#i was so angry i felt physically ill and had to explain to them why he's a fascist because they had no idea what his actual agenda is

[squircatlies]

New conspiracy theory: elon wanted to dab, but forgot how to and his body went on autopilot and did the salut.

I have zero evidence for this, but it would be on brand for him to fail at both pretending to be a gamer and concealing his fascist political views simultaneously.

[possibly-evil]

Fanfic Request: Grace realizing she's gay and in love with Steph.

hell yeah!! posted it on ao3, but ill copy paste the full work under the cut.

this could mean… danger (1619 words) by possibly_evil Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Hatchetfield Series - Team StarKid Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Grace Chasity/Stephanie Lauter Characters: Grace Chasity, Stephanie Lauter, Girl Jeri (Hatchetfield), Boy Jerry (Hatchetfield), Peter Spankoffski Additional Tags: Internalized Homophobia, they're so gay, grace is aromantic in my eyes but this was a request from tumblr, and I'm a sucker for gay ppl Summary: Boy Jerry and Girl Jeri confront Grace about her hug with Stephanie at Abstinence camp.

Grace clasped her hands together. Boy Jerry and Girl Jeri sat in front of her at their shared desk, just large enough that their chairs didn’t touch. Jerry had a look of disapproval on his face, while Jeri seemed more disappointed than angry.

“Grace, I'm sure you know why we’ve called you in here,” Boy Jerry finally began, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Grace put on a smile, making herself appear much more confident than she felt.

“Oh Jerries, you know It was all just a misunderstanding. I wanted to hug my friend. She was nervous,” Grace explained, placing a hand on her heart. “The poor thing. You’ve heard the rumours about her, I'm sure,” She whispered to them. Girl Jeri looked down, lip quivering.

“Yes. The poor lamb… she’s far too young for that sort of thing.” Girl Jeri took a steading breath. “But that still doesn’t excuse it. You shared prolonged physical contact with another camper, which you know is against the rules. Miss Lauter is free from punishment, as she hadn’t been briefed on the rules yet. But you… we expected better from you, Grace.” Girl Jeri shook her head. Grace nodded, but she wasn’t going to give up just yet. She couldn’t let this infraction stay on her record.

“I know, and it was silly of me to break the rules, but I assure you our hug was of friendly nature. I was just excited to see my best friend at camp this year. You know I… don’t have many friends,” Grace said, playing up her sadness. Girl Jeri seemed touched by Grace's words, and seemed ready to let her go. Boy Jerry’s face was still stern.

“How can we be sure of that, Grace? Are we sure that your feelings aren’t… something more?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. Grace felt her stomach drop. Was he accusing her of being…

“I don’t feel sexually attracted to anybody, Jerry. You know that sort of thing must wait until marriage. And I assure you, I would never consider a relationship with a girl. That’s wrong, you know. Unholy.” Boy Jerry nodded.

“Yes, it is, Grace. How often do you go to church?” Boy Jerry asked, not showing any signs of accepting her argument.

“Once a day, twice on sundays.” Grace answered without missing a beat.

“Then how is it that you still live a life of sin?” He hissed, slamming his hands on the desk. Grace gasped quietly and leaned away. Girl Jeri reached out to Boy Jerry, almost touching his shoulder. She mumbled something to him, but he dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Grace said, regaining her composure.

“You are an unholy creature, Grace. You yourself said it, a girl loving a girl is wrong. But I see the signs in you. Stephanie has corrupted your spirit, and filled your heart with sin.” Grace was astounded.

“What?” Was all she managed to gasp. Her? In love? With Steph? Grace felt the disgust rising in her stomach. She was a good, normal girl. A normal girl who wouldn’t feel any attraction until she was safely married. Especially not attraction to a woman.

“Come with us. We’re going to the confession booth.” The counselors stood and led Grace out of the room. She followed them in a daze. No. She wasn’t one of those people. She was normal. Normal. She felt her pulse pick up. She couldn’t go confess to something she didn’t do. The Lord would make everything right, she knew it. He wouldn’t do something like this to her. He wouldn’t taint her with unholiness. She prayed that some divine intervention would change Boy Jerry’s mind. 

They were within sight of the church now. It was small, reserved just for the summer camp. Grace loved the little church, but now it felt sharp and threatening, looming over her as Boy Jerry climbed the steps. Grace stopped, and realized with sudden clarity that she couldn’t let this happen. 

Grace turned and bolted away. She’d always prided herself on being a fast runner, and she was lucky enough to have worn her good sneakers today. By the time the councilors had registered what happened, Grace was already tearing into the forest, turning and zig-zagging, trying to make her path unfollowable. Once she felt confident that she was deep inside the witchwood, she stopped to catch her breath. She leaned against a tree, gasping for air. She didn’t need to worry. Boy Jerry would realize his mistake. The Lord would never make Grace anything other than a normal, good, christian woman. 

Right?

Grace jumped as she heard voices approaching. Had they found her already? She ducked behind a bush as a hiking group made their way down a forest path, singing ‘Down By the Bay’ as they walked. Grace held still as she watched camper after camper pass her. At the very end of the line, Stpeh walked with a boy wearing glasses, who Grace recognised from school. Grace found her eyes locked on Steph. The boy made a joke and Steph snorted, shoving his shoulder in a friendly manner. She looked away from him, off to the side of the path. Grace ducked, but it wasn’t fast enough.

“Grace?” Steph asked, stopping. Grace held still.

“Grace, I saw you. Come on out.” Grace timidly stood up, avoiding eye contact. Steph mumbled to the boy that she’d catch up with him in a minute. The boy shrugged and kept walking. Steph kneeled down next to Grace.

“Weren’t you getting a lecture from Boy Jerry or something?” Steph asked. Steph pointed at her cheek and made a wiping motion, telling Grace there was something on her face. Grace didn’t really register that, she was too busy looking up at Steph.

My best friend. That’s all. Friendship.

“Yeah, uh, we finished. I was trying to find the rest of the group and I guess I got lost,” Grace said, lying through her teeth. Steph rolled her eyes, tucking her dark hair back behind her ear.

Friends. It’s normal to like your best friend’s hair. She has amazing hair. It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful.

“Yeah right. What really happened, chastity?” She asked. Grace frowned at the mispronunciation of her last name. People said it like that to make fun of her, usually (though she didn’t understand what was so ‘nerdy’ about being chaste). Steph was too bold, too brash. Though Grace had to admit, boldness was a good look on Steph.

Friendship. It’s just friendship.

“I have sinned!” She blurted out. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Oh no. What would she think of her now? Would she ridicule her for the rest of her life? She would be the talk of the town. I’m a normal girl. Normal. Normal.

“Mmm… ‘kay? And?” Steph said, unimpressed. “Everyone sins. It's called being human. I never really got your whole… thing. It’s fine to mess up, Grace.” Grace shook her head, looking down to brush some dirt off her jeans.

“No it’s not! Listen, Boy Jerry accused me of something bad. Very bad. And I… I ran away. I’m scared that he…” She looked back up at Steph.

“I’m scared that he’s right.” Steph scrunched up her eyebrows.

“Wait so- so what did you do? Or did you not do it?” Steph asked, tilting her head.

“It wasn’t an accusation of doing something… he accused me of… of being something.” It took a second, but Steph realized what she meant.

“Oh,” She said, recalling how someone had yelled at Grace for hugging Steph. They’d probably brought her in to interrogate her about that. Grace held back tears. Steph would hate her now, she knew it.

“I’m a monster,” She whispered. She hated how she felt. She hated how Boy Jerry was right. Who was she kidding, Steph was the most wonderful person Grace had ever met. The way she made her felt was like nothing she’d ever felt before. And the things that raced through her mind, fantasies of what she could do if she had Steph alone for herself… Grace felt like throwing up. Why was she thinking these things? She needed to stop. She needed to-

Grace’s thoughts faded when Steph hugged her.

What?

“Grace, you’re not a monster,” Steph said, pulling away. “Ok, I don’t know what you’ve been told, but being gay isn’t bad.”

“But- yes it is!” Grace shouted, pushing Steph away from her. Steph sighed.

“Grace… not everything everyone tells you is true. Listen, I don’t know shit about the Bible or God, but… do you think He'd make you gay as a punishment? You’re probably, like, His favorite person.” Grace felt her stomach flip at that compliment.

“But… but marriage is between a man and a-”

“Ohhhh shut up!” Steph groaned. “No the fuck it isnt! Where does it say that in the Bible? Don’t answer, that was a rhetorical question,” She said before Grace could respond.

“Listen, Grace. The Bible went through, like, a bajillion translations made by homophobic racist guys. Who knows what your God actually wanted?” Grace opened her mouth to argue, but she couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Steph was right. Her eyes began to water, and she looked back up at the beautiful girl in front of her.

“But- Steph, you’re my best friend. I don’t want to- I mean- you and that boy-” She sniffled and wiped her eyes, looking away.

“Hey. Grace,” Steph said, taking the girl’s hand. “We’ll figure it out. Together. Ok?” She said, cupping Grace’s face in her free hand. Grace nodded, and tightened her grip on Steph’s hand.

“C’mon, let’s catch up with the others.”

[mariaofdoranelle]

Look at Us Now - ch. 17

Fic masterlist

Hey! It feels like forever since I last posted, probably because I was kinda handling a crisis at home 😅 the crisis is very much still on, but I’m ~excluding myself from the narrative~ for mental health reasons, which hopefully means I’ll stop skipping classes and write more lol. Anyway. Have fun!

Warnings: language

Words: 2,7k

Rowan failed her.

He was reminiscing, reflecting on a rocking chair, under the faint light of the beach house’s side porch. Alone. The hammering sound of the rain against the roof was loud, but not as much as Rowan’s thoughts.

His doom was a lot easier to deal with when Aelin was just someone who broke his heart because she didn’t care enough about him.

He rocked his chair a bit harder, his muscles strained. He was too angry at himself to stay still, but too gloomy to have an eruptive reaction.

Rowan got up, pacing around the porch. He couldn’t stop thinking what would’ve happened if he’d done his job right. Maybe they would be together now. Maybe their co-parenting arrangement would’ve stayed friendly. Either way would be better than what it became.

The purely physical affair he had with Aelin was brutally interrupted by his incarceration and the discovery of her pregnancy. After that, they bonded in a way that made him feel like their souls were melting to be forged as one, but it was just another way of not having her.

Aelin was never fully his, and she would never be after what he’d done.

And even if she wanted to take a risk and have him, what if Rowan broke his family all over again?

Three knocks against the doorframe snapped Rowan out of his thoughts, and was all warning his mother gave him before sitting on a rocking chair.

“I brought some hot tea for you to tell me what happened. Come on.”

He complied, knowing he didn’t have the energy to defy Rory Whitethorn right now. Rowan could trust his mom to read his moods like a manual. He sat on the other rocking chair next to hers. “Did I ever tell you you’re too nosy?”

“I’m your mother. If I didn’t pry, I wouldn’t know anything that happened in your life ever since you left for college.”

He let out a quiet chuckle and sipped the chamomile tea she brought. Breathing the rain’s fresh air in, he let it fill his hollow chest. Rowan couldn’t even begin to explain his situation without uttering the words he dreaded the most, something he’d never dared say out loud before.

“I’m in love with Aelin.”

He stilled, bracing himself for the I’ve been telling you that forever or You’re six years too late, but all he got was an unreadable motherly look.

Rory reached for his upper arm, stroked it with her thumb before she said, “That’s a good thing, honey.”

“We were growing closer lately, and I… well, I didn’t have a plan, but—“ Rowan ran a hand through his hair, closed his eyes and let out a pained breath. “She explained today why she asked me to move out of her house. It’s bad, mom.”

“I see…” Rory trailed, his chest caving as she did. This was a bad indicator. The situation was so serious his mother was actually thinking before she opened her mouth. She continued, “I’m assuming you won’t tell me what happened?”

“I’m not sure I can.”

Even if Aelin allowed him to tell Rory about her mental illness, everything that happened between them back then still felt too raw, too intimate.

“That’s okay.” His mother gave him a small, reassuring smile. “Did she forgive you?”

“I—“ Rowan’s mouth hung open for a moment, then he closed it. He was about to say ‘no’, but even though Aelin didn’t say the words, she didn’t look mad or wounded either. “I’m not sure.”

“It was a long time ago, and she doesn’t look upset about it anymore.” His mom’s voice was soft, her touch on his forearm gentle. “This looks a lot like forgiveness to me.”

“Yeah, but that’s beside the point.” His mouth was ajar as he flailed his arms in front of him, struggling to explain that weight in his chest. “I shouldn’t be looking for cues and forgiveness. I shouldn’t have done anything that—“ Rowan rubbed both hands against his face, coming to terms with the fact that it’d take a while until he found the right words. “I don’t even feel like I deserve her forgiveness, to begin with.”

Rory recoiled. “But that’s not your decision.”

The sudden change in his mother’s tone, from soft to firm, snapped Rowan out of his spiral of self-loathing. “What?”

“Honey,” she pursed her lips, that trademark Whitethorn frown on. “Only Aelin can decide whether you deserve her or not. If she thinks you do and wants to try again…” Rory shrugged. “Just take that chance and don’t make the same mistake twice.”

Rowan’s mouth and shoulders went slack. “Am I supposed to forget I deeply wounded the mother of my child?”

Because that’s exactly what happened. Rowan was so scared to hurt Maisie it made him blind to some of Aelin’s needs, and he hurt his family anyway. His throat closed, and he felt as heavy as Aelin’s words on the night that crushed his dreams. That’s what happens, right? It’s impossible for a man to wound the mother exclusively. As if this isn’t bad enough, it leaves a trail of hurt that affects the entire family.

This one was on him.

“That was included in the ‘don’t fuck up again’ part.” Something about his expression made his mother soften. “It’s normal to wallow, but you can’t let that stop your life, Rowan. It’s always the same thing.” Rory sighed, and Rowan felt she was gazing right into his soul with the same green eyes she gave him. “Honey, you’re so full of what-ifs, it’s putting your entire life on hold. Sometimes you gotta be a little bold to get the things you want in life.”

Rowan stared at his mother, dizziness taking over him as his insides sank to the pit of his stomach. The rain was dying down, the gentle wind rustling his hair, but he couldn’t move.

At that moment, Rowan wanted to defend himself. He didn’t have the energy to, but he wanted to say that his mother was wrong, that she didn’t understand. He wanted to get up and scream.

He doesn’t like the way things are now, he never liked the co-parenting arrangement.

He didn’t choose this.

He never chose to wait for things to settle until six years passed by, it just happened.

Rowan is a careful person, that’s part of him. Always weighing his next step, always waiting for the right time.

And while he waited for the timing to be perfect, Aelin got pregnant, moved in with him, birthed his baby, kicked him out, grew to hate him, stopped hating him, and now their daughter is five years old.

He was still gravitating around her, waiting for the right time to do something. Anything. Rowan wasn’t even sure what exactly he was supposed to do, he just knew it involved bringing Aelin back into his life.

Sensing his struggle, Rory sat back and decided to not press on the subject. “This reminds me of your dad, you know?” Her gaze grew distant, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “It’s easier for him when I mess up than when he does. The guilt is always the worst part for him.”

“Sounds like Dad,” Rowan said around a faint chuckle.

Rory wiggled her eyebrows. ”You know what helped him a lot?”

“Huh.”

“Therapy.”

Rowan tensed, and he narrowed his eyes at his mother, trying to decide if he should believe her. “You’re lying.”

“I am! But it got into your stubborn head, didn’t it?”

Rowan chuckled, his gloomy state not strong enough to survive his mother’s antics. “Not now that I know it’s a lie!”

She gave him a small grin, then reached for her son’s hand. “Honey, your father’s mental well-being is called retirement, a grown child, and leaving the big city to a beach house. You can’t have any of that now, so you should consider therapy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rowan waved her off. “I’ll think about it.”

“Also, you should really talk to Aelin. You’re not good at reading cues, honey, you got this from your dad as well.”

He gave her a sidelong glance, noticing that she was off her handling-my-son-in-crisis mode, back to her usual self. “Is that so?”

Rory adjusted herself in chair, picking back the long-forgotten mug of tea. “Did I ever tell you your father hired a band when he proposed to me? You have no idea the amount of unsubtle hints I gave him.”

“Mom.” Rowan interrupted, giving her a pointed, knowing look. “I don’t remember saying anything about proposing.”

He had no idea if Aelin would let him get anywhere close to that.

“I know.” Rory’s elbow on his side was as faint as her subtlety. “But keep that in mind.”

He chuckled. “The band or the hints?”

“Both. Especially hints about bands.”

~~

“And what if you want to swim?” He asked, crouched on the floor and eye-to-eye with Maisie, his face as serious as it could be.

“I can’t swim without a grown-up.”

