus took, but Beacon Hills was a long way from Los Padres. Mountain lions and coyotes, on the other hand, often strolled into small-town suburbia to snack on the occasional unaccompanied support animal. Still, you doubted they had the strength or dexterity to rip a steel door off of its hinges. 

The first warning bell rang, and it was especially shrill while you were lost in your own head. You managed to not flinch with a herculean effort and pushed through the remaining voyeurs towards the front doors. Stuffing your airpods into your ears, you turned up the volume on your phone until the bass vibrated all thoughts of coyotes, cougars, and bears out of your mind. Oh my. 

Positive: Ellie Rowsell’s ethereal vocals demanded your full and undivided attention. 

Negative: Ellie Rowsell’s ethereal vocals demanded your full and undivided attention. 

You grabbed your chemistry notecards, a few highlighters, and a fat stack of books from your locker just as an overly-cologned jackass shoved his equally pungent friend straight into your crowded arms.

Positive: You hadn’t gotten the chance to organize your notes by unit number before they scattered all over the floor. 

Negative: They were still scattered all over the floor.

Biting back a few choice expletives, you crouched down and gathered your notecards into a messy heap. You stretched across the scuffed tile for your highlighters; one brushed past your fingertips and rolled into the pointed toe of a sleek brown leather boot. You glanced up, apology ready, but your tongue went cottony when you locked eyes with Lydia Martin.

Lydia Martin was many things to many people, but you supposed the general consensus would be that she was the apex predator—regardless of what the bloodbath outside might lead a person to believe. Most students were consenting prey. Enthusiastically consenting, in fact. You understood the impulse. Knowing she could destroy you, that was the thing that made Lydia so undeniably captivating.

Lydia was…sublime. That was the only word for it. She was the duality of fear and attraction. She defined indefinable beauty—because she wasn’t just beautiful (anybody could be beautiful), Lydia was fiercely beautiful and, in the same breath, the grace of girlhood. She was…she suckerpunched Jordan Aadams in the third grade for making fun of your eyes without lifting a single manicured finger; that was the closest you could come to explaining the phenomenon Lydia Martin left in her wake.

Lydia’s thick red curls spilled over her shoulders as she looked down at the obstacle in her path. The angry pinch in her brows softened briefly once she made eye-contact with you, but she quickly corrected her slip and schooled her face into a blank expression. Returning her attention to her friend, Lydia’s heels clicked against the floor as she stepped over your copy of Metamorphosis and continued on with her conversation like it hadn’t ever stopped. Like you were just a mirage or a distorted oil-slick reflection—like you were a ghost who just wouldn’t fucking die already. You watched her go, forgetting to blink, until they reached Lydia’s locker on the other side of the hall.

Before she got extensions, Lydia liked to wear her hair in a French braid. Before she discovered full-coverage concealer, her freckles were golden against the fairness of her cheeks. Before everything fell apart, she was your best friend. 

In the end, it wasn’t a terribly dramatic thing. There wasn’t a melodramatic scene or an explosive fight; sometimes, you wondered if that would've been better. There was a certain kind of brutality to a slow, quiet death; one that lasted long after the hot water turned cold and shampoo stung your eyes. After the funeral, you could taste decay in your conversations, in your silences. The rot crawled listlessly—everything did back then—tauntingly sluggish. You saw the end coming weeks before you stopped speaking, and you didn’t even try to stop it. To be fair, Lydia didn’t either.

On the first day of seventh grade, Lydia had new friends; they all smelled like vanilla and owned matching couture purses. She’d always been magnetic, but evidently losing her only constant was her final quest before she transcended to godhood. You made her human; that must have been the problem. You were babies together. You were more than family. Now, you sat across from each other in a class you couldn’t bring yourself to care about, and you did not look at each other unless it was straight through.

You snatched the runaway highlighter and quickly sunk back against the wall, pressing into it like you could force your body through the cracks in the bricks or at the very least shed the sentimentality clinging to your skin. You darted your gaze across the hall and almost snorted when you saw the amount of people who’d flocked to Lydia’s side in the span of no more than thirty seconds. Lydia was unobtainable, unknowable—and yet ever so desirable. No one really knew her, so of course they all wanted to be her. 

Lydia only liked one of them, the new girl with shiny black hair and dark eyes; you could tell. Her top lip pursed ever so slightly when she was holding back a barbed comment and a violent eye roll. Usually, Lydia didn’t bother with niceties, but for whatever reason she’d decided her new persona should only intimidate peons with looks and confidence, never brains. It was a shame, really; her cave-dweller boyfriend desperately needed educating. 

You resisted the urge to look across the hall again and smoothed out the bent corner of a notecard until ‘alpha’ became ‘alpha particle’. A shadow fell over the pink-highlighted text, and you frowned. Glancing up, your frown cemented when you saw Stiles’s elven nose and remembered that you still had his sweatshirt wadded on your desk chair.

“Hey,” Stiles adjusted his grip on his backpack, “did your car make it home okay?”

You nodded and shut your locker with your elbow, bending with the wobbling tower of school supplies in your arms until it stabilized again.

“Cool.” He nodded a few times, mouth puckered like a duck, and scratched at the back of his neck, “So. You and Lydia, huh.”

You stared intently at your notes, “Is that a question?”

“No, it’s a statement.” He hooked his thumbs around his backpack straps and leaned back slightly, “And that episode of telepathic taekwondo was definitely a statement.” 

You glowered until ‘alpha decay’ and ‘helium-4 nucleus’ mushed together into an illegible pink blob, “I’ve got a statement for you—only two words actually.” 

“So it is a thing.” You could hear the smirk in his voice as he grabbed the books from under your arms.

You refused to feel grateful, even as you readjusted your grip on your cards and freed one of your hands, “Get lost, Stilinski.”

“That’s three words.” The smirk was deafening now.

The one-minute warning bell rang and a mass of students swarmed the hallway, effectively drowning out Stiles’s smugness with a sea of jock whooping and band geek trumpeting. You met his gaze and smiled, quick and sickly-sweet, before stepping around him, “Kindly. Choke.”

You ignored the sound of Stiles’s large footsteps following far too closely behind you. You wanted to be annoyed with him, but English was his first-period and he did have your books in his stupidly big hands. Instead of flipping him off, you focused your itching fingers on stacking cards and pencils on top of your desk until Stiles sat down in the seat next to you—without permission. You changed your mind; he was annoying. 

Stiles scooted the desk closer to yours with his feet, and the metal legs screeched against the linoleum flooring for you. “Was it like a ‘grew apart over the summer’ thing, or did some serious shit go down?”

You sighed heavily and lined your pencils and pens next to each other, first in order of length and then color, “Why do you care?”

His mouth remained open for a second, and then he shrugged a little too casually, “I’m a naturally inquisitive person.”

“You’re unnaturally irritating,” you grumbled, low in your throat, and scowled at your picked-apart cuticles like they had done you a particular disservice. 

Stiles huffed through his nose and threw his hands in the air, “Come on, I totally saved your ass Friday—very chivalrously too, might I add. I won’t even press charges for the theft.”

“Theft?” you finally turned around in your seat to face him at the accusation. 

Stiles nodded solemnly, “My sweatshirt. My most favorite sweatshirt of all the sweatshirts.”

Oh. You deflated a little; you’d forgotten about that pesky little detail again. You snatched your books off of his desk before your lives could become further entangled and replied flatly,  “I’ll overnight it.”

“No, I insist you keep it.” His smile was a little too crooked to be truly cocky,  “I’m a good guy like that.”

You tapped your pencil against your chin, eraser side up, and cocked your head to the side, “Isn’t it incredible how every self-proclaimed ‘good guy’ is exclusively terrible.”

Stiles’s face twisted into a petulant scowl as he collapsed against the back of his chair, and you were a little surprised that the desk managed to contain all of his gangly appendages without collapsing as well. “I like her, okay!” His exasperated confession carried to the next row of students, and Stiles melted into his seat when a jacked sophomore with no neck whistled lewdly behind you. Squeezing his eyes shut, Stiles lowered his voice, “Actually, I’m kind of in love with her if you want to be technical about it.”

“Oh.” You blinked and then laughed.

“Don’t laugh, asshole.” 

“Sorry,” you grinned, not sorry in the slightest, “it’s just…isn’t everyone?”

Stiles shook his head and sighed wistfully, “Not like I am.”

You turned to get a better look at him and didn’t mask the doubt in your eyes. He was wearing a brown flannel that was practically mewling for a good ironing and a red t-shirt with the silhouette of a spider embossed over his chest. Spider-Man’s emblem, obviously. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say it was the Andrew Garfield version. Regardless, it was blatantly clear that Stiles’s homeplanet was lightyears away from Lydia’s.  

You folded your arms over your chest and leaned back against your seat, “Have you even talked to her?” 

“Technically…no,” Stiles dipped his head from side to side like a bobble head and then pressed his palms together, gesturing with them every so often to emphasize the most ridiculous words in his sentence, “but we have a deep, unspoken connection, mostly via sporadic eye-contact.”

You just looked at him, unamused and unimpressed.

Stiles held up his hands like a director and kicked his feet onto his desk, “It’s about the long-game.”

