#in fact it may make everything worse but god I was just tired of being hassled by my parents and I wanted to do the ‘right’ thing so

[the-brainrot-central]

Hot tip for teens: maybe don’t go to college straight out of high school, especially if you don’t know what you want to study, have zero work ethic, motivation, or desire to succeed, and no goals correlated to obtaining your degree to motivate you. Cus if you do, you’re gonna be pretty fucked.

[thebestsetter]

Thinking about Isagi Yoichi, the hero of Japan and biggest egoist on the field, being a complete loser when it comes to the girl he likes.

Like, he may insult the opposing team's players (and even his own teammates sometimes!) in the field, but gets all red and stutters when he needs to talk to you.

Isagi Yoichi who is absolutely delusional. If he holds a conversation with you for more than 5 minutes, you can bet he's gonna think about it during THE WHOLE WEEK. His friends can't escape his feelings either: he's always talking about you or associating things with you. Like: "Oh, she would like this!" Or "You guys won't believe it: we talked for almost 10 minutes today!" Please save Hiori and Bachira. They can't take it anymore. (Well, Bachira doesn't really care, but Hiori is really almost losing his shit.)

This absolute dork would listen to love songs while thinking about you and then get all blushy after, hugging a pillow while stuffing his red face on it and everything. And heaven forbids anyone enters his room after you compliment him! He's kicking his feet, screaming, crying and laughing all at the same time. SPECIALLY if it's a compliment regarding his football abilities. Say something along the lines of "That goal today was amazing, Yoichi! It was such a smart play!" and he's melting and thinking about it through the whole month.

Speaking of football, he'd LOVE to see you in his soccer games/practices cheering loudly for him. I mean, he's already absolutely smitten for you, but seeing you there screaming because of his goal or smiling because of a play he made just makes his obsession love for you grow 10 times bigger!!

He'd even ask his mom for advice on what to say to you! She thinks it's cute her little boy is growing up (even though he's already 17), so she tries to help him the best she can. But there's just so much mama can do. He tries to follow her teachings, but, as I said before, always stutters and trips over his words, which makes him feel really stupid and almost give up on love, since it's a "very hard and painful feeling that just hurts people" (his words).

When he finally musters up the courage to ask you out on a date (after a lot of insistence from Hiori, who is just really tired from all of this), he wants it all to go perfect. He has it all pictured in his head: he'll ask you to meet him in the back of the school after extracurricular activities so he can ask you out. He'll have flowers and everything, and then he'll say that speech he spent the last 14 days memorizing. You'll say yes with a smile in you face (he's already blushing just from imagining your smile, he really is down bad) and then you'll live your happilly ever after together.

Spoiler alert: nothing went as planned. First, the letter he wrote asking you to meet him in the back of the school got wet because he accidentally spilt water on it. So, he had to make a half-assed substitute letter to put in your desk.

Second, he forgot soccer leaves people all stinky. So, at the end of practice, he had to choose between taking a shower and showing up all drenched and late and showing up sweaty and smelly. He choose the former, after all, showing up late but presentable is better than showing up early but looking like you got shit on by a racoon.

Third, when he finally got there (you were almost leaving, thank God he caught you just in time!) and apologized for being late, he gave you the flowers. He thought nothing else could go wrong, but things can always get worse than they already are. But I don't blame him for not knowing that things could, in fact, get worse: how was he supposed to guess there were literally bees in the flowers? To get rid of them, he tried to shook the bouquet, but accidentally ended up throwing it at your face. With bees and all.

You screamed. He screamed. He grabbed the bouquet and shoved it away, looking at the ground and wishing it'd just swallow him whole. He messed up his chance, you'd never ever even look at his way again. You hated him, absolutely hated him. You wish he was dead, you were going to change schools just to never see him again, he's the worse person ever-

Huh? What is that sound? You're laughing...? You're seriously laughing?

You laughed. He got confused.

He looked up. You were throwing your head back while wiping away the tears that got out of your eyes. You were clutching your stomach because you were laughing so hard it was starting to hurt.

You laughed. He laughed.

You both looked like maniacs. Lunatics. Laughing alone in the middle of nowhere. You looked crazy he WAS crazy. Crazy for you. Not that you knew it at that time

He then decided to just shoot his shot and finally asked you out, without flowers or memorized speech. He didn't even think you'd accept, he just thought it wouldn't hurt to try.

Imagine his face when you said yes. Even with the shitty proposal and embarassing moments, you said yes. And he was absolutely delighted. You gave him your number so he could text you the details about the date, and he was seriously shaking. I'm being for real, his pupils were blown wide and he was almost crying from happiness.

He went home jumping and skipping from happiness. Now, he wasn't just a loser. He was a loser with a date, so that makes him less loserly (at least that's what he thinks).

You accepting his proposal didn't make him talk less about you. Actually, he was now talking about you more than before, if it's even possible. Hiori felt like killing himself (he was happy for his friend, of course, he just didn't want to admit it).

This fic has a "sequel", it's this one

Masterlist

[buterccup]

Ocean child tears

A/N: The fight may not be in the right order- but I hope you all still enjoy it!

summary: Being the adopted child of the one and only Poseidon made a lot of people think you were just as cold-hearted as the Ocean tyrant. But during the third round of Ragnarok, and you witness something that you wished so many times to be a sick joke, the humans and gods finally saw who you were.

Warnings: Angst, death, blood, gore, swearing, slight comfort at the end?, Gn! reader.

Character(s): Poseidon x Young demigod! Reader(Platonic)

It was almost time for the third round, of what you thought were pointless battles. Even though the humans were reckless, greedy, wrathful, and pitiful you never saw a need to kill them all. You were human too. Well, Half.

And that was one of the reasons why you wondered why the almighty Poseidon took you under his wing. He despised humans so why would he accept you. But you digress, you were very grateful to him.

At first, of course, Poseidon had the reoccurring thought of killing you but since you were half god as well he thought otherwise. But the longer you followed him like a lost puppy the more he seemed to tolerate your presence than hate it then enjoyed it more than he used to tolerate it. He seemed to give you everything your non-existent parents couldn't. But one thing that you wished didn't come along with you once he adopted you was the simultaneous agreement from everyone else around you that you were just like him. Which was annoying, to say the least.

And you hated that fact that he was going to be fighting in the next match.

"Hey, [Name]~...[Name]. [Name]!"

"Has it started already?!"

"What? no- not yet anyways. But you have to stop daydreaming in these hallways." Loki's voice would tease you, a hint of annoyance in his voice after seeing you in the same spot he'd seen you the past 3 times beforehand. And although you were a halfling, as Loki likes to call it, you both surprisingly got along well. Sometimes.

You did nothing but let out a chuckle and look at Loki with a tired look, a churning feeling in your stomach starting to grow, and before you could say anything of your own the Norse god began to walk down the hallway with a smug smile on his face.

"Come on now, we don't want to be late for your Father's grand entrance!"

"Yeah, I'm coming."

You were a couple steps behind the god mischief as you entered the concrete box where the more important gods and goddesses sat, and if you were going to be honest with yourself you didn't know if you should be allowed to be sitting next to any of them.

"[Name], darling! You took quite a while to come back, are you alright?" Aphrodite's soft voice would call out to you as you took your seat next to Ares, the unshakeable feeling in your stomach getting worse once she asked.

"I'm fine, just fine..." you managed to mutter out, slouching back into your chair as you placed a hand on your stomach, Heimdall's booming voice grabbing man and maker's attention.

"...WELCOME TO ROUND THREE OF RAGNAROK!" Heimdall continued to speak like he was preaching as you started to smile a little, everything about him making him a great hype man in fights like these.

Hermes, being one if not the only person to see you smile, causing the smug servant to chuckle behind his hand.

"-SO LET'S BRING OUT OUR NEXT CHALLENGER!" this announcement makes you sit up properly in your seat this time, eager to see your father in the arena in the middle.

"HERE COMES GOD WARRIOR THREE! IT'S TIME TO GET WET!!" the last sentence Heimdall made causing you to look over at Loki to see if he made any reaction until the crashing of waves and the blinding light of a spotlight overtook your senses.

The water splits in two as you finally got to see your father making his way to the island arena, your eyes sparkling and your lips pulling up in a proud smile. You were very lucky that you had him as your father and you believed that no human, whoever it may be, would bring him to his knees.

Then the representative for the humans entered the stage from a wooden boat. And you must say he looked strong. Well as strong as an old man could look. And just like your father, Heimdall gave him too an amazing intro. So greatly spoken in fact that sometimes you wondered what side he was on.

Once the match officially started and your father's trident finally pierced through the Asian man's skin every god started to cheer for him. And who were you to not join in too? Causing the Gods in the spectator box to turn to your cheering figure. The only unfazed deities being Hermes and Loki. But once Poseidon turned around to give every single God that cheered for his victory a deadly glare for silence it went dead quiet, the only voice that could be heard though was yours.

The newer and uninformed gods and goddesses muttering words of shock.

"Who do they think they are?.."

"They're going to die!"

"They've done it now..."

"They must be important to be there but..."

"I've never seen a god like them before."

"It's because they're not..."

"Huh?"

But to say the least, everyone was shocked to see someone such as yourself ignore the almighty tyrant of the seas. But to their surprise, his gaze was much softer when he looked up at you before focusing on the battle. Leaving you unharmed with no threats thrown your way.

"Lord Poseidon!"

You were clearly showing off the perks of being his child.

"Father Poseidon! Papa!"

"What is it, child?" Poseidon called out to you with a sigh as you ran up to him with a face of pure joy, something clearly in your hands, the closer you got the clearer how wet they were. Bringing them up to him with such pride as you wave them in his face, small droplets of water landing on his face.

"A gift papa Poseidon!" you proudly state as your hands shake but soon stopped as you squeezed your hands tighter. "Lord...But a gift? Show me, child." he reminded you quietly but that didn't stop him from wanting to know what you have gotten him.

And with no hesitation, you showed the god his gift. A... baby Pacu fish? At first, the tyrant was confused and somewhat worried but once he looked longer at the false piranha look alike he knew he didn't need to be too worried.

He just picked up the poor creature and put it back in a water pool next to him.

"Do you like it? It's so cute!" he would then hear you ask, your bright smile never leaving your small chubby face as you stared into the body of water, watching the baby fish swim around. "Yes. It's nice. But you can't just pick up random fishes." he then says, not wanting you to pick up something that could harm you, as he grips his trident and bonked you on the head with the flat side of it gently. The coldness of the metal comforts you.

"ehe! Okay, papa oh- Lord Poseidon!"

"Good...Well done, child."

It was mid-way through the third round, and the prideful smile you had before had been replaced with a worried frown the human had been dodging every single attack, almost like Adam, but less flawlessly. Seemingly memorized every single movement and attack of your father in his head.

The uncomfortable feeling from before crawling back into your stomach haunts you, not even seeing your father striking back a the man making it go away. Your thoughts racing. And you felt your heart drop once you saw that the man, Kojiro Sasaki, finally drew blood. Shocking almost every god watching.

"Oh my..." you heard Aphrodite say from behind her hand as she looked down at the battle while your brows furrowed, a serious look in your eyes. "It's going to be fine." you would just repeat to yourself as you gripped the arms of your chair, a cold sweat forming on your forehead.

"It's going to be fine." your father says and he fixes your robes and started to walk in front of you. His face held a deadpanned expression but his words help sincere encouragement and comfort. It was your first time going with him to see how he did his job.

Most of the time for you, you stayed in his home and watched things from the window in your room, so you were very nervous but excited to come along with him.

"But...father...Lord Poseidon.." you then called out to the large man as you tried to keep up with him, hearing you call out for him causing him to stop and turn around to your younger figure. Clear worry in your eyes than excitement, "I'm a half-human father...what if-"

"Silence child, if you think that you are idiotic and I shouldn't have taken you in. But I'm sure you don't." Poseidon's voice boomed, strong and harsh like the vast waves of the sea, your head dropping down. "You are half-god too, child. Never forget that." he then continued, no matter how harsh his voice may sound it was overflowing with warmth and care. Even if it was hard to tell.

All you did was look up at him with a smile and nod your head, feeling the nervousness and insecurity fade away as Poseidon lifted his trident and placed the flat side gently on your head. Everything in his stance while he did that radiated pride. Pride for you.

"Now hurry, I have a lot to do."

"Yes, Lord Poseidon."

You could feel your heart in your throat as you watched the human try striking your father again but it almost felt like everything went quiet once the man's weapon got snapped into two like a twig and Heimdall's voice boomed out once again.

