#like has my depression been worse? yes. however. i am chasing the things i love

[itsalwaysforyou]

went to my local poetry platform the other night & read some of my poems & my friend took a vid & they just sent me it and ☹️ i actually started crying when i saw it. i look so happy ☹️

[grace13star]

“Look, there’s a reason why you are not the president and never will be.” - Wilbur Soot (Am I The Villain?, 05:36)

Hi guys it’s me, Grace, with another mini essay about c!WIlbur Soot. Assume every name is about the character and not the real people. 

So there’s this scene that a lot of people use as evidence that Wilbur is “evil” or “manipulative” to Tommy in Pogtopia. If you ask for evidence of abuse or manipulation, this is a scene they point to first. 

Its literally the worst example they could give.

I’m sure you all know the scene. Wilbur and Tommy are arguing, and Wilbur tells Tommy that he’ll never be president and that they can’t trust anyone. 

So we’re gonna talk about this scene and lay out exactly how you’re wrong using critical thinking skills. We’re gonna talk about context. We’re gonna talk about quotes. We’re gonna talk about mental illness and ableism in this community. 

Strap in.

So first of all, the context. 

In the scenes leading up to the speech, Wilbur and Tubbo are exploring the tunnel system Tubbo has built under L’Manberg that leads to Pogtopia. He specifically shows him a false path he’s built so that if Schlatt ever comes down, he won’t be led straight to the rebel hideout. 

Surprise, surprise, Schlatt and Quackity show up. 

Tommy is also there at that point, and when Tubbo and Wilbur try to get him to crouch and hide so he doesn’t reveal their location, he ignores them and starts destroying the wall that is hiding them as they try to get him to stop. “Tommy, fill in the gap. (Tommy starts breaking more) No! Tommy, fill in the gap!” -(Am I The Villain?, 4:28)

Wilbur then gives in and lets Tommy have the path open, but he tells Tommy that he doesn’t want him at Schlatt’s decree because of how irresponsible he’s being. Tommy argues, and this is when Wilbur first says “This is why you are not the president and never will be.” Harsh? Maybe, but Tommy is doing things that are risking not only his and Wilbur’s life, but Tubbo’s as well. 

Schlatt and Quackity almost follow the path to Pogtopia, but luckily, Schlatt turns back to make his decree. 

The declaration of the Manberg festival is the first time Wilbur’s point of view is questioned. He has a very black and white viewpoint throughout the entire storyline.  “It was Dream, he’s kinda the bad guy. Yeah, we’re the good guys, we’re the good guys here.” - (Wilbur’s Niki joins L'Manberg: 22:28) The festival isn’t evil and doesn’t seem like some nefarious plan (we know later that it’s just a front for Tubbo’s execution, but it’s unclear whether that was planned from the announcement or if it was added later). 

This shakes his whole worldview, and the way he reconciles what he thought with what he knows now is deciding he’s the villain. Objectively, this isn’t even close to true. Schlatt was a tyrant who over taxed and imprisoned his citizens if they spoke out against him, and Wilbur’s government never really did anything. It’s worth noting as well, that one of Wilbur’s justifications is that Schlatt was elected legally. However, a lot of tyrants and dictators in history were also elected legally. Its the actions of the governing force that make them a bad leader, not whether or not they got their power legally. 

Wilbur’s response to realizing the world is a lot more morally grey is immediately the most extreme response. He thinks they should blow up Manberg and completely raze it. 

While Wilbur, in this video, claims that its because he can’t have it, he truly believes that Manberg is what caused conflict, and if he takes out Manberg, the conflict will disappear. This is confirmed by a Reddit analysis post that Wilbur reponded “Any truers” too.  Wilbur also says this directly in the video. “Do you know what would happen if we get L’Manberg back, Tommy? More blood would be shed.” -(Am I The Villain?, 18:56)

Now we get to the part that people claim is manipulation. 

First thing I’d like to say is this: look up what manipulation means for the love of god. Stop using buzzwords you don’t know the meaning of. 

This has become a problem with the meme “gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss,” where people joke about serious topics like manipulation and abuse and confuse it with completely normal things to do. I’ve seen so many people claim something is gaslighting only for it to be a character saying their opinion. It’s tiring, guys. 

Anyways, with this specific scene, people point to the part where Wilbur says “Everyone who’s claiming to be on our side? They’re lying to us! Tubbo? He’s lying to you, man!” - (Am I The Villain?, 20:27) 

This is not manipulation. 

This post explains it in a lot more depth (check it out, it’s very well written, thank you @the-redeemed-anon​), but to sum it up: manipulation requires coersion, intention, and withholding of truth. While Wilbur is trying to coerce Tommy, he does not lie to him, and that makes this persuasion and not manipulation. 

This scene, in my opinion, is just an extremely stressed, paranoid, and self deprecating man lashing out at one cause of his stress. Villainizing this scene and calling a perfectly normal emotional response manipulation and evil is not...great? Yes, he hurt Tommy. Yes, it was unfair of him, but I’ve had responses like this in real life and I didn’t have the stress of almost being killed hanging over me. It’s honestly surprising he didn’t lash out further. 

So how is this ableist?

Wilbur is a character with clear mental illnesses. He is paranoid, depressed, self-deprecating, and suicidal. There are no mental health resources on the server (at the time), no therapy or drugs, or anything that could help him. Even before exile he was under so much stress that any time he was alone he would scream and cry into his pillow. 

During L’Manberg, he kept all the bad parts of himself to the times when he was alone. Then, he was exiled and couldn’t hide it any longer. He starts lashing out and reacting in the only way he knows how, in the only way he can. 

The villain narrative only started appearing after this. 

There’s a stereotype in society that is especially prevelant in this community of calling mentally ill characters who don’t react in “good” ways insane or crazy. I see it literally every day. “Wilbur went insane and blew up L’Manberg.” “Wilbur was crazy.” Even the characters in roleplay call him that. I’ve even seen people claim that he is “a psychopath.”

It’s just plain and simple ableism. 

For one, using the terms “insane” or “crazy” especially in analysis is a good way to show you don’t know what you’re talking about. They’re too vague for actual analysis, and don’t actually describe anything about the character. Not to mention all of the stereotypes caught up in those words. Basically all of modern media uses it as a synonym for evil, especially horror movies. 

People seem to villainize Wilbur to an extreme degree all the time, even more so then other villains of the story. 

Dream, is a character who started most of the major conflicts of the server (Disc War, L’Manberg War, exile, Doomsday), blackmailed a neighboring country and threatening to imprison their people unless they exiled Tommy, abused and manipulated Tommy into almost committing suicide, planned to steal people’s things, pets, and even Skeppy so he could hold it over their heads and control them, and many other things, is excused because “Tommy was annoying” or because “we just don’t see his perspective.”

I personally don’t see Technoblade as a villain, I’m putting him on the list because he’s done much worse than Wilbur and he’s not called a villain most of the time, which shows the double standard people have for Wilbur. While Wilbur just blew up a country with only some property damage, Techno spawned multiple Withers, and then went out of his way to kill people, chasing after them and stopping them from killing the Withers. He then also helped Dream when he blew up L’Manberg again, with a lot more property damage than Wilbur’s explosion.

So why have people who have done worse things been excused while Wilbur has been villified?

You know why. 

People constantly make Wilbur worse than he ever was. I can’t tell you how many “Abusive Wilbur Soot” tags I’ve seen. People make up headcanons where he hit Tommy. Artists draw him looming over Tommy, being physically imposing or creepily touchy-feely. People make up claims that he manipulated and gaslit people. 

And the name “Vilbur”. Why. 

Too many people have tried to use Vilbur to seperate Wilbur from his Pogtopia self. They say he has “versions” of himself. They try to make them seperate people. Even Phil does this in rp, saying he wants his “real son” back. Wilbur is Wilbur. His mental illnesses are a part of him. He’s not a fake him for acting on his emotions. He’s not a different person. Like I don’t see how people don’t see that it’s ableist. 

Wilbur was not a great guy. He was an antagonist He made a lot of bad decisions that affected a lot of people negatively. But he’s not a bad guy. He’s not a villain.

Stop it. 

Sincerely, a tired psychology student

(Thanks to @kateis-cakeis​ for your amazing quote post, ily you’re doing god’s work)

[valeskakingdom]

Request

Could I request a part 3? Jerome keeps the reader as his hostage for popularity and attention. Reader is really fond of the attention she gets as well and eventually sleeps with Jerome again? In the end she sees how Galavan kills him and is really sad?

Requested by @violentvaleska

For sure!! But again I gonna split this part in 2 because I noticed it would have been too long instead ahaha. I try to hurry with part 4!! Honestly, it's really cool to write oneshots!

And here it is:

Jerome x female reader (part 3)

Warning: mention of sex, depression and death

Word count: 3459

Gift credit: @jokersbabe27

"And here is our bedroom!" Jerome opened another wooden door and lead you into it.

You were irritated by his assertion 'our bed'. You weren't a couple or something. He just kidnapped and called you his property.

You examined the room. White pained walls, claret velvet curtains, a king size bed with while pillows and blankets, and some furnishungs. It didn't look that bad, much better than your little apartment.

"It's...pretty." You gave him a short smile hoping he would believe your faked comfortableness.

Actually you didn't feel well about that. You were around lunatics who either killed or are people...and you, you were the only sane one. You were clearly a victim for them. Sooner or later they would cause you problems.