“Any grown-up?”

“No strangers!” She dramatically shook her head. “Just Mommy, Auntie Sellene and Aidan.”

“Maisie.” Rowan’s voice was firm. “Your cousin Aidan isn’t a grown-up.”

“But he’s nine!”

“No, he’s still a kid. And…” He bowed his head, running his palm against his forehead. “I’m forgetting something.”

“Daddy.” She gave him a pointed look. “You’re being a buzzard.”

Rowan bit back a smile. The weight in his chest almost crushed him to pieces the first time Maisie called him that, about a month ago, but he was growing to love hearing the nickname Aelin gave him come from his daughter’s mouth.

“Oh.” He looked back up to her. “And what do we do about the beach animals?”

Maisie crossed her arms. “Leave them alone because it’s their home.”

“Perfect.” He kissed the top of his daughter’s head. “Time for sunscreen.”

“You done, Buzzard?”

Rowan startled, snapping his eyes to the doorway and finding Aelin there. If he wasn’t on his knees already, he would be now.

Her pink bikini made his eyes linger, but was enough to make him train his eyes back to her face, and Rowan thanked Mala she was at least wearing denim shorts. He plastered on a smile, looking at her face. Not her pink bikini and exposed curves. Blonde hair—not the ends hugging her breasts—and blue eyes. He focused on her face.

It was a regular beach attire, but Aelin didn’t need much to take his breath away.

She smiled at her daughter, pointing at the lotion in Rowan’s hand. “Auntie Sellene can’t find Bree’s sunscreen, can you hand yours to them?”

Maisie got the tube from her dad and ran downstairs, a girl on a mission. After a quick peek in the hallway, Aelin closed the door and took a step closer to Rowan, her arms crossed.

“You sure you don’t wanna come?”

Rowan shook his head. “I got a thing.”

“You got a thing… in a city where you have no work, and half the people you know are going to the beach?”

His lips pressed together in a slight grimace. “I’m staying home with the other half.”

“Rowan, are you—“ Aelin took a step closer and lowered her voice before asking, “Are we alright?”

“Yeah.” His voice came higher than intended, then he corrected, “No. Um.” Rowan grimaced. “Actually, can we—“

“Come on, Aelin!” Sellene shouted from downstairs.

He gave her a close-lipped smile. “You should go.”

“Sure.”

She took a step back, eyeing him carefully before fully turning around. Rowan’s shoulders dropped in relief when she left. They needed to talk, yes, but Rowan needed to organize his thoughts before they did.

He waited in his room until the rental car drove off the garage, and headed towards his dad’s office. Rowan flinched every time the wooden floor creaked—he didn’t know why, since he wasn’t sneaking, but something about that moment made him want to go unnoticed. It wasn’t his childhood home, but it still had the same smell of baked goods and the same pictures on the wall. Except that now the pictures of Rowan as a kid were side-by-side with Maisie’s.

In one of the frames, he was wearing his daily camouflage uniform, while Aelin wore the hospital staff’s maternity uniform—white pants and a white wrap blouse she absolutely hated, but her blinding smile suggested she wasn’t worried about it at the moment. Rowan remembered it was taken on the day they moved into her house, but he never understood why his mother kept it there. She wasn’t even with them that day, Aelin texted her that one, but maybe she noticed how Aelin’s silly smiles and enormous bump broke his usual serious stance in pictures.

Rowan didn’t miss how she ignored his love confession yesterday.

He glanced at the watch at the end of the hall. It was almost time. He wanted a better way to look at things, but it was a difficult task. What was Rowan supposed to tell her? Hi. Remember when you made me realize the biggest mistake of my life, I confessed my love to you, and you stayed silent? I already have my rejection, I just need the complete humiliation to have some closure.

It could be a dramatic depiction of what he was going to say, but he couldn’t find a better way to put it right now.

Depending on how the conversation went, Rowan could even grovel enough to confess that he didn’t need Aelin to love him back, that was not his issue. If she chose to share her life with him, that’d be more than he could ever ask for.

But would that be what he deserves?

Deserving of her or not, Aelin is the mother of his child, the love of his life. He didn’t expect her forgiveness, but he couldn’t let go of her either.

He opened his dad’s computer and logged into his email to get the link. He opened Zoom two minutes early, but the meeting’s host was already there.

“Hey there!” Yrene cheered from his screen. “I wasn’t expecting your text, but it’s good to see you.”

This session had been canceled for a very long time, since he and Aelin decided to not do therapy during their vacation. However, it came in very handy that Rowan’s mental turmoil started a day before their weekly session was supposed to happen, so he texted Yrene asking if they could meet online.

Rowan tried to smile, but his expression was strained. “Did I crash your plans?”

“Not at all! I was going to lie on the couch and play Subway Surfers for an hour. It’s a good thing you called, since I’m always encouraging people to fight their vices.” Yrene leaned closer to her screen, as if it’d help her see Rowan’s better. “Where’s Aelin?”

He scratched the back of his head, fighting the unease in the bottom of his stomach. “It’s just me today.”

She straightened her posture, squaring her shoulders. “An individual session, then?”

Rowan nodded.

“Good!” Yrene cleared her throat and continued in a serious tone, “I mean, good. What made you take that decision?”

Rowan swallowed, fiddling with his fingers and steeling himself for what he was about to say. For the second time.

“I’m in love with Aelin.”

“Go on.”

He frowned. “You don’t look surprised.”

“I’m really not.” Yrene’s own blunt answer made her grimace. “What I mean is, I’ve been working with families for a long time. It gets easy to tell.”

“Sure.”

He looked at Yrene. She looked at him. He was the first one to break, darting a glance at the wall, feigning interest there to ignore the awkwardness of this situation. Rowan wasn’t used to leading conversations, Aelin and Yrene usually did that.

“Okay.” His therapist cleared her throat. “I’ll give you two options, and you’ll choose how we start: you can tell me what happened in your vacation, or we can talk about how you only choose therapy because of your family, never yourself.”

Rowan was halfway into a flinch when he schooled his expression. This wasn’t a difficult choice at all.

“We arrived here last Saturday…”

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[questionableratatouille00]

𝓜𝓸𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓞𝓷 3

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: After catching herself being attracted to the redhead, Wanda Maximoff, Y/n can’t help but wonder how Nat would feel if she knew that Y/n began to like other people. Would Nat be upset? Would Nat be angry? Or would she think that Y/n needs to move on?

Warnings (Entire Series): This series deals with mature topics, including, but not limited to: death, mental health issues, physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, grief, trauma, general unwellness, illness (both mental and physical), and a most likely inaccurate portrayal of group therapy (though it’s much better than whatever was going on in TFATWS.) Please mind the warnings below.

Warnings: anxiety, tornado mention, dark thoughts.

🌻Series Masterlist 🌻

————————————————————————

𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐭 The next session was the following Wednesday, at the same location, at the same time. You appreciated the sense of routine it gave you. 

You’d tried your best to at least keep your apartment from looking like a tornado had gone through it, and you were impressed at how easily it came to you. Normally it wouldn’t be this easy, and you’d watch yourself spiral, fully aware, and yet, fully helpless. 

But now was not the time to think about that. Now was the time to think about where you were going, where you were going to steer your car. 

And so you did. You focused on listening to the GPS as you found the therapy office. 

Maria greeted you as you came in, smiling as she did so. She was good with faces, you noted. 

You sat in the same chair you did last time, and everyone all seemed to have a silent agreement to stay in their ‘assigned’ seats. “Today, we’re gonna play a game. Each of you is going to get a pen and one of these paper strips—“ Dr. Coulson held strips of paper in his right hand, showing them to everybody. “—and write down one thing you’re afraid or anxious about, or a secret you haven’t told many people, or even just a negative thought you often have.” He explained. 

“Make sure to not write your names on the paper, this is meant to be anonymous. Once everyone’s finished, we’re gonna mix the papers in this plastic bucket, and then each of you is going to draw one piece of paper and read it aloud.” 

He passed out the pens and paper strips, before beginning to write down his own answer on his piece. 

You stared down at your hands. Not sure of what to write, you exhaled. You briefly glanced up at everyone else, but you caught no one’s eye. Your gaze shifted back down to stare at your blank piece of paper, and a thought came to you. 

I wonder if they regret being with me, you scribbled down on the paper. You kept the pronouns neutral, knowing the activity was meant to be anonymous. 

Coulson stuck out the plastic bin, and everyone dropped their folded paper strips into it. He shuffled them around with his hand, before taking one out. He held out the bin again, and everyone grabbed one paper strip. 

“Everyone has felt safe enough to be vulnerable, and I would like to keep it that way as I read out the first one. When I finish, we’re gonna talk about it, and then another person will read out their paper.” Dr. Coulson explained. The way he said it wasn’t at all aggressive, hell, it was pretty damn welcoming. 

“It should have been me,” He reads. He leaves a moment of silence before he speaks again. “How did it make you all feel, hearing that?” 

“I understand it.” Sam states simply. 

“It’s very…dark.” Wanda comments, her expression one of sympathy. Not pity, sympathy. 

“Who would like to read their paper next?” Dr. Coulson looks around the group. 

Wanda glances down at her paper, staying silent. 

“I’ll go.” Tony chimes in. “I don’t know why I am the way I am, it doesn’t make sense.” 

“I can understand that one.” Steve smiles softly. 

“How did it make everyone feel, hearing that?” Coulson directs the conversation. 

“Frustrated.” Bucky’s voice is quiet, and deep. Steve gives him a smile. 

“Hopeless, almost.” Clint follows up. 

A few more people read their papers before it’s Wanda’s turn. She reads out your card, and you freeze. You hope it’s not obvious it’s yours. 

But nobody calls you out. The conversation keeps going. 

“I don’t mean to push people away.” Thor reads. Nobody says anything for a moment. You look around, noticing Bucky glancing up, though his head is bowed slightly. It’s his, you realize. And nobody’s saying anything. Shit. 

“I get that one.” You speak up for the first time. “After..after my girlfriend..passed away, I shut everybody out on accident. So..I get it.” You definitely weren’t the first person to tell a personal anecdote that day, but it still felt vulnerable nonetheless. 

You accidentally made eye contact with Bucky, and you could tell that he knew he’d been found out. He looked worried for a moment, before realizing that you were the only one who’d noticed. He gave you a small smile, and you smiled back. 

Then, it was your turn to read your piece of paper aloud. “Everyone I care about gets hurt.” 

The group discussed the sentence, before everyone put their paper back in the bucket. 

“Even though it was anonymous, you’ve all shared something personal to the group. Everybody has been equally vulnerable today. I hope that has created some trust between us.” Dr. Coulson smiled.

“Now, I’d like to direct our focus onto something else. We call these ‘I Can’ statements. It sounds kinda silly, but it’s actually really helpful. Instead of thinking about how you’re struggling or how therapy isn’t working as fast as you thought it would, you should consider the things you can do. For example, instead of ‘no matter what I do, I always fail’ you could combat those thoughts with ‘I can fail, and that’s okay, because I’ll keep trying.’”

As he introduced the topics and directed the discussion, you couldn’t help but glance at Wanda. She was wearing a yellow and white embroidered floral blouse, with high waisted jeans and a brown belt. She wore white sneakers with the outfit, and a gold necklace. She had several thin gold rings on her fingers. She was good at accessorizing, you were sure of that.

Her red hair was pulled back in a half-up half-down style, and it was very beautiful. She was very beautiful.

You mentally cursed yourself out for even thinking that. What would Nat think, if she knew? God, she’d be so hurt. It’s not fair to her to just go fucking around with any redhead you see, you told yourself.

You tried to pay attention to the meeting, but your overwhelming sense of guilt kept catching your attention. You desperately attempted to shove the feelings and thoughts that came with it away, to no avail.

Maybe she’d think you needed to move on, a voice in your head reasoned. Maybe.

——————

Sessions were every Wednesday, every week. You got used to the routine as you became friends with the people in your group. September began to end, October was just on the horizon.

You managed to go out for coffee with Sharon.

It went well, though filled with awkward pauses as you didn’t know what to say. But it had happened, nonetheless. Maybe there was a point to all of it. Just maybe.

[gracilissart]

mind infodumping about Seamus and Seraphina? I love them both 🖤

WOAH !!!! HI !!!!!! yes. yes of course. I would love to yap on endlessly about these two mfs

I'm unsure what exactly it is that you'd like to know? I wouldn't even know where to start because Seamus and Seraphina both are a convoluted mess and I have way too much unorganised info on them 😭😭😭 however. I'll try give some basic info about their methods to give you a start 🫡 to keep the post preview short I'll put the given info below a read more cut.

Seamus Wrynn

Seamus always struggled to connect with people. he never quite felt as though he was a 'person' in the way he understood other people to be, and thus felt in return there was no way for any person to fully get him. nobody but his older sister, Eileen.

the relationship between his sister and himself was innately abusive. what initially came across as overprotectiveness on Eileen's behalf later grew darker, more sordid. growing ill and bedridden made her physically dependent on Seamus' care, but the dynamic only strengthened the hold she had on him. the psychological and sexual abuse slowly warped Seamus' already-fragile outlook on love, sexuality, and his theories on how the world around him works.

the death of Eileen made him a ticking time bomb; it was only a matter of time before he did something bad, not just to those around him but to himself as well. an apprenticeship under a photographer who took a particular interest in him set up the perfect storm; Seamus now had an outlet.

his photography is a glimpse into his outlook. there is a vision, but what that may be grows increasingly unclear the deeper you try to dig and analyse. it's everything, it's nothing, it is meaningless violence but also is all-encompassing. the constant is death, violence and eroticism wrapped into a single gallery of depravity.

for how much it is his gimmick I realise I have actually tackled his body of work very little on the blog so hopefully I can get around to depicting it more 🤞 whether it be through art or writing. teehee!

Seraphina Shaw

for as long as she could remember, Seraphina was angry. violent and angry, and for most of her life she had been unable to pinpoint why she was always so angry.

the answers seemed simple at first; she lived in shithole 90's-00's Glasgow, had a drunken shithead dad who oftentimes couldn't bring himself to care about what she was getting herself up to and the sight of heroin and what it did to people was unavoidable. to be angry at the world for such unfair circumstances was only natural.

especially when it turned out you not only were pan, but a trans woman and suffered under the effects of albinism.

however, it didn't explain why she felt so violently towards those who didn't wrong her, and why making others hurt - despite her not wanting to give in to it - excited her so.

working with Seamus as a human unravelled these repressed urges and made her, to some degree, understand. understand not just Seamus' twisted vision (although not fully) but understand more about herself. in her eyes there was no point in pretending she ever was or will be a good person, so why try? why do that when it feels so much better to embrace evil?

it took her time to really see eye to eye with Seamus; he still did pull a lot of things that could be considered nothing short of traumatic, which deeply complicated the way they interact. nowadays, they're amicable.

[sheepskinnedgoat]

I guess it's greatly possible that I have a very... I don't know, skewed perspective about stuff like abuse and harm as a mentally ill person. People say stuff so broadly and I can't begin to describe how much seeing that stuff at my lowest points harmed me and made me worse. People are very good at framing things in ways that made me feel like they don't actually believe in people healing and doing better after making really huge mistakes. Because I made BIG ones and I regret them so fucking deeply. I am fighting with the concept of self-forgiveness because I've been taught that there's no retribution for shitty and abusive behavior.

I don't want to be so bold as to lay out what happened, but I guess I might as well. My wife is encouraging me and I've been wanting to talk about it, anyway.

Trigger warning for discussion of abuse, mental health, and suicide under cut.

Last year, when my mom started dying, I started declining very rapidly and severely. I don't think I've ever outright said this because of how I've been treated in the past for being open, but I have Bipolar I Disorder. I've seen doctors and therapists on an off over the last decade+ since my diagnosis. My struggle is a common one. I'm very typical of someone with extreme mood swings and psychosis. I most frequently experience dysphoric mania, which is where my psychosis typically rears its ugly head.

In these moments until last year, all of my shitty behavior mostly involved me expressing anger and frustration with wall hitting, throwing my things to break them, hurting myself, and degrading my wife. It was not always this way, but moving away from home and having an unforgiving job lead to me falling back off my medication. Over the last 3-4 years, I have become very terrible in my health and how I act when my brain overreacts to situations and stresses around me.

Then Mom got cancer.

I began having even more cycling, lots and lots of depression, increasing suicidal thoughts, and episodes. Bad episodes. One of the holidays I was meant to go see my mom, I had a serious meltdown because I was tired of going to see how much closer she was. It was hard seeing her dying. She was worse every time I made it out, and something minor had triggered another episode. I then locked myself in the bathroom and tried to kill myself.

My wife tried stopping me. I became physically violent and started saying really horrible things. This episode came to an end, and it seemed despite everything I had done very little physical damage to her by her own account. I do not remember much about what I actually did or said. It's like a faded dream I had once and only the outlines are left.