The worried murmurs and quiet sobs came from the humans. You felt pity for them, of course, they were going to be erased but you couldn't help but feel happy that your father was going to live. Until Kojiro picked up his blade and the fragments started to glow a beautiful green.

"Is he..."

"Oh?"

"Amazing..."

Everything felt like a blur until you saw a familiar crimson color come from your father's skin. An uncontrollable fear crawls up your spine. You knew if your father saw how you were acting right now he would be disappointed.

You tried so hard to keep calm, knowing that in the end Poseidon will win this fight but then another strike from the human's divine weapon tasted blood again, soon making Poseidon almost drenched in blood after a while.

You couldn't help but whimper out of fear, anger, and resentment towards the people that took the only person that truly looked out for you. Your whimpers soon turn to loud gasps with every injury then finally a scream. Poseidon's arm was cut clean off of his arm.

"Lord...LORD POSEIDON!" you screamed out once again the Gods seated next to you had an expression full of shock. They had never, in all their time seen you shout with such emotion. But you paid no mind to it as your face contorted into a one of pure fear as you watched your father's arm get chopped clean off and body get sliced.

That's when it happened. The human, Sasaki Kojiro, managed to make the mighty Poseidon fall. This must have been a bad dream. That sentence kept going on repeat in your head as you placed your hands on your head and gripped tightly onto your hair. Frightened whimpers soon morphed into sobs and cries but your eyes remained dry.

This must've been how it felt for Adam's family, for the whole of humanity. It felt like your heart had just been ripped from your chest after you'd been beaten and choked. But worse. Meanwhile, the gods just stared in shock, the whole god's side of the arena was silent apart from your sobs.

"Pose...FATHER POSEIDON!" you suddenly screamed as tears finally started to run down your face once Poseidon fell to the ground. All you could do was reach out to him. Hoping, praying that he would somehow get up.

"GET UP! PLEASE!"

The deities just looked at you with pity as your tears started to fall down into the water below, your cries being covered by the cheers of the humans.

You honestly couldn't handle the scene anymore. You couldn't bear to see your father turn into shards of nothingness, never to be seen again. Because unlike him, you were weak. Emotionally anyway.

So before anything else could happen you picked up your pitiful figure from leaning on the stone railing and walked away from the area.

"[Name] wait where are you..."

"Leave them be Loki."

They couldn't really blame you for walking out like that. Although you were wondering how your father would have reacted, seeing you like that. You knew you shouldn't be thinking this way or letting yourself drown in your tears you knew-

"[Name]."

"Hercules?" you then mumbled, as you wiped a tear away as the coldness you felt before was overcome with a never-ending warmness. Your eyes meet Hercules's sympathetic ones as he let your sorrows wash away.

You always wanted to learn how to whistle the tune of  Medusa Alope Demeter.

Requests: Open

[the-artist-grimm]

so why can Anthea not resurrect their dad, they collected his bones and ashes. they must have stored his remains in a very safe place as well so why.

-

-

also i kinda want to see Anthea either have a mental break down OR beat the CRAP out of Kallamar after finding out they were the one who issued the command of killing all of the sheep. Also how old is clauneck?

Ignoring the fact that their father’s cremains were 1, incomplete, and 2, scattered at their mother's request (Aries loved his family and village but was a wanderer at heart, scattering his ashes to the winds was the best burial she could give him), it wouldn't be right.

Like Anthea has wondered about it, but even if they had his bones, how could they just…bring him back? It’s been over 20 years since he died, he’s been in the Afterlife ever since and likely reunited with his wife and other children when they died, so for Anthea to just rip him from that? Bring him back into the living realm while the rest of their family cannot be revived, just so Anthea can have him around?

They love and miss him dearly just as they the rest of their family, but it wouldn’t be fair to him. It also goes against Anthea’s arc a little-their main lesson to learn is to acknowledge how neglected they felt as being the big sister and how negatively that experience still affects them. How despite being an adult and no longer a sister, the lamb still gives themselves up to serve everyone else and pushes down any negative feelings to avoid being 'selfish'. They gotta learn to accept that's not healthy and to let go of their family-to stop feeling guilty over surviving, and for not being that perfect 'big sister' they always tried to be.

Bringing Aries back would just be clinging to ghosts once again-even worse since he's not even the ghost they need to talk to for most of their closure, that would be their mother and siblings who's bones are lost.

---

As for their reaction to Kallamar...they already knew the orders were his. The genocide began a few decades before Anthea was born and everyone knew who's forces were at the forefront of it all. But regardless it was still a force that combined all the bishops-they all joined the slaughter.

Anthea does get their moment of blowing up at the Bishops, but it’s for more than just that. It’s for their over-dependence on their eldest with the assumption that Shamura knew ‘everything’ and always made the ‘right choices’ solely due to being the eldest. It’s for their mistreatment of Narinder and disregard to how their words would affect him. It’s for how this whole situation is pointless as it’s all because no one just talked to one another.  

The Lamb is angry, but also knows that’s not gonna fix this. Killing the Bishops solves nothing-it won’t bring their family back, and just denies Narinder his own answers and closure. Tormenting them solves nothing-it just makes Anthea the next perpetrator of violence. This cycle of not talking to people has gone on long enough, and everyone involved is just tired of it. 

It's a choice of either clinging to anger or letting go and moving on-and while the Bishops may never be fully forgiven, it's time to just...live. Accept that the past can't be changed, and to realize that clinging to what's happened is just making everyone feel worse.

---

As for how old Clauneck and his siblings for that matter are, no one knows. They're as old as time itself perhaps, they saw this land face the wrath of an era of a thousand gods and saw as it dwindled down to five to four, to three, to two, then only one. They saw the birth of the Bishop's reign, and saw it's end. The rise of the Lamb, and the rest...they'll see as well. They cannot die nor be killed-they'll be here till the world falls to its end.

Perhaps it's only a few thousand, perhaps it's a million, no one knows.

[wondercourse]

i'm making this its own post actually because it's really important to me. pardon an anecdote.

i am someone who leaning hard into solely being parts did not work for. i was pushed into it, and while in some aspects it helped and parts of it reflect how i see myself, pushing it SO HARD made things worse. in fact, quite ironically considering its push as the SOLE "pro-recovery" option, it led to me starting to see "unfavorable" parts of me as separate human beings from me and the "good" parts. as in, they were not part of my whole, they were not part of my body. i was experiencing the kind of dissociation that the isstd says to prevent.

this will not happen to everyone. this isn't meant to be a horror story to push you away from parts language (which i still use) or a parts of a whole view of yourself. the whole point is to tell you to do what works for you—and to explain what didn't work for me, and why it might not work for everyone.

that said, as you can imagine, this experience means i am sick to DEATH of people pushing One True Recovery Path™.

seeing my parts as the in-between of parts and people IS seeing them as parts of a whole. it has allowed for integration. it has allowed for healing. it has allowed for me to feel more like one person more than ever.

it seems contradictory, doesn't it? that being people makes me feel like one person. but it works for me. they are me and i am them, that is true—but in the sense that we, as people and parts, are what "i" am.

you do not get to define someone's path to recovery in their stead. you do not get to tell someone you don't know what works for them. what works for you may not work for everyone. again, if solely seeing yourself in terms of parts works for you, that's amazing. not being facetious. i'm glad you've found what works for you.

you do not get to push that onto everyone. period.

i've made a post like this before, but this one is more personal because i wanted to give an example of "alters are never people" not helping everyone.

as with everything in syscourse and systemhood and life, there is nuance.

sigh. i honestly hope the people who need to see this—the ones pushing the One True Recovery Path™ rhetoric—see this. i feel that the likelihood of that happening is low, but still. i need them to see that what they're pushing does not always work. and is also not with the ISSTD meant when talking about parts being "a singular human being".

let people view their subjective experience as they need to in order to move forward. parts, people, both, neither, nebulous in-between, secret third thing, whatever. it is not your place to define a subjective and often deeply personal thing. i keep saying it because i cannot emphasize it enough.

stop trying to tell people what their experiences "should" be. stop telling them they're faking or wrong or bad because they don't fall under that. this doesn't even just apply to the parts and people shit, actually, because this just happens a lot. it's frustrating. immensely so.

god i'm so tired.

[mangoisms]

i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute)

━ chapter four: even if it hurts | read chapter three

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.3k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

The next morning, you wake up in your own bed. You have no recollection of getting yourself here on your own, only the faint fuzzy memory of being carried and the sharp, fragrant scent of eucalyptus. 

With that, perhaps you should not be surprised at the knock on your door at seven-thirty on dot, where you find Tim waiting. 

Your body hurts worse today than it did yesterday and the extra strength Tylenol you took has not yet kicked in. Mostly, you’re still tired and achy, eyelids feeling heavier than usual, your clothes oddly restrictive with your slacks stretched a little uncomfortably over the gauze on your knee and thigh, then your forearm as well, as you knew wearing anything other than a long-sleeve would raise questions you are not mentally prepared to answer. 

Suffice to say, you are not in a particularly good mood.

Which is why —

“What are you doing here.”

Tim looks up from his phone. He’s… in a suit? Charcoal grey, with a burgundy red button-up underneath. His dark hair has been tamed for the most part, parts of it gelled back, with some hanging over his forehead as usual. 

It’s a version of him you aren’t that acquainted with but he still looks… heartbreakingly gorgeous. 

“I’m giving you a ride to school,” he says, then offers you a thermos and lunch bag. “And breakfast.”

“I don’t need a ride,” you say, instead of acknowledging that. “I told you yesterday, Tim. What are you even doing up this early?”

“Board meeting,” he responds. “So, I’m already passing by the school on my way to the tower.”

“I can get to school just fine on my own.”

“Can I come in?”

Wordlessly, you step aside. 

He steps in and sets the thermos and lunch bag aside, but doesn’t take off the shiny dress shoes. Seriously, you think you can see your reflection in the shine. God, he looks really good. This sucks. 

“I was thinking about it for a while,” he says, gazing steadily at you. 

Since you quite literally already have your shoes on and you keep the area in which shoes are allowed on relatively small, he’s only a foot away from you, allowing you to glimpse a faint scar under his jaw that one could not see unless they were this close, long, dark lashes that frame blue eyes, irises flecked with silver, an emotion you don’t think you’ve seen on him until now, one that makes your heart stutter in your chest and warmth flood your face. And… wait….

“I wanted to leave it alone,” he continues, distracting you. 

Your eyebrows furrow at his words. Leave what alone?

“Because I wasn’t sure,” he goes on. “And if I wasn’t sure, then I wasn’t going to say anything but… I think it’s worth it to try.”

“You’re being vague, Tim,” you say, a little annoyed at the fact. “What are you talking about?”

“You,” he responds. “And what you think of me.”

Something about that makes your insides freeze. The sudden bout of nerves confuses you but it’s not a moment to think about why that may be. 

“Meaning?”

“You think you’re burdening me, with everything that happened last night.”

One part of you relaxes, while the other just stiffens further. 

“I thought,” he pauses, something in your chest crumpling at the uncertainty on his face, an emotion you’ve never seen, at least not directed at you. It hurts more than you thought it would. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” you say immediately. “We are.”

“Okay,” he says, looking steadier now. “So, then, why won’t you let me take care of you?”

“I can take care of myself,” you respond reflexively.

“I know that. But just because you can doesn’t mean that you have to do it alone. I… Look, I’m not trying to coddle you. It’s just that you seemed averse to anything that had me worrying about you, about me taking care of you when you had just been through something traumatic. You say we’re friends and friends take care of each other, don’t they? So, why won’t you let me?”

Oh. Oh.

“I know what things are like with your family,” he adds, voice gentler. “And I know you must’ve had to prove to them that you could handle living here, that you could take care of yourself. That you’re independent. But that doesn’t mean… it doesn’t mean that you have to do it on your own all the time, not if I’m here, too.”

You feel overexposed, like a bad sunburn, like all your layers have just been peeled away and now the real you, still hurt, still tired, still bleeding from last night, from the years of fielding your parents’ repeated urges to move back home, you are exposed. So terribly seen. 

And you can’t quite acknowledge it, that he is right and you know it, too, you know that’s why things were so weird for you, because up until now, you were chronically lonely, on your own so you had to pick up the slack because you knew no one else was there to do it. 

(But he’s here. But Tim is here and he wants to do it. Why?

You say we’re friends and friends take care of each other, don’t they? So, why won’t you let me?

Maybe it is that easy. Maybe it is that simple. But it’s still so hard to swallow.)

Tim gazes at you intently, like you are the only thing he is seeing in this moment and he is, in a way, and you struggle with it, pulling your eyes from his.