“Gross,” you pulled a face. You weren't sure if you were referring to the gray wad of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe or the pride in his long-con. It was probably a bit of both.

“Are you gonna help a guy out or not?” Stiles nudged the leg of your desk with his sneaker—the gumless one, thankfully—and sent one of your pens careening towards the edge.

You caught it before it could hit the ground and glared at him. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m not an ‘in.’” You returned the pen to its rightful place between your pencil and purple highlighter: a perfect rainbow of neuroticism. You straightened your row of writing utensils again and swallowed shallowly, “I don’t even know her anymore.”

For the first time since Stiles had popped up in front of your locker like a chronic zit, understanding clicked in his eyes. Actually, he almost looked apologetic. Stiles sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and leaned forward onto his forearms, “So…what happened? Did you not make queen bee first-string?”

“No,” you bristled. After a long exhale, you crumpled in on yourself a little and mumbled, “Yes…kind of. I don’t know. I have my version; I’m sure she has hers.”

Stiles clasped his hands together and nodded sagely, “There are as many truths as there are people.”

Your brows scrunched, and your eyes went lidded as you flipped through your mental philosophy rolodex, “Camus?”

He shook his head and clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, “Evangelion.” 

You were startled into a snorty chortle, “Obviously you’re a weeb.”

Stiles hid his amusement behind a slow roll of his eyes, “You’re at least 1/16 weeb if you know Evangelion is an anime.”

Before you could deny such blasphemy, you were distracted by the boy who usually sat next to you—Greg something, you were pretty sure—coming to a stop directly between you and Stiles. He lingered next to the side of his desk, breathing heavily through his mouth like some kind of sick prowler. 

Stiles glanced at him with a flat expression and then looked up again, brows shooting towards his hairline, when he didn’t leave, “Can I help you?” He jerked his head forward and shook it slightly, “Need a mint?”

Greg Something stared at him, red-rimmed eyes thoroughly glazed over, and you wondered if being faded at 7:45 in the morning was worth the tortuous five-hour wait until lunch. 

“No?” Stiles waved his hand in the air; Greg didn’t even blink. “Okay seeya.”

It took him roughly 30 seconds to comprehend what Stiles was saying, but eventually Greg shuffled towards one of the remaining empty seats in the middle of the classroom. 

“Thank you,” Stiles muttered before returning his attention to the side of your face.

You smirked slightly at your notebook, doodling a little bird with sharp talons along the margins of your notes on Kafka’s thoughts on absurdism—spoiler alert: the guy who wrote a book about a dude randomly transforming into a bug was a big fan of it. You added a long feathered tail to your bird and said, “It is his seat.”

Stiles scoffed and looked over his shoulder. You both watched Greg shove a handful of Cheeto Puffs into his mouth in slow-motion for a moment, and Stiles replied, “I think he’ll live.”

“Oh,” you shook your head a little, freshly bitten lips curling around the extended vowel, “I’m not worried about him.”

Stiles clicked his pen aggressively with his thumb and pressed his mouth together until his lips disappeared into a flat line. “If you would just answer my questions the first time, I wouldn’t have to keep asking them, so, for the love of god—” fortuitously for him, he was cut off by a loud scratchy buzz before you could succumb to your base instincts and throw an eraser into his flapping mouth. 

Principal Montoya’s voice crackled through the loudspeaker, “Attention students: I know that many of you are concerned about the…incident in the parking lot, but rest assured that the police have it well in hand. Classes will proceed as scheduled as they continue their investigation. Have a productive day, Cyclones.”

A resounding groan echoed throughout the classroom and into the hallway, followed by the hum of students breaking into various complaints. Mr. Lyman thwacked his pointer against the whiteboard, and the force of his swing sent the cartoonish hand on the end of the stick into rapid vibration—effectively shutting everyone up. The quiet was only disturbed by the rustle of zippers being unzipped and papers being smoothed when he instructed everyone to turn their essays in. 

You hastily wrote your name across the top of your paper and pointedly kept your eyes on the board when Stiles leaned across his desk. “Life’s short, y’know. One day you’re a traveling salesman, and the next you’re a grotesque, monstrous insect, wishing that you’d seized life when you had the opposable thumbs for it, so—”

“A man just died; have some class,” you interrupted him, voice dry as it was soft. Stiles might not care about getting in trouble, but you’d worked very hard to remain on a no-name basis with all your teachers. 

“We don’t know that he’s dead—or that he’s a he.”

“Oh yeah,” you jotted down the daily prompt in your notebook and muttered, “I’m sure the guy just decided to go home and sleep off the mauled limbs.”

“It could’ve been an animal,” Stiles huffed, bowing his head in submission when Mr. Lyman shot him a stern look from behind his desk. He continued with his hand over his mouth, muffling his words, “And they do run off to die alone.” 

You stared at him for a long moment. “That’s cats. Are you saying a bear ripped a bus apart for a cat.” 

“Well, if you say anything in that tone, it’s going to sound ridiculous,” Stiles muttered sullenly against his palm, and you were pretty sure that he was pouting behind it too.

You opened your mouth to reply and then squinted slightly when a boy with floppy hair skidded to a halt in front of you. His mouth was slightly agape as he looked back and forth between Stiles and Greg, who was now licking the nearly toxic orange dust off of his fingers. 

 “Sit, Scotty,” Stiles jerked his thumb towards the empty desk behind him. “Good boy.”

The boy, Scott you gathered, did not look amused, but he sat down behind Stiles anyway and leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. Stiles whipped around and responded in a hushed screech.

You were distracted from her eavesdropping when Lydia’s friend sat down next to Scott—directly behind you. Her jaw could cut glass. You dropped your chin onto your folded arms and refused to let yourself frown; the end result was a slightly constipated pout. It was just…Allison had just started going to Beacon Hills a few weeks ago, and she was already completely intertwined in Lydia’s life. 

Lydia was…prickly, so you were just surprised, that’s all, how easily Allison fit into her life. More palatable, you thought as you risked a peek over your shoulder; she must be more palatable than most. A terrible, ugly thing creeped over you, and you found yourself imagining Allison choking on her beautiful, silky black hair until her beautiful dark eyes popped out of her head. Just for a moment. A brief, awful, horrible moment—until you remembered it wasn’t Allison’s fault. 

“Hey.” You flinched when you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder.

You reluctantly shifted in your chair so that you could see Allison. You just looked at her for an uncomfortable moment, and Allison smiled awkwardly, “The tests.” You blinked and licked your dry lips, at a loss for words. Allison smiled again, a little nervous but still kind, “They're on your desk.”

“Oh,” you said dumbly and reached for the pile of papers on your desk that you’d missed during your lengthy period of dissociation. You kept one and then held out the rest to Allison, mumbling, “Sorry,” under your breath.

Allison looked at you for a moment, and you didn’t like the discerning look in her doe eyes. “It’s okay. I zone-out all the time.” 

You could see why Lydia liked her; she was nice, overly so. You felt that ugly feeling slip into your mouth again, bitterness coating your tongue, and you wished that Allison was catty or at very least a vapid twit who was either too stupid or too self-involved to notice other people—like the rest of Lydia’s circle. 

“I like your necklace.” Allison nodded a little towards the black chain around your neck. 

A heavy pendant rested just over your sternum; the maze etched into the stone had eroded in places, like it had been left out in acid rain for decades. You weren’t sure exactly what it was made of; your mother never said when she gave it to you, and you never asked. It didn’t matter much now. 

“Thanks,” you finally said, because that was what normal people did when they were complimented, and you were a normal person. Mostly. You swallowed thickly and bit down on the scab in the center of your bottom lip before adding, “I like your jacket.” You did. It was simple, unadorned by gaudy zippers and lapels like so many of the other leather jackets on campus. You would wear it yourself if you didn’t break into a sweat in any temperature warmer than tepid. 

Allison’s cheeks dimpled when she smiled, and you quashed the sigh rising in your throat. Her smile was magnificent. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off, but my friend convinced me to—” Allison let out a little breathy laugh, “Sorry, you definitely don’t want to hear my jacket’s tragic backstory.”

You didn’t, not if it included hearing about Lydia’s fashion tips second-hand. Still, you scraped up a little smile, “As long as it doesn’t begin with a cow, you’re golden.”

Allison laughed and held up her hands, “It’s faux; I promise.”

“Ladies,” Mr. Lyman called from across the classroom, “I wasn’t aware that existentialism was so amusing.” You felt a dizzying heat crawl up your neck to your ears once you realized that the only noise in the room, other than Allison’s tinkly laughter, was the scratch of pencils on paper as students worked on their tests. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled at the same time, and Allison mouthed another ‘Sorry’ just for you before you turned around. Damn. You liked her. How incredibly inconvenient. You almost wished that Stiles was still pestering you so that you had a real reason to be upset—until you finally got a good look at the mid-term, more specifically at the thickness of it. You flipped through the lengthy test and looked at the ceiling briefly: Six essay questions? 

Positive: At least, you found a legitimate excuse to sulk. 

Negative: You felt a migraine coming on. 