I had another episode I do not remember, triggered by seemingly nothing. She informed me later on I had hit her, and asked me why. I was unable to explain, because I didn't even know what she was referring to. I do now, but the overall details are gone.

Later on, not terribly long before she passed away, I tried to end things again. I recklessly drove to a graveyard on the back roads and began attempting to hurt myself. I started getting calls, my phone blowing up. I have some vague memories, but I am not sure if all of them are real. I do know I ignored my mom out of shame, but eventually answered my aunt. I think at the beginning I answered my wife and berated her before hanging up, but I'm not positive. I wanted to die more than anything else in the world. I was so angry. I don't even know why. My wife remembers how it unfolded, but ultimately none of it makes sense.

That was also the day my neighbor decided to pick a fight with me about my animals, which then snowballed in her repeatedly calling animal control, lol. Did not work out the way she wanted. She kept lying to them to get them out to see them, but they could never find the starving, tortured animals. What a fucking nightmare that was on top of everything.

My mom died, and I don't really remember how I felt or reacted or what I did during that time. It's difficult, and I think it's because I have been blocking it out as much as possible. Losing my mom was something I knew would be hard, but I deeply underestimated it.

Later on in the year, I did try killing myself again. Once again she tried stopping me, and even kicked in the door. It got more physically violent than the last time and I was more vicious and cruel.

Overall, I'm stuck with guilt and shame and self-hatred. Beyond these incidents, I lapsed repeatedly into despicable actions and behavior. I frequently feel out of control, but not everything I say to her is done in these extreme episodes where I'm trying to hurt myself. Rage is unfortunately a really major symptom for me, and it's activated by some of the dumbest shit. I feel like some things have become bad habits, and I'm constantly having to talk out things with my spouse because I cannot even imagine what it must be like to be on the receiving end of needless cruelty and vitriol.

I know what I have done is largely abusive and wrong. Things have been bad enough that I kept having long periods of not wanting help. All I have wanted is death, to not exist, to end what I'm feeling. Being angry is not fun. Being in pain sucks. Being sick is terrible. I am devastated by what I have done, but somehow my wife is holding strong and pushing me forward. Because of her, I managed to drag myself into getting therapy. I got lucky that someone in my local community is a therapist with the same disorder as me, and when she advertised openings I jumped on it, even though I didn't want to help myself.

Which is something key, that people bring up a lot online. People who don't want help are the worst, right? Irredeemable, it seems. I didn't want help. I wanted to kill myself. I wanted to die. I still want to die, but I've found a burst of driving force within myself and, as of today, I finally have an appointment with a psychiatrist to seek medication management. I cannot get any traction otherwise. Therapy has been helpful and my therapist is amazing, but there's no stability. I default to self-hate, guilt, and suicidality. I default to violence, though generally verbal excepting those instances of psychosis.

I can't grasp what I keep getting told by my wife and my therapist about being accountable but forgiving myself. It seems false. Impossible. It doesn't feel like I should, that doing that or pointing to my broken brain is appropriate. I'm always terrified what people will think of me if they know the truth of my struggles and how much I have hurt the person closest to me. My only support, because I keep distancing myself further and further from people.

In all of this, she gained friends that used me as a stop-gap for getting to know specifically her. It caused some rocky turmoil in our relationship. I blame myself for her mistakes there, because maybe if I hadn't been acting like a piece of shit, she wouldn't have felt so lonely. And they found out that things got bad, but not any of the details about it because they never asked or gave her a chance to explain when she wasn't distressed. I fear them and what they think of me. I fear them going out into shared queer spaces and telling all the queers I'm slowly trying to get to know that I'm a horrible abuser that beat my wife and controls her. Because they're not wrong. I don't feel like they're wrong, but they're also responsible parties in their own shitty behavior, but who would hear me after they find out I'm a terrible person?

It's... I suppose a bit self-centered, this paranoia. She tells me I don't deserve this, and that they don't matter. I'm trying to believe her, because if nothing else matters she does, and her opinions do. She has to live with me. She's married to me.

So I am untreated bipolar. It's a fucking nightmare. I fight with my abusive and toxic tendencies, that I fight to not participate in. But fighting back my unstable reactions to things is a chore and I become fatigued very often. I don't know why she endures for me, but she does. I love her, as much as I can. Sometimes I am numb, but she says she knows I love her and it makes me cry.

People are complicated. I have not always been very kind or empathetic. I only recently learned that having a hard time with empathy during mixed episodes is pretty normal for bipolar. It's not always. It's another thing that sees extreme differences depending on how I'm feeling, and I sure do feel too much too often.

I am healing myself as best as I can. I am working to do better and be better even while my brain persists on convincing me I don't want help; that I should just self-destruct. I am a human. I wish more people could see that part about me even when I'm not being a very good or nice person. I will be better someday, but it would be a lot easier if it ever felt like everyone else could give me the grace to fuck up while sick and still have room to take that accountability without feeling evil for my actions.

I have been a victim. I have been an abuser. Someday, I hope I can just be healed.

[isntthatwrite]

part time sylvia

i grew up exposed to astrology in the way i grew up exposed to Italian dialects. fluent speakers surrounded me and i eventually understood pieces, but i was never able to speak confidently or convey what i understood.

the years went by and i developed an interest in furthering my elementary astrology as a means of explaining what i couldn’t understand about myself - like i was searching and searching to understand something no one could point to or even fully see. i can have the most concerning physical symptoms that emerge from nowhere and entirely disappear, never to come back, within the course of a week. the mere sight of someone i don’t really know can make me physically ill or angry, just for me to later understand why.

my journal as an elementary schooler depicts a child with no capital T traumas who

refused to let anyone help her (first day of 1st grade I insisted I did not need any help from anyone with homework)

saturn aspecting nearly all of my personal planets

felt so enormously betrayed and sobbed and carried on “worse than someone who had gotten divorced” (- my mother) when my 1st grade teacher left. made everyone sit with my anger and sadness even though it made them uncomfortable and i eventually stopped showing people how upset i was

moon opposite jupiter + mercury conjunct chiron in scorpio

wore exactly what the fuck she wanted to wear and did not ask anyone if they liked it. refused to wear tights and refused to take off my yellow sweatsuit in the middle of summer

can’t decide what to pin this on but likely some scorpio stellium/sagittarius venus joint slay. could be taurus midheaven

masterfully articulated and handled 8th birthday party conflict (conflict both with classmates and with my mother about my conflict with my classmates)

venus mars conjuction + saturn aspects to almost all fire signs

has some bizarre awareness of the paranormal

grand trine composed of 4H/8H/12H+ scorpio stellium

deep shame and anger about her experiences of desire (ragefully writing and crossing out and rewriting and crossing out entries about boys my age who all looked stunningly like lesbians)

venus mars conjunction

alarmingly informed psychoanalysis of my contemporaries

scorpio nonsense - sun/chiron/mercury conjunction in the 3rd house

dogged pursuit of what she wants and how to always create the situation where she gets it (every few months, i developed a new petition for why i should finally have an iPod and it took years to be successful - i was basically financial modeling, marketing, pros/cons for my parents on why it would benefit them if i got it, so on. I did not give up and I think this was among the most effective points of my case).

i’m voting saturn aspects x majority fixed sign chart

there are many more examples but this more than makes the point. the stars made a point and it helped me profusely to look into what they were saying. i’ve developed a lot of self-awareness and interpersonal awareness through astrology because i love collecting data. i love to try and guess what someone will like and why. i love to speculate and find out something different because then i can add more data! the learning never ends.

it is often harder to see yourself than it is to try and guess what someone else’s interests will be.

[briamichellewrites]

75

Bria was writing songs again. She was in love with Bradley but her mind was turned against her. It convinced her that he was going to get tired of her and leave. It made her angry because she was so tired of having voices in her head. She couldn’t talk to him because he would get tired of trying to reassure her that no, he wasn’t going to leave her. That’s what it felt like anyway. She knew what her mind was telling her wasn’t true, but she couldn’t convince herself otherwise.

He would find another woman and fall in love with her. Why did he need her? She wanted to push him away, while also suffocating him into staying. Maybe it was better that he left her. She deserved to be alone. Phoenix left her. Brad left her. No, they didn’t. Their breakups were amicable. They loved her. It just didn’t work out. That was part of dating.

Mike listened to her. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. It wasn’t her fault and that’s what made him angry. Not at her but at her mental illness. He could never get angry with her because it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t Emma’s fault, either.

“I hate being in this body! Nobody understands what I’m going through”, she said in tears.

“You’re right. We don’t and that’s not fair. Neither you nor Bria should have to go through mental illness every day. I’m sorry that you are. What can we do to help you?”

“She was so happy. Now she wants to break up with him.”

That was because her mind was not well. He explained what Borderline Personality Disorder was in a way she would understand. Bria didn’t want to have voices in her head being mean to her. Emma didn’t want that, either. She was so nice to her. That’s just who Bria was. She was a genuinely nice person. He asked if he could talk to Bria because he knew how to help her. She nodded. Okay. He took her hands into his and told her how proud he was that she shared his feelings with him.

She wiped her tears from her eyes before asking him not to leave her. He promised he would never do that. Okay. He hugged her. When Bria came back, they talked about what Emma had said. She nodded. Emma was always afraid of people leaving her. Yes, she was. It was because she was a child who was scared. She didn’t know how to express herself.

Little child, so soft and sweet

Tears rolling down your cheeks

Baby girl, please don’t worry about me

Bria received a phone call saying that her mother had died in her sleep. That triggered her mental health to spiral. Bradley brought her to an emergency appointment with her therapist because he didn’t know what to do. Her disorders were foreign to him. He didn’t want to do the wrong thing and make things worse. She was crying on and off, which he completely understood. He didn’t know what her relationship was with her biological mother.

She never had one. Because of her memory problems, she didn’t even remember her mother. Her mind just told her to grieve. It didn’t matter. His job was to support her and Emma in any way he could. Emma had taken over and she didn’t understand what was happening. She was scared and confused. The therapist gently explained to her that Bria’s mother had died.

That made her sad. They talked about complicated emotions and how they affected them. Emma had an idea of what death was, though she had never experienced it herself. Not that she could remember. Bria’s mother had been very sick mentally and physically. Did Bria know what caused her death? It was a heart attack. She was sleeping when it happened and nobody knew about it until the morning. That’s when they found her. They called Bria when it was confirmed.

Her death triggered her BPD symptoms. Primarily her fear of abandonment. Did she know what BPD was? She nodded and explained it in a way she understood. That was correct. What else did she think she was feeling, besides sad? She had to take a moment to think.

“She’s scared.”

“Yes, that’s possible. What is she scared of?”

“She’s scared that everyone is going to leave her. I tried telling her that’s not true but she doesn’t listen to me!”

“I would say she is scared that everyone is going to leave her. I don’t think she’s not listening to you. I think that voices in her head are louder than what you’re telling her. She likely can’t hear you. That’s not your fault or hers. Her mental illnesses are complicated to understand.”

It wasn’t easy being twelve years old and sharing a body. She gave her credit for trying to help her. Bradley asked if it would be okay if he texted Mike to let him know. Okay. He thanked her.

Just a heads up. Bria’s mother died last night/this morning. Emma has taken over. I don’t know if that’s the correct terminology. We’re at an appointment with her therapist. I don’t know how to help her without making things worse. I also don’t want her to feel like I’m pulling away or abandoning her. Can you please help? – Bradley

His heart dropped in sadness as he read his text. Oh, no. Yes, he would meet them back at the house. His mind thought about her self-medicating with drugs and alcohol to take away her pain. If that happened, they would do everything possible to help her. Before leaving the house, he sent out a group text to the band, Brad and Renè. Bradley was with Emma, but he was going to go over to see how he could help out. He would update them when he got back home.

Emma was petting Anya when he got to the house. She stopped crying and was focused on the cat. Anya purred to make her human feel better. Bradley opened the door before stepping out and closing it softly behind him. How was she doing? He gave him an update, along with what happened during the therapy session. Was it scheduled? No, it was an emergency meeting.

He didn’t know what to do and he was scared of doing the wrong thing. Mike understood. Who would they be talking to? Emma. She came out after Bria got the phone call from the hospital. Anya was with her in the living room. Okay. Bradley opened the door and they went back inside. Mike approached her carefully and slowly because he didn’t want to upset her. He gently said hello to her. She smiled at him and said hello back to him.

“She’s purring.”

“That means she’s happy. She likes you petting her. Can I sit by you?”

Yeah. Thank you. He sat next to her on the couch. Bradley was so relieved he was there. His only other option was to bring her to the hospital for observation. As he talked to her, he kept her calm. Where were the other animals? She shrugged. They were around somewhere. They were always hiding. Yes, they liked to do that. They would come out when they were hungry. She nodded.

Oh no! Please give her and Emma our condolences. If there is anything Dave and I can do, please let us know. – Linsey

Everyone was devastated. His phone was off but it was blowing up with text messages. They couldn’t imagine what she was going through, especially with her mental illnesses. If anyone could help her, it would be him. He had the patience she needed. Emma needed some help finding the right words to use because her mind fogged up. That was perfectly fine.

Her mind was under stress and bereavement, so speaking was hard. She closed her eyes for a moment to block out the stimulation before starting the sentence over. When she finally finished, she opened them again.

“It’s okay. Don’t feel like you have to rush. We have all the time in the world”, Bradley said gently.

“Bria did mention going on a skiing vacation with everyone. She wanted to plan something where everyone could join in. It sounds like a lot of fun. I know she would let you come, too”, Mike said.

“I don’t know how to ski”, she said with a laugh.

“That’s okay. You can still have fun. Maybe one of us can teach you. I bet you will like playing in the snow. Have you seen snow before?”

“I saw it in a movie. It was like a Christmas movie.”

Yes, a Christmas movie would definitely have snow. She laughed. After going through everything that could be made with snow, she decided she was tired. She was going to take a nap. With that, Bria came back. She said hello to Mike. Emma told her he was there. Yes, he was. How was she doing? She couldn’t answer that. That was okay. She didn’t have to answer the question.

When was the last time she ate anything? That morning. Bradley made them breakfast. He checked the time. It was almost evening. He was going to order pizza for them. Bradley wasn’t picky about what he got. He was fine with whatever. They thanked him. Bradley kept her talking about everything other than her mother. Anya had left to get some food. She came back with Woody and the dogs. Meow. She hopped back up onto the couch.

Give Bria my love. Those were the texts Mike received. He would do that. She was doing a great job so far, though he was prepared for her needing extra help. She would gradually go through the process of grief. It could take weeks or months before she could move forward. Acceptance. It was the last step. They would take it one step at a time.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon

[lovely-delphine]

It is incredibly hard for me to express the sorts of emotions I’m feeling right now, and my therapist says to write things down to help the emotions be less intense. So here we go, I guess. Just a rant below.

I lost two very close friends in the span of a few days.

One of them isn’t an official “loss” but I certainly will not look at her the same again, and I may never be able to be around her again without being angry, as she insulted the fuck out of my partner system, someone with whom several of our system members are dating, using the most stereotypical transfemme stereotypes to explain why she didn’t like the way my girlfriend acted when she met her for the first time. When clearly my gf was nervous and being a bit socially awkward. It caused a major fight in which my friend felt I was severely overreacting to what she said about my gf and I was unwilling to back down from defending her. Apparently being angry when someone insults the person you love for no reason isn’t allowed anymore. Who knew.

The other one was one of my partner systems (we have/had three) and has been an extremely close friend of mine for a while. They know more about our system than literally anyone in the world—our therapist and the above mentioned partner system being close seconds. One of our subsystems was dating them. They had made plans to one day meet, as it is an extremely long distance type relationship. However I got a text from them this morning after I had barely heard anything for three days and had been quite worried (as they are chronically suicidal) saying that they feel like they've changed as a person and can no longer be our friend and partner. They offered no explanation as to why they felt like we couldn't be friends and why they wanted to break up with us. We wanted to know if it was something we did or said, or if they just felt our opinions on things didn't align anymore, etc. They offered nothing.

They both hurt, but that second one especially. The subsystem in question that was dating them is absolutely crushed. They loved them very very much, they had been deeply sexually and romantically involved with them. This person was yet another person in our life who had promised not to leave and then did. We talked them off the ledge of suicide so many times, often times staying up with them until the wee hours of the morning to ensure they were safe. We connected them with people who could get them the help they needed, we exhausted so much mental energy into just keeping them alive and with us, not to mention the subsystem who dated them had taken a huge personal risk in deciding to date them because they'd gotten their heart broken before by someone who used them and then abruptly left. And this person promised to never do that to them. And then they did.