Only to catch the familiar sight of makeup, concealer caked at his forehead, partially hidden under his hair, but easy to pick out for you, just because, well, it’s not that great of a makeup job, and you’re close enough to see it. 

You know exactly what he must have to hide. 

You move of their own accord, raising your hands to his face and his eyes widen as you cup his cheeks, tugging him down a little.

He utters your name, an unknown emotion in his voice that makes your heart leapfrog to your throat and your skin prickle with heat but that’s not your purpose right now. 

His hands fall to your wrists, grasping them loosely, fingers warm, the heat of them palpable even through the material of your button-up. He doesn’t make a move to pull your hands away. Just holds steady there.

“You’re right,” you whisper, the words choking in your throat. “But what about you?”

Your left hand slips from his cheek, his own falling away from your wrist; soft strands of hair brush the back of your fingers as you push it away, then press to the bruise hidden by makeup. 

Flinching, he grabs your hand, pulling it away and saying your name. “It’s not about me right now.”

“I know,” you say quietly. “But it doesn’t make it any less true. I worry about you, too, Tim. But you never… there’s always an excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse,” he murmurs. “It’s the truth.”

“Don’t lie to me. Please.” 

“I’m fine. I’m okay. Don’t —” he stops.

“Don’t worry about it?” Your hands fall away from him.

He shakes his head minutely and steps closer to you, until you can smell his cologne, dizzying to your senses. 

“I’m a hypocrite, too,” he admits, his hands reaching up to cup your cheeks, thumb stroking gently over the sensitive skin underneath your eye. “But you have to trust me on this.”

The worst part is… you think you do.

You close your eyes, exhausted, a familiar wet sting surging up your nose. 

“Tim…”

“It’s a two-way street, though. That’s how this works. Even I know that and I’m willing to accept it. I just… We can scale back, if you want, if you don’t want to do that. That’s fine. Just tell me.”

You could still be friends. Just not as close. Not close enough to worry about him, not close enough for him to worry about you. Just friends who hang out occasionally to watch movies and TV shows.

Of course. Of course. You couldn’t have one thing without the other. You knew that. You just didn’t think you would be forced to make a decision so soon. You thought… You don’t know. Stupidly, that you could avoid it. 

It’s selfish, you know. But… it’s hard to give up control. It’s hard to admit you do want someone to help you sometimes. Even harder to admit that it’s Tim you want to do that.

(That it’s just him you want.

Just him.

But that is something for another time.)

You lean forward. He lets you go and your forehead meets his chest, his arms sliding around you. He’s warm, cologne heady to your senses. 

“I’m sorry, Timmy.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“Yes, I do. You’re right. I know that. I’m just…”

“It’s hard,” he murmurs. “I know.”

You don’t say anything, just shift closer to him, shameless now, but you don’t care. He holds you tighter in response, setting his chin gently on your head, and you have to pretend that everything in you isn’t turning into a puddle of goo at being held like this. Mostly because, you can’t remember the last time someone held you like this.

His hand is a warm brand between your shoulder blades. “If you want to bike to school, I won’t stop you. But the offer is still on the table. And the food is still for you.”

“I’ll go with you,” you mumble, voice muffled by the material of his suit. 

He hears you nonetheless, relaxing at your words. 

“Probably suck to do it, anyway,” you sigh. “With my knee and stuff. I was just being dumb.”

Tim shrugs slightly. “I’ve done stupider in the name of independence. Don’t sweat it.”

You would love to stay here for a little while longer. Forever, actually, but real life doesn’t allow for those kinds of indulgences, so you pull away reluctantly. 

“We should go,” he says, raising his wrist; the expensive watch there winks at you, glinting under the light. 

You nod and he picks up the thermos and lunch bag while you gather your own belongings. Soon enough, you are in the plush leather of his passenger seat, sipping at the thermos, the coffee there exactly as you like it. Your breakfast is a decent helping of sliced fruit. It’s a real privilege, especially because you know he shops his produce organically. Your breakfast, on most days, is usually a Pop-Tart. Sometimes a small yogurt shake if you’re feeling indulgent. 

Everything is still a little… loaded between you, so the car ride is quiet save for the radio, the news host talking about recent activity from the Titans. You run into some traffic halfway there, and warmed from the coffee and hunger thoroughly satiated, you rest your eyes for the most of it, until he’s pulling around the back, where the employee parking is and where there won’t be too many prying eyes. 

“Thanks for the ride.”

“I’ll see you after school? At four?”

“Mmhm. Have, uh, fun with your fellow capitalists.” 

At the tease, at a little bit of familiarity creeping in once more, he grins at you and you grin back.

“Have fun with your middle schoolers.”

“Thank you. I will.” A two-fingered salute and you slip out, taking your things with you.

You’re still achy and tired and your knee is bothering you but… it’s not all bad.

No, not all bad.

Your day is long but the universe looks out for you. The kids cooperate with you and Ms. C for the most part, probably because they have their field trip coming up next week to the Metropolis Zoo (Gotham’s is closed down — something about Poison Ivy). 

But soon enough, school is letting out for the weekend and Ms. C, as usual, disappears as quickly as she can. Weekends are sacred time, she’d once sagely told you. Weekends keep you sane. 

You believe it.

You have to wait, however, since…

“I mean… I could take the subway.”

On the other end of the line, Tim huffs softly, the noise faintly echo-y, signaling he’s in his car connected to the Bluetooth, rather than speaking directly into his phone. “Wouldn’t recommend.”

“Why is that?” you ask, seated at the stairs leading up to the school. Save for the other staff still hanging around in the office, the school is empty of students. 

Above you, heavy grey clouds hide away the sun. The sun doesn't set until eight in the evening these days — and will continue to set later and later as you grow closer to summer — but with these clouds, everything is darker, as if the sun has set, despite it only being a quarter until five. 

Lightning forks through the sky ahead of you. A second later, a fearsome rumble of thunder. Rain follows quickly with furious intensity. Not a sprinkle or a drizzle, but a downpour. 

“Oh, shit.”

You stand, going up a few steps to shield yourself completely. 

“Severe weather warning,” Tim tells you, a shade too smug. “But not for just rain and thunder —”

“Hail?”

It comes down quickly, plinking on the metal railings for the stairs, pounding against concrete. You are protected for the most part, but it is loud.

On the other end, he laughs. “Still want to walk to the station?”

Considering the aforementioned station is two blocks away, no, but he doesn’t need to be so smug about it.

You tell him as much. It was just a joke, okay! If you were presented with an option to take the subway or enjoy the comfort of Tim’s expensive car, you would obviously go with the latter. 

A minute later, the very same car pulls up to the curb. 

But there is a considerable amount of distance between you and the curb. Nothing crazy but enough that you think you would be very damp by the time you got to the car. Not to mention the hail, which shouldn’t grievously injure you but would surely be unpleasant.

“Aw, shit,” you mutter, gathering your things.

“I got it,” Tim says, then hangs up. Ahead of you, the driver’s door opens and he steps out, a big black umbrella opening above him. To your surprise, he’s still in his suit. You didn’t think he would be at Wayne Tower for so long. 

He walks briskly to you and you notice the car’s LED headlights still on, catching the falling rain and the hail intermixed with it. It makes sense not to turn it off but…

You creep to the edge of your shade, feeling a few droplets of rain hit your face as he comes up, pausing two stairs down from you. 

It’s silly, you think, for your heart to skip a beat at the sight of Tim holding a hand out for you, smiling faintly, his eyes warm. But you can’t help it or the butterflies that form in your belly. 

“Very chivalrous,” you say. “To come up and fetch me yourself. But this is Gotham. Bit of a risk to leave the car running, don’t you think? What if someone stole it?”

Tim smirks and shrugs. “Guess we’d have to take the subway.”

You laugh. You laugh as you take his hand and he pulls you under the cover of the umbrella, throwing an arm around your shoulders to ensure you are covered, and you’re still giggling as you arrive at the passenger door, sliding in quickly. 

Tim follows in the next moment, unable to avoid the rain and hail as he closes the umbrella and slides in, tossing it to the back. Droplets of rain dampen his hair and face and he wipes it away, smiling faintly as you quell your mirth.

“So,” you say breathlessly as he buckles up and pulls away from the curb. “I didn’t realize you were going to be at the office for so long. That’s not normal, is it?”

You can immediately tell it’s not the right thing to say. Or, rather, it reminds him of something he would rather forget, face pinching slightly before he relaxes. 

The radio is drowned out by the thrum of rain, windshield wipers working overtime to clear your field of vision. With the clouds blotting out the sun and the abrupt darkness, most cars have their headlights and taillights on, red lights smudged by the rainwater gliding down the glass. New Jersey drivers aren’t that great, but Gotham ones are even worse. You count Tim as part of that group, though he… tries to tone it down for you (if only to not give you a heart attack with the shit he does sometimes).

His fingers drum against the steering wheel and he gazes intently at the red taillights of the car in front of you. “Hungry?”

You accept the deflection. Mostly out of guilt. 

“Of course.”

“O’Shaughnessy’s?”

“I could go for a Paddy O’Melt and a Soder.”

“Soder?”

This is an old debate but you give into it easily, to inject some familiar bantering into the atmosphere.

“What’s wrong with Soder?”

“What’s right with Soder?” he shoots back. “Zesti is where it’s at.”

“Zesti sounds like some kind of a seasoning, not a soda.”

“Seasonings are good. Soder just sounds gross.”

“So-der, So-da. It’s very simple, Timothy.”

“Saying it in your teacher voice isn’t going to change my mind.”

You laugh and he does, too. Once you get closer to Rose Oaks, he pulls into the nearest O’Shaughnessy’s. A few minutes later, you have a hot bag of food on your lap and your sodas in the cup holders between you. He parks in the lot, away from the other cars, and shuts off the windshield wipers for the moment, letting rain streak the glass. The hail has stopped by now.

You split up the food. Two double Paddy O’Melts with fries, and a Zesti Cola for him and Soder Cola for you.

It’s quiet for a little while as you two eat, burning your tongues on hot fries and equally hot burgers, then soothing it away with cold Cola. 

You’re still working on your fries when he speaks.

“I don’t go into the office very often,” he says, agreeing with your earlier observation. He crumples up the wrapper for his burger, throwing it back into the bag, then cleans his hands with a napkin. 

You sip your soda and don’t say anything yet. You can tell he isn’t done.

A pensive look forms on his face as he sits back, looking out the rain-blurred windshield. Thunder rumbles loudly, sending vibrations through the ground that you can feel. 

He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Lucius asked me in for some stuff. And since I was there already, he tried to keep me in as long as he could. He knows I prefer telework but being in-office helps with morale.” 

You jolt slightly at the casual mention of Wayne Enterprises’ CEO, Lucius Fox. You should be used to it, but you’re really not. A lot of the times, it is hard to compartmentalize the fact that Tim Drake is one of Gotham’s most eligible bachelors, someone that a lot of people are dying to be with and talk to; he is the son of Bruce Wayne, the most notorious man in this city. 

But to you, he’s just Tim. 

Tim who argues with you about the merits between a Zesti and a Soder, who admits to liking sci-fi movies but has a weak spot for 2000s dramatic comedies like The Devil Wears Prada and pretty much anything with Anne Hathaway in it, who once accidentally overcooked a hot dog (the prepackaged ones you can only cook by boiling; this one still mystifies you) but can bang out a solid breakfast of french toast with homemade whipped cream, berries, and maple syrup, paired with eggs and bacon all cooked to perfection.

Tim, who likes tennis and is currently trying to sway you to join him for a few friendly matches, who used to be into photography but dropped it as obligations to the real world tugged him elsewhere. Tim, who, when you ask him about college or dream careers, seems, frankly, lost regarding all of that. 

The word regarding his position at WE is that it’s simply a natural course of action. Some thought he might attempt to revive Drake Industries but most predicted he would go with WE. Maybe go to an Ivy League, get a business degree or a economics degree. This course of action was judged, naturally, because of course the son of a billionaire would get a free ride to Harvard or something, and major in something entirely predictable like business or economics. 

Or he would bypass it completely and that’s what ended up happening. In a way. He doesn’t work there full-time. Only when they ask him on for things. And this route is inevitably judged, too, because of course the son of a billionaire gets a high-status position in his adoptive father’s company without the credentials or degrees for it.

You understand.

You do.

But what it looks like to you is that he doesn’t even want to be there. 

“Maybe you should quit.”

Tim blinks, looking surprised at your suggestion. 

You shrug. “I mean, it’s not, like, a full-time job or anything, right? You’re volunteering your time. You don’t have to.”