Blessedly, whatever Scott had said to Stiles at the beginning of class was distracting enough to keep his, frankly obsessive, focus on him for the rest of first-period. You were even able to finish the final essay question without interruption—which was plenty difficult without being interrogated about your ex-best friend. You almost scoffed when you read the prompt: Whom do you sympathize with more, Gregor or his family? Who in their right mind would side with a pathetic parasite who couldn’t love anyone more than he hated himself? An uncomfortable, undeniable pang of melancholy sliced through your throat, and you were actually grateful for the distraction when the bell rang for second period and you had to pack up for chemistry. 

The impending chemistry midterm, however, was evidently a touch too distracting because you didn’t notice that you’d regained your lanky shadow until you were in Mr. Harris’s classroom and he stole the flashcard in your hand. Narrowing your eyes, you leaned across the lab table and rocked onto your tiptoes. Your outstretched arm shook as you struggled to even brush your fingers against the cardstock, “I haven’t talked to her in years. Lurk elsewhere.”

Stiles opened his mouth and then shut it again, head bobbing helplessly for a moment, “I was just going to ask you about…Gregor. That last question was a real piece of work, huh.”

You plucked the card out of his grasp while he was distracted by his social ineptitude, “Uh huh.” 

“Scout’s honor,” Stiles placed his hand over his chest and somehow made his big eyes rounder. His pink bottom lip jutted out ever-so slightly, but the quivering at the edges of his mouth gave him away. Sighing, he leaned his weight onto his palm: flat against the tabletop, fingers spread, and far too close to your own. He gestured erratically with his other hand, and you jerked back to avoid being smacked in the face. “Personally, I’m on Grete’s side. I mean, you can only take care of your werebug brother for so long without some kind of recognition before you snap.” Stiles shot a pointed look over his shoulder at his friend from first-period, and you thought the glare Scott returned was well-deserved. You could be biased, but probably not. 

“He was a little preoccupied by being, y’know, a bug.” You shuffled your notecards and frowned pensively at the question that ended up on top of the stack: What is the formula for Calcium acetate?  

“He could’ve said thank you in Morse code.” Stiles looked over your shoulder and added, “C4H6CaO4.”

You flipped the card over and pursed your lips. He was right. “I actually said the same thing,” you admitted begrudgingly as you grabbed the next flashcard from the pile. “Not the Morse code bit, that’s objectively insane. I did say that the best thing he did for her was die.”

“Damn.” Stiles’s forehead wrinkled as he let out a puff of air, “A little harsh.”

You picked at your raw cuticles and wished you could pull your bottom lip over your head. “It’s like you said,” you muttered as you folded your arms firmly over your chest, ducking your chin towards the divot in your breastbone, “she could only deal with his depressed bullshit for so long before she got on with her life and made new, sane, non-insect friends who actually go outside, and have fun at parties, and respond to texts.” You paused and remembered that you needed air to function when your lungs started to burn. Exhaling shallowly, you pressed your calves against the stool’s frigid legs until it hurt. Maybe, if you crushed your limbs together tightly enough, curled in on yourself closely enough, you could disappear. “And don’t, y’know, crawl on the ceiling and projectile vomit Exorcist style,” you finished weakly.

Stiles studied you for a moment, and it was like he could see every painfully tender spot inside you. You felt ants crawling underneath your skin and him seeing you, and you wanted to bolt before you came completely unstitched at the seams. “Well,” he trailed off for a moment, rubbing the back of his head, “in all fairness, being there…that’s kind of the deal when you’re friends—even if they turn into a disgusting bug.” You didn’t know that someone so caustic could sound so gentle, like ink running across paper.

“Siblings.” You swallowed and looked away from his unyielding gaze, but you still saw amber and understanding every time you blinked. “You mean siblings.”

“Sure.” Stiles smiled a little and slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, “Siblings.”

You swallowed again, couldn’t even manage a ‘see'ya’ or an eyeroll when he saluted you goodbye, and watched him saunter towards his seat next to Scott through your lashes with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. You felt a little sick once you realized that you weren’t relieved by his absence. It was all you’d wanted at the beginning of his inquisition, and yet…you wanted him to sit next to you. The epiphany struck you right in the stomach, and you felt a bit like one of your dad’s rare butterflies—tissue paper wings pinned to paper, fervently yearning to fly away, even if it meant ripping yourself apart. 

Normally, you thoroughly enjoyed not having a lab partner. The class had an odd number of students, and Mr. Harris either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care that you never joined another pair during labs. It was a toss-up, considering he seemed to loathe his job as much as he loved devoting his undivided attention to mocking Stiles. Speak of the bifocal-ed Devil. 

“Mr. Stilinski,” the contempt in Mr. Harris’s voice was sickeningly viscous. You imagined mucus dripping from his thin lips; it helped quell some of the righteous anger in your gut. He continued, and now he was spitting up slugs and snot, “If that’s your idea of a hushed whisper, you might want to pull the headphones out every once in a while. I think you and Mr. McCall would benefit from a little distance, yes?”

“No–” Stiles’s jaw hung open as he shook his head violently. 

Mr. Harris silenced him with a glare, and your fingers curled into your palms as you watched the condescension gloss over his smirk when Stiles complied. Your jagged, bitten-down nails pinched your skin; you quickly flattened your hands on top of the table before you did something stupid like draw attention to yourself. It was none of your business, after all, and you had a test to prepare for. 

You stared at your notes, reread the same sentence over and over again without comprehending a single word, until you felt the uneasy sensation of someone sneaking up behind you.

“Hey,” Stiles sat down on the empty stool next to you and kicked at your shoe lightly under the table. You hummed in recognition and slid your textbook over to make room for his things. 

Stiles’s face scrunched as he flipped through his own notes. You couldn’t read most of it—not that you were looking; his hand-writing was just glaringly atrocious. Everything was smooshed together and most of the letters were partially incomplete, like his pencil couldn’t keep up with his brain. You looked back at your own notebook, at the meticulously symmetrical loops and compulsively straight lines, and the corner of your mouth curled into a brief smile. 

The quiet was nice, but you couldn’t shake the irritation sticking to your fingers. You tapped your pencil against your notebook a few times, bit down on the inside of your cheek, and then said, “He’s a dick.” You spoke quietly, but Stiles still flinched. The highlighter in his hand left a long yellow streak across his textbook, and you winced. Truthfully, you were equally startled that you’d voluntarily broken a perfect moment of silence. 

Stiles didn’t seem bothered by the new mark permanently defacing his book, most likely because a good portion of the glossy pages were already more yellow than they were white. He angled his chin towards you and smirked, “Are you legally allowed to call a teacher a dick? Y’know, as the resident teacher’s pet.” 

You grinned at your notes, “I have the utmost authority, actually.”

Stiles leaned forward onto his forearms and struggled to keep his mouth impassive, “Oh, yeah?”

A loud, grating squeal of metal on tile and an even louder yelp interrupted your reply. A girl near the front of the classroom shot up out of her seat, almost sending her stool toppling to the ground, and then bolted towards the window overlooking the parking lot, “I think they found something!” 

Mr. Harris quickly lost control of the classroom as the rest of the class surrounded her, practically pressing their stupefied faces against the glass to get a better look at what, or rather whom, the EMTs were wheeling out of the thicket of trees just beyond the school’s perimeter. You hesitated for a moment before joining the stragglers. Morbid fascination dwindled after you were confronted with the reality of it—you weren't in any rush to see another dead body. 

You weren't ever supposed to actually see the photos; they were strictly evidence for the potential arson investigation. The coroner didn’t even want your dad to see the body. There hadn’t been any point, after all; it was completely unidentifiable. At the time, you thought it would help. You thought peeking at the case file while the Sheriff was on the phone might remind you of some crucial detail, hidden in the depths of your blackout—and, well, you thought it might finally make it real. Maybe, if you saw the proof, you’d finally believe that your mom wasn’t coming back. 

You’d been wrong, of course. Seeing what was left of your mom, seeing her like…that, it’d just made you puke. Your whole body had trembled from the retching, and then you were paralyzed, held hostage by a glacial streak of terror. Sheriff Stilinski had been so terribly understanding about the whole thing, like it was nothing: vomit on his office floor, trembling hands invading his private files. He’d just wiped the corners of your mouth with a tissue and rubbed your upper back in slow circles, just like her your mom did when you were sick—which ultimately sent you into another round of dry-heaving. You never felt the temptation to look again. 

You let out a deep breath when you looked out the window and saw the man on the gurney twitch. His jacket and pants were black, and his shirt was charcoal gray, dark enough to hide any blood stains. The only injury you could make out was a large gash on his face; it was still bleeding sluggishly, leaving a sticky red trail from his jaw to his neck. Your grip on your forearms tightened as your stomach lurched. 

The paramedics began to load the gurney into the ambulance, and the man surged forward without a single warning. His screams were raw, like they’d been ripped from his throat along with the flesh on his cheek, and every single one of the students crowded against the windows recoiled from the wailing. You swallowed the bile burning your throat. It was like they were watching their own, personal horror movie and couldn’t decide if they were more exhilarated or horrified—just itching for the jump scare. 

You stumbled back towards the door and bumped into Stiles and Scott. Stiles gripped your arm gently until you regained your footing.

“That’s not a rabbit,” Scott said under his breath. He looked as queasy as you felt.

“Or a cat,” you added quietly.

“But he’s alive,” Stiles nudged Scott a little, “that’s good, right? Dead guys can’t do that.”