We feel used and betrayed by someone we trusted. I am so emotionally fucked over this that I am feeling physically ill. I know this is a combination of a lot of parts' feelings, though. Used for what emotional support we could give them and used for sexual and romantic fulfillment, and then discarded when they decided we just weren’t enough for them, I guess. I wish I knew why they decided to drop us out of the blue, but I doubt I will get any explanation.

A lot of emotions going on. Really not sure how we will handle this on top of everything else going on.

[twistedyapping]

how i deal with build ups of energy

to clarify what i mean real quick, anyone that knows me should know im a pretty spiritual kinda guy- i thoroughly believe in negative and positive energies and that both of them are weirdly physical despite falling under the metaphysical category

i also believe in old energy and new energy- it's kinda like water in a way yknow- u dont wanna drink old water bc who KNOWS what it's got in it, so you usually wanna flush it out and get new or clean water instead

now lemme explain why im yapping abt this

i just did a workout and at first i really couldnt get into it (for those who dont know, my method of exercise is literally putting my earbuds in, turning the lights off and performing my favorite songs as if i was the singer on stage in front of a crowd bc that's something i eventually want to Actually do), i did a couple songs and i just wasnt feeling it but i was like Well nah- nah this- this cant be 😧

bc i kinda had to do a workout today, i knew i needed it for some reason, so i was like Ok well let me try a song that almost always works (falling away from me by korn)

and i did it and for the most part i felt this kind of shell i was in start to crack- i started to get a little more energized throughout the whole song and im like Okay inch resting- and it was at that point i started to have a hunch about what this lack of energy was.

i did another song that i hadn't actually done before but knew that whenever i listened to it, i couldn't Not crank the volume every time the chorus hits- it's one of Those™ songs (and it's gravity of discomfort by korn)

right before the first chorus hit, i felt myself REALLY start to come out of whatever shitty shell i was in, but then something bit back into me and the chorus itself wasn't as good-

2nd chorus rolls around and i am FEELING it FINALLY- the breakdown hits and i have the moment where it fully clicks and i know what's wrong with me.

essentially what was happening was i was just full of too much old, shitty, stagnant energy- the kind of shit that when you let it fester, it makes you not want to do the very things that would get rid of it.

it was at this point that i finally started feeling correct again so i did a song that i just wanted to do in general (shoots and ladders), and then i followed it with the one song that is the most energy purging fucking thing i know of for myself (chi- these r all korn songs if u couldnt tell by now-)

this is the ONE SONG that, no matter what vibe im in, i will end up purging Something fucking huge energetically and the song will end and ill feel like a new man completely

if u follow my astrology blog, @twistedastrology, u shouldve seen the cancers and rage post i did bc this ties into it immensely 😮‍💨

this may have been the most insane ive ever gone to this song im not gona lie- i can almost guarantee you i scratched the shit out of my own skin because it's like having a parasite in you and you just start clawing at your own skin, desperate to get it out of you.

that and im a very physical person when it comes to purging shitty energy (again, the cancers and rage post will explain it 💔)

the experience with the song itself almost had me breaking down into tears, and if i wasnt so unbelievably angry, i probably would've-

i literally feel so much better now that i burnt that shit off bc now that i know abt it, i can definitely tell how it's been eating me up inside

but i wanna talk abt before i started getting into the swing of things vs after.

there was this very obvious apprehension that i talked abt, yknow not feeling into it- and then after i got rid of the garbage energy, i was sat on the floor in front of the fan just feeling So much better-

you're always gonna feel like shit before you purge something, it's like pulling teeth, right? the more you dont want to do it or dont feel like doing it, the more you actually need to.

it's that shitty energy's last line of defense, it's digging into you tooth and nail with every appendage it has, begging for you to not evict it from your body and mind because it has nowhere else to go.

think of it like leaving a shitty partner- you say you wanna end things and then they shit themselves and cry and scream and beg and punch walls and threaten to off themselves if you leave them because omg no!!!! nooooo not my energetic breakfast lunch and dinner!!!! nooooo dont leave me ur too sexy haha ur lifeforce is too fun to drain lol

Like bro.

my personal experience with these energy purges is usually the same every time, i catch onto it, get so pissed about it that i basically burn it from the inside out, and then i go to bed that day and wake up the next a whole new person.

i get way happier, better at listening and talking to the ppl around me, i have 10x more energy, i can sleep way better at night, etc.

and then eventually, something will find it's way back in and i have to repeat the cycle, but the only time repeating that cycle is a bad thing is when i fail to burn the shitty energy off and then become a conduit for all things miserable, which i personally refuse to let happen because it's my worst nightmare.

also update i just felt a vague stinging on my collarbone and im like oh shit whar- go to feel it and im like Holy shit that feels bad- check it out and ya i got a big ass scratch right there damn bitch calm down 💔💔💔 im surprised it's not actually bleeding ngl it looks like it's like 2 layers of skin away from it tho 😭😭😭

ANYWAY

i know it sucks and i know it's kinda shitty or silly to say, but a build up of negative energy is very similar to, the same as, and can even Lead To depression, anxiety, whatever.

im never gonna dismiss someone's mental health issues as "oh ur juet holdidng onto too much negative enebgryy Go hold some rocks!!!!!!!".

negative energy can play a part in it, and rocks can help with that part, but they wont magically cure your genuine mental illness and they should never be looked at like they will.

But for me, my mental illness is just exacerbated by said shitty energy, and that's what doing these ungodly purges fixes. sometimes you get shitty energy from just having a long day, sometimes people deliberately (mostly unknowingly tho) throw it onto you because they dont wanna deal with their own shit, sometimes you just get it from yourself.

the source of it doesn't matter as much as the expulsion of it.

and for me, after i expel such an intense amount as i just did, i get SUPER tired, sometimes i even get a temporary but god awful migraine-

at one point i genuinely cleared out so much old energy at once that i kept getting more and more tired to the point of keeling over and knocking out a couple times and waking up with the migraine of a lifetime, AND my ENTIRE body was RUTHLESSLY sore- but i kept going because i wanted all of it out as fast as possible.

i didnt wanna just slowly sift through it no no i HAD to do it as fast as my body would let me, there was no other choice in my head because that's just not how i work.

so while i may sorta fuck myself up with how Quickly and violently i expel this kinda stuff, it's never not for a good reason. i can handle a couple scratches on my body, i can handle a head-splitting migraine, i can handle my whole body feeling like it's gonna fall apart as long as i get the shit out of my system.

with time, my body will heal on it's own, but my mind will spiral if i dont keep it in check.

and i think with that im gona end this yapping session- idk if any of this made any modicum of sense but i hope that if it did, u took Something positive from it.

if u actually read this far legitimately god bless u and there will be plenty more yapping sessions 2 come

- 🌙 -

[agentrunaway]

Xyrra 2

This was not what I had expected when I had come to visit. My aunt was sick, cousin Hannah had written for me. As she was tied up in a legal battle for custody of her child, herself, and grandma was elderly, she bid me to come and help. It had been years since I’d seen them all. Not since my mother and father had passed. Before I’d finished school and gotten a desk job in Denver. These sorts of things didn’t happen in Denver. Though I hadn’t thought Texas to be this wild from my visits here in my youth. I knew there were unexplainable things in the world, but they were intangible. Not to be worried about. And certainly, none of my family were willing to explain anything. As they’d picked me up from the airport and we’d trundled along in grandma’s old cadillac. Why hadn’t we stopped at a diner until the hunt was over? Why go straight to it?

What was it for? That bloodshed? What was Jewel, and why did he kiss me?

Further down the road we pulled off, letting Hannah and Thomas in. I couldn’t tell where they’d come from, but they were untouched. Climbing into the back and once again pulling the faded gray car blanket over themselves, cuddling up and sighing deeply as the car began to move again. I was too angry to ask my cousin anything. Angry at her for not staying with grandma, with whatever supposed protection she had. Angry that she had her ex to curl into. Angry that she’d given away her baby, when I’d give anything to have one of my own.

So I sat and stared at tumbleweeds passing by, fuming. The Texas countryside eerie under the light of the full moon. In the distance I could hear the barking yips of coyotes.

I felt a wave of stability calm me as we passed the familiar streets and neighborhoods around Grandma's home. The stuffy humid air, smelling like crabgrass, and the stagnant crick down the alley. Hearing the crickets and frogs of a familiar Texas night. When we parked, I grabbed my one suitcase from the trunk and hefted it to the front porch, where lizards relaxed around a bug light on the brick wall.

My family were not quiet, as they bickered and lugged in our collective bags, but I tuned them out as I was unfortunately used to doing. It was a skill I’d cultivated over my trips to visit over the years, and came naturally back to me despite not having visited for some time. With my things handled, I slipped away from the others and took off my shoes inside the front door. Creeping down the carpeted hallway in the dark towards my aunt Cady’s room. As I sat next to her bedside and took her frail hand, her smile masked her labored breathing as she slowly opened her aged eyelids to peer at me with only the light from the moon slinking in from the full window.

“What’s happened, aunt Cady?” I asked quietly. My own smile tight with worry. She patted my hand and then settled her head back down, eyes sinking closed and smile widening.

She drew in a deep breath as we listened to the ruckus of grandma and cousin Hannah and Thomas move into the livingroom. My mind was far away and so I jolted when aunt Cady did speak. “Ethan’s passed away.” she murmured.

Ethan was my cousin’s father. He and aunt Cady had never married despite their daughter, and it did not explain why Cady was physically ill. My brow crinkled in confusion as my frown finally won. As far as I knew, Ethan had nothing to do with my family after Hannah was born. “Care to elaborate?” I asked my aunt Cady exasperatedly.

It didn’t seem as if my aunt would give me an explanation, so it wasn’t necessarily an interruption when my cousin barrelled in, preceded only by her shoving the hallway light switches on. “Xyrra kissed one of them!” she tattled to her mother, her voice stormy.

“Would anyone fill me in on what’s wrong in this town? Did I accidentally cross over into FrightVale when I got off the plane today?” I groaned, rubbing my eyes. Okay, fine, given all context clues, kissing Jewel had been a mistake. I don’t know why I did, I knew I was terrified. I knew he was beautiful. Most of all, right now, I knew confusion like an old SAT classmate-in-arms.

Cady just laughed, so boisterously and profoundly that she fell into a coughing fit. I thumped her frail back out of instinct. “There’s more truth to rural superstition than fiction, but you don’t choose to worry about hicksville rumors in the city, niece.”

Did she forget that she once tried to escape the country for big-city Chicago? I never got the full story as to why my aunt had to move back here, but I did remember her disdain for her roots. Hannah too. Of course, my family being hypocritical was old news to me. I just rolled my eyes. “I believe the warnings borne around the Appalachians.” I supplied doubtfully. Sincerely not believing anything truly world altering could be happening this close to Dallas.

Hannah groaned as if I’d just said the exact wrong thing and proved it in her words plied through gritted teeth: “Some of them come from the Appalachians, yeah.” and she glared at me. As if all of this was common knowledge.

In my mind, I was starting to form a theory. A real-world explanation. It must have something to do with a cult, maybe cannibals, and drugs were likely involved. Some government agency would catch on and shut it all down and it would just be an embarrassing and scary news story for me to ignore once I was safe in my apartment again. It’s not like my family would listen to a word I’d say, and there was no clarity to be gained with them.

So I did the mature thing, rolling my eyes at Hannah and brushing past her to get to the guest room and pass out on top of the comforter, barely taking the time to throw off my red Adidas hoodie before sleep claimed me. If I hadn’t been so tired, the glow of inhuman eyes burning behind my eyelids when they closed would have kept me awake. As it was, my sleep was deep and uninterrupted, and blessedly dreamless.

[mement0--m0ri]

So, after calling my insurance company three times over two days, I finally got some answers.

It looks like at this point they are happier enough with my verbal update that I will still receive payments for the next three months. But!.. BUT.. I have to get an updated assessment report from EVERY member of my medical treatment team by the end of July 😅😅 did some quick math and Im looking at $1,400 (minimum 🫠) to get these reports done.

They also want to use my uni placement as a "suitable to return to the full-time work force" test. So basically, if I want to pass this placement I need to work well 4 times a week, but if I'm able to do that Im also expected to return to the workforce. Which I know is 100% fair, but what makes me annoyed is there is a pretty high chance this isnt going to go well. I had class (online, for 2 hrs) this morning. After sitting at a fully ergo, set up for my physical disabilities study area, I had to take the call from the insurance company laying in bed because I literally felt ill from sitting upright. I have hEDS and other conditions that cause chronic pain and sublaxations/dislocations. If I sit longer than about an hour my hips literally slip out of place and it causes pain to shot down my legs and up my spine.

Anyway, long story short (or not?) I'm still angry about the situation. I know there are people out there who con their way into disability payments or try to stay on them past when they need to. But I dont understand why suddenly out of nowhere they have decided I'm no longer trustworthy? There is only two things I can think of that would have changed their mind.

That being the last update, I explained that my pain specialist basically fired me as a client. Not because I wasn't going or anything, but because she told me there was nothing else she could do for me and basically that I was wasting money by seeing her. And my exercise physiologist mentioned that I don't need to use my wheelchair or cane anymore. Well, okay, he said I dont use them, not that I don't need them. Tbh, I really could have used one of them yesterday while grocery shopping with my mum, but Im stubborn and at a certain point you get sick of strangers asking questions when you are young and "dont look disabled".

Anyway, a little stressed out about the next three months but feeling slightly better about the situation.

I got an email today that I might be losing my disability payments. I actually missed a call because I was sleeping because the funny thing about chronic pain is that it is normally easier to sleep through oain rather than deal with it.

So I got sone bullshit email about my doctor not playing ball and apparently now they will be requesting updated medicals from all my treatment team to decide whether I am still "disbaled enough" to receive monthly payments.

Srsly this is the worst timing. I start placement in mid July for uni. Its going to be 4 days a week for 16-18 weeks, fully unpaid. And now I might be needing to find a job around that? I mean it has also taking 2 months to find a company that would take me on for placement because if my disabilities. And now I might have to find a part-time job 3 days a week, so work 7 days a week, 4 for free, to try and be able to afford rent.

I'm seriously fucked if I lose my income protection.

[doodle-nerd]

We will be married one day... || part 3 || Aladarius

Word count: 2501

Note: Fic takes place pre Hollow mind (S2E16)

FIRST PART < - - -        PREVIOUS PART < - - - 

- - - - - - - - - -

"Hi" he said quietly and gestured towards her, to tell her that she can come in. Amity closed the door behind her and took a sit next to Alador. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you still be in school?" he asked.

"According to schedule, yes, but one of teachers is ill so they let us go home earlier" she explained. She placed her hand on Alador's shoulder.

"I... I heard your argument with mom" she started.

- - - - - - - - - -

Darius lay down on his bed and covered his head with a pillow. He could feel his hands slightly shaking from growing anger.

Maybe he was too harsh on Alador? No. No, he wasn't. What was he thinking? That he can just come here after years of no contact, share few nice words and make him his again? No, it won't work like that.

He squeezed the pillow and groaned. Then he threw it through the whole room. It hit the wall and then the floor. Darius turned around to hide his face in the duvet.

Being with Alador in the same room, so close yet so far away hurt him almost physically. His heart beating faster and butterflies in his stomach made Darius even more mad. He had no right to cause reaction like that. Seventeen years passed since he got married. Darius should have forgotten about him lots of time ago. But he didn't. He couldn't get him out of his head, and, what was more problematic, out of his heart.

Coven's head looked at the outline of ring, visible through his glove. Alador was wearing it, too... For a second his heart felt softer, but turned to rock-hard right away. It meant nothing. Cheap trick. He could put it on just to impress him. How could he know if he wore it before, as well? He probably didn't.

Darius groaned again and frowned, tightly closing his eyes. One part of him wanted to reunite with Alador. To regain his friendship or even more. Another part felt betrayed, angry at him and just sad. He knew, that agreement stated "if they won't find anyone". He did nothing wrong. He could find himself a wife. But being so close to having Alador all for himself made him bitter about his marriage. Also, he didn't have to stop meeting with him after changing martial status. They could remain friends, couldn't they? Darius would rather keep him in his life in different role than losing him completely. Sadly, the choice was never his.

Or maybe was it? If he conffesed to him earlier, maybe relationship with Odalia would never happen. At the other hand, why would he find someone else if he loved him? He had to misjudge his feelings in school. Or it was just a silly crush. That thought almost pressed tears out of Darius' eyes, because for him, it was much more. He loved him and was ready to dedicate his whole life to him.

Well, back then, at least. Now he wasn't that naive nor desperate. He could deal with blunt pain and dormant love for years. He won't forgive Alador right away after struggling for so long. He have lost his chance when he stopped contacting him.