You started to think about all the cruel things they could do to you in case, Jerome was not there: they could scare you away, haunt you for fun, or...leaving their sexual needs out on you. It was horrible, you literally lived in hell now.

The worse part was on it: you would be a loner if Jerome was gone. A nobody. Nobody would help you. Hell, they'd probably just mock at you that Jerome's property was just an anxious fool and that they couldn't understand what Jerome liked about you so much - you didn't even understand it. You were just a one off.

"But uhm...Jerome?" You turned to him.

"Yes, doll?" Jerome gave you a wide smile glaring at you with his big blue eyes.

"I need clothes... And all my clothes are in my apartment and-..." You knew you couldn't go back.

Not because of him and all your feelings for him- oh no, you wished you could go to your friend to forget the moment where Jerome frightened you to death. His permanent mood changes exhausted you a lot. On your way to his hostage, he made everyone clear that you were his property. No one was allowed to touch you nor to talk to you...They weren't even allowed to look at you. It was crazy. You should just belong to him, he was literally crazy about you.

So yeah, you couldn't go. If you went away, he'd chase you...and if he caught you, you'd probably end up dead.

"You don't need your old clothes, doll." He walked to one of the shelves and opened it: Lacy underwear, seemingly expensive but nice dresses, and some shirts with pants filled it.

"Uhm-..." Before you could say anything, you were interrupted by an older man in a black tuxedo and yelled dark brown hair.

You knew this man: Theo Galavan, the one coming into office of Gotham's major.

But what does he have to do with all the lunatics? And why were they living in his tower? It confused you a lot. In the TV, he seemed to be a good guy. Rich, clever, apparently cared Zabout all citizen's wealth. He wanted to safe the city, or even makes it a better place for everyone.

Your feeling told you though, he was the total opposite: a villain who wants to reign over Gotham.

Why else would he keep lunatics in his tower?! You thought.

"Jerome," Theo Galavan slowly stepped forward with a grin in his face, his hands were folded into each other "I see, you show our new guest her new hostage." He turned to you "I'm Theo Galavan, call me Theo."

"(Y/n)." You gave him a nervous smile.

"I'm sorry, you've been arrived during such ordinary circumstances." He placed his hand on his chest "It wasn't planned to scare you away. But I think we both know Jerome's little tick for an overdramatic show, don't we?"

"O-ohhh, yeah, uhm... it's... it's fine?...yeah," You stammered a little while trying "It was uhm... adventurous." You chuckled nervously completely ignoring his little question.

"Indeed," Theo chuckled darkly rubbing his palms, then he walked a few steps to Jerome and whispered something in his ear. You couldn't understand what he was saying though. You just felt uncomfortable about two people talking behind your back but right in front of you. You just could see Jerome nodding with a grin as both looked at each other. Something was wrong, that you can tell.

"Anyways," Theo turned around with a smile in his face "I leave you two alone now. Some privacy should be appropriated. It was a pleasure to meet you (Y/n) and welcome home." He shut the door and left our room before you could say anything.

"That guy's amazing, did I tell you? If you know him, you'll understand me. He's a big authority and-..."

"What did he tell you?" You interrupted him giving him a stern look "It was about me, wasn't it?" You didn't know where you've got that brave from. Maybe because you were a little scared about what exactly Theo whispered into Jerome's ear?

"I really hate it when some interrupts me..." Jerome grumbled giving you a death stare, his bearing was cramped and he clenched his fists; it looked like he was about to kill you every minute "It's very impolite to interrupt someone, don't you think?"

You couldn't say anything so you just nodded quickly in panicking and fear. More and more you just wanted to go home. You wished you never took the bus to your friend, instead you just could've ask them to hook you up then you wouldn't have been here.

You really didn't want to live like that: being frightened from your oh so called partner because he could kill you every time you were doing a mistake in his eyes.

"Good," but then his death stare and cramped bearing faded instantly and as always he gave you a warm smile "Now to answer your question..." Jerome grabbed your waist pulling you close to him, his nails were dug in your skin that it almost hurt a little "He and I made a little deal before I...you know...kidnapped you."

"And what for a deal?" You frowned confused.

"You should stay here telling nobody about him keeping me and the others here and so on...because if not he kills you." He chuckled louldy "Isn't that fun? He really thinks he can kill you."

You widened your eyes in shock and fear. You hoped you haven't heard it right. Theo will kill you if you lose any word about this here? You won't be able to go back to your home? To message your friends? Nothing?

More and more you felt like a prisoner...and more and more you felt like an object than a human. You were pressured, they decided everything for you... practically your only task was to entertain Jerome...however he wanted it.

"Don't worry, doll, he won't even dare to lay a finger on you." Jerome grabbed your cheeks softly and leaned his forehead against yours, his lips hovered over yours "Because I am the boss. Really no one wants me to be mad because you know... they'll end up dead."

He pressed his lips on yours roughly, his grip on your cheeks tightened. His tongue slipped into your mouth while he nibbled on your lower lip. You let out a little moan in arousal. As if it was a reflex you automatically wrapped your arms around his neck.

Jerome's hands wandered down; along your breasts what made you shiver and gasp, his hands stopped at your waist.

"I almost forgot the feeling when I touch your soft lips doll." Jerome interrupted the kiss and let out a sigh in arousal throwing his head back.

You blushed hard, a slight giggle escaped your lips.

With this kiss, Jerome calmed you down a lot. It let you remind of that one special night again: the butterflies in your stomach, the happiness... You could say, for a short moment you almost forgot about his craziness and him being a murderer.

On the other hand, you still felt strange about the whole thing. A criminal was obsessed with you, his obsession was that big that no one was allowed to do anything with you...and also that you couldn't go back to your friends... You didn't like it at all. Your friends were more important to you than Jerome. You knew them for years and him... You've just met once.

Jerome kissed you again deeply, then he made his way down your jawline to your neck. You let out a little moan as he kissed started to suck on your sweet spot. His hands travelled under your shirt up to your bra clip to open it. You unbottoned his shirt and ripped it off his body while he tugged your bra from your body. You felt him biting your neck, first slightly then harder. It hurt a little and you knew that you'd be marked sooner or later - but you didn't mind. You knew what was coming right now. It was exactly like the first time you two had sex.

Jerome ripped your shirt off from your body and then stopped every single actions. He was eyes you, he stared at every little part of your body. He was like a wild animal staring at its prey and just waited for the perfect moment to catch it.

It made you shiver, but you loved it anyhow. It was very new but you could get used to it.

"Oh, how I missed that view," Jerome bit his lip with lust still viewing your whole body "Time to make up that whole year."

Jerome grabbed you by your waist and literally threw you into the king size bed right behind you. He was so eager to rip your clothes from your body to feel all this pleasure he has felt one year ago. He wanted to feel your soft skin on his, to hear you moans every time he thrusted into you, he wanted to be into you. He couldn't wait for it, so violently he unbottoned your jeans literally ripped them off your body.

You blushed hard. You were excited, surprised, but still you felt uncomfortable. You wondered whst was happening now. Does he expect any dirty kinks from you? Calling him daddy? Any pet names? Or other ordinary kinks?

You hoped for the best, you hoped nothing would have changed and you could just go on.

Jerome grabbed your face again and kissed you deeply nibbling on your lower lip. While that he pulled down your panties and inserted a finger into your cunt. You let out a sharp moan and your hips bucked quickly through the strong intensity of him hitting your sweet spot. You couldn't help but digging you nails in the sheets of his bed and arching your back as he speeded up.

He was rougher with you than before, almost violently. It hurt and was fast but it felt so good at the same time. You started liking it even more than the soft stuff one year ago. Your pleasure was stronger and him being rough kind of turned you on.

Jerome inserted another finger into your wet entrance what let you moan a little louder and your hips bucked.

Jerome curled up his fingers inside you harder and faster what made you moan louder. You grabbed the sheets of the bed tight to handle this big amount of pleasure.

Your back arched as he hit your g spot for another time. There again, you had this incredible feeling, all the upcoming pleasure in your body caused you a cribbing feeling in your abdomen that spread through your limbs up to your shoulders - this time it was much more intense though. Your core was aching and you became needy for his cock. Indeed, you were well pleasured but you want more. You wanted him to bury his member inside of you, filling up every inch of your cunt, making you scream and cum over and over again.

All your sorrows and worries disappeared all of a sudden. You didn't do anything for it; You just had eyes for Jerome and how he'd make you done undome several times. You didn't care about whether the others would hear you or not, you didn't care whether you'd rip the sheets apart or vice versa. You didn't care about anything.

You bit your lip in pleasure after you let out a loud moan as you noticed you were close.

Jerome pressed his thumb on your clit while continuing to pleasure you making you gasp. Your moans became louder and it became harder to hold them back. They way he did it just made you feel so good.

"Close already, huh?" Jerome pressed his thumb harder on your clit rubbing it in circling motions "Come for me, doll." His eyes kept staring on you. He loved hearing you moan his name through all the pleasure he was giving you. It aroused him much more than usual. He missed you and all this - he really did. The things that happened in his cell were nothing compared to you.

"Ahh fuck!" Right after he finished his sentence you released yourself with a lot cry.

The sweat was dripping down your forehead, you breathed heavy and uneven, and your legs were shaking and felt weak.

It was amazing for you. You admitted to yourself how much you missed this and you now remembered how good he made you feel.