Scott still looked like he was going to hurl all over Stiles’s white Vans, and you felt a flutter of sympathy. The only thing worse than puking was doing it in front of other people. “You might want to take him somewhere,” you spoke softly to Stiles. “He looks like he’s going to pass out.”

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded a little and wrapped an arm around Scott’s rigid shoulders, “good call.” 

His eyes darted around the classroom: big, and brown, and frantic—like a lost fawn. You nodded towards the dark corner Mr. Harris was dissociating in, “I’ll cover for you.”

“Yeah?” Stiles smiled a little, but he looked weary down to his bones as he started shuffling Scott towards the door. 

“Yeah,” your smile was a bit wobbly at the edges, “but only ‘cause I get a sick thrill out of fucking with dicks.” 

Your weak attempt to ease some of the tension in the air was semi-successful; Scott was still staring into another dimension, but Stiles looked positively giddy at the prospect of such a perfect setup. “I have, just, so many thoughts on that, but I’ll save them for after Scott—” he gave Scott a long look and scratched the back of his buzzed head, “gets his blood sugar up.”

It was sweet, you thought as you watched Stiles guide Scott into the hallway, lying to spare Scott’s pride. You thought Stiles would be a better liar, but maybe that was the downfall of being raised by a police officer. It was either that or the general social impotence. Not that you had much room to talk; silence was your preferred method of social interaction. 

The classroom was far from silent now. Students were spread out across the room in little clumps. Some spoke in furious whispers. Others weren’t as discreet, and you could hear every single preposterous word that left their mouths. The amount of sophomores who didn’t know that the California grizzly bear went extinct almost a century ago was a very depressing glimpse into the public education system, but at least there were only two boys howling obnoxiously at a few giggling volleyball girls. Rolling your eyes, you pulled out your phone and typed ‘Beacon Hills bus attack’ into the search bar. 

You refreshed the webpage obsessively, all throughout chemistry and art class, until an article finally popped up on your screen at lunch. You bit into your slightly bruised apple and squinted at your phone, immensely grateful for the empty courtyard as you came across the grittier details. 

You always ate lunch outside; it was quieter without the echoes of gossip and laughter, and the heady scent of cut grass was far preferable to whatever monstrosity the cafeteria was serving that day. Today, the afternoon heat made the earthy warmth especially thick in the air. Normally, you loved that smell, the smell of summer. It reminded you of frenzied August afternoons, running through Lydia’s sprawling backyard and swinging into brisk lake water, but the smell was quickly becoming suffocating the more you read. 

The man who was attacked was a bus driver. He was smiling in the photo they’d chosen to include before pictures of the crime scene, like a warped ‘before and after’ ad. You dropped your half-eaten apple into your lunch sack and shoved it to the side when you got to the background bits. Garrison Myers had a family, a wife and two daughters; they were praying for his unlikely survival. Your throat hurt, and you wondered if there was an apple chunk lodged in your esophagus. Swallowing hard, you scrolled down to the police interview. The deputy they managed to get a quote from clearly knew next to nothing, though he did posit the possibility of a mountain lion attack. You rolled your eyes. Maybe on PCP. 

The only thing you were sure of was that whatever kind of beast ripped a woman in half and slashed a man to ribbons in the span of a week wasn’t going to stop. At least, not until it was killed.

[ironstrange1991]

Starting Over

Paring: Tony!Stark x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

Synopsis: Tony Stark is the best friend you can have when you're struggling with depression.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and medications, depression, social isolation, suicidal thoughts (in the fic they appear in some ironic and deprecatives thoughts).

A/N: I'm not going to pretend I wasn't writing about myself in this fic, you're all too smart not to realize that. It's been difficult days, weeks, months and writing this fic has helped me in a way. There is a lot of angst but also some fluff moments. Hope you guys like it.

You were stuck. In life, in love, at work. The whole world seemed to be spinning, running, happening and you were just there, standing, motionless looking through the window, stuck in gravity.

You were depressed. Not just sad or down, but really depressed. After fighting depression for years, taking every type of antidepressant there was and not being able to get out of that state, you simply stopped trying. Depression was part of your personality now and you wore it almost like a battle trophy, a victory flag that you brandished as if to say: I survive.

Surviving became the thing you were best at. A true prodigy when the subject was to endure. You withstood the strong winds of life, endured through each wave of catastrophe, and remained. Even if inside you were falling apart.

To fall apart. What a funny way to say it. To actually fall apart it was necessary that, in principle, you had risen up at some point. That somehow, even if just for a little while, you had managed to let go of that sad and pitiful state, but that wasn't what happened. You never made it out. Once you got close, but the doors closed before you got through them. The sun set before you could finally reach it just like in that Marilyn Manson song. The same song that played on repeat now through your tv speakers as you sat on your couch in your small apartment on a Friday night after getting home from work. Your cat, Sebastian, sleeping lazily next to you on the couch, completely oblivious to your problems. You liked watching him sleep, he calmed you just by existing and you envied his innocence.

God, you hated Fridays. To be honest, there wasn't a day you liked when in fact you hated being alive. But Fridays were oppressive. They were like a reminder that the world was a living, breathing thing where things happened and you were on the outside, never a part of it.

On Fridays you would hear the conversations of your coworkers talking about the parties they were going to, the dates with their crushes, the family dinners, the happy hours with friends. You once heard a colleague saying that weekends are made for enjoying your family and you wondered if you would feel better if you had a family to run to.

All these fruitless and cursed inquiries would arrive on Fridays like an unwanted visitor and weigh on your chest as soon you close the door behind you and contemplate the emptiness of your apartment. Of your life.

I should get another cat. You would think every Friday night and ended up on the couch, like now, with a bottle of wine, a clonazepam pill, and the vain hope that one day maybe things could change or that one day you just wouldn't wake up on the next Saturday morning. The second option would always bring a sadistic smile to your lips.

Flirting with death again, Y/n. Why do you always end up on this couch flirting with death?!

You were distracted by your own thoughts, immersed so deep in them that the very air around you seemed thick and unbreathable when you heard the sound of the doorbell. You froze for a moment scared by the intrusion. The sound, which you weren't at all used to, sent a shiver down your spine.

There was only one person in the world who had access to your apartment, one person in the world who you trusted enough to give your address, your phone number, your friendship. And this person unfortunately had a too busy life to spend time with you. Even if he tried very hard.

However, contrary to everything you knew to be true, when you opened the door, he was the one standing there, dressed in jeans and a hoodie with the hood pulled to hide the majority of his face and a pair of sunglasses, although it was night. Tony Stark.

"What...?" You started to say, but were interrupted.

"Are you going to let me in or am I going to have to stand here and risk being recognized by one of your weird neighbors?"

You opened the door for him to enter and closed it behind you, still amazed that he was there in the first place.

You and Tony met at one of his science fairs. You worked for a technology company and he offered you a scholarship because he was enchanted by one of your creations. The rest was history. Well, in fact the rest was the only real friendship you had or have in your life, not counting the financial help that ensured you continued paying your rent when the company you worked for went bankrupt and you were fired.

"I've sent you at least ten messages all day. And I've tried calling you a thousand times." He ranted looking at you as if looking for something. "I thought you’ve died or worse."

"What could be worse than dying?" You asked, your voice sounding as monotonous as your life.

He raised an eyebrow but didn't respond, returning to where he had left off.

"What I'm trying to say is that I was worried about you. The last time we spoke you didn't seem well and that was two weeks ago."

You sighed, sitting down and he pushed Sebastian to the side so he could sit next to you. The old cat seemed to glare at him before getting off the couch and starting to lick the exact spot where Tony touched him.

"I'm fine. I'm sorry about the messages, I didn't know what to reply and I didn't see the calls because the cell phone is on do not disturb mode."

Tony sighed. "What's going on? Aren't the medicines working? Is there a problem at work?"

You shrugged. "Same as always. And I'm not taking medication, you'd know that if you read my latest messages, which you haven't done in the last week."

He didn't seem satisfied with your answer. "Why the hell did you stop the meds, Y/n? You  just said they were helping!"

You shrugged. "For the first few weeks. Then they stopped working like all the others. Plus, they don't let me cry. It's a strange feeling."

Tony ran a hand over his face. "Isn't this a good thing?"

"Not really. They don't take the sadness away, Tony, they just don't let me cry it away."

He stared at the TV sighing. "I'm sorry I didn't respond to your messages. I was away. I just got back."

You nodded. "Out of the country?"

"Out of the planet." He said with a shrug "Alien threat, long story. The short version is that I was there leading a team and we won. The earth is saved again. I saved your life again, I'll send you the bill later."

You smirked "As far as it's up to me, you don't need to bother anymore."

Tony made a face, analyzing you closely, but didn't say anything.

"Why are you here, Tony? Really. Don't tell me you were just passing by because you have no reason to come to this side of town."

He sighed. "I'm worried about you. I dreamed about you last night. It was bad, really bad. It made me think..."

You frowned, waiting for him to continue, but instead he pulled you into a tight hug like he was afraid of losing you. You were surprised at first, but then you hugged him back and that feeling, the human touch, was enough to make you start crying.

"It’s okay." Tony whispered in your ear. "You can cry. I'm here, now."