Another thought came to Darius' mind. Scribbles on plans. He never replied to these as well and he had to notice them. Only Alador could correct these plans. There's no way that someone else did it for him so he wouldn't see the notes. He had to choose not to answer them. It feed his weakening anger again.

He couldn't be important in any way to Alador, if he ignored so many of his attempts to reconnect. Darius sat on the bed, took of his glove and then ring. He raised his hand, to throw it to the other side of the room, but he couldn't. He stopped in half movement.

He put the ring back on his hand. He lay down again and let the tears flow freely. Soon the whole space under his face was damp.

* * *

Alador came back home, feeling defeated. What was he thinking? That Darius will greet him with open arms? They haven't seen each other for a really long time, he couldn't tell precisely. Darius had a right to be mad at him. He stopped trying after marrying Odalia. She said "no meetings" and he listened. She wasn't that annoying when he obeyed her.

But it wasn't a good excuse. He was responsible for his own actions and could do something else, even if it meant choosing the harder way. He always went on that easier path and didn't want to turn on more complicated one. Now he had to face the consequences.

He spent another hour or two in his workshop, trying to distract himself by working. He thought that it will be easy. His focus always jumped from one thing to another, so he couldn't overthink anything too much. This time his thoughts were leading him to Darius every time.

Alador left the room when he heard Odalia's voice. She prepared dinner and wanted him to come before it gets cold. He entered kitchen a minute later.

"How did the business meeting went?" she asked after he took a sit. Food smelled great. Well, Odalia might be not the best wife, but at least she could cook.

"Fine. Technicians were happy to see something new" he answered. Well, most of abominators were quite similar. New one wasn't innovative, but had few extraordinary things which could please bored engineers.

Alador glanced at Odalia, resting his head on his hand. He saw something weird in her eyes, but he couldn't tell what was it about.

"Good. Coven's head was there, too?" she raised her eyebrow. It was a little... Suspicious.

"Uhm, yes. He was there. It's his job" he looked away. Why was she asking about it? Isn't it obvious? He stared at a plate.

"Is this why you wear that ring again?" she asked with a victorious smirk.

Ring. He forgot about the ring. How could he forget!? What to do now? He couldn't lie, she saw it on his finger. How could he explain?

"I... I just found it when I was doing the cleaning" he finally said, while still looking away from his wife.

"I know what's going on here, Alador. You could lie to me. Many times" she started, moving closer to him. "But I know the truth anyway. I can see that you didn't get over him. You never did and I'm afraid that you never will. Even if you won't, you have to remember, that you are married to me, not him" she frowned.

"I'm just wearing a ring which I received from my childhood friend. It's not a crime" he tried to defend himself.

"The ring came with a promise, am I right? It's not a friendship bracelet kind of thing" it was a bluff, but Alador couldn't know. No one ever told her what the rings meant. Brunet's lack of answer was like a confirmation for her.

"As I thought. Blights always keep their part of a deal. Remember about it" she added.

"I never asked for being a Blight" he answered. He wasn't sure what he actually meant by it. He didn't choose to be a Blight, but he didn't hate his family or something like that. He just felt frustrated that his wife tried to use their surname to make him fullfil her will.

"Your parents would be really sad if they heard you" tone of her voice caused him to cringe. "Are you ashamed of your family? Your surname?"

"I'd love to have Darius' surname. Not mine" he didn't know why he attempted to confront her. There was no point in lying anymore, because he lost hope that he will ever reunite with him. Darius didn't want it, so Odalia couldn't get in a way. There won't be an occasion. He won't try.

"I don't care" her voice sounded terrifying. "You are my husband. I won't let you ruin our good name. I won't let you prove, that I'm not good enough for you!" Alador had a feeling, that she will hit the table with her hand any second, but she didn't.

"Oh, so it's like that?" he asked in an oddly calm manner. "Our name? Don't you mean yours? You do not care that witches would call me a cheater. You are afraid, that they will call you a bad wife" he slowly shook his head.

"Of course I meant our good name, both yours and mine, because we are connected by marriage and we are-"

"Don't lie" he cut her off. "If you are worried that others won't call you a victim in this situation, then you know really well that you are terrible wife" he turned around, leaving Odalia speechless.

"But, you know what? You would convince them. You are extraordinary manipulator. They would find me guilty after few words" he added before leaving the room. Odalia couldn't even argue. Alador was right. She was worried about her good name. They weren't one as a married couple. She could think only about Alador or herself. Or. Not and.

Scientist got back to his workshop, hoping to find some peace in here. He covered his face with his hands. He felt like his thoughts were thousands of wild animals, running in circles, colliding, falling down, fighting. Complete chaos. How was he supposed to calm down with this in his head?

"Uhm... Dad?" familiar feminine voice reached him. He turned his head and saw his younger daughter, Amity.

"Hi" he said quietly and gestured towards her, to tell her that she can come in. Amity closed the door behind her and took a sit next to Alador. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you still be in school?" he asked.

"According to schedule, yes, but one of teachers is ill so they let us go home earlier" she explained. She placed her hand on Alador's shoulder.

"I... I heard your argument with mom" she started.

"I'm really sorry that you did. You shouldn't have to worry about our problems. You have your own" he looked at his daughter. She looked worried.

"I know. What I wonder is... Do you... Do you want to leave mom for someone else?" Alador could see fear in her eyes. It took him a moment, but he connected the dots.

"I won't leave you with her, don't worry about it. I wouldn't ever leave you" he felt sudden need to hug his daughter. This time Amity accepted the hug. Right after their reunion, she refused to hug him. They only shook hands. Alador understood this. Baby steps. They didn't have good relationship before, after all. But now they had enough time to create bonds and hugging didn't feel awkward anymore.

"In fact, I... I won't even talk to that someone else. He doesn't want to see me at all" he added after few seconds. Amity looked at his face.

"I also didn't have best contact with Luz at the beginning, if it will cheer you up" she smiled slightly. Alador also smiled. His daughter was amazing. It's sad, that he never wanted to see it before. It was easier to lock in workshop with work, leaving bringing up children to Odalia. Worst choice ever.

"We were close friends in the past" he started, tapping his fingers on the desk. "But I stopped trying. It's my fault that he is mad at me. I should've fight for a person I truly loved" he sighed. "I shouldn't worry you with all of this. You are just a kid, I can't expect handling your parents' problems from you" he added.

"I can handle more than you think" she looked concerned while listening to him, but now smiled again. "And, what is more important, I want to help you, dad. You are trying really hard to understand me, Edric and Emira better. We want to do something for you, too. Even if our relationship was far from perfect before, now it's different. And what's now counts" he smiled weakly. His daughter was so smart.

"I really appreciate your will to help me, Mittens, but I'm afraid that it is impossible. I'm married to your mother. Now I have to deal with consequences of my previous actions" he sighed again.

"Maybe we'd be able to arrange little meeting for you two, so you could talk?" Amity's eyes were still full of hope. He didn't understand why it became so important to her. A moment ago she was terrified that he will leave, wasn't she?

"You know, miss Eda knows Raine, Raine is a coven head like Darius so they have to meet from time to time. Maybe we could get to Darius through them?" she wondered.

"He doesn't want to talk to me. I tried today. He was angry at me, that I attempted. I should leave him alone and forget" he answered, looking at the floor. It wasn't getting them anywhere. Talking about it was pointless. Everything was already done.

"Umm... It will get better, you'll see" she patted his shoulder. "I've also lost hope for better relationship with parents but well... You could change. Maybe he can change his mind, too. I'll be in my room if you needed me" she said, hugged him shortly and left.

Alador got lost in thoughts again. Maybe Amity was right? Isn't giving up taking an easy way again? If he had enough time to talk to Darius, maybe he could explain him everything... There's no guarantee that he will forgive him, but he will know how it went, at least.

Maybe it's time to visit another school time friend.

* * *

Amity locked door behind her and sat near the window. She didn't know what should she think about everything she heard. She had a feeling sometimes, that her family isn't loving or caring at all, but she would never guess that it was because her dad loved someone else, not her mother.

She knew how it felt to be stuck in a awful situation without a way out. Luz helped her escape her nightmare. Would Darius help her dad? He wasn't happy, but on the other hand, he made a choice. He married her mother, right? She couldn't choose in which family she will born. So are they situations similar or not really?

And should she help at all? It's about their parents breaking up, after all. But something was telling her, that Darius would be much better than Odalia and after getting to know how good it is to actually talk to a parent if needed, she would love to have more than one person who can give her an advice.

"You look worried, sis" she heard behind her back. She turned around. Emira and Edric were standing in the door.

"I thought that I locked it" she answered, rising her eyebrow.

"It's not a problem for us. We have our ways to get in. What's the matter?" Emira came closer and sat next to Amity. Edric closed the door and locked it again. Then he said closer to sisters.

"Well" she sighted. "I've heard parents talking and... That's a lot to process" she squeezed the edge of her tunic.

"We are here to listen. We have time" Edric said, smiling at Amity. She responded with a weak smile.

She breathed in and out and started explaining.

NEXT PART < - - -

[honeymilkk00]

Haikyuu Boys: You Flinch

Pt 2

@silver-argent​ :  Hii! I super looooove the way you wrote Haikyuu Boys: You flinch, perfect amount of angst to fluff! Are you taking requests? If you are, will you please do a Sakusa and Kenma? the you flinch. It's okay if you don't tho! I'll still look forward to your works!❤❤

tysm for the encouraging words!! my requests are open and im more than happy to do Sakusa and Kenma jewbjkew. i hope you enjoy. i'm literally so tired and just wanted to finally get this out <3

characters:

-sakusa

-kenma

___________________________

Sakusa

Dating Sakusa was the last thing you ever thought would happen to you. He filled your days and nights with such love and passion. You had broken through his stoic and cold shell and had seen him for who he truly was deep inside- a loving partner through and through.

Of course, old habits die hard. Since he had spent years of his life being a reserved person, only putting up with his family and teammates, he still was very hesitant when it came to affection. Sometimes all he wanted to do was to be alone with his thoughts and nothing else. It hurt to see him like that, knowing that no matter what, you couldn’t help him, but you understood and gave him the time he needed.

Five months into yours and his relationship had lead to a few disputes, but nothing too serious. He was a prideful, headstrong man which lead to you having to bite your tongue during arguments and keep your snarky words to yourself, refusing to let them slip off the tip of your tongue. If they did, the argument would escalate. 

You loved Sakusa for everything he was, bad parts and good, but sometimes he was too much. 

And, that’s how you were here, biting your lip harshly as you stare at him, refusing to let your anger get the best of you. 

Sakusa had been coming home quite late due to volleyball practise, but it got to the stage where you were scared that he was doing to overwork himself and injure himself. Instead of letting it slide, you confronted him about it and suggested that he should take some time to let his body heal from the strenuous training regimen that he was doing. It seemed that Sakusa wasn’t in the best of moods and had snapped at you, shooting abhorrent words towards you as if you were nothing but a pile of shit, accusing you of restricting him from reaching his full potential and trying to turn him away from volleyball because you were too clingy for his liking. 

“Fucking hell (Y/N), you’re so fucking clingy! Just because you’re an attention whore and want me to worship you doesn’t mean you can try and take me away from what I love doing. You’re so fucking obsessive it’s driving me crazy!” Sakusa bellowed and clenched his hands together, his nails digging into his hands. 

Taking a deep breath to keep yourself as calm as possible, you spoke in a soft tone, “Omi, I’m not trying to keep you from anything. I just think you should rest your body before you overwork yourself and become ill or injure yourself. I know you want to improve but that can happen gradually over time. I doesn’t need to happen all at once.” You murmured and gently placed a hand on his, trying to reassure him.

Letting out a deep, angered growl, Sakusa pulled away from your grip harshly and pushed your hand away, “don’t fucking touch me! You’re fucking disgusting! All you do is hold me down and try and control my life, you obsessive pest!” He hollered out.

His words ripped open your chest and stabbed you in the heart repeatedly. You felt like you were choking on your own heartbeat. It hurt knowing that your lover found you disgusting. A strong feeling of rage surged through your veins. “How fucking dare you, Sakusa! I’ve done nothing but tried to help you and all you do is treat me like shit. Every time we argue I have to bite my tongue because I know that if I retaliate, you’ll just get even more angry. I can’t express how I feel to you anymore and I feel as if I don’t matter in this relationship. If you want to overwork yourself and injure yourself then fine, go ahead, but don’t blame me for saying I told you so after it’s happened!”

His eyes narrowing at your words, Sakusa swiftly turned to glare at you and raised his fist, poking your chest aggressively, “Fine, I will then because I’m not letting you control me anym-” He paused mid sentence, his eyes widening when he noticed you flinching when he raised his hand. Slowly, he lowered his hand and dropped them at his sides. Your shaking figure made his heart clench painfully tight. “(Y/N) I-”

“I can’t do this anymore, Sakusa.” You voice whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. Tears rolled down your cheeks and you sniffled quietly. “I can’t handle this pain anymore. I can’t handle feeling like I’m walking on egg shells with you. I can’t handle being afraid of how you’ll react when I speak about how I feel. I just can’t do this anymore.” You voice got quieter and quieter the more you spoke. Looking up at Sakusa, you swallowed thickly. “I can’t do us anymore.” 

Sakusa was frozen, watching you carefully. It was deathly silent. The only sound he could hear was the sound of his heartbeat beating rapidly. 

“I’ll pick up my things tomorrow. I’m going to stay at Atsumu’s for the night.” You whispered and turned away, heading towards the front door. 

A small, almost whine-like noise left Kiyoomi’s mouth. He reached out and clasped your hand gently, tears forming in the corner’s of his eyes. “Please.” He begged quietly.

Looking back at the man you loved, your heart shattered into small pieces when you noticed his dampened eyes. Never had you seen him cry before. “What is it?” You asked quietly, biting the inside of your cheek.

Sakusa pulled you in tightly for a hug and pressed his lips against your cheek gently. “Please don’t leave. Please please please… I’m so so sorry (Y/N).. I didn’t mean anything I said. I love you and I’m grateful for everything you do for me. I’ve just had a really bad day. Please I love you. Please don’t leave. You’re my baby... “ He pleaded softly and held you tightly, as if afraid that you’d disappear if he let go. 

Letting out a sigh, you caved in. You were still mad at him but at the end of the day, you loved Kiyoomi more than anything else. You would give up everything for his happiness. “Kiyoomi...” You whispered softly and then turned around so you were face to face with him. Gently cupping his cheeks, you sighed, “I love you so so much Kiyoomi... But you can’t say stuff like that to me even if you’ve had a bad day. You really really hurt me even though I was just trying to look out for you.” You explained and frowned softly, kissing his tears that resided in the corner of his eyes. 

Pressing his lips softly against your hands that rested on his face, he let out a shaky breath that he didn’t realise he was holding, “I know... I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I promise I’ll do better..” He whispered gently and pressed his nose into your hair lovingly. “I love you so much...”

Leaning in closer to Sakusa, you inhaled his scent, “I love you too, Omi..”

He never wanted to see you flinch like that again.

________________________

Kenma

Kenma was an erudite genius when it came to the art of strategy. His deep understanding of the game and the unspoken pledge to win is what drove him forward and kept him reaching, grasping, clutching for new strategic idea that would leave his opponents breathless.

For days, maybe even weeks, on end, Kenma would be researching, training, and repeating the process until he felt confident in his methodology that would be used in a game. Thus, led to a breakdown. After weeks of undereating, lack of sleep, training beyond his physical capabilities, and his mental strain thinking of ways to defeat the opposing team, Kenma was at his wits’ end. 

As his partner, you immediately noticed the changes in his personality. Of course, concern was your initial reaction and you were somewhat frightened of irritating him more, but you knew you had to confront him about his lack of self care. Seeing him train during lunch and falling asleep in lessons led you to realise how hard he was working himself. 

So, after school you managed to pull him to one side before he proceeded to train at the club. A frown was present on your lips and you took a deep breath. Looking at him now hurt a lot: his eyebags had considerably increased since the last time you saw him; you could now see physically where he had lost weight from undereating for weeks; his eyes seemed a lot duller; his body slouched over slightly, as if it was begging for a break. It was agony to see your partner slowly harm his body and mind like this.

"Kenma, just know I love you so much and I understand that volleyball means a lot to you right now since it's your final year with your team as you know it with Kuroo as captain, but look at yourself. You're not taking care of yourself at all. You aren't helping you or your teammates by undereating and not sleeeping." You murmured gently, taking Kenma's hands in your own. You knew that you had to be careful and not push your boyfriend, but you couldn't let it continue.

Kenma simply frowned at your words and pulled his hand away from yours, "(Y/N), I don't need your lecturing. I'm perfectly fine taking care of myself. I don't need you." He hissed out and turned his back on you, proceeding to head to practise. He had no time to waste on pointless conversations.