With his strength, Jerome turned you around on your stomach waisting no time.

You blushed hard being a little worried about what's coming next.

"On all four, kitten." You blushed harder and did what he said. You felt a little strange with that nickname, it was very new to you, and honestly you would have never expected that from Jerome. His first impression to was him being a soft guy who rather prefers the normal way of how sex goes like...and generally, he didn't seem to be a dominant and rough guy.

You heard him walking a few steps backwards taking something. You were a little afraid what was coming now. You were afraid that he was taking a knife or other kind of weapons to do with you some dirty acts.

"My, my, my...You have such a beautiful body, you know that kitten?" Suddenly you felt something cold and sharp wandering down your spine. It made you shiver and gasp. You knew it was a knife and you just waited until Jerome started to hurt you "How many boys might have touched you when I was absent?"

"N-no one...w-where-...." You stammered in fear hoping nothing bad will happen. You didn't know where he's got that from suddenly. Was he jealous? Was he 'scared' that you could have a boyfriend and that he needs to make a plan to kill him?

"You really want me to believe that?" Jerome unbottoned his jeans and grabbed your waist violently inserting his dick into your wet entrance "It sounds a little surreal, don't you think? Who would not betray a blood-thirsty and cold-hearted murderer who's busted in Arkham?"

He didn't move though. Instead he pulled pulled on your hair tight that your head fell back what are you moan again. But instantly, your breathe hitched as you felt a cold and sharp knife pressed on your throat. Now you were scared, almost panicking. You hoped he didn't slit your throat.

"You know, I'm not a fan telling me a lie." He pressed the knife harder against your throat. You cut feel how the sharp blade cut your thin skin. Your body shivered in fear, your pulse was running and your breath was uneven. It felt like every minute could be your last one, it was just a matter of time until he killed you.

"I-I would n-never lie to you." You stammered quickly "H-honestly, I j-just though about y-you..." It was the truth. You really did. The whole year where Jerome was gone you didn't even think of dating a boy or of a simple one off. You were too much stuck in your thoughts about him, how he was doing, what he has become...

"Is that so?" Jerome didn't really sound convinced what let you panicking more.

"Y-yes," You gulped because you knew what you had to say now: you had to say you liked him "You J-Jerome...the l-last year was...i-it was hard for me b-because-..."

"Because?" You felt how the blade was pressed deeper in your skin and slightly moved to make a longer cut in your throat.

"Well," You gasped as Jerome stopped moving the blade "I-I....like y-you..."

This was not completely true but not completely wrong, as well. You did like him, but the old him more. You weren't scared of the old Jerome, you liked him being soft and kind...not frightening with this permanent changing behavior.

He said nothing at first, you could just feel his grin against your ear.

He put the blade aside what let you sigh in relief. You calmed down a little seeing the blade on the floor.

"I know, doll." His head moved from your ear, his hands were both placed on your waist.

And again, he started to thrusted violently into your wet entrance. You swore with a loud moan and arched your back.

Immediately, Jerome speeded up permanently pushing you against him to drill his member deeper into your cunt. His nails were dug into your waist what made you biting your lip.

Your whole body felt weak with every thrust he did into you. You body shivered slightly through this overwhelming pleasure. Every thrust hurt more, each of your moans became louder. Your nails were dug into the sheets of the bed deeply but still the pleasure he was giving you was too much. You couldn't handle it.

You moaned louder, almost uncontrollably, then your body gave in and you slightly collapsed in the bed.

Jerome though didn't waist no time - he kept drilling his member into you, grabbed your hair and pulled you upwards by your hair again.

"Oh my God, Jerome!" You cried out in pleasure while your legs shivered.

"So eager for my cock, you little slut, aren't we?" Jerome grunted and speeded up a third time.

You moaned louder, almost screamed. You felt how your walls clenched against his cock - you were close. You didn't know whether you could hold it back. It all was too much for you. You felt a knot in your stomach that was built up. It hardened with every thrust Jerome did.

"Fuck, I'm gonna-...!" You almost screamed digging your nails deeper in the sheets of the bed as you came. You couldn't even finish your sentence. With a few more thrusts, Jerome came as well.

You both collapsed on the bed. He still laid on you not even pulling out his member.

Silence filled the room for a while, just your gasps for air broke it here and there.

You felt Jerome's warm breathe on your skin every time he breathed out.

You closed your eyes for a moment enjoying this half broken silence.

Many thoughts crashed in your head together:

You told Jerome that you liked him and he surely will take advantage of it. Maybe he wants to force you to violent things like shooting at people or hurting them otherwise? And every time, you refuse he'd tell you stupid stuff like but I thought you like me, doll. You kinda regret what you said because you knew it will have consequences.

Another point would be his now increasing obsession and possessiveness towards you. Now he had the final proof that you wanted to be his and no one could ruin him that. He could call you his property because you liked him which meant for him: you wanted to be with him, you wanted to be his queen of Gotham, you wanted to spread chaos with him. Everyone else was his rival.

But then you thought that on the other hand, it was okay to be his. Everyone knew crazy Jerome could probably be so no one wanted him to be mad, as he said. And so nothing would happen to you.

"Even better than the first time" Jerome rolled off of you staring at the ceiling for a while while taking deep breathes.

"I agree," You slightly chuckled.

"And doll, " Jerome grabbed your cheeks pressing his face against yours that his lips hovered over yours "Never forget who you belong to. We don't want things turning out bad, do we?"

"N-no." You shook your head fast.

"Good...because you're mine."

[cavehags]

i realize this will probably bring up old drama so you might not want to answer it. but do you ever regret, however on purpose or on accident, bringing all that unnecesary hate towards Katara? i'm really sad and dissapointed tbh. i'm a woman of color and katara was so important to me growing up. my favorite animated woman ever. and then this resurgence comes and theres so, so much unnecesary hatred for her and everyone ignoring everything that makes her a good character.

(2/3) 2- and you know, i expected this from the male side of the fandom. they were misogynistic to her and the others even back then so i would expect it to be even worse with how internet culture is more mysogistic now that ever. and i wasnt wrong. male atla fans had some truly horrible takes and views that just came across as racism and misogyny. but, i expected these circles to be better. to be a safe space for us woc who love this character. but i found the same weird hatred for her.

(3/3) 3-i just, i cant believe i feel less welcome now that i did even back then. and back then i didnt even paricipate really. but at least i could enjoy fandom content without stumbling into misogyny and racism every other post. also sorry for sending this to your personal blog b i just wanted to let you know you controbuted to that too even if it wasnt your intention. at least you realized that and arent contributing to it anymore right? cause honestly the hate has only gotten worse not less.

hey anon. thanks for asking this question, because i hadn’t addressed this topic previously and this gave me an opportunity to do so. 

no, i don’t regret publicly interpreting a character whom i love through a nuanced and human lens. and i don’t regret combating the one-dimensional interpretation of this character, which posits that she’s merely an vaguely defined object of attraction for some boy or another, and a singularly gentle, mature, maternal figure whose sole purpose in life is to nurture others. those interpretations suck. they rob her of the humanity and complexity that make her character unique and they stem from misogynistic tropes that reduce women to the services they can provide to men. the thing in the world that matters most to me is fighting misogyny, and this trend to diminish a proud and powerful and angry teenage girl by exaggerating only her most socially acceptable traits is misogyny. 

unlike you, i did not grow up watching avatar: the last airbender. the shows i watched growing up did not have a lot of girls who felt real to me. the girls i saw on tv growing up were simple. they were the main characters’ crushes. they were simple, desirable, usually sweet and loving, and not much else. if they had a flaw, it was that they were, at best, “awkward.” whatever that means. or if they were the protagonists, which was rare, they were nice enough and tried to do the right thing, but they never had strong feelings like resentment and anger. they weren’t allowed to be unfeminine which meant they weren’t allowed to be bitter, angry or in any way flawed. they didn’t look like the version of girlhood i knew to be true for me personally, which included a lot of anger and frustration and powerlessness. 

that crappy representation left me with internalized misogyny that chased me for longer than i’d like to admit. i did not learn to think of girls as humans who could be as interesting and flawed and messy as the boys were. i did not value myself as a girl, and later a woman, because i thought the best thing a girl could be was... bland. boring. pretty, but empty. passionless.

it would have meant the world to me to see a character like katara. 

because katara is angry. she has every right to be: she’s had so much stolen from her, including her mother, her people, and her childhood. katara has a short fuse. she yells. she snaps. she fucks up. sometimes she makes mean jokes! i never saw a single one of those dreamily perfect cartoon love interests make mean jokes when i was a kid. she is extremely idealistic--it’s her defining character trait--but we see the bad side of that as well as the good. we see that her need to help others  leads her to act rashly, to get herself into danger, to put others in danger too. 

and she has her very own arc. it’s not about her love for another person, either (what a snooze of a storyline); it’s about growing up and learning to break down some of that stubborn black-and-white thinking that we all indulge in as children. it’s a true coming-of-age arc and it belongs to a fourteen-year-old girl. 