And you cried. In a way you hadn't cried in a long time. All the feelings pent up inside your chest seemed to overflow and you felt relief, almost as if you had carried something heavy in your arms for a long time and could finally let go.

When the torrent of tears finally stopped you pulled away hugging your knees and feeling a little embarrassed, but Tony somehow always knew how to deal with every situation in such a natural way. Sometimes you would catch yourself looking at him and thinking how you could be so lucky to have him as a friend. Good things didn't usually happen to you, but Tony was an exception.

"Can we turn this thing off or at least find something decent to listen to?" He said while searching for the remote.

"Anything but your old man bands." You responded finding the strength somewhere to tease him. He rolled his eyes, finally finding the remote and turning off the TV.

He made himself comfortable on the couch and leaned his face in his hand, staring at you and simply said it. "I want you to come live with me."

And before you could show any reaction, he continued explaining himself.

You shook your head in disbelief. "Tony, you're not responsible for me. We're friends, that's all."

"I have more rooms available in that tower than I have people living in them. Besides, it would make things a lot easier for me. It's hard to keep an eye on you when you live on the other side of town."

He seemed to completely disagree. "It's what I do. I care about the people I love. Please, just... consider it." He ran his hands over his face again. "This is my way of saying I care about you, Y/n."

You sighed heavily. The idea of ​​no longer needing to pay rent was tempting, but on the other hand, what would you do in that place? You would feel like a fish out of water.

"I don't know, Tony. I'm not your superpowered friends, I have nothing to do there."

He stood up looking around and heading towards the cubicle that was your kitchen, somehow completely ignoring your answer. "Have you had dinner?" He asked rummaging through your fridge and grimacing. "Y/n there's no food in here. It doesn't even look like there's a human being living in this place."

You shrugged. "There's enough."

He opened the freezer, rummaging through the packages of frozen food. "For God's sake, is this what you're feeding on?"

You sighed, slightly irritated by the intrusion. "Tony, fresh food is expensive."

He closed the refrigerator, took out his cell phone and typed quickly. "Well, I guess we'll go for pizza tonight. Do you like Pepperoni?"

You weren't hungry, but you nodded anyway, knowing there was no point in arguing with him. Tony might be the smartest person you knew, but he was as stubborn as a mule.

He sat back down next to you. "If you need money just tell me."

You rolled your lips. The idea of ​​asking Tony for money was always in the back of your head, but since you got your job you stopped accepting his help and didn’t want to give in to the temptation again. "I don't want to overstep the boundaries of our friendship. Besides, that would put me again in an uncomfortable position, Tony..."

"Then come work for me. Okay, sorted. I need someone with your skills..."

You rolled your eyes "Do you need someone to create software for you?"

He smirked, "Okay, you got me. But, we can think of something."

You sighed, the corners of your mouth turning up in a smile. Tony was so sweet, you could see an herculean effort from him to make you feel better and it was definitely the most amazing thing anyone had ever done for you.

"I would like to quit my job. It’s a shit job." You admitted staring at your hands. "… and I hate that place. I hate those people."

"Is there any person in the world that you don't hate?" He teased.

You smirked, "You're not so bad."

He grabbed your hand and pulled you closer to him. You snuggled feeling the pleasant warmth of his body and laid your head on his shoulder.

"In fact, I think you're the only person in the world I don't hate."

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders. "I'll take that as a compliment."

You smiled to yourself. “Yeah, as you should.”

He looked at his cell phone's display for a moment and then informed. "Pizza in 20 minutes." He grabbed the TV remote and turned it on again, this time looking for something to watch. He went through the streaming catalogs – from which he was paying for - and ended up deciding on a random horror movie.

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes watching the opening scenes of The Nun. The silence, however, was not the uncomfortable kind, the kind that you need to fill with anything because the situation starts to get messy and strange. In fact, there was a certain comfort in being next to Tony, the intimacy that existed between you was something comforting and even cuddling with him on the couch, your head lying lazily on his shoulder, your arms wrapped around his waist, his arm resting affectionately on your shoulders, you felt completely at ease and carefree because you knew it was completely platonic. Tony had Pepper and you had simply given up on having a man in your life. Romantically speaking.

"How are things at home?" You asked, breaking the silence. "With Pepper and Morgan."

"Very good. Pepper has been taking care of the company and so she's been traveling a lot, but we're doing great. Morgan is doing really well in school. I think I've done well in life."

You smiled, genuinely happy for him. "Does she know you're here?"

He nodded, but you pushed a little harder.

"What does she think about me?"

"She knows what I tell her. She doesn't care about our friendship, if that's what you're asking."

You nodded, getting distracted by a particularly scary scene in the movie.

"She agreed to you coming and living with us." He said proudly.

You looked at him in surprise. "Seriously?"

"She also warned me that I should offer you a job if I expected you to accept the offer. Pepper knows people, she deals with them better than I do."

You smirked to yourself. "She's an incredible woman. I don't know what she saw in you." You teased tickling his ribs and eliciting giggles from him. You loved the sound of Tony's laughter. It would do you more good than all the anti-depressant pills you've ever taken in your life.

It took about 30 minutes for your pizza to arrive. Obviously, it was you who greeted the pizza guy at the door. Tony was terrified of any of your neighbors finding out he was coming to your house, not only because it could be fodder for the gossip tabloids, but also because it would ruin your privacy.

You put the pizza box on the coffee table and got two cans of soda from the fridge and threw yourself back on the couch.

Sebastian, who had settled into the small loveseat, was now staring at the two of you jealously.

You were surprised by how much you enjoyed your slice of pizza. It was the first thing you were eating that day, but you were sure that what made everything feel so special was the company. Any food, no matter how tasty it was, seemed tasteless in your mouth when you ate it alone sitting on that couch using TV to pretend a non-existent company.

"I could use an assistant." Tony said finishing his soda and looking at you waiting for an answer.

You took the last bite from your piece and chewed slowly thinking about what to say. Deep down you wanted to say yes, but rationally you wondered if you weren't crossing a line.

"You'll have your own room, which is bigger than this entire apartment. You'll have a good salary, meet new people, and spend more time with me. Something tells me that would do you good."

You smiled "I wouldn't know where to start. I don't know your work, Tony and I've never worked as a secretary."

"Assistant." He corrected.

"What if I screw up? What if I disappoint you?"

Tony touched your face "The only way you can disappoint me is by not trying. I want what's best for you and we both know that's not continuing to live in this place alone."

Immediately you glanced at Sebastian sleeping peacefully in the loveseat. "Can I take him with me? You know I'm not going anywhere without him."

Tony pretended to think about it. "You know he hates me, right?"

"He doesn't hate you. He's just jealous of me." You corrected him.

Tony smirked "You can take him, but he will have to stay in your room the whole time. It's not safe for him to be loose in the tower."

“Is it safe for me? I mean, with your weird friends there?”

Tony nodded “I’ll be there to protect you from them, don’t worry.”

Tony pulled you into his arms and you finished watching the movie like that, feeling safe in his arms and with a sense that somehow everything would be okay.

You sighed finally surrendering.

"Then the answer is yes."

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing ;)

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[thatkarleesidraws]

You wanna know why I like Dazai so much?

It’s because he resonates with me. When I was 18 and severely depressed, I went to the club every weekend. Friday, Saturday and sometimes even Thursday til 5 in the morning, blackout drunk, smoking one cigarette after another, waking up with a massive hangover, just to fill that void in my chest.

Of course it didn’t help. I’ve known it back then, and I know it now. But slipping into those self-destructive behaviours was better than not feeling anything at all.

I don’t know when it started. Maybe I was just born with it. All I knew was that I don’t feel like I belong here and that I want to go home.

I’ve been the golden child, the smart kid that got good grades without studying much. But where did it get me now? I’m 25, working through my second therapy, taking antidepressants again and I have no idea what to do with my life. I have no desire in earning a whole lot of money, no desire to contribute anything to society, no desire to exist.

It’s odd, really. Contradicting even. I find a lot of things beautiful. Music, art, nature, sometimes even people. Always seeing the world through the eyes of a child. Though somehow I’m always at war with myself, trying to bend and force my mind to function properly.

I’m not even sad. I just don’t know what to do or say anymore. I’m so tired of explaining myself, tired of being the “funny friend”, tired of always listening to others. I don’t even want anything anymore.

But there he is. A fictional man, with a dark past who pretends to be silly and carefree even though he’s dying inside, who puts my thoughts into better words than I ever could. That is why I love Dazai so much. Because there is this one character that gives me the feeling that I’m not alone in my suffering. Is it delusional? Yeah, maybe. But I can’t be bothered. He gives me a sense of belonging in this world of pure chaos and for that I cannot thank him enough.

[explosionkatsu]

Mistake

Bakugou x Reader

I couldn't be happier after seeing the 400+ followers. I didn't expect this to happen honestly. I would like to thank you all for your appreciation and for showing your support on my work. In return, I made this all for you! ❤️

You thought you got over it after the therapy sessions you’ve been through. You tried to get a new hobby knowing that you're training to be a hero. You tried to be healthy as much. You exercise every morning, bond with your friends by the afternoon, and even volunteer to make dinner just to prevent yourself from being lonely.