“I have to do something,” he says. Reflexively, you think. “I have an obligation… I mean, if I can help them, I should. It’s not too much to ask, if I have the capabilities, the time to do it.”

It feels like you’re talking about something else now but you don’t ask. There is a lot to him you don’t know or understand. Abrupt absences, reoccurring tardiness, odd aches and pains. And now this… his work at WE but also… also something else.  

“Tim, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You’re in a position where you can afford that.”

“It’s not that easy,” he sighs. “It’s… an obligation. Especially with how much time I spent with the company since I was seventeen.”

“So, haven’t you done enough?”

He looks at you, surprised and something else you can’t identify. 

“I mean… I don’t know. I feel like you’ve done enough. But also, it doesn’t necessarily have to be about that. You can step back if you want. You can afford it. We talked about this, right? Take advantage of it. Maybe you can take up photography again or something. Maybe you can be my house-friend. Like a house husband but. You know.” You cough as he raises an eyebrow. “Friend.”

“So, basically, I clean and cook for you?”

You grin. “I wouldn’t say no to it.”

“I didn’t know you wanted me to move in so badly. You should’ve said something —”

“Oh, shut up. You know what I’m saying. But… seriously. Do what you want to do, Tim.”

“What I wanna do, huh?” he murmurs, looking out the windshield again. The rain is starting to slow. 

“Whatever you want,” you agree softly. “I’ll support you. I’m sure your siblings will. The press will talk but that’s all it is — talk.”

Tim looks back at you, the set of his mouth as soft as his gaze as he looks at you, and your heart squeezes. 

“Thank you.”

You shake your head. “Don’t have to thank me. We’re friends, right?”

He smiles. “Right.”

You look away, your heart feeling like it wants to climb out of you and go to him. If only.

You finish your food and work on sipping at your soda. 

“So, I was wondering something,” you start, changing the subject.

“Yeah?”

“The sixth graders have a field trip next week Friday. We’re going to the zoo.”

He frowns. “Isn’t it closed still?”

You wave a hand. “In Metropolis.” Gotham City’s neighbor across the harbor. You aren’t looking forward to getting a class of sixth graders onto the ferry and into another city but at least you’ll have Ms. C with you.  

“Ah.”

“Yeah. I’m probably gonna be gone for most of the day, though. I was wondering if you could feed the boys breakfast and dinner? I have a spare key somewhere at home. I’ll give it to you. If you can, I mean. If you have something else to do —”

“I don’t,” he says easily. “I can do it.”

“Just don’t do anything weird.”

“And weird entails —?”

“Don’t sneak cameras into my bedroom or steal my underwear.”

“Sounds easy enough to avoid.”

You grin. “Thanks, Timmy. ‘Preciate it.”

“‘Course.” He sends you a smile. “This is part of the whole friend thing, too, you know.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “I know. That’s why I asked.”

He seems privately pleased about that, nodding approvingly, then turning the windshield wipers back on and pulling into reverse.

You will try to do better. You’ll try to let yourself be taken care of. And in return, you know he’ll try to do that, too. 

Maybe he’ll find something he can do. Maybe not. What’s important, you think, is that he’s happy. 

As for your budding feelings, the way your heart skips a beat, the way you get flustered under his attention, the way it gets harder to suppress the yearning for his touch, for his arms around you — the memory of this morning, of being held, is burned into your mind, sure to haunt you and your dreams for weeks to come — you will set it aside. 

You can acknowledge it, that your feelings have started to blur from platonic to something else, but that’s all.

More than anything, you want to keep Tim as a friend. Bringing in less-than-platonic feelings is sure to complicate that and you don’t want to lose him.

You aren’t sure you could handle that.

Not just because he helps soothe the loneliness, but because it’s him.

And that, you think, says more than anything else.

━ end notes

1. totally forgot to mention it, but i do subscribe to the belief that tim has to know how to cook some stuff. either learned from alfred or dana. i focused specifically on breakfast foods, because i feel like those are easiest compared to how dinner might get a little complicated (save for pasta; pasta is always easy)

2. one part of me also likes the thought that he's not that great at makeup/covering bruises with concealer but i also know it would be necessary, as in, something bruce (or more likely alfred) would teach it. we can just say for now, he slacked a little bit LOL

3. so we already know zesti but i was trying to look for another, to kind of echo the pepsi/coca-cola debate, and soder was listed on the dc wiki, so, that's what i used here. whether zesti is pepsi and soder is coca-cola or the other way around, i do not know, i'll leave that up to you guys (although i do think it would be funny for tim to be a zesti/pepsi fan and reader a soder/coca-cola fan; me, personally, pepsi is WAY too carbonated/strong, coke is where its at but i digress)

4. oh! also! o’shaughnessy’s! it's a call back to... i don't know the exact issue of robin (1993) but definitely the early ones. i also got tim's order from it as well and you can see the panel of it here. and also! the tennis thing i mentioned last chapter and here again, it is from robin (1993) too as well, i think (or maybe robin I, II, or III, not sure). it was super brief, like, i'm not entirely sure they ever mentioned him playing tennis again but you can pry tennis player!tim out of my cold dead hands

(i played tennis briefly in middle school and i wasn't good but boy was it so much fun and him playing tennis is just Perfect)

(also not having the issue numbers will be an issue if i reference direct panels again; i just save this stuff and never think about it again until i'm making in-universe references, so, sorry about that. it should be from his very early robin run, though)

5. i'm also an, admittedly, strong proponent of tim easing back out of the vigilante life as he gets older, just because it becomes the only thing he's doing, as well as stuff for WE. but whether that's what he wants is another question entirely, as in, does he even want to work at WE? it's easy, sure, but like... there is a difference between knowing how to do something and wanting to do it/be passionate about it. it's always kind of difficult to ascertain what to have him do, just because we know he isn't inclined for academia, at least not if he's also doing red robin stuff, but then, i don't think he's entirely happy living his life just doing corporate stuff. i admittedly didn't have enough space/room to explore this to my fullest extent so it may feel a little abrupt, as well as what happens in the following chapters because of this conversation, but that's what it is.

6. also! metropolis across the harbor! that is... that is admittedly something i lifted from the dceu movies, specifically, what was it? batman vs. superman? yeah. and LOOK i don't particularly like those movies or any... live-action stuff (i reallyyy prefer comics LOL or at least accuracy to the comics and portrayals of bruce are always so finicky to me because people like the version of him without kids but that's not really him!! anyway) however i do like the thought of gotham and metropolis being twin cities, so to speak. and YEAH not best for canon, especially if you think about no man's land but just. Let me have it. it's also for plot stuff. here. so. yeah.

reblogs are appreciated!

[isaidsstuff]

I saw a video of a throuple and they looked really good together now my brain is rambling-

i love the concept of a relationship way more then i like participating in one. don’t get me wrong i love to feel loved but i hate how complicated everything becomes and i really dislike having to put my trust in another person.

tbh i do get depressed when i haven’t had human interaction.

ok reading that sentence back it’s like “du that’s literally just part of being human”

i really like daydreaming. most of my daydreams don’t involve me. i don’t exist and am nothing but an observer to the world i created. when i do daydream about myself i am more of an imaginary version of me, i don’t act the way i act.

i hate being observed in a relationship. well not quite, i like friendly pda walking arm in arm, putting my head on someone’s shoulder so i can see when they are looking at on their phone…that may be it.

i’m also not really a fan of traditional kissing i’m always too in my head about it. I constantly think i’m doing it wrong or that they don’t like it.

one time after a guy and i kissed he excitedly pressed kisses from my forehead, to the tip of my nose, down to my neck and it was one of the best feelings in the world. it felt like he couldn’t contain his affection and needed to kiss me the way you need to squeeze something you find cute. it made me feel like i was something special, something someone would get excited about.

he turned out to be a not so great guy. looking back i did something’s that i regret because it’s the way he wanted me to act, I was a worse person when i was with him.

the problem is most people just suck. I find everyone unbearably annoying at least sometimes. Liking someone makes people stupid. every time i talk to someone in a relationship i can’t help but roll my eyes at the way they talk about there partners.

but god does being with people sometimes feel great. i’m just not sure it worth the rest of it. being around people just makes me tired most of the time.

anyway my ex best friend texted me today. she wants to ketchup. she text me every couple months wanting to ketchup and i have to sit there and listen to her boring fucking problem and try not to slam my head into the wall as i placidly agree with her. assuring her that she is in fact the best at everything and is in fact right all the time.

the worst part is i’m just as bad! i complain about how stupid people are but I do all those things too. the only difference being that i’m self aware enough to realize that i’m doing it. the problem is knowing you are doing something doesn’t stop you from doing it. I’m a self centered piece of shit just like everybody else.

i don’t know why i can’t forgive other people for just being human and doing the same Annoying shit i do.

also i’m not hot. at risk of sounding hubristic i’m gonna say that i’m decently cute. my face could be worse, but it is also incredibly soft. i have a round face and dimples and it makes me look young for my age. i have what i would consider a unique/distinctive looking face. the two points in traditional beauty standards that i have are that i look young and thin.

if i ever want to look masculine i look even younger. i absolutely do not have the face for short hair! I don’t want to be a guy for some other reasons but if i’m honest it’s mainly that i would make an ugly guy.

people rarely find me attractive in a way that they would actively pursue a relationship with. not that i blame them i’ve turned people down mainly on the basis of how they look. I’ve also turned down people i do find attractive for other reasons so me finding them attractive is not the only quality that is a must, but it is one based on my previous dating history.

I’m also bad at social cues i usually don’t know that someone is flirting with me until they are literally asking me out. i often times need the quiet parts spelled out.

i just want connection and understanding that takes years and a level of emotional maturity that i do not possess.

sometimes i’m so self centered that i think i may be a narcissist but then i look around and it just seems like everyone is like that but i’m the only one willing to admit it to myself. I see people act like sadistic fucks to those around them then not even realizing that’s what they are doing. (i’ve mostly seen that in men being openly sadistic to women/ actively hateful and not even realizing it!)

i think we are all just brain broken. we are all wild animals that grew up in captivity pacing our cages that is at complete odds with what we evolved to do but if we were ever released we wouldn’t know how to survive.

yeah so that is too say that i am currently single…

[marmutgembil]

18th May 2024, And today I am exactly 24 years old, 1 Month and 1 Day

To celebrate, here is the list of everything that had been going on since the day I finally turned 24. The age that never once in my life thought going to reach. Ever since I turned like, 13 years old, the urge to end my life always there, the feeling of shameful of myself always in the back of my mind. But nevertheless, surprise, despite despite despite, I've reached this age, at the prime of 24, ready for more adventure of life.

So I'll stop yapping here, and here is the list!

I left my uncle's house first thing in the morning on 17th April, Jogja had pretty much clear sky at first, but suddenly it started raining so briefly. I remember thinking, well that was weird, right? Only when on the way to Stasiun Tugu, a double rainbow greeted me. LIke a full, bright rainbow that's really clear right in front me, as like as I walked into the the portal under the rainbow. I remember the joy, and I took that as a sign, that I was meant to reach that age and all the pains and struggle took me to that moment. A brief moment of clarity.

My fiance bought roses, red roses to be exact while picking me up from the airport. It was really romantic, and dear god I missed him so much after a week being apart. I cannot be apart too long from him!

He also arranged a mini birthday celebration for me, even though I was so tired and ready to pass out, I loved that he really cares and do his best. I love him.

I finally went out on and trying out a new restaurants, one that have all you can eat option. That restaurant also happens to be a nightclub, so it is also kind of fine dining restaurant. I really love the food, and coudn't even stop eating. The beef menus left a deep impression to my heart and definitely worth the money

I bought one bottle of perfume, and my sister gifted me one. I love both, but I think it would take me 2 years to finish it! I always quickly got bored, and definitely is already on the hunt for next favourite scent

I made mistakes at work, for more than several times a week, and then the last mistake was really put got my manager really dissapointed and maybe jeopardize the company. That was the hardest Friday of my entire life, and just for the background, i was fired once, and this felt even worse. My manager wasn't even speaking to me directly!

But my coworker is really nice to me and she comforted me. Also of course my fiance really being my rock for the entire time it happens.

Me and my fiance got into a big argument about the wedding ring. I was being greedy, ungrateful and definitely the love I have for him wasn't show up. I was really sad over a ring where it's already his best maximum to give at this moment, since he also prepared something extra nice to me on side. I let my intrusive thought win and trying to left him

Another big argument ignited, the final. He told me his side of the story and really wake me up to the reaity, where I am in fact, an ungrateful and greedy. He still loves me, despite everything, I don't even know why. But I take him for granted anymore. That night, I know I was being really cruel, but his love doesn't flatter, even for a bit.