when i, to use a phrase i find crass, “entered the fandom,” i quickly realized that other fans’ perceptions of katara did not line up with the things i valued most about her. other fans seemed to valorize her most socially acceptable feminine qualities: her generosity, her kindness, her dedication to helping others. and of course i love those parts of her--i love everything about her--but what is really remarkable about avatar: the last airbender is that katara’s many important virtues are also counterbalanced by equally significant flaws. a good character has flaws. katara is a good character, and a deviation from the characters who made up my formative media landscape, because she has flaws. her temper, her idealism, her stubbornness--these are flaws. flaws make her seem real and human and challenge the mainstream sentiment that girls are not real or human.

it simply did not occur to me that celebrating these aspects of katara that make her a realistic and well-written teenage girl would spark ire from other adult fans. it absolutely did not occur to me that i would then be blamed for somehow causing misogynistic interpretations of this character, particularly given that misogynistic interpretations of this character are the very thing i sought to correct when i began to blog about this television show.

i’m told there are “fans” on instagram and tiktok who think katara is whiny, annoying, and overly preoccupied with her trauma. i do not use instagram or tiktok, so i wouldn’t know, but i’ll take your word for it. respectfully, however, they didn’t get that from me. misogynistic takes on katara have existed since before i came along. i have never, ever called katara whiny. and seeing as i have been treating my own PTSD in therapy for nine years, you can safely conclude that i don’t think anyone, katara included, is overly preoccupied with their trauma. that’s not a thing. do i think she’s annoying? of course not! as a character, she’s a delight. does she sometimes find real joy in aggravating her brother and her friends? yes, because she’s 14. i, an adult, am not annoyed by her. sokka and toph often are, because that is katara’s goal and katara always succeeds in her goals. she’s not “annoying.” 

if there are “fans” who are indeed following lesbians4sokka and somehow misreading every single post and interpreting them to mean that we hate katara and they should too, i don’t really know what you want me to do about that. l4s has over ten thousand followers and we have already posted so many essays disavowing katara hate. our feminist and antiracist objectives in running the blog are literally pinned with the headline “please read.”

furthermore, you cannot reasonably expect my co-blogger and me to control the way our words will be received. we should not have to, and are not going to, add a disclaimer to every post saying that when we critique or make jokes about a teenage girl we are doing so through a feminist lens. our url is lesbians4sokka, and we are clearly women. if that alone doesn’t make it obvious, then refer back to that pinned post. 

it is indescribably frustrating, and really goddamn depressing as well, that people are so comfortable with the misogynistic binary of Perfect Good Women and Flawed Wicked Bitches that they perceive any discussion of a woman’s flaws to be necessarily relegating her to the latter camp. if that is how you (a generic you) perceive women, then i’m sorry, but you’ve internalized sexism that i cannot cure you of. and it’s unjust to expect my friend and me to write for the lowest common denominator of readers who have not yet had their own feminist awakenings. we do not write picture books for babies. we write for ourselves, and with the expectation that our readers can think critically. reading media through a feminist lens is my primary interest; i have no intention of excising that angle from my writing.

as i go through my life, i am going to embrace the flaws of girls and women because not enough people do. as long as the dominant narratives surrounding women are “good and perfect” and “unlovable wh*re,” you’ll find me highlighting flawed, realistic, righteously angry women in the margins. and for what it’s worth, it’s not just katara. i champion depictions of angry girls in all sorts of media. that’s sort of my whole thing. my favorite movies are part of the angry girl cinematic universe: thoroughbreds, jennifer’s body, hard candy, jojo rabbit, et cetera. on tv, in addition to katara, you’ll find me celebrating tuca and bertie, poppy from mythic quest, tulip and lake from infinity train, korra, and more. i adore all these women and see myself in them. i hope you find this suitably persuasive to establish that i have sufficient Feminist Cred, according to your standards, to observe and write about these very flawed and human fictional women. 

what i’m saying is this: i decline to take responsibility for the misogynistic discourse orbiting a children’s cartoon. as someone who writes about that series from a perspective that seeks to add humanity and nuance to the reductive, one-dimensional, overwhelmingly sexist writing that already exists, i am pretty taken aback that i am the one being blamed for the very problem i sought to address. except not that taken aback because i am a woman online, haha! and this is always how it goes for us. 

finally, i think it sucks that you’ve chosen to blame me for a problem that begins and ends with the patriarchy. i can’t control the way this response will be perceived, just like how i can’t control the way anything will be perceived because i am just one human woman, but i do hope you choose to be reflective, and consider why you’ve chosen this avenue to assign blame. 

[ultimaterealmofchaos]

hello, friends.

lately, i have been having many feelings about the community. not just this one, but about the rpc in general. i have been keeping quiet about them, but when you keep quiet about something, eventually it becomes all too large to bear. some of you may disagree with me, and that is fine. some of you may even want to unfollow or block me, and that is fine too. i will not chase you down for merely disagreeing with me. but.

i am vastly disappointed in the state of the rpc as of late.

“but karla, why?” you may ask. “the rpc is fun, and i get to make all sorts of friends and write with so many different people!!”

and yes, you’re right! overall, the rpc is a very fun community to be in. it’s very fun to write your own portrayals of different muses, come up with your own ideas, meet other people who may or may not think and portray similarly to your own style.

however.

i think, as a whole, the rpc has become incredibly narcissistic.

why do i say this?

i have been roleplaying and writing here on tumblr since 2012. yes, i am old. but let’s push the fact that i am old compared to most of you aside for a moment.

i have seen quite a few people, in their rules, state something similar to the effect of “if you post too much ooc, i will unfollow and block you.”

if you have read my own rules, you will see that i do not have this rule.

now, everyone is valid in what they put in their rules, and everyone is valid for wanting to cater their own online experience to what they desire it to be. however. a problem that i have seen being developed in the past 3-4 years is that... nobody seems to care about other people. now, of course there are people who care about their writing partners/friends, i’m not saying that everyone is like that, but... the vast majority do not seem to want to hear anything about the mun behind the muses past a little bio page on the blog, and even for some, that might be too much.

when i started roleplaying, this rule overall didn’t really exist as a majority, and if it did, it was on very few blogs. but as i have gone through the years, i’ve seen it pop up on more and more blogs. and my question is... why? why does everyone seem to hate ooc posts now? are we not allowed to demonstrate that we have feelings, hobbies, interests, etc. past roleplay anymore? if someone is having a bad day or a bad mental state time, are they not allowed to confess to it on their blog, if for nothing else than to just get it out? now, some of you may say “yes, that’s bad, and tumblr rpc is no place for it. talk to someone instead of broadcasting it to the whole world.”

i disagree with that.

some of us do not have good support systems outside of tumblr, or really any support system at all. for some of us, coming onto our blogs for a little rant is the only way we can feasibly see to cope with our own bad times without doing something terrible to ourselves. and, honestly? it’s natural to want others to know when we are struggling. some call it “attention-seeking,” sure, but... yes. when you are feeling bad, naturally you want some sort of attention, if not to validate, then to distract for a little bit. the mind is an incredibly fickle creation, and sometimes, it is too big for us to deal with it on our own. and if someone doesn’t have many outlets to deal with it, they will naturally flock to the one that they know is safe, where they can let out their frustrations and depression without much backlash. but with rules like that in place, it becomes a bit more scary, a bit more threatening, even, to even entertain the idea that you are feeling anything but happy.

it is incredibly isolating, and even depressing, and it can even increase depression in those who do not currently have the proper mindset to see past their own demons that the mind has created. and the last thing i personally want is to consciously isolate someone because they’ve committed the “crime” of having a bad day/feeling terrible for some reason that may not even be related to the rpc.

it is natural to need/want to rant about things.

“but this is the rpc, karla. we are all here to write. not to read someone’s bitching on the dash about how they’re feeling so terrible.”

and, yes, we are all here to write. but i think that what the rpc in general has forgotten is that there are real people behind the portrayals and muses that we love so much. real people that have feelings, and sometimes those feelings aren’t the best ones. and i can personally speak from experience when i say that having a little rant and it seemingly being ignored only makes the feelings worse. and, like, i’m not even asking for anyone to send long essays to someone who is feeling bad. even a little like can make someone feel better, because it means that they’ve been seen, that they’ve been heard, that their being here isn’t a waste of time or a burden to other people.

adding onto my statement of “the rpc has become really narcissistic,” something i’ve also observed is that ongoing threads seem to be becoming a thing of the past. ask memes are reblogged 24/7, just about, and often times, i’ll see the same meme five times in a row. it seems that what the majority wants now are just asks that one can craft a brief answer to, post it, and then forget about it until the next one comes in. they can be great for headcanons and such, yes, but... i’ve found that, in my experience, the greatest character development comes from threads. and this just may be my frustration speaking, but threads seem to be long gone, unless they’re crack threads that last for a few hours before everyone gets bored with them. it seems to be all about who reblogs the most memes, who has the most asks in their inbox, that determines how popular somebody is. and i don’t understand that, but maybe i’m just too old and too stuck in the past to do so.

another thing i’d like to talk about is activity. some of us cannot be on tumblr 24/7. i’m not hating on the people that can, more power to you, but some of us have things like school, jobs, other real life commitments that should come before tumblr roleplay. and sometimes we just can’t be on our blogs because time has run away from us and has us devoted to other things. however, what i’ve noticed lately that if you happen to be away from your blog for a week or so, you’re just about instantly forgotten, and when you return, it’s like you never existed at all. this has been a problem i’ve seen for a long time, but i still don’t like it. why should our amount of time being active determine how good of a roleplayer we are? if others “love our portrayals so much,” then why are we forgotten as soon as we’re not constantly posting? in my eyes, if you genuinely enjoy someone’s writing, and they have to go away for some time, you’ll be excited when they’re finally able to come back, if even for only a little bit. and not just “oh, you’re gone, time to unfollow and never speak to you again.” this can also be incredibly isolating, and it creates undue pressure on those of us who just cannot be here 24/7. we feel like we have to fill our queues to stay relevant, and we panic when we don’t have anything to fill the queue with without re-reblogging something.

roleplay isn’t supposed to be stressful, guys. it’s supposed to be fun. it is a hobby. i feel like some of the rpc has forgotten this fact. no one is paying us to be here (unless you have post+ on your rp blog, in which case... why????). we’re here because we want to be, not because someone is forcing us, and we shouldn’t have to feel like we’re being held up to some invisible high standard just because some of us can’t be here all the time.

there is more that i want to talk about, but this post is long enough as it is, so i will leave it how it is right now.

if you have read this far, thank you for reading, and again, i understand if you want to change things with me because of this.