(Y/N) grinded their teeth together, their heart aching slightly at the harsh words, "I'm not lecturing you, Kenma! I'm doing what a s/o should do and I'm looking out for you! Please just take a small break before you overdo it!" You hallooed, as if that would make the words sink in.

Vexed, Kenma turned around with a deep scowl on his face, "Why don't you just back off, (Y/N)!? I don't care about you right now, all I care about is me and my teammates winning this game!" He shrieked, which caused you to trip back and swallow thickly.

A small whimper escape your lips and tears formed in the corners of your eyes as you flinched. You were normally fine with Kenma's salty attitude, but he never usually shouted at you. Taking a shaky breath, you looked at your boyfriend dead in the eyes, "fine! Do what you want to do! Since you don't care about me I won't bother anymore! Don't you fucking dare come running to me when you overwork yourself and can't handle it anymore!" You retorted and turned away.

Kenma's eyes widened slightly at your words as he watched you turn away. "Wait...." He whispered out, his hand reaching towards yours. Lightly, he grasped your wrist and sighed, pulling you close and burying his head in your shoulder. "'M sorry... I'm just so stressed..." Tears brimmed his eyes and he sniffled softly. "I didn't mean it..."

Letting out a soft sigh, your shoulders relaxed and you pulled your lover in for a cuddle. "I know you didn't mean it baby... But remember your health comes first, volleyball after." You whispered and gently stroked his hair. He simply nodded in response and hugged you tighter.

Maybe you both could work things out. You just need to learn to communicate more.

[alrightberries]

“may i?”

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff & angst.  ❈ word count: 8k

❈ summary: you’re the medic assigned to take care of captain levi as he heals from the explosion. you’re also the only person he tolerates.

alternatively: in which you create prosthetics for humanity’s most war torn soldier.

❈ trigger warnings: manga spoliers. profanity. mentions of violence, blood, gore, and death. mentions of sexual themes.

a/n: levi’s kinda ooc bc i couldn’t write the progress of his relationship with reader without making it longer than it already is. also this is medically inaccurate (re: healing time of broken bones and amputations) for the sake of the plot so pls no one throw hands. 

Levi doesn't like looking at mirrors.

There was no tragic backstory behind his distaste for the reflective surface, no deeper meaning or hidden symbolism as one would expect from a man with his past. The reason behind it was simple: he just saw no reason to.

He wasn't vain, wasn't too concerned about his face, didn't care much to look at his physical appearance aside from when he had to cut his hair or get ready for the day to look presentable to his comrades. He knew he was attractive, and effortlessly so. The little letters and gifts he’d received from fans and admirers proved as much, and his title of “Humanity’s Strongest” only added to the appeal. Really, there was no reason for him to always be looking into a mirror.

But now... Levi simply couldn’t understand why that mindset had vanished. It was replaced with the fervor to always be staring at his own reflection— not out of vanity but out of disgust.

The disgust of staring at his mutilated face.

He warily lifts up the small mirror he held in his hand, features contorting into a grimace at the man staring back at him. Scars and cuts littered his cheeks— some deeper than others, but none as terrible as the long jagged scar that ran down the right side of his face. It started from his forehead and ended at his bottom lip, held together by ugly black stitches the medics had hurriedly sewn on him the second he got back to the base. His right eye was split in half, completely useless, completely blind; held together by the same black stitches that donned the ugliest scar of all.

And Levi couldn’t help but think that this man was hideous.

He was hideous.

Levi reaches out with his right hand to touch his scars out of habit. He feels his heart tighten when he realizes there’s only air where his fingers should be and he nearly breaks the small mirror he held in his good hand from how hard he was squeezing it. 

The mirror makes a gentle clink as he sets it down onto the mahogany of his desk. Bitterly, he stares at his three fingered right hand. His pointer and middle finger were gone, nothing but pathetic stumps protruding from his knuckles where they used to be. It was still covered in bandages and a makeshift brace so he wouldn’t strain himself when he moved, but he knew it was useless. He couldn’t move those stumps even if he tried.

He probably should’ve been thankful to have made it out of that explosion alive— not unscathed, but alive nonetheless. Though Hange had tried cheering him up (“Look on the bright side, we can wear matching eyepatches now!”) he simply couldn’t find it in himself to celebrate coming back so... useless. 

His writing was as legible as chicken scratches. His right eye spasmed in pain every time he blinked. He couldn’t even try to relearn how to use the ODM gear with his new circumstance, and he mentally curses out his orders to stay put and heal.

Too many things were lost, too many people, too many lives.

All because of that damned explosion.

All because of that damned bearded bastard.

Levi is pulled from his thoughts when three soft knocks reverberate throughout his otherwise quiet office, and he rushes to put his eyepatch on and hide the mirror in his desk drawer. He attempts to sit in what he hopes was a seemingly ‘professional’ position but his stiffness gives away his discomfort. 

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

He feels himself release a breath he didn’t even know he was holding once he hears the voice. Your voice. 

“Come in.”

The wooden door creaks open before it closes with a soft click, floorboards making minuscule sounds at the weight as you make your way to his desk. Levi pretends to look busy as his good eye scans the document he held in his hand. 

The sound of porcelain clinking against porcelain grabs his attention.

“Brought you tea.” You murmured. “I figured it won’t be up to your standards again but I did try my best.”

Levi still doesn’t look up as you set the tray down on his desk, and his good hand reaches for the steaming cup to take a small sip. His eye twitches at the taste.

“If you were going to bring me shit tea anyway then why bother.”

He hears a gentle chuckle but doesn’t see the way you smile at his contradictory words and actions. He made no move to throw the “shit tea” away, something he was infamous for with teas that didn’t meet his standards. Instead, he keeps sipping, gently placing the cup down onto his table once he finished.

“I thought that maybe distracting you with terrible tea would keep your mind off me changing your bandages.” You explained, and Levi nods but doesn’t speak. When silence once again filled the room, interrupted only by the occasional crumple of documents you knew he wasn’t reading, you take it as your cue to pick up your pen and clipboard to start the checkup.

“Have you felt any discomfort or pain in any of your extremities such as your right eye or your right hand?”

“No.”

“Have you felt any throbbing or other sensations in any part of your body?”

“No.”

“Have you experienced any fevers, headaches, dizziness, or sudden spasms in any part of your body?”

“No.”

He hears you set your clipboard down and his skin tingles from your doubtful stare. He didn’t have to look to know it was there. He risks a glimpse at the papers attached to the wooden board in your hands but just as he expected, you didn’t write down any of his answers.

“Have you lied to any or all of the questions I’ve asked during your routine checkup for today?”

“...yes.”

A soft sigh escape through your nose and your eyebrows furrow in disappointment. “Captain, lying to your medic won’t get you to the battlefield faster. You’re of no use to anyone when you’re injured.”

Levi clicks his tongue at your reply but he holds his smart ass comments back. He knew you were right, and it infuriated him so much.

“Fine,” he grits out. “My right eye’s been twitching all day. The fucking stumps on my right hand don’t feel like stumps. It feels like I still have fingers there, and I know it’s complete bullshit since they were lying next to my face when they got blown off.”

His angry glance finally lands on you. “That the answer you were looking for, oh medic of mine?”

It was now your turn to click your tongue. “Not quite,” you mumble, writing down his answers onto the file in your hands. “Feeling your missing limbs even after they’re amputated is normal. It’s called phantom touch.”

You place the clipboard back onto his desk and reach into your pockets, pulling out pristine white gloves before gingerly putting them on.

“Your right eye still spasming though, that’s concerning.” You add. Your hands slowly reach out to his face, and Levi momentarily flinches away out of habit. But you made no move to touch him.

He eyes you warily, tense muscles relaxing even just the slightest as he sees your gentle stare.

“May I?” You ask softly, a caring smile on your face.

Levi only nods, not trusting his words, and he once again tenses up as he feels your hands unbuckle the leather straps of his eyepatch before setting it down onto his table. He keeps his bad eye shut.

Your hands are gentle as you touch his face, touch nothing but a soft caress in such a way that his tender stitches felt no pain. Your eyes are focused on his stitches, lacking any judgement or ill will, and Levi’s suddenly aware of how close you actually were to his face.

Your eyes were beautiful, he noticed. They always were. The little furrow in your eyebrows as you concentrated was cute, and the soft caress of your hands on his cheeks as you inspected his face felt... nice, and dare he even say relaxing. Momentarily, when he finally lets himself adjust to the atmosphere, he lets his tense muscles ease.

“Can you open your right eye, Levi?”

“Y-yeah.”

FUCK.

What the fuck.

Did he just fucking stutter?

Levi’s surprise is only painted on his face for a few mere seconds before he schools his expression back to one of stoicness and neutrality, and he prays to all the existing gods he knew of that you wouldn’t notice.

He risks another glance at you. One of your eyebrows is arched and the corner of your lip is quirked up in a small smirk, but you dared not comment on the captain’s speech mishap.

Fuck. So you did notice.

Before he could try to save face by dishing out some bullshit reprimand of being disrespectful for calling him by his name and not his title, the words die on his tongue as you lean in impossibly close and oh god your noses were almost touching, your eyes are even more beautiful up close, and what the fuck is—

“Captain,” you repeat. “Can you open your right eye please?”

Oh, right.

He doesn’t speak as he does what he was told. He feels his eye open but no vision comes to his senses. 

“It’s looking... not so good.” He hears you mumble, face contorted into one of concern. “It’s actually looking pretty bad.”

Levi scoffs. “Not one to beat around the bush, are you.”

You roll your eyes, the small smile once again returning to your lips.

“How long have you been keeping the eyepatch on?” You ask. Your hands are holding his head in place now, grasp a little more firm but not enough to hurt.

“An hour at most.”

“Are you lying again?”

He sighs. “Yes.”

You nod but made no further comment, leaning back to grab the clipboard once more to write down your observations. 

“So,” you start. “Are you going to tell me the truth or do I have to poke your bad eye?”

Levi’s lips turn into a frown at the notion. “I’ve kept it on the entire day. And I know you’re probably lying about poking my eye, but in case you’re not, no. I do not want you poking my eye.”

You nod your head again, writing more things down onto your little clipboard.

“You should let it breathe. Keep it on for an hour or two at most but take it off when you sleep. Too much friction with the eyepatch might cause irritation.”

As the consultation draws on, Levi tries (keyword: tries) to be as honest as he could. Not that he could be dishonest when you were so good at snooping out his lies, though. You were already used to his stubbornness.

He wasn’t lying, however, when he tells himself that his heartbeat did not speed up when your hands gently held his own as you changed his bandages and cleaned his amputation; he wasn’t lying when he tells himself that the tips of his ears were not burning a bright red, cheeks flushed as you asked him to take off his shirt; and he definitely wasn’t lying when he tells himself that his dick did not twitch in his pants when your hands caressed his abdomen and back, accidentally hitting sweet spots he didn’t even know existed, to inspect his still purple bruises and healing ribs.

Yeah, he definitely was not lying.

“Okay, I think we’re done for today.” You say cheerfully. “I’ll be back same time tomorrow for another checkup.”

He glances up as he finishes buttoning the last buttons on his shirt. The gloves from your hands are taken off and tucked back into your pockets, and you hand him a small vial full of pills.

“Take one of these, twice a day at most, whenever you feel pain in your right eye.”

“I’m not feeling any—“

“Sure you’re not.” You cut him off with a smile. “I believe you. But feel free to contact me for any pain or discomfort you feel at any time of the day. I’ll be more than glad to find you.”

Levi says nothing, opting to instead stare at you as you gather the now empty teacup and kettle, placing them back onto the tray along with your clipboard and pen.

“Oh, by the way.” You speak, walking towards the door and opening it. You don’t spare him another glance as you finish your sentence. “I don’t think I can prescribe any pills to lessen blood flow to your dick.”

The door shuts with a soft click behind you, and Levi’s momentarily mortified as he processes your words. He risks yet another glance, this time down to his lap.

Shit, he thinks before he sighs. His hands readjust the hard-on in his pants.

Nothing goes past your observant eyes.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Levi doesn’t bother to look busy like he did last week, you noticed, because this time he was actually busy. Which was odd considering he was taken off paperwork duty until he could write again.

“What’re you up to?” You ask, setting the tray down onto his desk and pouring him a cup of tea. Your eyes curiously glance at the papers scattered about his usually clean desk, each filled with indiscernible writings of his name.

“Trying to write. I’m useless until I can.” He mumbles before he scoffs. “This would be easier if I had all my fingers.”

You nod along to his replies yet made no move to stop him. You picked up your pen and clipboard to write things down as well.

“You’re not supposed to be using your right hand, your amputation is still too tender.”

“Tch, what do you expect me to do then?”

“Uh... use your non-injured, complete left hand?”

Levi blinks at your words, and he has half a mind to slap his forehead for being dumb and not thinking of that. Which he undoubtedly would’ve done had you not pushed the steaming cup of tea closer to his sitting form.

“Have some tea. You look like you’re about to pop a vein.”

Your smart remark is met with silence and a steely glare, and surprisingly, as Levi drank the tea you prepared, he notices it’s not downright terrible.

“Your brew’s better.” 

“Yeah. I finally took your advice of using a thermometer to get ‘the perfect temperature’ after you complained about my ‘shitty tea’ for the nth time that week.”

Levi hides his little smirk behind the teacup, silently reveling in his small triumph before setting it down. From the corner of his eye, he notices you eyeing something, and his heart drops as his gaze follows your own.

The mirror. He forgot to hide the mirror.

Discreetly (or as discreet as he could) he takes the mirror and shoves it back into his desk drawer. You had many questions, that much he knew, but he was thankful when you didn’t push it further.

“Shall we begin?” You ask instead.

“Yeah.”

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Levi’s been trying to write again, you surmised, as you glanced at his focused eyes and the tenseness of his shoulders. Scattered papers still littered his desk and he was still trying to write his name. This time though, you were relieved when you saw he was using his left hand.

“Finally took my advice?” You asked, pouring him a cup of tea.

“Regretting it.” He doesn’t look up from his task as he answers, something you noticed he always did. “It’s been three days since I took your advice and my handwriting’s shittier than it was then.”

You smile, hand reaching out to hold his incomplete one that was clenched into a fist on the desk. He immediately stops writing, opting to instead stare at your hand atop his before glancing up at you.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you relax. You might tear your stitches.”

He feels you give his hand a gentle squeeze, and the warmth of your hand is suddenly gone from his own. You reach for the cup of tea you prepared, and he wills his cheeks to not show his blush at the small gesture. You slide the teacup across the table.

“What makes you think holding my hand will make me relax?” He asks snarkily. He reaches for the tea with his good hand.

“Are you relaxed?”

Levi ponders the question in his mind, noticing how his muscles were no longer tense, his shoulders were now slumped down, and his eyebrows were no longer scrunched. He sips the tea.

“Your brew’s still shit.” He replies instead.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I came here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Your head peaks out from behind his door as you enter, closing it with your foot and making your way to his desk. You were no longer surprised when you saw him still writing and scribbling messily at his desk as he’s done for days now, and you discreetly eye the papers as you pour him his tea.

“You don’t have to keep bringing me tea.” He comments, still focused on writing.

“I know.” You reply. “But how am I going to perfect your brew if I don’t practice?”

Levi glances up, and he raises his eyebrow as he sees you sat on his table, a cheeky grin on your face. He makes no move to scold you for being so casual in his office and instead reaches out to take a sip of the tea. He notices your expectant eyes, the grin on your face widening as he nods in approval.

“Your tea’s not bad today.”

“Really?! You think it’s good?”

“I said not bad, I didn’t say it was good.”

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

The first thing you noticed as you entered Levi’s office was, of course, the scattered paper around his desk, face focused as he continued to practice his writing. The second thing you noticed was that he was no longer using his left hand.

“It’s barely been two weeks. Did you give up already?” You ask as you pour his tea.

“I write better with my right hand.” He simply replies, not even glancing up as you slide him the beverage. He uses his good hand to reach out for the cup, silently preparing his tongue for another unpleasant attack.

He takes a sip and his eyebrows shoot up from surprise. The tea was... delicious, absolutely delicious, and Levi couldn’t find anything to complain about. The temperature was right, it wasn’t too bitter but wasn’t too sweet, and the aroma was delectable. He takes a sip once more to double check if his taste buds were deceiving him, but the second sip was just as good as the last.

His suspicious eye makes contact with yours, a shit eating grin painted on your face as you eagerly awaited his feedback. The porcelain makes a sound as he sets it down.

“You bought this from the tea shop across the barracks. That’s cheating.”

“For fuck’s sake!”

Three soft knocks reverberate through the door to Levi’s office. The captain hastily hides the papers with your name scribbled on, shoving them inside his desk drawer. A shiny glint catches his eye before he could close the shelf and he pauses as he realizes it was his mirror. He hadn’t taken it out in a while. He was always too distracted with criticizing your piss poor tea to even think about his appearance.