I made up my decision to make my own ringbox, one that I painted my self. I want to be able to create something personal and memorable for our wedding.

With the help of my sister, I reached out to my online friends to 3D printed the box. And it was perfect, just like I wanted!

I finally reachout to a psikiatrist after the big fight, becasue at that time I felt like I want to cry all the times, as opposite of wanting to be angry and lashing out. Instead, it manifest into crying and self destruction, especially when things go south. I also keep have paranoia that everyone doesn't really like me, and everyday I have to fight the response to left everyone before they left me. I need constant affirmation, which I know would be so tiring to my fiance. I went, and was diagnosed with Bipolar.

And finally, finally, I am on meds for mood stabilitor. It made a world difference to me. No more procastination. No more unable to focus. I actually have energy to do everything, from as simply as doing laundry and keeping my space tidy, to watch movies and working on my side job without procastination. And at work, I no longer feel afraid and like everyone hates me secretly. I feel more positive and certainly not always awkward and on tension. I can do my commute to work every morning and evening, without being angry or sad after remembering random events.

That's 13 things so far, and after I look back to the entire list, the whole thing isn't a bad thing to start my 24th :)

[c0smicfern]

can't tell how much of this is just in my head. on saturday, i temporarily lost the ability to verbalize twice for a total of like 2-3hrs that day (or at least i felt like i did bc i suddenly couldn't even force myself to speak). but maybe if i'd just... been less anxious / intentional about wanting to speak or even just not acknowledged the thought of, "is it just me, or can we not talk rn?" then maybe it wouldn't have happened?? least of all, twice in one day?? like that's a relatively new sensation in itself since it only started happening during my burnout. the closest thing i experienced before then was... feeling kind of paralyzed in my ability to articulate moreso bc of tension & needing to express myself perfectly. almost like repeatedly trying & failing a speech check. to the point where somebody has asked me a question & i sit there for some time before i'm able to offer a response. but it's not like i literally couldn't speak in those instances bc i still could have forced myself to say *something* in that time. i had just been paralyzed by social anxiety. which isn't what *actually* temporarily losing my ability to verbalize feels like. most of the time, i don't necessarily feel that anxious about it at all unless somebody's pressuring me to speak, which happened on saturday bc it happened at work. i was mostly just kind of pissed off bc i was so overstimulated, though. i went on my lunch break & felt better afterward. which is similar to how i broke out of it at the arcade later that night. but the fact that i was even able to go to the arcade & actually have a good time makes me feel like maybe i made both instances up in my head? it's just. none of this makes any sense. i've been completely fine since then, btw. went to the grocery store to pick up my meds last night & didn't feel overstimulated in the slightest. idk what's going on with me, but maybe i just need to stay away from substances. if i just stay sober, maybe all of this will just go away.

i just feel stuck between these two sides, people & experiences on both sides telling me that i either can't be or that i must be. i'd say i don't care, but that's obviously untrue. more than anything, though, i just want one stable, consistent sense of self. feels like i may never get there, but it's unlikely that it's bpd either, according to my therapist. maybe it's just adhd & i'm experiencing some very rare side effects from the medication? maybe i'm neurotypical & shouldn't be taking this medication at all? i literally don't know, and the inconsistency of my recent symptoms hasn't been helping the distress caused by the not knowing.

i've been... somewhat more repetitive lately, at least in what i'm consuming & thinking about. feels like my focus has been narrowed somewhat. i feel no more consistent in engaging with my hobbies, though. i'm much more tired. i can't even say my executive functioning has gotten any better, though i guess it has in some regards. task initiation & task switching have gotten more difficult, i think. maybe i'm burning out again? god, i fucking hope not. feels like i'm dragging my feet with everything that was... difficult to do before, but that i could generally still force myself to do. laundry's being done much less frequently. i haven't played a video game in... maybe a week. you *Know* i haven't been writing. i've been much worse about getting my hw done when it was almost a habit only a few weeks ago. i just feel *Tired*. might be worth trying to switch over to a stimulant medication, but i worry some of the side effects might... get worse on one of those. if i've been stimming more & getting overstimulated more frequently on a non-stimulant adhd medication, then what would a stimulant do to me? that is, if i can even trust those side effects to be, well, actual side effects of the medication & not a result of drug use. and *that's* the other thing. i don't feel like my impulsivity has actually gotten much better, at least where drugs are concerned. maybe the recent resurgence of my drug usage is an emotional response to what i've been going through, though? i feel like *maybe* the impulsivity has been less in other areas, though. i feel no more need for a routine, nor any more resentment towards change. but i feel a little more consistent in myself. i feel like *maybe* if my executive dysfunction & fatigue weren't impeding me, i could maybe create a routine for myself. i mean, i've been listening to the same 2 songs for like. a week & a half. where i couldn't stand to listen to one song on repeat for more than a day or two before. i've actually kind of preferred being super repetitive in what i've been listening to. point is, my desire for things to stay the same hasn't gone away, but i feel less impeded by my adhd from creating more stability in my life. which, regardless of if i'm actually autistic or not, i've been enjoying immensely. i feel like the conflict in my brain has ceded a fair amount. only, i don't feel any more functional. but again, i'm anxious about trying stimulant medication. either way, i'm talking to my psychiatrist about this all in a couple of weeks. maybe sooner. and who knows? maybe a higher dosage of this medication will be more helpful. it seems unlikely from the number of side effects i've already experienced at the starting dose (difficulty sleeping, daytime drowsiness, nausea, etc.), but i'm trying to keep an open mind. anyway, we'll see. fingers crossed that i'm normal at work tomorrow.

[samedragontime]

tw health vent

I've been looking back over my old art and I realized something that makes me feel weird. All my old art is full of... emotion. Like I can tell looking at it that I was happier drawing then than I am now. I'm confronting the fact I just am not putting much into my art anymore because the joy of it has been taken from me.

For context, I've gone through some pretty horrible experiences that left my emotional health in tatters, and to an extent its had to do with art. After being subjected to this for the past 4 years, it's no wonder how much my ethic and motivation for art has declined. Drawing for me has always been a source of anguish because of my family, many emotions caused by satanic panic that I didn't know how to process, and so I think the bottles are starting to open in a sense. I'm feeling that stress and deformation and it's ruining the thing I love most, and I don't know how to stop it...

Not to mention the fact my overall health has plummeted. My head aches and my body hurts. I can never eat enough but any kind of food makes me ill. I'm having gastrointestinal problems, which is embarrassing but so frustrating. I have a bump on my back that hurts like hell and makes sleeping and sitting uncomfortable, so driving becomes torture, and I can't get it looked at until February. I'm sure it'll bust by then. No matter how many times I shower I never feel clean, like I'm always covered in unfamiliar smells when I'm just sitting alone. I'm constantly dizzy, all day, which may be my medication, but if I get off my medication I'll relapse into my depression and try to kill myself. I'm tired constantly, which makes everything feel like a chore. My social anxiety has gotten so so much worse. I feel like everyone can see my face melting under the anxiety and sick feeling. I literally feel unable to do anything anymore. I keep calling off work because I wake up and have to immediately go back to sleep from exhaustion. Thank fucking god I can find someone to cover for me.

[autolovecraft]

God, what a rage!

It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the other was worse—those ankles cut neatly off to fit Matt Fenner's cast-aside coffin! He was a bachelor, wholly without relatives. Birch still toiling. There was evidently, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died.

It was just as he had recognized old Matt's coffin that the door slammed to in the wind, leaving him in a dusk even deeper than before. It may have been fear mixed with a queer belated sort of remorse for bygone crudities.

Birch decided he could get through the transom.

Horrible pains, as of savage wounds, shot through his calves; and in his mind was a vortex of fright mixed with an unquenchable materialism that suggested splinters, loose nails, or some other attribute of a breaking wooden box.

It may have been just fear, and it may have been mocking. His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that. Armington helped Birch to the outside of a spare bed and sent his little son Edwin for Dr. Davis. He was a scoundrel, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself. Being without superstition, he did not heed the day at all; though ever afterward he refused to do anything of importance on that fateful sixth day of the week. He had, indeed, made that coffin for Matthew Fenner; but had cast it aside at last as too awkward and flimsy, in a fit of curious sentimentality aroused by recalling how kindly and generous the little old man had been to him during his bankruptcy five years before. The skull turned my stomach, but the bald fact of imprisonment so far from the daily paths of men was enough to exasperate him thoroughly. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch. He had, it seems, planned in vain when choosing the stoutest coffin for the platform; for no sooner was his full bulk again upon it than the rotting lid gave way, jouncing him two feet down on a surface which even he did not care to imagine. This arrangement could be ascended with a minimum of awkwardness, and would furnish the desired height. Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them. And so the prisoner toiled in the twilight, heaving the unresponsive remnants of mortality with little ceremony as his miniature Tower of Babel rose course by course. The tower at length finished, and his aching arms rested by a pause during which he sat on the bottom step of his grim device, Birch cautiously ascended with his tools and stood abreast of the narrow transom. Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them. He was the devil incarnate, Birch, just as I thought! On the afternoon of Friday, April 15th, then, Birch set out for the tomb with horse and wagon to transfer the body of Matthew Fenner. He would not, he found, have to pile another on his platform to make the proper height; for the unexpected tenacity of the easy-looking brickwork was surely a sardonic commentary on the vanity of mortal hopes, and the overhead ventilation funnel virtually none at all; though ever afterward he refused to do anything of importance on that fateful sixth day of the week. Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. Tired and perspiring despite many rests, he descended to the floor and sat a while on the bottom box to gather strength for the final wriggle and leap to the ground outside. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch. His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about. Tired and perspiring despite many rests, he descended to the floor and sat a while on the bottom box to gather strength for the final wriggle and leap to the ground outside.

Sawyer. His thinking processes, once so phlegmatic and logical, had become ineffaceably scarred; and it was pitiful to note his response to certain chance allusions such as Friday, Tomb, Coffin, and words of less obvious concatenation. He had, it seems, planned in vain when choosing the stoutest coffin for the platform; for no sooner was his full bulk again upon it than the rotting lid gave way, jouncing him two feet down on a surface which even he did not care to imagine. He was a bachelor, wholly without relatives.

When Dr. Davis left, urging Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood.

He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died.

This arrangement could be ascended with a minimum of awkwardness, and would furnish the desired height. The body was pretty badly gone, but if ever I saw vindictiveness on any face—or former face. He worked largely by feeling now, since newly gathered clouds hid the moon; and though progress was still slow, he felt heartened at the extent of his encroachments on the top and bottom of the aperture. The air had begun to be exceedingly unwholesome; but to this detail he paid no attention as he toiled, half by feeling, at the heavy and corroded metal of the latch. Horrible pains, as of savage wounds, shot through his calves; and in his mind was a vortex of fright mixed with an unquenchable materialism that suggested splinters, loose nails, or some other attribute of a breaking wooden box. Whether he had imagination enough to wish they were empty, is strongly to be doubted. There was evidently, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. Why did you do it, Birch? I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. God, what a rage! Birch to the outside of a spare bed and sent his little son Edwin for Dr. Davis. The pile of tools soon reached, and a hammer and chisel selected, Birch returned over the coffins to the door. He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. That he was not an evil man. Great heavens, Birch, but you always did go too damned far!

Maddened by the sound, or by the stench which billowed forth even to the open air, the waiting horse gave a scream that was too frantic for a neigh, and plunged madly off through the night, the wagon rattling crazily behind it.

His day's work was sadly interrupted, and unless chance presently brought some rambler hither, he might have to remain all night or longer.

Well enough to skimp on the thing some way, but you got what you deserved. The pile of tools soon reached, and a hammer and chisel selected, Birch returned over the coffins to the door. Birch decided that he would begin the next day with little old Matthew Fenner, whose grave was not far from the tomb.

Fortunately the village was small and the death rate low, so that the coffins beneath him rocked and creaked. The wounds—for both ankles were frightfully lacerated about the Achilles' tendons—seemed to puzzle the old physician greatly, and finally almost to frighten him. The wounds—for both ankles were frightfully lacerated about the Achilles' tendons—seemed to puzzle the old physician greatly, and finally almost to frighten him. Birch decided that he would begin the next day with little old Matthew Fenner, whose grave was also near by; but actually postponed the matter for three days, not getting to work till Good Friday, the 15th.