[marina-roslinka]

This is my first time writing something like this, so it's a little bit sht, but I'm posting it anyway since I promised it to you guys. 

Michael, Trevor, and my rant.

The first thing I want to say about those characters is that I believe they meant to be together, they cannot exist without each other. Yes, I know it sounds like cheesy line from romantic novel. But before you roll your eyes, let me explain.

Let’s remember their signature colors: blue and orange. You see, I think they play a big part in understanding them as individuals and as a relationship and their dynamics. You can read about the color analysis here if you like to.

I personally want to look at it from a little different perspective. To be more precise about elements Fire and Water: Trevor represents fire and Michael is water of course.

Those two men have a different understanding of what life is supposed to be and what it means to be alive. Trevor being a fire element is always trying to rile up Michael, making him angry and emotional like himself.

Michael on the other hand obviously thinks that Trevor is too much, that he needs to calm down and too bright, too hot, that eventually, he will burn not only himself but also everyone else around.

We see examples of that a few times throughout the game. For example when he tried to convince Trevor to change his current lifestyle and “grow up” and it’s not good for him.

“M: Alright man, here we go. Tough love time. T: I'll take it tough, I'll take it sissy, I'll take it any way you're giving it. M: When you gonna get it together, bro? Most guys as they get older, they pull their foot off the gas. T: You always did like to judge people. M: I ain't judging, I'm trying to help. T: Help with what? You think I need help 'cause my lifestyle is worse than everyone elses? M: The speed, the horniness, the killings. T: You kill, and you satisfy your urges - only you think you're above everything. Tough love time! M: Fine. Fine! You think what you like. But you know I care, and you know I tried.”

Going back to the whole "They can't exist without each other" thing.

Why?

Too much fire you will burn. Too much cold, you will freeze. This is the exact reason why I think that they need each other. To create a balance. Again, you can clearly see this in the story. Michael is depressed, sad and bored out of his mind by the pool.

Trevor is crazier than ever with no direction and no purpose. Just pure chaos.

“T: Mas o menos. Michael didn’t have a nerve back then. I didn’t have a direction”

It’s obviously not perfect since they both are fucked up people.

You can describe Michael's attitude towards Trevor with the same example. You can love fire for numerous reasons, right? You can look at and feel calm, feel warm or maybe it helps you to reflect on yourself. However, fire is also very dangerous. It can be unpredictable. One spark can light the fire and it may not even possible to stop it.

But Michael is able to.

Throughout the game Michael said and done things that made Trevor very angry. Like, other people would have been dead angry. He can make him change his mind or even stop him from killing someone. Because, as I said, he represents water.

This is why I believe that Michael’s fear of Trevor is not usual. He is afraid of those big sparks that out of his control like when he betrayed him for example. He was afraid Trevor would find him and kill him. Part of him believes he deserves it because of all the guilt. Trevor is the face of karma and he came back to collect the debt.

However, thirty seconds in the car since they left the house he felt that everything is ok and that he is not in any danger so he had no problem with insulting and overall being an asshole to Trevor right away.

Unfortunately things not that easy and simple as always. They can be good for each other just as bad. Fire can be dangerous to water and water can be dangerous to fire. (This is why Trevor doesn’t like to take showers xD) It reminds me of all those scenes when they get angry at each other, but stepping away so they won’t hurt one other.

I am going to leave Fire/Water here, just keep it in mind for the rest of analysis or whatever this is. I’ve never done it :D

Now for the ultimate question. Do I think they love each other or they hate each other?

Well… Just as their history together it's complicated.

The very moment Trevor pulled the trigger of his flare gun with no hesitation, Michael definitely knew that Trevor is a dangerous person. Then he definitely knew Trevor has serious mental issues.

Why did he stick with Trevor before and even after? Well, the most obvious answer is that he just cares about him. They instantly clicked together or as Lamar said “Love at first sight”.

The other thing that played a part in Michael’s affection at the start is that Trevor is like a shining loud toy for Michael's brain. I see M as someone who grasps at every opportunity to experience intense emotions. Trevor is like a walking time bomb that won’t explode around you. It also perhaps made Michael feel special. It’s not healthy but happens to people nonetheless.

I believe that Michael does love Trevor, but he also hates the things that he does and Michael hates himself for still loving someone like Trevor.

“Why do I love him why do I care for him, I'm not supposed to. He is a horrible person. He is a monster. What is wrong with me?”

The other thing is very common for people to have desire to help another person who's hurting. No matter how much messed up they are we still can feel sorry and I'm sure Michael felt the same and still feels the same. This also leads to his frustration about Trevor.

“Why can't you be normal? I had a hard childhood but I didn't turn out that bad”

He’s also repressing his feelings because of internalized homophobia. In addition, it's just frustration on top of frustration on and on.

Michael hates himself for many things he's done. When Trevor came back he got so overwhelmed that all of this just start boiling inside of him. And when you can handle it he just surrenders to the common emotion – anger.

(It seems to me that fans expect Michael to figure out why Trevor is doing this, why he says that what real feelings are behind the words and actions. You know, be the wise one. )

At first glance it may seem that Michael does not care about T and I can see why. Since the game does it like we see Trevor as the one who tells the truth and Michael as the one who lies. Especially on the first playthrough you can easily fall for this little manipulation. Because of this we perceive Michael as a liar. I mean, yeah, he uses lies as a defense mechanism. Therefore, it’s natural for us (and Trevor) not to believe him when he said “I care. I missed you”.

Trevor is a liar too. Yes, I know, shocker.

The most common thing I see people say about Trevor is that he is a loyal person. All because of this rule about “brothers”. Nope. Maybe he likes to say that, but in reality he is not.

Take Brad as an example. Bless him.

Trevor talked about how he planned to stop working with Michael, but pushed him away because he thought he would leave him. If you hang out with Lamar, T admits he was literally going to kill Brad. Not like Michael of course. He wasn’t gonna stab him in the back. Just stab him in the face I guess.

Trevor didn't kill Michael, not because of some creed. It’s just because he still loves him and cares about him. In the core of everything it’s just love.

Trevor is obviously a dick to Michael because he's hurt so much. Can you imagine how painful it was, to lose the only person you loved and loved you back? Then to find out they betrayed you. Like, Trevor literally thought, Michael was using him from the start. Though, he doesn't hate M, like he said so many times. Trevor hates himself for being this way, for being not good enough, for Michael to choose him. Again and again.

Betrayal.

“M: I don’t know, man, I’ve made such a mess of things. Constantly…my whole life. Chase things. Get them. Hate them. Chase things, get them, hate them…”

I feel like often people don’t even consider Michael's feelings or mental issues. Trevor also says very hurtful words to M. Yes, he understands the reason behind Trevor’s anger, but this doesn’t negate the fact those words hurt a lot. I mean, he was even offended by the fact T didn’t hug him. As usual, he cannot cope with feeling of guilt and everything again comes down to aggression.

I also want to remind, that despite the killings, Michael didn’t abandon Trevor. He was even letting him to see his children. Also name Tracey is suspiciously similar to name Trevor. Isn't it a display of love? Can you imagine how many times Michael forgave T for doing something crazy?

Well, Michael was just afraid of Trevor hurting him or his family if he tells T they’re done.

Trust me, if M didn’t give a shit about his best friend, he would’ve just killed him.

However, Michael and Trevor's relationship before Ludendorff wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows.

I personally think there were four main reasons:

    1. He was just tired of living the way he did.     2. Safety of his family.       3. The FBI breathed down their backs and suggested him a ticket to freedom.

 In fear of losing Michael Trevor pushed him even more. Most likely thought their relationships could only last if they were connected by the partnership. An example of this is Trevor’s negative reaction to Michael's words that he wants to be done with robberies and make movies.

  “T: I could feel like I was losing you, so I pushed you harder. I thought that how to keep you in the game and I didn’t want to lose you. I’ve said it already, haven’t I?”

 4. As ironic as it may be, in the desire not to lose Michael, Trevor himself turned out to be the last drop, for his best friend’s decision.

Conclusion: they should stop being dumb-dumbs and be honest about how they really feel.

And therapy. A lot of therapy. 