Maybe you got over it because when Katsuki asked you out on a date, you were in heaven. You felt happy, content, and loved.

But why does it come back out of nowhere? No. It's not out of nowhere. It came back because you had your first big fight with your lover.

You remembered standing up to him about your 1st Anniversary as lovers but he was too immersed in training with the others so he rebutted that he didn't. But you caught a glimpse of how he darts his eyes away from you and it shatters your heart. What did you do? You unhurriedly turn your back on him knowing he won't admit it.

Tears are flooding your eyes and gradually running down your cheeks and way to your chin as you stride up the stairs towards your dormitory. You didn't even glance behind you scared to see his reaction.

It’s been hours since you confronted Katsuki about it. Sleep couldn't just visit you tonight because of the ache. Overthinking is flooding your mind once again.

What if he doesn’t care anymore? What if he thinks you're a burden to him? What if he left you? What if he doesn't love you anymore? So many what-ifs and it's just summing up the ache you are currently experiencing.

It's been days since you both talked. But none of you dare to step in and apologize. Well, not exactly.

Katsuki knew his mistake. He was even pissed at himself for denying it, heck, for failing to remember it! He thought you’ll get over it, knock on his door. That was his plan. Wait for you to come so he can apologize. But you didn't. He even starts noticing how you skipped your meals. When in class, you weren't listening like you usually do and you’re not lingering in the hallway for him by the end of the class.

But Katsuki had enough. Enough is enough.

Katsuki waited for everyone to go to their own room. Once again, you skipped your meal. Although, he saw you earlier and took a glass of water before disappearing again. At least you're keeping yourself hydrated.

So when the common room was finally empty, Katsuki went to the kitchen and prepare your meal. He was desperate to fix his mistakes. If he has to apologize to you every single day, he will.

After he finished cooking, he headed to your room holding up a tray with your food on it. Carefully balancing the tray on his other hand, Katsuki gently knocked on your door. He couldn't hear you getting up from your bed or even walking. But the jiggle of the doorknob was enough to let him know you're still awake.

Your appearance breaks his heart. He can see your under-eye reddish and darkened. It appears like you just finished crying because of how puffy your eyes were. Your hair was everywhere.

He caused this. He is to blame for this.

Katsuki stood there staring at you. He felt his lips dry up. But no matter what you look like, you will always be the most beautiful lady he had ever laid his eyes on.

“May I come in?” His voice came out soft but in a whisper.

You thought for a moment before tugging your door wide enough for Katsuki to come in.

As soon as he did, Katsuki looked around. You were never messy. He can see the crumpled tissues beside your bed. After scanning your room, he placed the tray on your desk where he saw the now-empty glass with a couple of medicines beside it. He got confused so he brought it close to his face to read the writing.

Antidepressant

“Why are you drinking these?” Katsuki curiously looked at you.

You were at the doorway after closing the door behind you, leaning against the wall when he came in. You even watched him examine your room.

“It's nothing.” You said, almost whispering it.

“I said. Why are you drinking this?” Katsuki repeated as gently as he could before slowly stepping closer to you.

Too tired to argue with him, you mentioned how you suffer severe depression before you met him. How you went through with it, all the therapy, and medicines you had to take.

Katsuki listens to you intently. He sees the sadness in your eyes as you mention how you suffer from the past. So while you were still talking, he dropped the medicine and embrace you tightly.

Of course, it caught you by surprise. But in the end, you embrace him back with tears in your eyes.

“I don’t want to feel this ache anymore. I’m tired of it, Katsuki.” You hiccupped.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m really sorry. I should've known. I shouldn't have forgotten our anniversary. I should've apologized to you sooner.” Katsuki said. He slowly pulls himself back and cuffed your tear-soaked cheek to his palm.

Seeing you cry because of him breaks him. So tonight, he decided to stay in your room and comfort you as much as you want.

“I love you, Y/n.” He said before slowly pulling you in a passionate kiss.

Maybe it's how he made you feel you're loved because as soon as he placed his lips against yours softly, you shut your eyes closed letting a tear roll down and wrapping your arms around his neck bringing him closer to you as much as possible.

Both your lips moved in sync with so much passion.

Katsuki then moved his palm from your cheek, down to your jaw, caressing it with his thumb while his arms snaked around your waist.

Finally, you pulled away eyes slowly opening. You saw his eyes staring down at you lovingly.

“This is the last time I’ll make you feel this way, baby,” Katsuki said placing a kiss on your forehead. “I promise.”

You only nod in response.

“Come. You should eat. I’ve never seen you eat anything.”

After feeding you the now cold meal, you both sat on your bed, a blanket coating half of your body.

You stayed in his arms which Katsuki doesn't mind. All he has in his mind now is to make up for his mistake and never hurt you.

Ever.

[adidastain]

the truth

90s matt stone x gn reader (y/n)

warnings: panic attack (ish), mention of sexual assault (M victim), mention of insomnia, angst (ish), exes

notes: first person perspective (I, me, my, etc.)

word count: 3319

—

I always thought it was ironic how advertisements for prescription drugs and over-the-counter ailments had a long list of disclaimers and warnings for side-effects that may leave you worse than how you started before being on the medication. If I were using an antidepressant that gave me chronic stomach issues and put me at a risk for skin cancer, I think I would rather just be depressed. 

And I was. It was almost 2AM, and I was laying awake on my sofa, letting my brain rot as I watched a commercial for a migraine medication that could possibly give the patient aches and pains everywhere else in their body. What sucked is that I had to be awake in four hours, and I didn’t really see myself falling asleep any time soon anyway. 

Knock.

Knock.

Knock-knock. 

I could have pissed myself. There wasn’t a question of who was at my door at 2 in the morning; I knew who it was. That was the problem. The question was why is he here? After six months?

With some trouble, I managed to move my body enough to stand and stretch slightly. My arms and legs had been paralyzed in one position for the last two hours. It seemed that my body was asleep, but my mind wasn’t. I tripped on my throw rug on the way to the door. 

Matt was standing on the other side of the door, from what I could see through my peephole. I felt relieved at the fact that it was him and not someone else who happened to know our secret knock and had a plot to kidnap me. It didn’t look like he had much on him, being in just a T-shirt and some flannel pants. 

His eyes bored holes into me as I opened the door. The poor guy looked like a sad puppy. It only made me more confused. 

“Hey,” I greeted him, letting my eyes shoot up and down his frame. I made myself seem purposefully more tired than I really was. I didn’t want him to know that I hadn’t been sleeping. Not that I care. 

“Hey,” He exhaled. Matt’s jaw clenched as he held his breath again, looking down at his feet and then again into my eyes, pleading for something. For what? Forgiveness? Does he think I’m mad at him? 

“What are you doing here?” I asked him, leaning against my door frame. I figured he’d be less tense if he saw that I really didn’t mind him being here. Yes, I was confused, but I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t exactly thrilled either, but I’m sure he was more so expecting the former. 

I didn’t look away from his eyes. Matt was always unnecessarily difficult to read and always veered away from communicating, unless he was lying (which he was terrible at) or in a panic-state of distress, like he was now. The way he kept breaking eye contact and holding his breath was a dead giveaway. It wasn’t often that I or anyone had seen him like this. 

“Um…” he mumbled, swallowing. “Could I crash?” 

He reached behind his head to tug on a chunk of his curly hair. It had gotten really long since I last saw him. He looked sort of boyish with it. 

I stared at him, though I doubt he could read the expression I was trying to give him. This was not something I ever thought he would ask me. Especially since it had been, what, six months since we last spoke? Seven since we broke up?

I sighed, looking at the floor. “Sure,” I hummed, opening the door for him to step inside. He said nothing as I locked the door, just standing in my living room like the place was full of boobytraps or something. 

We looked at each other and that seemingly made him feel comfortable enough to sit down on my couch. I poured him a glass of water and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa, pulling my legs up to sit criss-cross. I watched his hands rub his knees back and forth as his leg bounced rapidly. 

“What’s going on, Matt?” I asked him. I felt sort of… guilty. Maybe I’d come off more harsh than I anticipated. “It’s been a while.”

“Um,” Matt started, swallowing harshly. His leg stopped moving as he leaned forward, rubbing his face with his hands under his glasses. 

New glasses. I couldn’t remember ever seeing this pair on him before. They were silver, just like his old ones, but a little smaller and more wide as opposed to the circular shape of the frames I remembered. His old pair had been broken since college, so I guess it was about time he got some new ones. 

“I-I think I just got… sexually assaulted,” he mumbled. His back sank as he heavily exhaled, removing his hands from his face and adjusting his glasses. 

I almost choked on air. “What? Where? A-At home?” I asked. My legs fell off the side of the couch and I shifted closer to him. 

“Mhm,” he nodded. “This girl from Boulder’s been staying with us, a-and-”

“You don’t have to tell me about it, Matt,” I said, laughing nervously. I swallowed, staring at his hands and arms. I wasn’t sure whether I should just reach over and touch him for comfort or not. 

“Okay,” he huffed, laughing as well to channel his obviously heightened breathing. “This was the only place I could think to go at this hour.” 

“Shh, it’s fine. I promise. I understand,” I told him, lightly rubbing his shoulder. Matt cleared his throat and sat up normally, looking down at his lap. I could see him picking at his fingernails, his chest still rising and falling rapidly as he tried to take deep breaths. 