[eepy-pleepy]

It’s Not Everest (No Vacancy)

The neon “NO” is hidden behind an overgrown shrub, so Dean pulls the Impala into the motel parking lot before they can see that it is, in fact, lit.

“Awesome.” Dean says in a tone that clearly doesn’t think so, and whips the car around to pull back onto the dark road. They immediately hit a pothole and Sam’s head bumps the ceiling.

“Ow, wait, Dean, we didn't go check with the office, maybe they just left the sign lit because they can’t freaking see it–”

“No, Sam, every goddamn motel in this godless town is full up and I don’t particularly feel like walking into another musty fucking office just to have them tell me I need to learn how to read. It’s too damn late, I’m too damn tired, I’m just gonna find a pull-off where the cops won’t feel the need to be our 5AM wake-up call and we’re sleeping in Baby. Fuck it.” He emphasizes the last sentence by throwing the car into park, all seventeen feet of shiny black metal successfully hidden behind a bank of tall, scraggly shrubs off the shoulder of the road. Dean kills the engine and the early summer evening rises to fill the silence with the musical stylings of several hundred crickets.

“Dean.”

“We’ve done it before, Sam.”

“I know we have. What about Cas?”

Dean looks over at the passenger’s side. Sitting shotgun, Cas looks back at him, his eyes just a dark glint in the moonlight.

“I can just... keep watch outside.” He says.

“Bad fucking idea.” Dean snaps. “I wake up in the middle of the night and see you out there lurking, I might shoot you between the eyes. You’re staying in the damn car.”

“Dean, there’s not enough roo–”

“Look, Sammy, passing out is passing out, sitting or lying down. This is a molehill, not Everest. I just need my four hours, damn.”

Dean crams up against the driver’s side door, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning his bent knees against the back of the seat between himself and Cas. He’ll worry about bootprints on the leather upholstery when he isn’t so fucking exhausted.

“Jerk.” Sam mutters from the backseat, almost inaudible.

“Goodnight, bitch.”

“Goodnight, Dean. Sam.” Cas murmurs.

“Don’t make it weird, Cas.”

"Goodnight, Cas."

"Thank you, Sam."

Dean gives a little huff through his nose. Cas folds his hands in his lap and turns his head forward to watch the fireflies.

Dean doesn’t like it when Cas watches him sleep. Cas knows this.

But if he doesn't want eyes on him, he shouldn’t be drawing so much attention to himself. This is the fourth time inside of an hour that he’s shifted around, clearly uncomfortable with his sleeping arrangement, six feet of full-grown man trying to figure out how to make three feet work for him.

It's clearly not working out.

Dean's head has fallen against Castiel’s arm. He’s snoring gently, Cas can feel his breath warm through the sleeve of his trench coat.

He shuts his eyes. Pulls his focus down to just this, the upper lefthand side of his body. Feels the weight of Dean's head, the unyielding shape of his skull, the softness of his cheek. Cas turns his head towards him, just to better assess the situation. Not at all to feel the soft tickle of Dean’s hair against his nose and lips. That’s just an... accidental consequence.

Cas feels too big for his own skin. It’s something a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent should be entirely familiar with, but this isn't the feeling of cramming a Chrysler building into a 5-foot-11-inch frame.

This is bigger than that.

The slump of Dean’s body across the seat means that his head is the only thing supported, and it has his neck at a bad angle. If Dean's an angry sleeper, he's even worse with a crick in his neck and Cas doesn't love the idea of being stuck in a car with that tomorrow. He can't pull Dean more flush against his side without the risk of waking him and sending him into a conniption of bruised heterosexuality, so instead, he carefully lifts his arm. It works perfectly: Dean slides forward, falling to lying down with his head in Cas' lap.

The effect is immediate. The uncomfortable pinch between Dean's brows smooths away and he takes a deep, slow breath, settling against his new pillow and sinking into an easier sleep.

Cas hasn't realized he's smiling, yet. It's a tiny, soft thing, the one he gets when he's looking at something precious.

He is.

The moonlight catches the sweep of Dean's eyelashes, the top of his cheek, the shell of his ear, gilding them silver. His lips are parted, plush and dark in the contrast of the pale light. He's slightly curled up on the bench seat and Cas knows it's to fit the small space but that doesn't mean it's not the most fucking endearing thing he's ever seen.

The short hair over Dean's ear is mussed from the way he was slumped like a grumpy turtle past the collars of his shirt and jacket. Delicate, Cas brushes it right again.

Dean shifts, pressing up into his ghost of a touch. Cas draws back, afraid he's been caught doing something definitely not on Dean's approved list of Things Just Friends Do, but Dean doesn't wake. Cas' hand hovers.

He shouldn't. He should return to looking out of the front windshield and prepare the diffusion for when Dean wakes up to find himself sleeping in Cas' lap. That's what he should do.

The trouble is, nothing short of a fucking catastrophe could pull his eyes away from this. Dean is so beautiful, so calm and easy in his slumber, and he's right here, safe and close and warm. Literally right in his lap.

Cas pets Dean's hair, feeling that dangerous constriction again, something so huge and profound it might very well burst him. Dean sleeps on.

"You should tell him."

Sam's voice from the backseat is so quiet it's barely a whisper, but it startles Cas like a gunshot. He turns his head a margin to find Sam watching him, head and shoulders against the back driver's side door, arms crossed over his chest.

"Did you say something?" Cas tries, matching Sam's barely-there whisper.

"You heard me."

"Tell him what?"

"You love him."

Cas turns his head further so he's not just looking at Sam out of his periphery. There's nothing accusatory in Sam's tone, quiet as it is, or in his posture, cramped as it may be. He looks back at Cas with nothing but the same easy camaraderie he's always shown him, like they're discussing a good book or the lovely weather, not a complete paradigm shift.

In his lap, Dean tucks one hand under Cas' thigh and nuzzles his face deeper against the fabric of his pants. Cas looks down at him again and feels ready to explode into several new galaxies.

"I can't." He breathes.

"Why not?"

"You know your brother, Sam.” Cas says, unable to stop himself from stroking light fingers through Dean’s hair again. “And I’m happy. I refuse to risk losing him in pursuit of something I don’t need from him.”

“You’re right, I do know my brother. Probably better than he’d like to believe.” Sam says. “And I think he might surprise you, given the chance.”

Cas looks back at Sam like he wants to argue, but then just closes his mouth, his jaw bunching. Sam gives a little shrug and sits forward, reaching behind himself for the door handle.

“Just some, uh… food for thought.” He says. “I’m gonna hit the head. I’ll take my time. No particular reason.”

“Sam.”

But Sam’s already unfolding out into the night air, the car rocking as his weight shifts. The crickets are suddenly much louder, invading their little bubble of quiet. In Cas’ lap, Dean twitches.

Sam shuts the car door and Dean sits bolt upright. His gun, dropped in the footwell before he fell asleep, is in his grasp in a blink.

“Sam's just gone to relieve his bladder.” Cas says next to him. Dean squints at him and sniffs, wiping at his groggy eyes, then flicks the safety back on. The gun hits the footwell again with a dull thunk.

"God. Like a damn cashew. You'd think with all that height there'd be more... storage."

Cas is carefully looking forward, and not at the red mark on Dean’s cheek that’s the same shape as the warm spot rapidly cooling on his thigh. Dean rubs at that side of his face.

“Was I…?” He clears his throat. “Uh.”

“Asleep? Yes. I thought that was the idea.”

“Lying on you.”

“You needed to stretch out.”

Dean gives a frustrated sigh. “No, Cas, man, that’s your personal space. You should have shoved me off.”

“It was easier on your neck.” Cas says, still looking straight ahead. “You weren’t bothering me.”

“That’s not the point. You gotta have boundaries.”

“What’s mine is yours, Dean. I have no qualms sharing everything I have with you.”

Dean scoffs, leaning forward over the steering wheel and tilting to pop his spine. “Jesus. You ol’ romantic.”

Cas turns his head to look at Dean. The slightly uncomfortable smirk slowly slips off of Dean’s face. His eyes drop to Cas' lips before he catches himself, and he makes a weak attempt to laugh the charge out of the air between them.

“Man, you gotta figure out your levels. Last person who looked at me like that had me thinking marriage."

“Dean, why do you say things like that?”

Dean’s shoulders shove up under his ears. “You turn eyes like that on some innocent girl she’s gonna up and devote her entire life to you, Cas, I’m just letting you know you gotta tone it down!”

“Why would I turn eyes like this on some innocent girl?”

“Because you’re doin’ it to me like you think it’s a normal thing to do!”

“Dean, maybe you need to figure out how to receive a signal without assuming the other person isn't aware of what they're broadcasting." Cas snaps, then subsides as something like fear flickers across his face.

Dean’s jaw hangs uselessly for a stunned moment.

"Cas. You–"

Cas watches him in the manner of a gazelle waiting for a sudden deadly movement. Dean's gaze flits to Cas’ lips again.

"You. Uh." He says eloquently, and his tongue darts out in a nervous motion. This makes his lips impossible to ignore, shiny and wet in the moonlight.

“It's not Everest." Cas whispers.

"It kinda fuckin' is." Dean says, hoarse.

“Forget it. You should go back to sleep.” Cas says, reaching towards Dean with two fingers. It’s his fighter’s instinct that makes Dean grab them before they can touch his forehead, but it’s something else entirely that bunches his other hand in the front of Cas’ coat and yanks him forward. Cas tumbles gracelessly on top of Dean, and Dean doesn’t give either of them time to think.

At the first touch of Dean’s lips, Cas melts. A tiny sound escapes him, not quite a sigh, not quite a moan, and he’s grasping Dean’s shoulder like it’s the only thing preventing him from falling into the footwell. Their mouths part with a soft, wet noise and Cas meets Dean’s eyes, almost too close to focus on.

His arm is pressed across Dean’s chest from his fall. He can feel Dean’s heartbeat, galloping like an outlaw with the sheriff on his tail, and he understands the feeling.

“Dean.” He croaks.

“Yeah.”

“Do that again.”

Dean nuzzles their noses together, nudges Cas’ mouth in a barely-there brush of lips. Cas touches Dean’s face, dizzy with it, feeling stubble rough on the skin of Dean's jaw. He presses forward, holding Dean’s face like the beloved thing it is, and kisses him reverently. Dean sinks against the door until he’s lying across the seats and shoves his arms up under Cas’ suit jacket, encircling his back.

The crickets play them a love song. It’s entirely lost on them.

When Sam returns, approaching the Impala with caution, he finds his brother asleep with his angel hugged against him like a large, man-shaped teddy bear. Cas glances up, clocking the motion of Sam leaning over to peer through the driver’s window, and there’s a smile on his face that Sam’s never seen on him before.

If happy was what he had been, then this? This is pure, unfiltered bliss.

Sam slides carefully into the back seat and shuts the door as gently as he can.

“I’ll save my I Told You So, but only because you look so cute.” He whispers.

“Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Read on Ao3

[tinystepsforward]

you know what i may as well talk about this openly. at my last therapy session my therapist and i dug into some pretty gnarly mommy issues stuff, and honestly it sucks to know that on some level i do still want her approval. i want to knit her a laceweight shawl for her 60th birthday and have her be proud of me and grateful. but the thing that will happen if i knit her a laceweight shawl for her 60th birthday is that she will show it off to her conspiracist and/or extremist christian fb friends and brag about me (while, obviously, deadnaming and misgendering me) for 30 seconds, and never mention me again bc she is deliberately pretending not to have an openly gay and trans eldest child. the thing that will happen is she will take it as proof that i can still be saved, bc i am still tethered to the family. that god has put me in her path as a stumbling block to make her faith stronger, but not a permanent one.

and like. she cannot physically hurt me, at this point i have well over twice her strength and even at 4'11" i have at least a good five inches on her. i am 28 fucking years old. i have made peace with my family and tolerated all kinds of bullshit for the last decade bc i need to be allowed to see and have contact with my siblings, and one of them is a disabled adult dependent who is unwilling or unable to assert their agency. and who is also, while closeted for obvious reasons, trans and unable to do anything about it or even think about it too hard while living in that house.

why am i so scared? trauma, probably, but childhood physical abuse is outside the scope of this post. i'm also scared bc when i got kicked out i had to leave my siblings behind. and i don't want to do that again. i'm scared because my parents are planning a trip back to singapore and malaysia to see extended family for my mother's 60th and i want to reconnect with extended family, but there is no feasible way to let them see who i am now if i continue to let my parents set the tone for all our interactions, and control what i do and don't say. any plan to live a little more of my truth, even if it's just talking to my siblings about the fact that i genuinely would prefer if i never had to interact with my parents irl ever again, involves stressing other people out, and potentially creating conflict that will affect others in worse ways. bc i got out! and they haven't.

i think i maybe need to have extremely uncomfortable conversations with my cousins back home (to see if they'll have my back) and my siblings and first of all with my therapist before we get to any of that but like. i'm so tired. this stuff guts me every time on a level that even my csa trauma stuff doesn't. i guess as a kid esp one with so much bad shit happening outside the home you just want home to be safe and good. and it wasn't, and i knew it wasn't already. but some part of me still hopes that it will be one day, and it never will. and the fact of being who i am means that i will be in conflict with them, even if i smooth over everything about me. and i'm tired.

taking bets on how long i'll be able to continually either a) avoid my mother or b) answer her questions about what's happened to my voice, every time she notices it, with "allergies" or "i've been having nosebleeds" or something even more nonsensical

[i-cant-stop-fandoming-help]

Gap

Part 3 to Guilt

Note; Yes, this is shorter than the last two, but in my defense, I’m tired and want to make at least a fourth part.