[writtenbyvenus]

Fixing You And I

Marriage is never supposed to be an easy-going experience. While it always will have its up and downs, the couple of Alfred and Ivan are towards their breaking point. Toxic fights, jealously, and cycles of up and down in regards to their relationship, there's no doubt that something has to change. With threats of divorce in the air, the pair seek help to save a relationship that they desperately don't want to end. However, working on themselves proves to be easier said than done, as old wounds and traumas make it challenging for them both to evolve. Ivan's past unhealthy relationships and scarring childhood clashes with Alfred's paranoia and controlling behavior due to the tragic death of his past wife. The question remains: Can the two of them learn to love each other healthily, or will their differences end them up in a courtroom?

"When marriage is difficult, focus on the person you're fighting for, not the person you're fighting with."

Chapter 1: Desperate Attempts 

“Hello! It’s nice to meet you! My name is Emma. Ivan and Alfred, right?”

The pretty, tall woman took a seat in her chair, glancing at the couch in front of her. She had a bright, friendly smile on her face. Her voice had a pleasant accent, somewhat European. It beamed compared to the expression of the two clients, who didn’t seem happy with the situation. The couple looked at the floor, with one with his arms closed, nose in the air. His baby face was ruined with a harsh scowl. His eyebrows pushed together, with hooded eyes that looked tired as if he had cried earlier. The other had his hands placed on his lap, baby blue eyes having a mix of tired and sad. His sharp jaw had a five o’clock shadow as if he is too lazy to shave today. One’s body language appeared hostile, while the other appeared exhausted. The emotionally exhausted one decided to speak up first. “Yeah. I’m Alfred, and this my husband, Ivan.” The man offered a weak smile while pointing to his partner. Looking over to the therapist, Ivan gave a fake smile that took all the strength in his body to produce.  

Emma gave a quick introduction to her professional background, and how couples therapy worked, before turning attention to the couple “So, why don’t you tell me about yourselves? The basics at least.” She asked, clicking her pen to start writing facts about them. Alfred spoke up first again, without much hesitation. “So, I was raised here in Texas, I’m thirty-two years old. I work at my dad’s company as a manager. And Ivan’s….” He trailed off, giving Ivan the chance to say his own introduction, but the man stayed silent. “-Ivan’s thirty-three, and from Russia. He works at an aerospace company doing data processing.” He explained, giving a simple run down. 

Disappointed that Ivan wouldn’t speak up, she cut right to the chase since it seemed all easy banter would come from Alfred’s lips. She took note of his comfortability speaking for Ivan. 

“So, what brings you two into my office?”

Ivan stayed silent, arms still crossed, and looking to the side. Knowing that he wouldn’t speak up until forced, Alfred spoke for him again. “We are having problems… So I thought it would be a good idea to get help…” He readjusted himself, sitting back as he couldn’t be bothered at the moment to sit up straight. The overly confident facade he kept up for most was a pause. The man with a boyish face, who always had a ray of sunshine like grin on his lips, wore a tired expression. One that displayed a mix of frustration and defeat for his current relationship. He desired to be here, in the therapist’s office. However, arguing with his partner to come didn’t help his spirit. Just like a child who didn’t want to go to the dentist, Alfred felt like a parent dragging his kid somewhere. 

The brunette therapist took note of the I statement. The thought of Alfred being the force to bring them to therapy came up, which would explain Ivan’s hostile body language and silence. Clicking the end of her pen, she pointed it at the piece of paper on her clipboard. “So, Alfred, it is your idea to bring you and your husband to therapy?” She asked, testing her theory. Proven correct by his nodding, she picked up on Ivan tensing up and tapping his foot on the floor. “Yeah, I had to force him to come. He hates therapy, but I think we need help. I’m at my wit's end. I-” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. Pushing his glasses to the top of his head, he continued “I told him if he didn’t come, I want a divorce.” Alfred showed frustration, with Ivan’s body twitching at the mention of divorce. The reaction happened right on point as if the word divorce triggered him. 

Hearing the harsh reality of the state of their relationship, she trod lightly on the subject. “So, you both have had the conversation of ending the marriage?” Emma watched Alfred point a finger at himself, looking annoyed. “In a serious way, yes, I have. He, however-” Alfred pointed his finger at his husband, his expression staying. “Is constantly threatening to leave me, so god knows when he’s serious about it. But I am-”

“I am not always threatening to leave you!” Ivan slightly shouted- his voice not raised enough to be considered yelling. His body tensed up, getting more on edge, enough so to speak up. The way he crossed his arms almost turned into him holding his arms down, slightly shaking. Similar to a bottle about to explode, anger could only be kept in for long. Upset at any accusations, the need to defend himself came into play. “You have just given up on us, do not make it look like I want to leave you all the time…” Pouting somewhat childlike, he curled up slightly, his arm crossing tighter than before, and his foot tapping faster. Alfred snorted, waving his hand in his direction. Too tired to argue with Ivan’s inability to confess bad behavior, he kept his eyes on the therapist. “I haven’t given up, on us. I’m here because I want it to work. I love him, more than anything. And he can make me feel like the best man in the world. And I adore him- I just can’t do this-this cycle of… “ Alfred paused to look for the right word. “Toxicity- I can’t. It’s only gotten worse over the years. And I’m done.” He closed his eyes for a moment before sitting back again. 

Emma decided to take control of the conversation before an argument broke out. Her eyes went back and forth during the confrontation, using this moment to take note of their dynamic. While fighting at the beginning of a session is never good, she did notice how Ivan’s body loosened up when Alfred spoke of how much he loved him. His arms were still crossed, but his face appeared more sad than frustrated, with his foot tapping ending. His eyes looked down at the floor as if a million things were running through his mind. 

Writing down a few things, Emma put her hand up in a symbol of ‘pause’. Knowing that starting with talking about the positivity of their relationship would relax the couple. “Let’s take a step back. How about you tell me how you two met? How did you get married? Let’s start positive.” She beamed her usual friendly smile, hoping to inspire a happier mood with the upset couple. 

Deciding to do the talking again, Alfred crossed his arms and looked to the side. “We met through a mutual friend…. We bonded and moved pretty fast.. We kind of met at the perfect time in our lives I think… I…” Alfred looked at the therapist in the eyes. “My wife had passed away when she was, uh, pregnant… I was in a really dark place… And he lit it up…” Alfred looked over to Ivan, his expression much softer as he thought about the beginning of their romance. His mind is filled with memories of Ivan bringing back his smile, the one he’s known for. A person hadn’t made him grin, laugh, and feel loved since the death of his wife, and he became forever grateful for it. This joy is one of the reasons Alfred gave Ivan so many chances, he felt like he owed it to Ivan for pulling him out of such a dark, horrible place. Alfred’s usually happy-go-lucky personality has dimmed down to a depressed, stressed man. While he would never return to the same man he used to be- it was the closest he’d achieve being his old self. That Alfred had died the same day they did. 

Emma frowned and felt her heart crack from Alfred’s story. “I’m so sorry Alfred… That must have been terrible to go through… To have a loss like that…” She took notice of the longing in Alfred’s eyes when he looked over at Ivan. His glossy eyes matched his husband’s, whose whole body language changed at Alfred’s comments. His body relaxed, and his arms unfolded. Turning his head, he looked at Alfred. While not smiling, his face lacked the hostility of earlier. Emma gathered that certain subjects seemed to open Ivan up. As if he couldn’t stay as mad when Alfred spoke like that. They both stared at each other before looking away. “Yeah… It… Losing someone like that changes you…” Alfred said, the tone of his voice sober. While it had been eight years, his voice always went low when he spoke of his late wife. “I bet you felt… renewed meeting Ivan.” She said, with Alfred nodding. “Of course- I felt…. I can’t even put it to words, but yeah…” Taking a deep breath, Alfred attempted to control the feeling of his throat croaking. He didn’t want to cry a couple of minutes in. Sitting up straight, he closed his eyes for a minute. “I don’t think I’ll ever be the same man as I was before. When Bella and the baby died, I don’t know- I” Shaking his head, he struggled to find words to express himself properly. “It was like a piece of me died with them. I always have this empty feeling in my chest- And I’ve accepted it.” 

Emma leaned in, with gentle eyes and frown. “It’s normal to feel that way… People like to tell others how to grieve- that you’ll get ‘over’ it. But it’s not about getting over it per se, but learning how to live with the grief. Learning how to cope and bring back the joy in your life. But never to move on and act as if they don’t exist.” 

Alfred nodded quickly, almost looking relieved and pleased that someone had said that. “Thank you! People tell me that I’ll move on as if I can just forget about the years we spent together. I-“ Shaking his head again, he put his hand in the air, frustrated by his troubles explaining it. “You know what I mean.” 

Emma nodded, taking some notes on Alfred’s past relationships and development with Ivan. She eyed Ivan, whose hand had slowly crept up, and began to softly rub Alfred’s shoulder. The change in the mood caused Ivan to finally open up. “I also was not in a good place either. I had left a very unhealthy relationship… And Alfred was- he was kind… And caring. And he made me feel good about myself. He treated me like a person, and most people do not.” He looked down when he said most, implying that socially, he might not be the most popular or got along with others. Alfred reached his hand out, taking Ivan’s carefully. He rubbed his thumb over his knuckles, his way of saying ‘I love you.’

Emma did an airy laugh, pleased by the display of love. “You two seem… to fall back in quickly, yes?” She observed. They went from angry and giving dirty looks, to holding hands and looking apologetic in a matter of minutes. They both nodded, and while guilty, they showed the first smiles of the session. “Yeah… We do… We get mad… and then makeup… and then get mad again…”

“... And then makeup again.” 