“Name and business.” He calls out, still eyeing the shiny object.

“Hange Zoe. Y/N asked me to do your daily checkup.”

Levi's eyes widened, heartbeat stopping for a second as he heard Hange’s voice. Where were you?

“Come in.” He closes the drawer as the door opens and Hange walks in. 

Levi couldn’t help but notice that he was becoming uncomfortable the closer his friend got; skin prickling, hands sweating, his collar feeling a little too tight. Little by little getting more conscious of himself as Hange walked closer.

Was this what insecurity felt like?

He briefly wonders why he didn’t feel it with you, but his mind answers him with a simple fact: you were the only person who’s seen him mangled and bruised, and each time, you showed nothing but gentleness and care. Yet even with this knowledge, the notion that a person other than you would be doing his checkup today didn’t sit right with him.

He pushes his discomfort to the back of his mind, telling himself to remain objective. But it didn’t stop him from subconsciously adjusting his eyepatch and hiding his incomplete hand underneath the desk. He eyes the tray in Hange’s hands, spotting the kettle and teacup.

“I don’t want your shitty tea.”

Hange doesn’t look up as they pour him a cup, humming a tune Levi doesn’t recognize as they hand him the warm beverage.

“It’s not my shitty tea.” They reply. “It’s Y/N’s shitty tea. They made you a batch before they left for the mission.”

Levi’s good hand pauses for a brief second as he reaches for the cup, mind still processing the fact that Hange said Y/N and mission. You hadn’t mentioned anything to him, and since he wasn’t allowed paperwork duty until he could write legibly, he wasn’t aware of any missions.

“I see.” He takes a sip, and he immediately squints his eyes in doubt once his tongue caught taste of the flavor. “This isn’t Y/N’s tea.”

Hange looks up from the clipboard they were writing on, eyebrows are arched in curiosity. “What?”

“This isn’t Y/N’s tea. This is from the tea shop down the road.”

Hange’s confused face stays still for a few seconds, silently assessing whether Levi was being serious or not. A smile cracks on their face, turning into a grin as small chuckles left their lips, before finally turning into full blown laughter. The captain waits for the eccentric soldier to stop cackling and start explaining, but Hange’s answer only serves to confuse him more.

“Nice try, shorty. You crack me up.”

Levi ignores the remark about his height. “What do you mean?”

“Y/N owns the tea shop down the road. Made the recipe for the black tea you love so much, even.”

The captain’s good eye twitches, and if Hange notices, they don't comment. Levi takes a sip of the tea once more, a little more doubtful this time, before sighing in content as the drink makes its way down his throat.

“Why did Y/N go on the mission? I thought they were to be my caretaker until further notice.” He chooses to ask, placing the cup down and pretending to busy himself as he absentmindedly starts practicing his writing.

“Y/N is our topic medic, their skills are more valuable on the battlefield than in an office with you.” They reply, and the captain pretends that the truthfulness of the statement doesn’t sting the slightest.

“Besides,” Hange pulls out white gloves from their pockets, sliding the cloth over their hands to prepare for the checkup. “Y/N personally asked to be reassigned.”

Levi sputters and chokes on his tea at the sudden revelation, and he feels Hange’s hand patting his back as he tries to compose himself. You asked to be reassigned? But why?

“Why?” He manages to choke out before once more descending into a coughing fit. Hange silently hands him a napkin.

“They didn’t say.”

Perhaps you were done with his incessant criticizing of your tea making skills (if so, then why’d you keep brewing him a crappy batch? Clearly you could’ve made good tea whenever you wanted.) Perhaps you grew tired of watching over him everyday when you could’ve been attending to more injured soldiers in the medical wing or the battlefield. Or perhaps you felt a little cooped up in the office with him, hating that you were confined when you could’ve gone on missions to help the wounded.

Whatever your reason may be, Levi finally gets himself to stop coughing and wipes his mouth. Any questions he had, he would ask you. For now, he pushes his feelings to the back of his mind to ask a more important question.

“Why are you here and not on the expedition, Commander?”

Hange shrugs.

“I wanted to bond over eyepatches with you.”

Levi was trying, okay? He was really trying.

But god, the new caretaker assigned to him was nothing short of a complete and utter noob. His bandages were always either too loose or too tight, his touches every time he tried to inspect Levi’s scars were always an ironclad grip, and worst of all, his tea was pure and utter shit.

“Watch it!” Levi barks, and his caretaker jumps about two feet away from him at his yell. “What’re you trying to do?! Are you inspecting my broken ribs or trying to give me a broken rib?”

Oh, that too. His caretaker was the hands on type, something Levi wouldn’t have minded if not for the fact that his caretaker was also heavy-handed, and Levi had had enough of this bullshit.

“Stop it, just stop. Get out of my office, right now, and find me a new caretaker.”

“B-but, Captain, there’s no one else who can—“

His caretaker is cut off when he makes eye contact with the enraged captain. Levi’s eyebrows were knitted together in anger, and the glare on his left eye was nothing short of terrifying. The fact that he only had one good eye left did nothing to lessen the intimidation of his glare; if anything, it made it even more intimidating.

“I will not repeat my order. Go.”

The boy in front of him nods nervously, head bowed down and metaphorical tail tucked between his legs as he quickly scurries out of the room. Once Levi hears the soft click of the door shutting, he takes a deep breath and lets his body slump into his chair.

That was the fifth caretaker he’d kicked out this month. He wasn’t picky, he tells himself; he just had standards. Standards that apparently these damned amateurs they kept sending him couldn’t meet.

Briefly, his conscience contradicts him; the image of a certain top medic popping in his mind, one that he hadn’t spoken to in almost a month since they dropped him out of the blue. Maybe, just maybe, he was being picky. With a dash of passive aggressive and a sprinkle of butthurt. But Levi quickly brushes that thought aside when he remembers the incompetence of all his recent caretakers.

That was definitely it. He wasn’t petty, all his caretakers were simply idiots.

The captain hears three loud knocks on his wooden door, and he grits his teeth as he mentally prepares himself for whatever fuckery the clown caretaker they assigned to him was about to do this time. True to his words, Levi did end up breaking a rib from how heavy handed the last one was, and though he knew it was partially because his body was still quite fragile, it didn’t hurt his request for a new medic.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here to do your daily checkup.”

Levi feels his eyes widen and heart speed up, and he once again rushes to hide all the papers scribbled with your name as he shoves them into his desk drawer. He composes himself, trying to appear uninterested and professional as he speaks.

“Come in.”

The door squeaks open and Levi doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes soften and his shoulders slump in relief as he sees the familiar sight of you. A soft smile dawned on your face as you gently kicked the door close, walking towards his desk and setting down the tray you held in your hands.

“Heard you fired everybody who came after me.” You mused, eyes teasing as you poured him a cup of tea. He didn’t think he’d miss someone pouring him a cup of tea as much as he did now.

“Their tea was shit.” He replies, taking a sip of the warm beverage and holding back his sputter at the god awful taste. “Yours is too.”

You chuckle, picking up the clipboard and pen to start writing for today’s checkup. “Can’t help that I suck at brewing tea.”

“You don’t have to keep making me shit tea anymore. The secret’s out.”

You freeze in your spot, eyes widening for a fraction of a second before you nervously clear your throat. Levi definitely noticed.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I know you own the tea shop, Y/N. Stop lying.”

You let out an irritated sigh. “Hange told you, didn’t they?”

“Yep.” He replies, popping the ‘p’.

I’m going to fucking kill Hange, you think to yourself, silently gathering your composure once more. Levi watches you intently, continuing to sip on the terrible tea before deciding that he’d assaulted his taste buds enough and placing it down.

“Why’d you do it?” You hear him ask. “And don’t lie to me. You’re not the only one who’s gotten better at spotting lies.”

Why’d you brew shitty him tea? Is he that affected by it?

Your reply was already on the tip of your tongue, head glancing up from your clipboard to say your answer. But your words don’t come out and your mind suddenly cleared when you saw the look in his eye.

Levi’s eyes were nothing short of gorgeous; a beautiful gunmetal gray with a gaze deadly enough to kill a man with one mere look. But right now, even though they were schooled into his usual look of disinterest, you could see him... wavering. A mix of unanswered questions, curiosity, and— for the briefest second you swore you saw— hurt.

“I take it you’re not asking me why I brewed you crappy tea for the past three months?”

Levi clicks his tongue in irritation. “No, you idiot. I’m asking you why you left out of the blue. If you had a problem you could’ve brought it up with me—“

“No!” You quickly interrupt. “No, god no, you’re perfect.”

The captain’s eyes widen, and you suddenly realize the words you’d spoken as you quickly try to explain before Levi could interject.

“There was no problem, okay? I didn’t request to be reassigned because I had a problem. It’s quite the opposite, actually.” You murmur.

He eyes you curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“I think I have a solution. May I?” You gesture, asking if you could sit on his desk. Levi nods, not understanding why you needed permission now when you’ve done it of your own volition countless times before, but he suddenly understands when you sit directly in front him and not across from him like you usually would.

He watches as you pull a small brown box from your jacket, placing it down onto his desk before opening it. Levi is quiet as he eyes the item inside.

“It’s just a prototype for now. I was hoping to carve out a better one in my free time, one that would be a custom fit, but my free time kinda went flying out the window when you started firing people left and right until no one would accept you but me.”

You pick up the wooden prosthetic fingers and gently place them onto his desk. Your hand opens palm up, waiting for Levi to be comfortable enough to lend his hand to you, and he does so silently.

“The prosthetic’s made from redwood and the joints are connected by small metal rods. It’s light and durable, and I weatherproofed it so it wouldn’t break down so easily when you use them.” You explain, unwrapping the bandages around his hand. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out the concept, actually. I just took a pair of standard issue Survey Corps gloves and cut out all the fingers. Then, y’know, attached the wooden fingers to where the pointer and middle should be.”

Levi could only nod. You weren’t sure if his silence was good or bad and you couldn’t read his look. But Levi— Levi was speechless. In his mind, he dared not speak in fear of looking like a fool. Especially not in front of the person who gave back a piece of himself (quite literally, at that.)

He tenderly looks at the way you fitted the prosthetics onto his own hand, fastening brown leather straps around his wrists to secure the glove. The minute the glove is on and he sees all five fingers for the first time since the explosion, he feels like he’s about to cry.

“I had Hange help me with the anatomy so you could still bend them as you would normal fingers. I couldn’t figure out how to make them move on their own though, so you’d have to manually do that yourself.”

To demonstrate, you bend one of the prosthetics, the wood imitating the bend of his finger but not springing back up despite his brain commanding it to do so. You watch intently as he fumbles around with his hand, moving the fingers about. The wonder and astonishment in his usually unimpressed eye didn’t go unnoticed by you, and it spurred  you to continue on.

“Unfortunately, it’s not strong enough to flick the switches on ODM gear. You still have to relearn how to hold your blades when you’re cleared for training again.” You say regrettably. “But it’s strong enough to hold a pen.”

Your hand reaches for the forgotten quill across his desk, dipping it in the inkwell before offering it to him with a small smile. Levi slowly takes it, still speechless, as he readjusts his prosthetic to hold the quill and write.

His writing is still shit, undoubtedly; still no better than chicken scratches as he messily writes down the words. But god, the sight of the indiscernible handwriting next to five fingers brought tears to his eyes as he finally finished writing his name. The slightly legible letters of ‘Levi Ackerman’ stared back at him.

Levi couldn’t hold it back anymore. He immediately set the quill down before standing up to engross you in a warm embrace. You tense in his arms, not used to Levi willingly initiating any form of physical touch at all. But as he tucks his head into the curve of your neck and his shoulders start shaking, splotches of wet dripping onto your collarbones, you feel your arms encircle his waist, bringing him closer as you whisper sweet nothings into his ear and let him cry in peace.

Your hands ran through his scalp, willing him to calm down. Though normally the sight of a crying Captain Levi was something you never thought you’d see, you couldn’t help but feel honored he chose to share this rare moment of vulnerability with you.

You let him cry, still holding onto him, giving him his time. Briefly, you wonder what he was thinking. What pushed him to tears? Did the captain ever let himself mourn his losses? Does he mourn his friends, his family, the little pieces of himself that he’d lost along the way?

Though you had a million questions in your mind you dared not pry as you continued to comfort the weeping man in front of you.

Finally, after a few moments of nothing but silent sniffles and your sweet words, Levi finds it in himself to finally speak.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

Night had fallen around the base, encasing the world in darkness that beckons slumber. Levi continued to stay awake, still in his office, staring at the prosthetic you had given him hours before.

Curiously, he feels himself form his right hand into a fist, not surprised that the two wooden fingers didn’t comply like the rest. It was imperfect and he himself thought it could use some tiny adjustments for the sake of comfort— something he definitely would bring up to you as requested.

And yet, despite knowing his ‘fingers’ were nothing but wood, leather and metal, he couldn’t help but think it was the best thing he could ever ask for. 

Silently, under the lone glowing light of his oil lamp, Levi pulls out a blank sheet of paper and begins to turn his feelings into thoughts, thoughts into words, and words into sentences as his quill meets the white surface.

Hours later, he finds himself in front of your quarters, a candle in his left hand while his right held a pristine white envelope. The envelope containing unsaid words, unspoken wishes, and hidden feelings.

Your eyes are sleepy when you answer the door, half lidded and hair a mess when his knocks had woken you from your slumber. You rub your eye, adjusting to the light as you stare at the person in front of you.

“Captain?” You ask, stifling a yawn. “What’re you doing here so late?”

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he opts to look at you with an unreadable expression as he asks, “Can I come in?”

You stare at him for a few seconds more, and the thought of you slamming the door on his face crossed Levi’s mind; but that didn’t happen. Rather, you nodded and ushered him inside your bedroom, closing the door behind him as you once again flopped onto your bed. 

He places the candle down on your bedside table and now he was unsure what to do. He had a plan— or, he thought he had a plan— but awkwardly standing in your room in the middle of the night wasn’t part of it.

Quietly, you chuckle at the sight of Humanity’s Strongest looking so odd and out of place, unsure and slightly panicked. You pat the spot next to you, inviting him to sit, and he complies.

Both of you had your knees pulled up to your chests and you were thankful when you noticed Levi had taken his shoes off before sitting on the bed. A comfortable silence encompasses the atmosphere in the dimly lit room. Shoulders touching, heads not daring to turn because of the close proximity. 

From the corner of your eye, Levi looked like he was deep in thought. Not the kind you saw plenty of times in the battlefield or in strategy meetings, not the kind you saw when you entered his office as he hastily tried to hide his mirror. But the kind you saw when he quietly suffered through his own living hell. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask, finally breaking the silence. He shakes his head. 

“Well, what brings the mighty Captain Levi to my humble little room?”

“Levi.” 

“What?”

“Call me Levi.” He murmurs, downcast staring intently at the envelope on his lap. “In this room, I’m not your captain. I’m not your patient. I’m not Humanity’s Strongest.”

You feel your eyebrows scrunch as surprise and curiosity paint your face, but not because of the captain’s offer to call him so casually. No— the surprise you showed was because he unclasped the prosthetic you made, not even sparing it a second glance as he carelessly threw it to you, and you barely managed to catch the limbs you’d spent countless hours and sleepless nights to create.

“Levi, what are you—“

“But I’m not a broken teacup for you to fix either.” He says, eyeing the stumps on right hand. “I’m not a doll who’s missing some parts. I’m not a charity case accepting donations.”

You were looking at him now, head turned in his direction as he unclasps his eyepatch and lets it fall onto his lap. He raises his head, eyes making contact with yours.

“I’m just Levi.”

A few moments of silence pass but neither of you look away. The reason why the captain continued to stare wasn’t something you knew. But the reason why you never looked away was because of his eyes. 

Levi’s eyes were still as gorgeous as you remembered them to be. Though his right eye was a different shade from his left, a lighter and paler shade of gray; though it lacked the light and emotions his unharmed eye bore; though it had a jagged scar running through it from where he was hit, you couldn’t help but think that his eyes were still the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen.

Gingerly, you lift up your hand to touch the right side of his face where his battle wounds lie, the prosthetic forgotten as it falls somewhere in the sheets. He doesn’t flinch like he did the first few times you did it, when you reached for his face during checkups to inspect his scars. But it didn’t stop you from asking.

“May I?” 

Levi doesn’t answer. Instead, he brings your hand to rest on his cheek as his head leaned closer to your touch. His eyes closed momentarily, almost as if he were reveling in your warmth. But they opened once more, and you willed yourself not to get lost in the sea of gray.

“You were never a charity case to me, Levi. Or any of the things you just said.”

“Then what am I to you?”