I like Tsurugi. he’s a well-written character. but he’s also a bastard, so I gotta write him as a big bastard. Also, these are written from a perspective of Rei.

-

Another day, another funeral, another fight. It’s what happened, in a world recovering from a great tragedy. It repeated, and repeated, and repeated, creating an almost rhythmic pattern of yawns, sobs, and gunshots.

But, so rarely was it someone Rei was close to. In fact, it had never once been someone Rei had loved romantically before- but now, it had happened, and, god, did it hurt.

When going back to work five days after the funeral- five days she had called in sick- everything was different. There was hatred among people who were once friends, with Keisuke and Ryutaro being the prime examples of it.

Everything had gotten worse- Rei and Tsurugi fought constantly- actually hitting each other sometimes. There would be times where Tsurugi would struggle out of his wheelchair just to smack Rei for blaming him for Teruya’s death.

There was a gap in the workplace- one Teruya had left behind when he passed on. Everyone had realized that by now. 

Keisuke tried filling it, he tried to stop them from hurting each other or throwing insults at each other, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to. 

Ryutaro tried filling it, thinking that because he and Kiyoka behaved similarly, whilst Keisuke and Satsuki did not, that he could make them feel like his sister was still there, still alive, and they would calm down before fighting.

Nobody else dared try. Midori was too sickly to do much, Minako was always gossipping about things and ignoring people who ‘got in her way’. Dr Ando would feel as though he was forcing them to forget Teruya, so he refused, even though he may have been capable.

So everyone watched as the two of them continued to fight, with Tsurugi’s temper becoming harder to control, and Rei’s grief more visible to all.

Rei knew they could all see it, see her depression, see her reverting to her old self- The self that picked on Tsurugi for a fight, called him psycho cop, egged him on until he was prepared to hurt her.

She couldn’t break out of it, she had no reason to, anymore. 

When Teruya first began to show affection towards her, it changed something in Rei, making her feel warm inside for the first time in years. 

She had been able to tell him of her past, to tell him of her fears of abandonment… And he understood. He promised he’d never leave her alone for too long, and she believed it. She let herself be weak around him, let him hold her in the times she was absolutely miserable.

Rei wanted to call him a liar so badly, to sit near his grave and sob and yell at him for lying to her. She wanted to hug his grave, and punch it at the same time, to pretend she was with Teruya himself. 

But everyone had been there- everyone from the foundation, and those who survived the second killing game. Even Maeda, who thought he had gone unnoticed, was there.

Teruya was the cement of the foundation, holding the place together- and it all went to shambles when he was taken away. He was the support of Rei and Tsurugi, holding the scale so it appeared like they were worth the same. When he died, Tsurugi’s worth shot up into the sky whilst Rei’s got buried.

But there were still some people who sided with Rei- a majority seemed to be on Tsurugi’s side, but… People like Dr Ando, Ryutaro, and Minako still sided with her. Keisuke was on Tsurugi’s side, and Midori… didn’t seem to have a side.

Rei wanted to stop this fight in the workplace so badly, she knew Teruya would be disappointed in her for letting it carry on… But she just couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard she tried.

[lestwritewhilewaitingforajobcall]

The Odd Rumble of Thunder - Thor x Reader

(A/N)

Hey guys! I wanted to personally thank you all for the kind comments and messages, they really inspire me to continue writing more and the support truly means a lot! Also, I just found out how to access post replies, I apologize I haven’t gotten to reading them since my first story, I’m still trying to figure out the gist of things here on Tumblr! Anyways, recently I’d only been posting more on Poseidon, so here’s a special one for our Norse god of thunder (aka the god I simp for the most). This idea came to me while out on a camping trip, I hope you guys enjoy it! Feedback would really be welcomed and appreciated!

This is for entertainment only. Record of Ragnarok belongs to Shinya Umemura, Takumi Fukui and Ajichika. I also do not own you, the reader.

The Odd Rumble of Thunder

Thor x Reader

Even before the news spread like wildfire, Thor had become under the tyranny of a good habit to bringing his wife with him wherever he may go. It stood to reason that he would never be so careless to invite you over to danger, hence why, at a god’s ephemeral notice, he had stopped seeking direction for his combative side, but when, at last, he had to venture, he made much quicker work of it than when he would have otherwise.

Inarguably, if you’d wanted to lay down and rest instead, it was a surety you’d receive your meals in bed, unbothered. But for Thor there was no guarantee he’d ever have to worry about you, so the whole of Asgard knew by now he’d drop whatever he was doing to accompany you, uncaring about diplomacy in the first place.

Not that Odin nor Loki minded either; especially since the Allfather knew more about the concerns of a father expecting their first child. Moreover, Loki enjoyed shapeshifting into his cousin during days he was absent. It was much more fun to cause mischief legally, as he would say.

Today, Thor stood by his wife who sat comfortably in her rocking chair on the porch, allowing a full view of the hills that sloped gently down to the grand gardens. You were seven months along, approaching the eight month, the swell of your stomach now far more prominent.

At the very moment you had begun to show, you had a companion of whom would almost never leave your side, your husband’s absence in the kingdom gradually becoming more frequent, more lengthened, till at last his presence among his people became an exception. Despite your constant reassurances that you would be fine, Thor insisted on staying, casually sweeping aside your thoughts regarding his habitual sense of duty.

“I would only be gone for nine months to tend to my wife and child, they should fare well on their own lest they are more incompetent than I would’ve thought.” Thor had told you once before, and you’d decided not to question him further on that. You understood your husband’s concerns, to be truthful, you had a few of your own as well, so having Thor assist you alleviated some of the stress and worry concerning your child’s safety.

Especially now that you were nearing your due date. For instance, you were having the toughest time moving, suffering primarily from the weight in your belly and pains in your back and legs that made walking and even standing difficult. What made the physical strain worse too was your child’s eagerness to know you and Thor both, unable to stay long in one position, much like their father’s enthusiasm for battle.

“How are you feeling?” Thor’s question rested upon a rather precise calculation of the last time he had asked the same only a short moment before. It was quite visible in his actions that he did not want to cause any negative feelings if he could help it, though desiring you to avoid stress as much as possible.

You smiled. “Come close. You’ve been standing there for ages just ogling at me.” You opened your arms out wide. “Are you not tired?”

Truth be told, despite Thor’s constant need to remain close to his wife, he felt a real, undeniable fear of touching you, specifically, your abdomen. He closed the distance between until he was right in front of you, staring down at you with hard eyes. Longing leaped like a flame reaching out in his celestial yellow orbs.

“Love, I am always grateful for your concern for me. And I am feeling much better just knowing you’re beside me.” You raised yourself up, pushing against the chair to try to stand. Thor rushed forward, held you then put his hands under your arms to lift you up. Your child was growing fast. “But how about you? How are you feeling?”

You inched closer, your fingers playing with the locks of his hair that you could reach. “Aside from the stress of waiting, I’ve noticed that you have something else weighing on your mind.

“Tell me, what is it?”

At the sight of you through his warworn eyes, his mind was filled with bliss. For that loving glance of yours, he felt a divine presence and holy atmosphere that seemed to pervade everything around you. Having an inkling of what you were hinting at though, he broke your gaze, in an attempt to avert the guilt you conferred on him.

“Please. We’re in this together, I would want nothing more than to help you back as much as you’ve helped me.” Thor felt you shift in his arms, get more comfortable. He felt the bulk of your child across his legs, the weight no doubt pulling you down. Seeing you in pain like that, was sad and unbearable, and the gnawing feeling grew stronger. And since he knew you were always so full of strength and determination, always unrelenting in your attempts to make him feel better, he began,

“I am afraid.” Red eyebrows drew together.

“Afraid of what?”

“That I might accidentally hurt you and our child,” Thor took a deep breath in then let it out in a sigh while taking a step back. “I do not want that to happen, even if I want to be at your side at all times. And this frustrates me to no end.”

Thor did himself a favor by giving attention to anything other than his wife, refusing to be a witness on the sadness and any he may have caused. Dealing with his own disappointment was nothing new, but he had trouble dealing with the fact that he was the cause of yourpain. He wished he could take his troubles which escaped, hanging in the air, and all the bad feelings on himself and let things continue as they were, but he knew it didn’t work that way. You needed to know that he only wanted you and your child safe and protected, even from himself.

He could not understand how the cosmos could play such a cruel joke on the both of you: you, bore so much pain because of one of the greatest affairs of life, and him, the strongest deity in the Pantheon, was powerless against the natural laws of existence.

Strong shoulders slumped, head bowing as stray strands of red hair fell over Thor’s brow. Not again. He did not wish to be reminded of the cautious sympathy his father and cousin had approached him with. His stomach lurched whenever the subject of your frailty came up. Dread and a terrifying fear overwhelmed his soul for the first time, the thought of losing you−

“Hey,” Your voice which lingered on the gentle breeze brushed against Thor’s face, pulling him out of his stupor. He refocused, turning his gaze onto your sweet face.

How were you able to hold yourself up well despite your obvious pain and suffering? Did you not bear the same nervousness as he did? The answer was obvious, practically screaming in Thor’s ears but became deaf following his guilt and clouded instincts. For a long time since you’d first told him about the news, he bore these worries in silence; but when at length he’d been perplexed by your introspection−or seeming lack of it. Why, in fact, did you concern yourself with him at all? Compared to you, there was hardly any threat to his own life posed. Why had you always done more to make him feel better when you were the one who needed it most?

Cutting through the haze he found himself in was the shape of you, or maybe your hair billowing in the wind, a wisp of it across your face, and then suddenly the feel of your skin, the sense of your head on his chest. Even if it were fleeting, that alone brought him the possibilities of comfort that he’d so needed. Oh, how he missed this; you cupped his big callously marble hands around yours, caressing them so tenderly, as if he were fragile and might break, so short it could never be pulled back.

As he relished the warmth of the blaze you gave him for the winter of unease, he’d realized much sooner that the coldness that inched its icy fingers up his spine still threatened to battle your kind words, you, his very own wife, and he detested himself for being unsure whether or not it was of his own doing; was he pushing you away when you’d only wanted to offer your help?

Thor’s immediate impulse was to pull back from you, abruptly halted by your fingers which slipped between his now splayed hand. You wrinkled your nose in a delightfully unguarded manner that caused his breath to hitch in his throat.

“Do you remember the first time we said our vows?” If only you knew the way Thor perceived you: in his eyes, your radiant smile reflected the morning sunlight of Valhalla, for a split second picturing the moment you’d walked down the aisle, that headpiece on your head instantiating the paradox of mystery that once lifted revealed your beautiful face, marking it the best day of his long life. Something warm bloomed in his chest once again and spread its heat out through every vein in his body. He remembered the smooth feel of the veil against his cheek after sealing your promise with a kiss, his lips parting with a breathless sigh.

“Your hands caressed my fit of nerves with light, tender touches and then inspired me with hard, passionate embraces,” With effortless ease, you lifted your intertwined hands to your mouth and kissed his knuckle. Thor watched with great admiration your every move, the desire to distance himself was now but an afterthought. Nothing would ever separate him from you when all you’d ever done was pull him closer than ever.

Then, you sought out his hand, kissing his palm as he stroked your face. You clung onto his arms, gripped at his chest as if you were searching for warmth, as if you needed his touch, and much like him, couldn’t bear to be even an inch away. His mind was still slowing its racing to let him mutter something in response, so he allowed himself to be entranced by how smooth and sure of yourself you were, with nothing to mar the calm serenity of your features. Your smile seemed to be a natural adornment, the utter gentleness in your eyes, reminded him of every morning when he woke up, he would see you by his side, as well as your sleeping snoring face. Right at that moment, the silly scream finally made it to the deaf god’s ears:

He was your haven,

The place you called home and went to find peace.