“I can be kinda bad at staying mad at him at times… I don’t know, I’ve always been like that with the ones I love…” Alfred sighed, aware of his own problem of quick forgiveness. He had trouble staying upset with loved ones, especially once they showed remorse. “Ivan knows he can bat his eyelashes and I’ll say it’s alright.” Alfred displayed a smirk, as he’d been married to Ivan long enough to know all his tricks. 

Yet he still fell for them. 

Ivan shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, not enjoying being called out on his manipulative tactics. Alfred has accused him of taking advantage of his kindness and forgiving nature. He didn’t want to admit that he could be manipulative at times; using what he knew about the person to get a step ahead of them. Ivan enjoyed playing with a full deck of cards, and when someone else was at his level, he panicked. It became part of his attraction to Alfred, and part of the reason why they’d fight. Alfred’s strong personality and lack of fear to stand up to Ivan and speak his mind proved to be a rare quality people had. Ivan’s aura oozed intimidation; even if he wasn’t trying too. His smile caused people to look nervously to the side and give in to his demands. Ivan found the trait to be a blessing and a curse. Amazing when he wanted to get something out of the person, but awful when he desired a genuine relationship with someone. Only certain personalities could cope with Ivan, and he had enough self-awareness to realize it. 

“Well… You do not always forgive me, straight away at least… There have been many times you’ve stayed upset.” Attempting to counter Alfred's statement, it only won an eye roll from the man. “Well- of course, I’ll be mad for a while sometimes… but I always forgive you. You’re the one with grudges-” Alfred’s rant was interrupted by their therapist, who was trying to avoid an upcoming yelling match. 

“Alright, let us stay away from you statements and accusations. Bickering back and forth isn’t going to help us. If it doesn’t work at home, it won’t work here.” Emma’s voice got a bit more stern. “Fights to hand-holding, to fights again. You two are very up and down it appears, would you agree?” She asked, watching as both parties looked at each other, before looking away again and nodding. She then asked a question that she had a gut feeling would make either both or at least one uneasy. 

“I want to know… Do you two think that you both, how do I say this-” She paused for a moment before looking up and thinking of the correct translation in English. “Feed off the chaos? As in you hate it- but another part of you thrives with it? Ivan, I want to hear your opinion first.” She offered a small smile to her hard question. Emma decided on asking Ivan first due to his lack of speaking earlier, as she couldn’t have Alfred do all the talking, she needed Ivan’s side.

The question made the man look at his lap. He nervously played with the end of his scarf, he didn’t know what to say. He could say ‘No, of course not’, to save his pride. To reject all responsibility from the situation. Staying silent, he didn’t want to admit the rush of emotions when he and Alfred fought and made up. He’d feel alive. There was a possibility that Ivan couldn’t even recognize it himself. Getting stressed, he kept looking in his lap with a blank look, almost in a daze until Alfred lightly squeezed his shoulder. The man jerked and sat up a tad bit higher as if he were just abruptly woken from sleep. 

Looking back and forth, he mustered up an answer in the middle of yes and no: “I don’t know… Maybe… No idea…” Crossing his arms again, his eyes stayed on the wall, looking at the details of the pretty light yellow paint: his favorite color. Alfred sighed, waiting for his answer to turn. “I don’t think I do? It’s what’s stressing me out. At least I don’t think I do…” He shrugged, not wanting to think he was the type of person who thrived off of chaos. He enjoyed their light bickering and banter, fun arguing that was playful. It isn’t until it turned to someone crying or yelling where the enjoyment stopped. 

Emma accepted the ‘maybe’ answers for now. Tapping her fingers on her paper, figuring out the triggers of fights might help her dissect their behavior. “I’ll go back to that later. Ivan, I want you to tell me something that you and Alfred fight about often, something that upsets you.” She emphasized on the you and me, not wanting him to deliver the message to Alfred, more her. Delivering it to Alfred now would only end in another bickering match.

Ivan played with his scarf again, a nervous habit. It took him only a moment to bring up a topic that made Ivan beyond insane at times: jealousy. 

“I do not like his… friends.. And I do not trust him with them. He is very flirtatious… “ Ivan’s face turned sour as he thought of every pretty face his husband hung around. Alfred had a charismatic personality. Tons of friends, the life of the party. Knew how to make people laugh, easy-going. Fun. Alfred tended to attract beautiful people, and he’d grown to turn every friend of Alfred’s into an enemy. Competition.  “... And I think a lot of them like him, and I will not deal with some…-” He paused, trying not to use harsh wording, “person stealing my husband.”

The comment made Alfred groan and roll his eyes. His expression read annoyance, with a frown on his lips. “This shit again. Oh my god.” The number of arguments, yelling, and broken things in their house due to Ivan’s freakouts over his relationships with his friends was enough stress to last a lifetime. The bright blond could only sulk as he became sick of dealing with a trait he viewed Ivan having: insecurity. 

Emma held up her hand to calm Alfred, preventing a fight. “Alfred, it’s Ivan’s turn.” She said, taking note of how it was the first topic brought up by Ivan. “So you don’t trust him with his friends? Is there a… history of cheating?” She asked, wondering if a part of that would prove to be the source of stress. Ivan shook his head, looking upset still. “Not that I know of.. I have thought at times that he has.. But he proved innocent…” But before it could sound like Ivan could be looking past his own insecurities, he proved this trait again by backtracking.

“.... So far…” 

Alfred’s hands rolled up into a fist, trying not to blurt things out since it was Ivan’s turn. The two ending words disappointed Emma since his wording almost appeared as if he wasn’t still suspicious of Alfred. Sadly, old habits die hard. Things clicking together in her head, she asked one more question. “Alright. What does Alfred do that makes you think he might be cheating on you?” She wrote down on her paper ‘feelings of insecurity towards Alfred regarding loyalty’, under her Ivan tab. Ivan tapped his fingers on his leg as he looked up, his soft face having a child-like pout. “He.. he…” Ivan scrambled for words that wouldn’t make him look crazy. A word he got accused many times by Alfred. 

“-I think he can just be too friendly.. And flirty… And he is constantly out and about, drinking, with friends….” He trailed on. His voice was low, then high as if he was trying to convince himself of something. “Texting soooo many people. Too many people.” He puffed his cheeks a bit, adding on to some of his child-like habits. Redness rushed to his face, the feeling of slight embarrassment filling his stomach. His heart would hurt every time he saw a friend of his touch his arm. Or hug him, wrap their arms around him for too long. Giggles and grins, with starstruck glances. They all adored Alfred, and it despised every second of it.

“... Do you feel scared? That you’ll lose him? That someone’s going to take him away from you?”

Ivan nodded, his eyes looking upset as he glanced at Alfred and let out a sad laugh. “Of course! Look at him. How am I supposed to compare?!” He covered his mouth as if those comments were a slip-up. Feeling exposed, he placed his hands in his lap and glanced back at the light yellow wall. Being vulnerable with a stranger proved changeling, he didn’t want to confess. The verbal mishap made him jittery, he wished he could run out of the room, but he was bound to his seat, forced to have someone analyze and look into him. Uncomfortable. Body language stiffened, his palms getting sweaty, 

Emma’s eyes widened a bit at the confession and reaction, while Alfred looked disheartened and unsurprised. Nothing new revealed; Alfred knew his husband, he’d spent over five years with this man. And out of anything, Alfred knew Ivan's self-hate. In a passionate fight or drunk, it would seep out. Or small comments when feeling insecure. Ivan’s facade of confidence could be wiped away easily by people who truly knew him. 

‘How doesn’t he see what I see?’

A disappointed sigh escaped Alfred’s lips as he closed his eyes. “Baby… I just- I don’t know how many times I gotta tell you that I love you and only you. I don’t want anyone else. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong…” Alfred rested his elbows on his thighs as he put his head in his hands. With mixed emotions, he couldn’t help but blame himself. He felt a pitch in his heart hearing Ivan speak like that. Almost as if he’s failed as a lover. A husband, unable to make the center of his world feel loved and secure. It had been five years of him telling his adored that he is smart, funny, beautiful, and kind. That he wanted children with him, a family. That nothing made him happier than to lay next to him in bed, and whisper sweet talk into his ear. Holding his hand, and placing kisses on his knuckles, the list filled with many small and large acts. 

“.... It is not you, Alfred….” Ivan’s eyes went over Alfred's slumped figure. In a low whisper, only loud enough for his husband and therapist to wear, he let out his first ownership of responsibility in their chaos; “... It is me… It has always been me.” He sighed, placing his hand on his back. The hand made Alfred sit up, looking back at him. Their eyes met for a moment before it all became too much for Ivan. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his hands sweaty, and arms slightly shaking. Panicked. Showing all his cards left him feeling defenseless. And all in front of a stranger. 

“Ivan, do you want too-”

“-I… can... can we come again in a few days? I-....” Ivan could barely form sentences in English, he wished he could speak in his native tongue. Translating when stressed typically ended in mistranslations. “I need some time. To gather my thoughts, yes…” Looking back and forth, he did not want to talk about any of this right now. He didn’t want Emma asking why he felt that way about himself, or what his childhood was like, or what his ex-boyfriend was like; none of it. Anything that required memories couldn’t be spoken of. Shifting uncomfortably, Ivan kept his eyes down. Alfred seemed surprisingly calm while Ivan quietly freaked out. He placed a hand on his upset husband’s shoulder, rubbing it carefully as he attempted to soothe him. “It’s alright, we can come back in a few days…”

Emma nodded, as it wasn’t the first time she’s seen someone get upset, especially at the first session. Pleased to see that Alfred’s comforting seemed to bring the anxious look down, she decided not to argue about the session being cut short. “It is completely alright! I understand. When you two want to revisit this we can.” Staying calm, she shook Alfred’s hand, who whispered a small ‘I’ll call you later.’ to her. 