“New glasses?” I asked, hoping that talking about something else would make him feel less on-edge. I wasn’t sure how I could tell him that he was safe with me without actually saying it. I just hoped he still felt safe despite going without talking for so long. 

“Yeah,” he answered, taking them off. “We made some profit from, um, selling the VHSs and whatnot, so I got a new pair. Do you… wanna see?” 

Matt held the glasses towards me. He still seemed awkward and hesitant, but I couldn’t blame him. How else are you supposed to act when you show up to your ex’s door unannounced at 2 o’clock in the morning? 

I took the glasses from him, examining them. They looked pretty much identical to his old ones, except for the frames. They were oval-shaped. I looked through the lenses, seeing the world the exact same way I did when I used to steal his glasses and put them on my face so long ago. Now I just felt sad. 

“I saw the trailer you made in one of my old recordings of Mr. Show, during the commercials and stuff,” I said, giving the glasses back to him. I remembered just putting them back on his face for him. Stop. 

Matt smiled and looked down, cleaning the glasses before putting them back on. He sniffled, glancing towards my TV and then back at the glass of water on the coffee table. 

It grew silent between us. I stared at the floor, trying to push away the memories of him and I, but not having any luck. I just thought about the times when we would stay up to watch SNL reruns and eat our dinner off of paper plates in the living room. Before things got complicated. 

While Matt’s eyes lingered on the TV screen a few feet away, I stared at his hair. He still had that gorgeous auburn shade of brown curls that were a little bit lighter than others in some spots. I watched his hands slide up his arms into the opposite sleeves, holding himself with tense shoulders. I recalled noticing him do this when he was anxious, though he never outwardly expressed it. He was usually pretty good at hiding it. I guess that came from the little bit of experience he had in acting. 

“Hey, Matt?” I said, sitting criss-cross again. I felt like there was a thick layer of tension in the air that made it hard for either of us to say whatever was on our mind or even communicate without words. 

He looked at me calmly, his hands falling into his lap again. One of them reached up to scratch his jaw as he waited for me to continue.

“Do you… wanna lay on my chest?” I asked quietly and cautiously. I knew it was a far reach since the last time we ever touched each other was almost nine months ago, but it felt right for me to ask. After all, it was a one-time thing. I could do him this one favor to help him relax and we’d never have to talk about it again. “To help you just… I dunno, relax.”

“...Can I?” he asked after a moment. I nodded, standing up to run to my bathroom and dig in the medicine cabinet for a small bottle of hair oil that I was praying I still had. Just in case. 

I found it, Thank God, and came back into the living room, jogging slightly. My body fell backwards onto the couch and I laid down, slightly propped up by a number of pillows with my arms wide open for Matt to lay down. 

It had been a long time since my heart was beating as fast as it was when Matt carefully crawled on top of me, avoiding making eye contact with me. He slowly lowered his head, still tentatively propping himself up so as to not sink his full weight into me and relax. 

“You can relax, Matt,” I whispered, stroking his neck softly. He said nothing, inhaling and exhaling until I felt his body pressed against mine. I’d forgotten just how big he was as a whole human person. He had a big head and big hands and broad shoulders and was just so tall. One of his legs was hanging off the edge of my sofa while the other one extended past the armrest. His arms were tucked at his sides, keeping him from falling off the couch. 

I felt his heart beating against my abdomen. It was racing, as told by the pace at which his back rose and fell with each breath. He could probably feel my heart racing too. It was almost like we were back where we were a year ago, stuck in the honeymoon phase. I didn’t believe anyone when they told me that it wasn’t going to last forever. 

I cringed, pushing the thought away. We tried it, and it was fun while it lasted, but it didn’t work out. End of story. 

“Do you want me to put some of this in your hair?” I asked quietly, presenting the small bottle to him. Matt tilted his head up and squinted, before answering “Yes, please” without any hesitation. He took his glasses off and set them on the coffee table, before turning his head away from the rest of the room and towards the back of the couch. 

The oil was cold and had a very strong minty scent that smacked me in the face and sent me back to last year. It was the same oil that I used on his hair a number of times, whenever he was stressed or tired and needed a little help getting relaxed. I can’t believe I kept it.

I rubbed my hands together, working my fingers through the roots of his curly hair on the back of his head. Matt shivered, sighing through his nose as I scratched his scalp. I could feel the tension in his body trickle away as his weight settled on top of me. 

My hands kept massaging his scalp and hair, having to reapply more oil every so often since his hair was so long and there was so much of it. My eyes remained fixed on the TV screen while my hands worked, my mind running elsewhere. 

I tried to pretend that this was just another Thursday night for me, but I couldn’t. I just kept remembering stuff from when Matt and I were together. Nights where we’d fall asleep in each other’s arms after a movie marathon. Mornings that followed where we’d both wake up flustered and act like it was no big deal. 

But then there were the countless nights where he’d come home at 1 in the morning and just climb into bed without saying a word. No ‘good night,’ no kiss, no nothing. He’d be gone early the next morning before I’d even wake up enough to say anything to him. Sometimes he left little notes, sometimes he’d stop by in the middle of the day to have lunch. But eventually that all stopped and it felt like I never saw him again. 

I knew he was busy with the film they were shooting at the time, and I was busy with my own work. I told him that, and he knew. What made me upset was the fact that I knew he was more stressed than normal and he wouldn’t tell me why. 

Eventually he had to leave to go out East to film something in Utah. He was gone for almost two months by the time I drove over with one of our mutual friends so that I could see him, and we both sort of agreed to just go our separate ways. We talked again once he came back, but we still just agreed that we were better off on our own. 

My hands had worked their way up to the top of Matt’s head when I realized that he’d fallen asleep. He did feel safe with me after all. Safe enough to fall asleep on me, even after all this time. Maybe he just never really let go.

Frankly, I don’t think I did either. 

And now we’re here. 

However, I wasn’t going to let him sleep the rest of the night on me. Plus, I couldn’t stay awake any longer or else I wouldn’t survive the next day. I continued massaging his scalp and playing with his hair until the last of the oil had been completely worked through. 

“All done,” I said softly, lightly rubbing his back to gently wake him up. Matt breathed in and lifted his head up, looking at me in a confused daze. I gave him a shy smile as he sat up, rubbing his eyes and climbing off of me. 

My hands, my clothes, and my couch all just smelled like the oil and it was going to forever linger in my apartment from now on. It was all Matt’s fault.

It’s not his fault. He was violated and had nowhere else to go. Now I was in shambles, trying to figure out if he was going to be here again tomorrow night and whether or not I would let him stay. 

“Thank you,” Matt yawned, putting his glasses back on. He grabbed a blanket from the bin next to my couch and set it to the side, before standing up to stretch. His arms raised, pulling the hem of his gray T-shirt up with them and revealing his hip bones and happy trail, as well as the waistband of the boxers that hugged his hips snugly underneath his baggy pants. 

Fuck. 

“Of course,” I said. “Bathroom’s down the hall, and… I’ll just be in my bedroom if you need anything, okay?” 

Matt nodded, smiling slightly. He looked sort of sad and awkward. Granted, he’d looked like that all night. I wanted so badly to just wrap my arms around him one more time and breathe him in. I still missed him. Maybe the circumstances had influenced me, or my insomnia was making me go crazy, but I missed him. 

I turned around, sighing as I took a step into the hallway. If I looked at him again I would probably cry, but something was pulling me back into the living room. It slowed my steps down to a weak trudge and made me feel cold. It was so warm being underneath him and now it was gone. 

I stopped, turning back around again and seeing Matt fix himself up on the couch. “Do you want a hug?” I asked him, acting like I didn’t want one for myself. He turned around, seeming slightly shocked, but nodding and opening up his arms. 

My face was immediately smooshed into his chest as he leaned over slightly to hug me, his arms around my shoulders while mine were around his torso. His small waist fit right in my arms the same way it always did. His heart beat against my ear the same way it always did. 

One of his hands reached up slightly to pet my head, smoothing my hair down with each stroke. I wanted to cry. I started to wish that I would have just sucked it up and waited for filming to be done so that he could still be with me and vice versa. All the hurt and pain would have gone away eventually if I’d just been patient. 

After about 3 seconds, I think Matt realized that this was not just a typical hug. This was a “I’m in so much pain and I miss you” hug, without so much intimacy. Matt hugged me tighter, pressing the side of his neck against mine while my face was buried in his shoulder. 

No words were said; no words needed to be said. We just held onto each other, almost like we were showing each other physically how tightly we’d both been holding on for the past seven months, whether we knew it or not. 

Eventually, we pulled away. Matt’s hands slid down my arms and lightly squeezed my hands before falling to rest at his sides once more. I sniffled and looked down, taking a deep breath. 

“If that girl gives you problems again just call me,” I squeaked, putting on the most serious face I possibly could. Matt grinned, looking down at his hands as he picked his fingernails. “I will literally kill her.”

“Alright,” he laughed, looking in my eyes. My sleep-deprived brain may have been deceiving me, but I thought for sure that I could see his cheeks turn a little bit pink. 