As Thor immersed himself in your smell, your sparkling eyes, he felt the excruciating cold all melt away in your warmth. No more seeds of doubt with which to sow and seek his destiny. Slowly, he began to see his surroundings from a keener point of view, realizing, then appraising them: from the passing wind your hair messed which he pushed aside, tucking it behind your ear, to how his sash seemed to fit him better indeed, rather than cling onto his skin even tighter as brutally as it had done before. He noticed the minute changes since he’d last taken a good look at you months ago: a little flusher on your skin, lines around the eyes a little deeper, a little increase in body temperature.

He pulled you closer, his actions not arising from calculation instead led by instinct. You let him take more of your weight, your belly pressed against his stomach as you sighed, his fingers working wonders on massaging the muscles that had been much abused in carrying the baby’s weight. A sudden wrenching through his sash struck Thor’s heart and had him holding his breath.

The baby had moved, and he’d felt it.

Bending down, he buried his nose in your hair, closing his eyes as he drank in your scent. Your arms wrapped around his back as he connected in this loving embrace, feeling his heart beat in rhythm with your own.

“Our child would no doubt love to be enveloped in their father’s safe arms,” With a light, gentle touch, your fingers ran through Thor’s hair, making him shiver with delight.

On that day, only the beautiful gardens of Asgard became privy to nothing more than a moment in which husband and wife reached for the same comfort and their concerns met. These gardens were simultaneously the very same place where Thor had first avoided the problems that plagued his mind, but also became exactly the same place where he’d find solace in the arms of his lovely wife.

Resting his hand on where his child was, he recognized that familiar feeling turning up, but upon realizing the bittersweet irony of and within these gardens, the revelation came to him: happiness could also come from the very object of fear.

And as you had an unmovable trust in him, there was an unspoken mutual understanding that he too, should put his trust in you.

[heyyyharry]

Happier

(inspired by happier by Olivia Rodrigo)

Word count: 2.4k

I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

Part 1: Drivers License

Part 2: Deja Vu

A/N: I edited the original lyrics to match the POV :)

.

.

.

Harry had come up with a thousand scenarios of how this day would play out. Actually, he’d been thinking of this day since the moment he’d received the news. He didn’t dare to hope that she’d say yes to coming back for a sequel. He’d been sure that they would write her character off, give a lame excuse for how his love interest could not make a return and make his character forget about her completely to move on with a new girl in town. It would have been great if it was that easy in real life. Once someone was written off the script, they were gone for good. Real-life relationships were not that simple. Goodbye didn’t mean ‘never see you again’. You would still share the same friend circle and social bubbles, and it was worse when you two worked in the same industry. Harry didn’t know how he’d lasted a year without running into her, not since the Grammys.

“Didn’t you two date?”

“No.” Harry shook his head, but his eyes stayed glued on Y/N from across the room. She wasn’t looking his way, too busy saying hello to everyone else. “No,” he repeated, more to himself than to his co-star. “We didn’t.”

“But she wrote an entire album about you,” said the other twin. What was her name again? Lulu?

“Luna!” cried her sister, Lex. “You can’t ask him that!”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry said with a tight smile, slightly annoyed by the blonde twins, but he didn’t want to seem like an ass on the first day of filming. “And I don’t know if it was for me. You should ask Y/N.”

“Ask me what?”

Harry flinched when he looked up and saw Y/N padding towards them. She hugged the twins, who seemed way too excited. Harry guessed they were Y/N’s fans. They gave off crazy fangirl vibes, probably just pretending not to know the drama to interrogate him. He couldn’t blame them for assuming he was the villain and definitely could not blame Y/N for portraying him as one. It was more important that he knew who he was and how much he had changed since his last relationship. Maybe they could finally be friends.

“Were they bothering you?” Y/N asked him once the twins had left.

Harry nodded. “They’re your friends?”

“Oh, I met them last year on tour. I’m surprised you don’t know them. They were on Disney.”

“I don’t watch Disney,” Harry admitted with a smile. “Well, not today’s Disney.”

“Understandable.” Y/N nodded and bit her lip. She seemed guarded with her straight back and hands hidden behind her. She eyed him up and down, quite subtle yet noticeable. “How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” he said, nodding slowly. “You?”

“Yeah, but mostly tired because of tour.”

“You’re done?”

“Yup, last night was the last show.”

“Nice.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Nice?”

Harry blinked. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” Y/N giggled. “You still sound very...you.”

“Well, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, you should. But it’s been a year so…I mean, you haven’t changed much.”

“Right,” he said lowly, his eyes falling to his feet. Harry supposed he should say something else, perhaps bringing up another random topic to discuss, but all he could think about was what had happened between them. Things had been messy, hadn’t they? How could they go back to before that? Before her first song about him. Before he’d chosen someone else over her.

Or he could talk about her new relationship. She’d been in a happy relationship for almost six months, right? No wait, hadn’t they broke up two weeks ago? He wasn’t sure because he hadn’t been catching up. If they’d broken up, he’d sound like an ass to even mention her ex’s name. He should just stay quiet.

“I’ll see you later?” she said, gesturing at her stylist who was waiting by the door.

Harry could ask her right now -- the reason she’d agreed to film the sequel to their first movie together. He’d heard from a very reliable source that she’d specifically asked her agent to decline any project that he was in. So did this mean they were good? That she didn’t hate him anymore? He could have gathered his courage and got the answer right then…

“Yeah, see you.”

...but he didn’t.

And so she gave him a smile and a little wave, then happily returned to her stylist.

.

.

.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N!”

“See you, Annie!” Y/N said as she put the rest of her things into her tote bag. Her new driver had got her schedule mixed up, and so she had to wait here for another half an hour. She was in no rush. It had been a light first day, and she’d had a fun time getting to know the new cast members and catching up with old friends.

She sat on the sofa in the lobby, legs crossed, texting her best friend about her day. She’d purposely left out the short off-screen conversation with Harry, and her best friend didn’t even bother to ask. In their world, he didn’t exist, and his name was censored in every conversation like a curse word that was even worse than ‘cunt’. Nevertheless, she didn’t hate him anymore. She was doing just fine on her own, being busy with her career, and she’d been in a happy relationship after her fall out with him.

She and the guy, a model, had broken up two weeks ago due to long distance and some differences that they could not change. They had ended on good terms and decided to stay friends. They said you could only stay friends with your ex when you still had feelings for each other, or you had never loved each other that much in the first place. For her, it was probably the latter. Her previous relationship had been more platonic than romantic, apparently. So she had nothing but the best to say about him.

As she was going through her camera roll, just reminiscing about the past, she heard footsteps approaching and looked up to find Harry. He offered a smile and gestured to the spot beside her on the sofa. “May I sit here? My ride is late.”

“Yeah, sure.” She hurriedly scooted over.

“Good job today,” he said. “You were great.”

“Thanks, so were you.” She smiled, and they both looked away at the same time. This was so awkward. She hated small talk. She’d never had to have small talk with Harry. Conversations with him used to be so easy and natural and silly. Whatever this was, it wasn’t them.

“Can we just be normal?”

At first, Y/N thought she’d been the one who’d said it, so when she realised it’d been Harry, she was speechless.

He swallowed and sat a bit straighter, still not looking at her. “I don’t want us to be weird and awkward.”

“Okay,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “Wanna try again?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, not to sound like an ass but when Joey kept forgetting his lines, I was so pissed off, I could throw a chair at the wall.”

“Right?!” exclaimed Y/N, feeling free to have finally broken out of her shell. “Like, he doesn’t even have many lines. I know he’s new but damn...you can’t get far if you don’t learn your goddamn lines.”

Harry shook with laughter. “Oh God, we sound like dicks, don’t we?”

“Maybe.” Y/N laughed, covering her mouth. “But you know what? We can’t be nice in this industry. It’s impossible.”

“Shhh, if someone heard this, we would be into big trouble.”

“Oh please, I’ve had worse articles written about me than ‘Y/N speaks facts about her lazy co-star’.”

Harry tossed his head back and cackled. “The worst one I’ve got this week was ‘Harry Styles hates therapists.’”

“What?!” Y/N gasped. “No way! That’s so stupid!”

“Right?” Harry rolled his eyes. “I could get all my therapists to speak up for me but I’m kinda immune to bullshit now.”

“Therapists? Like plural?”

“Yeah, one in every city.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

Y/N rubbed her hands onto her legs. “Rough year?”

Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he leaned back. “You have no idea.” Then he swept his hair out of his eyes, sucked in a breath, and finally looked at her. “I wish I could have talked to you, though.”

She bit her tongue, knowing what she was about to say next would disappoint her best friend so much, but she had to. “So do I.”

Harry looked taken aback before his lips curled into a smile. “It’s silly, isn’t it? I haven’t talked to you in a year, and I feel like I know everything that’s happened to you except that I don’t.”

What he’d just said might make no sense for most people, but Y/N knew exactly what he meant. She nodded and wetted her lip. “You only know as much as everyone else does.”

“Yeah, I got updates on you from the news and our friends.”

“Same.” Y/N smiled back. “I hate how they write articles about your new haircut but not mine.”

“I like your new hair colour.”

“Thanks. I like your new car.”

Then they both burst out laughing. It was fun and also a little bit strange that Y/N didn’t feel the same anxiety talking to him as she used to. It must be because they had grown and were now meeting again as better people.

“Damn, my ride's here,” Y/N said as she read the text from her driver. “I gotta go now.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry stood up and followed Y/N to the entrance. “Hey, just wondering--”

“Yeah?”

“Am I...am I still blocked?” He looked a bit flustered as she tilted her head and squinted her eyes. “On your phone. Because I remember you having my number blocked--”

“I unblocked you on your birthday.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” Y/N shrugged. “I should’ve sent you a happy birthday text but...I didn’t want your girlfriend to get the wrong ideas.”

“My ex.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They smiled at each other one last time before saying goodbye. Y/N knew it was silly, but she was hoping he would go after her.

Ding.

A notification popped up when she was in the car. She was almost home, and it was from Harry’s number. He’d sent her a link with a message that said, “Hope you like it :)”.

Curious, she tapped on it and was directed to an audio file titled ‘Track 5’. The upload date was last year. About two weeks after their short conversation at the Grammys.

Hurriedly, she fumbled inside her bag for her iPods and put it on before she pressed play.

“Hey, Jeff, I couldn’t sleep so I wrote this song. Listen and let me know if it should go on the album.”

Then came the piano intro. It sounded good, so Y/N wondered how it hadn’t ended up on his last album.

But when he started to sing...

We ended a while ago Your friends are mine, you know, I know You've moved on, found someone new One more guy who brings out the better in you

And I thought my heart was detached From all the sunlight of our past But he’s so nice, he’s so funny Does he mean you forgot about me?

Oh, I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

And does he tell you you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen? An eternal love bullshit he might not even mean Remember when you were with me I meant it when you heard it first from me

And now I'm pickin' him apart Like cuttin' him down will make you miss my wretched heart But he’s charming, he looks kind He probably gives you butterflies

I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better

I hope you're happy I wish you all the best, really Say you love him, baby Just not like you loved me And think of me fondly when your hands are on him I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

The song was for her. He’d written it when her new relationship had gone public. Y/N sat there, staring blankly ahead until the honking of a car tore open her inner peace, and reality came crashing back in. The driver dropped her off at her house. Instead of going inside, she stood on her front steps and replayed the song one more time. When it ended, she decided to text him: Why didn’t this make it to the album?

She didn’t know where he was now, but it showed ‘typing’ in less than a second, as if he’d been waiting in their chat since he’d sent that link.

You would’ve hated me, Y/N.

True, she replied. Still, I would’ve loved the song lowkey. And added, I love it btw.

He took so long to type that it was driving her crazy. She flopped down on the concrete stair with her phone clutched in her hands, her heart thundering against her ribcage. Anxiety popped like a balloon when his message appeared: Were you happier?

She reread it again and again.

No.

I wasn’t either, he responded. I kept getting deja vu.

Ha, nice reference.

That song is my guilty pleasure. Love listening to you roasting me on loop.

That last message made Y/N bury her face into her palm and giggle like a fool. She thought for a second and wrote: I could come roast you in person now if that’s what you prefer. I think we’ve never had a proper roasting.

Can we meet, Y/N? Or are you busy now?

No, not busy.

Great, I’ll pick you up.

Just tell me where, she responded with a smile on her face. I got my drivers license now :)