Your heart stops, eyes widening ever so slightly at his question. Would you tell him? No, you couldn’t. Not when—

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N.” His grip on your hand tightens a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to distract you from your thoughts. You realize the hand that held your own against his cheeks was his broken hand, his mutilated hand.

...would you really tell him?

You sigh, eyes finally leaving his. “You’re just another soldier who got hurt from a battle, asking a medic to take the pain away.”

Your hand slips out of his grip and goes back to your side, and you turn away from him once more. 

“Are you lying?” He asks.

“No.”

“Then look into my eyes and tell me what I am to you.”

“I can’t.”

Your voice cracks ever so slightly, hesitant but determined to stick to your words. And Levi knew that he was never going to get an answer. He sighs, shoulders slumping down in defeat. It was now his turn to look away from you, gaze falling to his lap. The envelope holding the letter crinkles and he’s reminded why he’s here.

“I know.” He whispers back. “But do me a favor.”

He doesn’t look your way as he hands you the letter. He doesn’t look your way when you silently took it, eyeing the red wax seal that bore his initials, fingers tracing over the edges before—

“Don’t open it yet. Open it tomorrow morning before you come in for my checkup.”

You only nodded in response. You reached out, placing the envelope on your bedside table before once again sitting next to Levi. Just as you had started, a comfortable silence blankets the atmosphere. Shoulders touching, heads not daring to turn because of the proximity.

But this time, it was he who breaks the silence.

“I don’t know what the future holds.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know what the future holds.” He repeats. “I could die in action tomorrow and be one of the bodies they wheel back from war, or you could die trying to save someone in the battlefield. Even if neither of us die tomorrow, there’s always a possibility that we’ll die the day after that. And the day after that and the day after that. Such are the risks of our jobs.”

He takes a deep breath. “But tonight, I don’t want to focus on tomorrow. I don’t want to focus on what the future holds. I don’t want to focus on titans or enemy troops or looking after my team.”

“Then what do you want?” 

“You.” 

Your eyes soften. “But what am I to you?”

You didn’t know what to expect, what his answer may be. But you know you didn’t expect it when Levi’s fingers gently grabbed your chin and coaxed your head to look in his direction. You didn’t expect it when you opened your eyes and met his, his warm palm resting on your cheek. And what you didn’t expect most was for his eyes to look at you with so much love, so much care and adoration. Gone were the facades of boredom and disinterest; the stoicness and detachment they always seemed to reflect. All there was left was softness, warmth, and what seemed to be the unmistakable swirls of vulnerability.

“You’re just another medic too busy putting other peoples’ lives before your own.”

“Are you lying?” 

“No.” He whispers. “But you make me want to plan for a future I know we won’t have— a future we can’t have.” 

And for the first time, you knew he meant it. You knew what he meant. 

In your line of work full of death and violence and risks almost too big to take. In what you once thought was your little world, turning out to be too big for you to handle. In your personal brand of hell where tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed, and loss was the only constant— it was enough. This small moment was enough.

“You have the most beautiful eyes.” You whispered, entranced. A soft chuckle leaves Levi’s lips, eyes turning into crescent moons so fitting of his gray orbs and your heart twitches at the sight and sound of his melodious laughter.

His thumb brushes over your cheek and your eyes meet his once again, the beautiful shades of gray staring you back. You didn’t know who did it first but at this point you didn’t care enough to find out because slowly, you both leaned in. Slowly, you both closed your eyes. And slowly, you both tilted your heads.

He pauses.

“May I?” Levi asks, lips merely inches away from yours. You nod.

“You may.”

And suddenly, the distance between your lips was no more.

There were no fireworks, no explosions in your heart or butterflies in your belly. There was no feeling of cloud nine, no feeling of want or need. There was only warmth in your chest, the feeling of a small fireplace crackling and glowing in the coldness of the night. The feeling of warm sheets and warm bodies cuddled up in an embrace.

Home. 

The feeling of home.

Because that’s what you were to Levi, and what Levi was to you.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your routine checkup.”

“Come in.”

As the door opens and you set the tray down on his desk, hands gently holding the kettle to pour him his cup of tea, you noticed that Levi was still trying to write. But what caught your attention wasn’t the fact that it was no longer his name he tried to scribble, opting to write down complete sentences. What caught your attention was that he was wearing his prosthetics, and his eyepatch wasn’t on.

“Did you read the letter?” He asks. His hands were still writing and his eyes were still staring at the papers in front of him. But you could tell he was anxious.

“Yes.” You simply reply, and he nods.

“Good.”

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[winter-soldier-vibes]

You Aren’t Somebody? (Bucky x Reader)

Bucky x reader

Word count: 2647

Summary: Bucky knows that the reader has struggled with an eating disorder before, but thought they were doing better. Little does he know, they had just gotten better at hiding it. Until one night, he catches her doing something she had promised she had stopped

Warnings: eating disorder, purging, angst, fluff

Tags @abitgryffindorky @buckys2thicc @thatfangirl42 @buckfics @barnesplums @mardema @stucky-on-spiderman @thundering-barnes

Main Masterlist

A/N: It’s finals week and I am running on energy drinks, reading fanfiction, and longgggg hot showers. But the semester is almost over, and then I have no obligations aside from my hobbies. I see the requests and I’m working on them I promise! I have a list of all the requests that I get, and I am working through them I PROMISE!!! Thank you all for all of your support.

A/N 2: This deals with heavy and dark themes of mental illness. The specific warnings are above. If you feel that in any way reading this will be harmful to your mental health and your journey, PLEASE skip it. I write from my own experience and I know what I would’ve wanted to hear in these situations, and writing/reading fics helps me feel comforted. This fic is based on one experience more specifically than most of my fics, so I apologize if it’s not exactly the same as your experience. This is what I would’ve wanted to hear. If you need or want someone to talk to, vent to, or get advice from, feel free to message me, really. I’m here! <3

------------------------------

Bucky was standing in front of you, blocking the door. His piercing blue eyes were locked on you, your own refusing to meet his. 

He wanted answers that you were not ready to give.

“Y/n, please. I just want to talk about this”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Bucky.”

He looked you up and down. Your hair was in a messy bun, a few loose strands sticking to your tear stained cheeks. Your eyes were puffy, and your face was red, voice raspy. He took a deep breath. “You told me you would tell me if it was getting bad again.”

“You promised.”

You closed your eyes. He wasn’t wrong, you had promised. But that was because you never thought you’d see the day when you were purging again. You thought you had gotten over it. You really thought that this time you wouldn’t slip up.

------------------

You had been struggling with an eating disorder for a while. The cause, you weren’t quite sure. An innocent diet soon turned into a competition for yourself, but the end goal was never there. At first you had thought it was just about the weight and how you looked, but then you found that some of your behavior patterns were tied to your emotional ones. 

Stress was the major trigger, you had come to learn.

Whether it was a mission gone wrong, you getting injured, someone else getting injured, or even just basic social interactions you thought could’ve gone better, you found yourself inclined to comfort yourself with food. 

Until you panicked, which would lead you to the bathroom with music blaring and water running to cover up the noises of your retching. 

You hated it, and every time you told yourself it was the last time. But the more you did it, the more you felt the urge to do it. At first it was triggered by large stressors, but now smaller things could trigger you to want to throw up. You tried to keep it hidden, unaware of the true reasons for why you did it. You were able to help yourself sometimes, it wasn���t worth bringing anyone else into. 

You couldn’t explain it to yourself, so how were you supposed to explain it to anybody?

The best way that you had figured out how to describe it was that whenever you felt a negative emotion, you could soothe it in a physical way with food, especially with all the warm comfort foods that are known. But at the same time, that feeling lasted as long as you could taste, and you would feel guilty as you felt full. When you threw up, it felt like you were also throwing up the negative emotions. 

But when you said it out loud, it didn’t make sense. When people are sick and throwing up it’s one of the most uncomfortable feelings ever. Inducing it hurts sometimes, but it’s almost not as bad. Like you know it’s coming, and you’re in control of what’s happening and you could stop at any point. And there had been times where you could soothe yourself in other ways, and you knew your own physical limits. You knew when you had to stop for your own health.

Until you couldn’t stop.

Which is what led to you fainting on a mission after purging too much. Your electrolytes had bottomed out and you almost had a heart attack at an age no one should. Bucky, your boyfriend who was on the mission with you, had put it together when the first words out of your mouth upon gaining consciousness were “Is this a glucose drip?” while tugging at the IV.

He hadn’t been mad, not exactly. He wasn’t mad at you but he was furious with himself for not noticing, and for making you feel as though you couldn’t tell him. You assured him that you did trust him, but he wished you had come to him before you could’ve gotten yourself, and those on the mission, seriously hurt or killed. 

Nonetheless, you still didn’t know how to talk about it.

“Can you try to tell me about it?” he asked gently, running a hand through your hair. He held you to his chest, you unable to meet his eyes.

“It won’t make any sense,” you had said, tears glazing your eyes.

“I want to understand. Can you help me understand?”

You paused for a moment. “It’s a long story and I don’t know where to start. There’s so much going wrong.” you had said, tears beginning to streak down your face.

“I have all the time for you. And it doesn’t have to make sense, these things rarely do. I’m not here to judge you, I’m here to listen.”

And true to his word, he had. He had listened and held you while you tried to talk about what you could. He didn’t understand everything, he naturally had a ton of questions, but they weren’t for that moment. He had promised to help you the best that he could, and you had promised to try and tell him whenever you felt the urges get too strong. And if you couldn’t, to tell him after.

It was easier to talk to Bucky than anyone else. Not because he was your boyfriend, but because he seemed to understand you more than anyone else could. He had his own share of mental health struggles. Neither of you knew exactly what the other was going through, but you both understood that it was easy to feel alone and guilty even though you couldn’t control it. 

It was rough, but he was never mad. He was sometimes firm, and sometimes you had gotten angry with him. Only to later apologize to him with tears in your eyes. He was never mad with you. He understood that this was something internal. Upon research he had done and conversations he had had with Bruce, he understood that this had nothing to do with him. Some people thought eating disorders were about getting attention when it was one of the furthest things from the truth.

All he could do was love you and be there for you.

And to your surprise, talking about it did help.it took a long time, months, of long and hard conversations, panic attacks, slip ups, and really dark days. But it got to the point where Bucky felt that you were doing better, making an effort to tell you how proud he was and how much he loved you. 

And you were doing better, in a way. But you had been slipping up more recently, and you hadn’t told Bucky. You didn’t know how. After going the longest you’d ever had between slip ups, you found yourself retching over the toilet. You would have gone to Bucky but he had been away on a mission that was extended a few days. You couldn’t interrupt him because your feelings were too much to handle. People needed his help more than you did.

You were going to tell him, but he had been so tired when he had come back. He needed his time to relax, and it wasn’t the right time to tell him. And the next day when he was rested, you felt that it was irrelevant. Any negative feeling you had felt the day before had since past, and you didn’t see the point in bringing it up today. It would worry Bucky, he wouldn’t want to go on missions, and you weren’t going to do that to him. Besides, it was just one time.

Right?

You soon found yourself purging when Bucky wasn’t around. If he had gone out with Steve, if he was on a mission, or if he was down in the gym you found yourself taking more opportunities to give into your urges. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been, but you were spiraling. But at this point you had been slipping up so many times, you had been so secretive about it. 

It would kill Bucky inside to know that you were hiding this from him again. He would feel like you didn’t trust him. You trusted him with your life.

You just didn’t want to let him down. Not again, not when he had explicitly told you to come to him and you had been blatantly ignoring that.

You wanted to tell him, you did. But you couldn’t let him being so proud of you be based on a lie.

One day you were hunched over the toilet, legs sahking and tears streaming down your face from exertion. Bucky was away on a mission, so you didn’t even bother with the music or the water. What you hadn’t anticipated was him coming back hours earlier than he should’ve

The mission had gone much more smoothly than anticipated, which everyone was happy about. Bucky was glad he would get a few more hours with you. He had gone up to your shared room and let himself in, surprised to see you weren’t there. But then he heard you coughing from behind a closed bathroom door.

He felt like someone had punched him in the gut. You had been doing so well, what had happened?

He walked over to the door, knocking on it and calling out your name. He heard you muffle a small fuck before he knocked again.

“Y/n please, let me in.”

He heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on, you on the other side washing your face. You could feel the tears from exertion be replaced by ones of shame and embarrassment, biting your lip slightly. What the fuck were you going to tell him? 

When you finally turned off the water, you rubbed your face with a towel, sighing heavily into it. When you took it away, you looked long and hard at the doorknob. 

Bucky sighed on the other side of the door. “Y/n please. I’m not mad. We’ve been here before, I just wanna talk to you.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, taking a breath before you made your expression nuetral and opened the door. 

Bucky’s eyes immediately saddened when he took you in. your face was still red and there were tears in your eyes. You had tried to put up a front, he could tell that too. Sometimes you got angry with him because you didn’t want to be vulnerable. He was prepared because like he said - he’d helped you before.

Before he could say anything you crossed your arms. “You’re home early,” you said coldly.

“Y/n.” 

“How’d the mission go? Well, I assume.” you tried to slip past Bucky but he was blocking the door. 

Bucky took a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah, the mission went well.” He wanted to be gentle with you. “But how are you?”

You shrugged, trying to appear oblivious. “I’m fine,” voice wavering slightly as you looked away.

“Y/n please. You’re not fine. Can you tell me what happened?”

“The same thing that always happens” you said bitterly. “Something stupid comes up, I start feeling like shit about myself and I ignore it until I’m puking it up with everything else, alright? It’s the same story, different time, and now I have you looking at me all hurt just like I was worried about which is why I couldn’t tell you!” you exclaimed, eyes filled with anger and tears. Bucky looked at you as if you had just punched him in the face. He would’ve much preferred that you had.

“Y/n.”

You shook your head, trying to get through the door that he was blocking. “Bucky, just let me through the door, forget it.”

“Y/n just talk to me please, I -”

“JUST LET ME THROUGH THE GODDAMN DOOR.” You yelled, surprising Bucky. It had been a while since you had gotten this angry or defensive. But he stood his ground. Bucky was standing in front of you, blocking the door. His piercing blue eyes were locked on you, your own refusing to meet his. 

He wanted answers that you were not ready to give.

“Y/n, please. I just want to talk about this”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Bucky,” you said, feeling tears threatening to spill over. 

He took a deep breath. “You told me you would tell me if it was getting bad again.”

You closed your eyes and felt a pang in your stomach. “Bucky, I - “

“You promised,” he said, voice cracking.

You shook your head. “Why do I have to talk about this. It’s not like I’m hurting anybody” 

“You’re hurting yourself, y/n.” he said calmly.

You shook your head and narrowed your eyes slightly, tears falling. “That’s different Bucky, you know it is.”

“You aren’t somebody?”

You looked at him for a moment before a sob escaped your body, leaning on the counter for support as you brought a hand to your mouth. Bucky quickly came up behind you and pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you. You started crying harder, embarrassed and ashamed. 

“I’m sorry Bucky, I didn’t know what else to do, I didn’t know how to tell you, I -”

“Hey it’s okay, it’s alright y/n, I’m here.” Bucky kept whispering reassurances in your ears, rubbing a hand up and down your back. 

After some time passed, you didn’t know how long, you were able to calm down enough to take some shaky breaths, hiding your red face in Bucky’s chest.

“When did this start happening again?” he asked softly

“I don’t know… few weeks at least, not really sure.”

He took a breath, trying to stay calm. A few weeks and he hadn’t suspected anything, and you were alone. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were on a mission, I couldn’t interrupt that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when I got back?” he pressed gently.

“You were so tired Bucky - ”

“Y/n.” he said more firmly.

You paused for a moment, knowing he wouldn’t take those answers. If they were truly the reason then you would’ve told him the next day or the day after, as soon as the opportunity came. There was more to why you waited, and Bucky knew that. 

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you whispered. 

You heard Bucky sigh. He was angry with himself, for not being approachable to you. All he wanted was to make you feel safe enough to come to him, and to hear that you hadn’t because you thought he had expectations for you crushed him. “Y/n, I told you you could tell me about this. When have I ever been disappointed or angry with you?”

“You haven’t. You were just so proud and I - I didn’t want to ruin that for you. I didn’t want to tell you that you were proud of a lie.”

“Hey, hey look at me.” Hesitantly you looked up to meet his eyes. “None of this was you lying. You put in the hard work day after day, and I told you I was here to support you. But I never did the work for you. You did that. I’m proud of you and I always will be because you’re a fighter. It’s okay to have bad days, it’s okay to slip up. It’s okay to need a little help too, and that’s what I’m here for. A slip up doesn’t erase all the hard work you’ve put in before. I’m proud of you for the progress you’ve made, and of the work you put in. This doesn’t change anything sweetheart.”

He pulled you back into his chest.

“I’ll always be proud of you.”