I flashed him a grin before sighing, trying to put my serious face on again and act irritated that he was still here. “Good night, Matt,” I said, pursing my lips together so as to not show the grin that threatened to cover my face. 

He smiled wide, showing off that little gap in his teeth that I adored so much. “Good night, Y/N,” he answered, laughing slightly. He sat back down on the couch, pulling the covers up to his shoulders and shutting the TV off. I turned the kitchen light off and disappeared into the hallway, looking back at him one last time for the night. 

I still very much had feelings for him, I couldn’t argue about that at all. Despite the truth, which was that we did not work out, I felt deep down in my heart that maybe we could make it work again. The first time was just the wrong time. But I still loved him, and from what I gathered, there was a slight chance that he may have still loved me. Maybe if we both took the time to work with each other better we could make it work. 

Or not. Maybe I was just crazy and desperate. That was the most likely situation. That is the truth that didn’t keep me awake at night.

[gemmahale]

I'm gonna vent about clothes and shit. Tw for: body dysmorphia, frank discussion of weight gain, general brain bullshit and internalized fatphobia-ish? Idk, I pre-tagged this and kind of went off the rails at the end.

Take care of yourself and skip this one if you need to, okay? I love you. 💚

I need to pick up some new clothes. I'm down to one pair of jeans and really can't wear skirts because it's still too windy (and I have no shorts to wear underneath for the chub rub). And I'm not ready to break out my above-knee skorts yet.

I just...I'm struggling. Last time I ordered clothes, they were too big (I went off the measurements and I think I sized up out of dysmorphia). And because I was deep in depression central last time, it took me weeks to try on the clothes. Which meant that they were outside of their return policies.

I feel frumpy when I go to work. I hate it. I want to be excited about putting clothes on again. I've been wearing essentially this "uniform" for four years now.

I got looking at my license (I'm due for a renewal and soon because my birthday's coming up) and I put on roughly 40 pounds in the last four years. Sedentary job, antidepressant weight gain, having a partner that feeds me well - all things that are net positive, but have affected my body.

Well Gemma, go walking. I need shoes. I need to buckle down and get a pair of walking shoes. But that's a whole thing because I have dancer's feet and stupid ankles and stupid arches. And starting. Starting and maintaining habits are hard. (I'm at the phase where standing for 10 minutes or so hurts my hips and low back. It's bad.)

We're running what feels like a very tight budget right now. Logically, I know it's not - I can see the numbers since I run most of the household budget. But there are things that feel like they should take priority and it feels selfish to be spending it on clothes when I have perfectly serviceable polo shirts, a sweater, pair of jeans and shoes.

I don't know. The me in the mirror is not the me I want to be and trying to claw out of this pit feels insurmountable. I love my body, that's not the part I'm struggling with (okay, some days I do, but that's ..."normal-ish" as best I can tell.)

It's the effort I have to put into looking put together. I miss taking 45 minutes to get ready in the morning, putting make up on and cute outfits and feeling good about myself. I went hypercompetent femme and it worked so well for me.

But I'm worried that a big shift is going to cause some weird blowback. I'm already down a few pegs because I present female and I'm relatively young, even though I have a doctorate in plant health and a decade of experience in the green industry. I'm worried presenting "more feminine" means people won't take me seriously. (Though we already saw that at the commissioner's meeting, so maybe it doesn't really matter.)

I've always been "low maintenance" - roll out of bed, speed shower and throw on clothes. But I want to put effort into my appearance again, for my own benefit more than anything. I feel nice when I'm showered and my hair is styled and it feels like I give a shit.

Tl;dr: Gemma needs to stop being a pansy and wallowing in her feelings, buy some clothes and walking shoes and get some dopamine dressing happening.

And maybe eventually I'll get the clothes I need to donate out of the bedroom too.

[takami-takami]

Trigger warning: restrictive eating (medical), calorie numbers, weight, emeto. LONG SRY

I will say though. Now that it's gastroparesis awareness month! My story with gastroparesis.

Today, I ate a meal with my family. I ate rice, chicken without oil, and baked empanadas with ground chicken in them. And even though my mom had to cook me a separate plate that wasn't deep fried like everyone else's, I feel so at peace.

Today when I was at the doctor's office getting a physical form signed for school, my doctor turned to me and smiled and said, "I'm not telling them about your gastroparesis for stomach issues. You know where you are. Stable!" And I genuinely lit up and nodded.

There was a good period of my life where I was only eating 600-800 calories a day. I slept propped up to aid motility, I woke up every morning with pain and would wake up in the middle of the night. I had shakes and tremors when I took my medicine. I was tired, cold, underweight. I developed agoraphobia because I was so terrified of getting sick outside and not having my room to go run and hide in.

I had anxiety attacks about my food getting contaminated, and I yelled at people who touched or moved my food like a starved animal. Like, I genuinely felt like one.

I remember when I found the first nutrition shake I could keep down. After drinking one per day, I noticed I didn't drag my feet down the steps anymore. I actually did a little skip. And I felt so much joy and told everybody I knew, I can skip again! I could dance to music for a short amount of time again!

I remember how devastated and scared I was when Orgain changed the recipe to appeal to diet culture instead of health. I went right back to that dark place.

But I pushed myself, and once I noticed my volume intake limit increasing, I knew I had to start varying my diet because my gp was improving. So I dealt with refeeding, and it was hard. But I did it!

Over the past three years, I have slowly gotten better and better, more able to tolerate more volume and more foods. I stopped my SSRI antidepressant at the advice of my GI, and that definitely helped over the past year and a half. I also healed more from my trauma, which I do genuinely think helped me as well.

Now I weigh enough to donate blood again! I went to Japan and ate at restaurants! I get crepes with my sibling and the blueberries make me a little sick but I eat them anyway because I'm not so afraid anymore! I can go out with people to eat! I can eat with my family!!!!!!

Now, I just avoid high fat, high fiber foods and don't eat raw, unblended veggies/fruit. And I'm genuinely fine. I can literally check the nutrition label and EAT THAT NEW FOOD? RIGHT THERE? AS LONG AS IT'S LOW FAT/FIBER? THAT'S CRAZY!!!!! THAT'S CRAZY.

I'm just so happy. I have no idea how I managed back then, because I'm so fucking happy now. I'm genuinely happy, and I'm not in pain every day. Now I only experience pain if I eat something I'm not supposed to. That's so crazy. Genuinely.

I am very grateful. I have never felt something more soul-crushing than gastroparesis. It's a terrible diagnosis, and no one wants to study it because it's rare and a cure isn't "profitable". But it is a very, very painful diagnosis, and the suffering is real.

I'm just happy to be okay again. We genuinely need to find a cure because no one should have to live like that.

[aaami]

Forgot to take my meds today (again) and it got me thinking like... back when I started this stupid antidepressant, I used to get withdrawl symptoms within a couple of hours if I forgot to take them in the morning, but now I don't feel any different :/ I'm fine even if I skip a dose (like I'm doing today, because it's already evening) and it's making me kinda annoyed??? This med is famous for its strong withdrawal symptoms and now my brain is like yea okay whatever anyway? It feels like it's just simply not doing anything for me 🫠

The next clinic appointment is tomorrow and I'm finally going to talk about this bs and that I seriously don't want to just keep increasing and increasing the dose, pls let's try something else...... I wanna go apeshit if they try to convince me otherwise.

[aleksa-sims]

🌸🩵🌸

CW: drugs, pregnancy

The holidays were over and I had to go back to work. Today was my first day in the new office. New people, new challenges. That’s why I was so nervous. 😰I expected the worst. I always had bad luck with these annoying department changes. I only liked it in the social office, where I had nice work mates and also working with them and helping other people made me happy. And that’s exactly where I wanted to go back, after I finished the remaining 2 years of my training.

I was glad that I didn’t have to go back to that asylum, where I worked before. This was really one of the worst offices I’ve ever worked in.

Later that day, I will study with Dilek for our next big exam. That's what we planned but... well, let's see. N. accompanied me to my new office in the morning.  I was so scared that someone had to take me there. Not just because of my new job! What happend 6 months ago... started to torture me again. I guess that's bcs I stopped taking my antidepressants. I am pregnant. Every drug, every pill I take (in addition to that drug substitute) ..... can cause risks for my Baby. That’s what my Mom's gynecologist said to me. Her doctor did not examine me. He only briefly informed me about the options, if I don’t want a pregnancy. And he also made me an appointment for an abortion. I wanted that.😞This was 2 days ago, I wasn’t sure what to do? But yesterday my other doctor, Daniel’s doc, who prescribes me my drugs, told me I could keep my Baby. And this doctor, I could tell by his face, how happy he was for me, because I was so happy about that good news. He really enlightened and informed me well! Our conversation lasted almost 40 minutes. This doctor wanted to help me and my Baby. I could see and feel that. So for now, I decided to trust his opinion.

Nico tried to calm me down and encouraged me about my new job. I would have liked to take N. with me as support. I told him, if I had magic powers, I’d shrink him, so he could fit in my bag, to accompany me without anyone noticing anything. Like.... a tiny, hidden helper doing my job for me. 🤣 ... Nico said, "But you’re not alone! You actually have someone tiny with you." Aw, this was so cute. 🩵 ... Knowing that I wasn’t alone, really helped me that day. 

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