A few moments later, the couple was out of her office. Taking a deep breath, she looked at her piece of paper and raised a brow. 

“I really hope they come back.” She said to herself in French. 

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Parking in the driveway of their house, the couple was just as silent as they were during the entire car ride. Ivan spent it looking out the window, while Alfred kept looking back and forth between him and the road. Worried, he wondered when he would be able to get Ivan to open like that up again. They sat in silence for a moment until, by Alfred’s surprise, Ivan spoke up. “I’m sorry… I simply… I don’t know…” His words went quieter as he trailed off again, looking at his lap and then at Alfred. ‘He probably thinks I did this on purpose…’ The thought bounced around in his already frantic head. Alfred knew already that he hated therapy, what would stop him from thinking this is only an act?

“I know it’s hard for you to open up like that in front of strangers… Just promise me you’ll go back with me?” Alfred asked, raising a brow. He looked a bit tired, but his expression displayed a bit softer than earlier. His hand crept up to hold Ivan’s, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. “I felt like we were going somewhere. I want us to work, okay?” His voice cracked at the last word; he meant it. While he hadn’t heard a lot in therapy, it gave him some light at the end of the tunnel. He gulped as his eyes got watery, his other hand running through his own hair. 

Seeing Alfred’s caring reaction, he reached over and pulled him into a tight hug. His own eyes starting to water, he nuzzled his face into his shoulder. 

“Of course.” 

[ Link to Ao3 ]

[terrifying-testicles]

Sugar Daddy!Bakugou x Reader Ch. 1

Okay soooo I had this written weeks ago but just needed to get it typed up and wasn’t sure if I wanted to post it without part two ready. I’m impatient though! So, here it is! This is more of an introduction into why our gremlin would be a sugar daddy, so hold tight guys, the second part gets into the actual sugar daddy nonsense. I also have plans to get saucy as the series continues, since I wasn’t originally planning on it turning into such a m o n s t e r. Also, the line I put in near the end is an actual thing someone has sent me before. Go figure. 

Btw, the reader’s quirk is based on my OC’s quirk, Energy Manipulation and Absorption, which she will explain in the second chapter, I promissssse. Enjoy!

Words: 6.3k

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“Well how am I supposed to help you if you won’t even tell me your type?” “I don’t want your fucking help!” Bakugou huffs and increases his pace to avoid Kirishima’s persistent pout. Kirishima jutts his bottom lip out further. He honestly didn’t understand how his partner could be so fast and agile in such baggy pants. The two heroes continue walking through the city, on their usual patrol. It had been a relatively quiet day, only having calmed (threatened) a rather rowdy group they had strolled upon earlier in the day. Given how little there was to hold their attention, Kirishima filled the gaps with conversation. However, recently the topic had been circling back to Bakugou’s love life, which was, in Kirishima’s words, “almost more depressing than Denki’s.” The red head had been trying to goad Bakugou into giving him something to go off of so that he could help set him up with somebody. Of course, Bakugou objected. Kirishima was beside Bakugou in three long strides, silently thanking the Gods for the few inches over his friend in height. “Oh, c’mon man! You and I both know how lonely you are—” “I’m not lonely! I don’t need annoying people to fill my time. You do that enough,” Bakugou snapps harshly, refusing to meet Kirishima’s eyes. “Bro, listen,” Kirishima steps out to block Bakugou’s path, left hand raised in a placating gesture. Bakugou’s fists clench at his sides as he levels Kirishima with a ferocious glare, teeth clenched. Despite his hostile posture, he makes no move to push his partner out of the way. “The last time you tried to date someone it didn’t go that well,” Bakugou growls.

“But! I think you’ve let that discourage you! You should try getting back out there, man. You don’t know who you could be missing out on.” Kirishima gave a small, reassuring smile. Bakugou scoffs and crosses his arms. He casts his glare aside and notices a few people around them. Already tired eyes catch a couple of women who were watching the two of them from across the street, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “You really aren’t going to leave me alone about this, are you shitty hair?” he rumbles lowly. Kirishima shakes his head vigorously, not unlike a 5 year old denying that they broke their toy. Bakugou sighs dramatically. “I’m not about to have this conversation here.” He accentuates his statement by glancing back to the women across the street, who now scurry off at the heated look he sends their way. Kirishima’s carmine eyes light up. “You mean you’ll actually talk to me ab—” “Yes, alright?” Bakugou hisses. “Just— later. And you can’t keep bugging me about it after that!” The ash blond punctuates his statement with a gloved finger shoved into Kirishima’s broad chest. He only grins, nodding his head before stepping to Bakugou’s side and throwing a hand across his shoulders. “Excellent! I have this idea…” “Shitty hair—” Bakugou’s warning tone is interrupted by the shrill whine of an alarm. Both men snap their heads up to see a storefront about two blocks down blow out in a spray of glass, three figures jumping out and bolting away from the now wailing alarm. “Fucking finally!” Bakugou roars, feet already carrying him in a spring, Kirishima hot on his heels.

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“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t the last thing you want to do today but he’s too new. If he ruins another experiment I’ll throw him in the pressure chamber.” You sigh through your nose, setting your coffee on the cafe table. “I’m in town right now, so it’ll be at least fifteen minutes before I could get there.” You press your shoulder against the phone so that you can shake the two sugar packets, ripping the tops and pouring them into the black coffee while your coworker continues to grumble on the other line. “You’ve got to give him a chance, Aki, he’s only an undergrad. He doesn’t know just how serious our work is.” A sound between a laugh and something offended has you pulling the phone away from your ear quickly. “Why not have him do some observation, keep him busy with recording data or something?” you suggest, smiling to the barista as you shoulder open the door. “What, and have him mess up the numbers? I don’t think so!” Aki yells. You roll your eyes. You thoroughly enjoyed your days away from the lab, but always felt anxious for the disaster group that were your coworkers, worried about what they were up to while you were gone. Too many times had you come back to a poorly hidden disaster or a professor greeting you to explain what new things your lab had been banned from doing or using. “It’s just reading numbers and writing it down. He can’t be any worse than you and that radiologist from Ikeda’s lab.” You sipped your coffee to hide the smug smile spreading across your face in response to your coworker’s sputtered response. “That was only once and we paid for the damage!” You laugh. “Still. Why do I need to go in anyway? I’m not coming in on my day off just to babysit the intern.” You really put up with far too much, more than a supervisor should without bringing in your bosses, but it was never anything you couldn’t handle yourself. You would likely die trying to fix your lab partners’ mistakes before getting the Dean involved. They may run you ragged but you’d never put the lab and your chance to conduct research in jeopardy. “It took three of us to set this experiment up, and not counting the shit inter there’s only one other person in the lab.” “I don’t get paid enough for this,” you grumble into your coffee. “I’ll owe you!” Aki singsongs. With another eyeroll, you hum into the speaker. “Fine, fine, I should be on the train in li—” A loud rumbling draws your attention away from your phone. You and the pedestrians around you look down the street, where the sound of explosions and screeching metal grew louder. You ignore your coworker’s yelling, stepping off of the sidewalk to get a glimpse around the street corner. Another explosion shakes the ground beneath your feet, almost throwing you off balance. You watch people run away from the right side of the street but being 10 meters away you were unable to see the actual force behind the tremors. Your curiosity had always posed a problem for you. Plenty of broken bones and burns and disciplinary action growing up has only proven how dangerous the depths of your inquisitive nature can be. Most people in this situation would follow the crowd and put self-preservation first. You couldn’t be most people if you actually made an effort. So, as bodies brushed past you and orange light flickers across the glass of the office buildings across the intersection, you push forward. Just to see, you tell yourself. You had only moved forward a few steps before a loud crack shocks her into stillness. Glancing up, your (e/c) eyes go wide, the skyscraper on the corner beginning to bow out at the 10th floor, glass cracking and bursting from the pressure, two floors above and below the point of tension suddenly bared to the open sky. The corner beam of the building rips away, split at the place where it bowed out. The piece that meets the ground whips out and down, arching and then reaching around the side where all of the commotion seems to come from, and effectively out of sight. A strong impulse tells you to get just a little closer, to watch whatever mayhem was unfolding so near, but before you can take a step, you hear a scream above you. On the 11th floor, the room that was once a corner office is now destroyed, the floor falling. The floor flaps down, desk sliding with gravity until it tumbles out, landing with a loud crash on the pavement. You, however, only see the person clutching onto the disconnected floor, legs kicking around in panic. You look around to find the street fairly empty. Not only of people, but of heroes. “Please don’t get caught,” you mutter under your breath, slipping your phone into your back pocket before dashing forward.

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“Stay still, you bastard!” Bakugou propels himself forward in the air, heat blanketing the exposed skin of his neck and the back of his shoulders and forearms. After giving chase, he and Kirishima had taken two bank robbers down with ease. The third, however, proved to be a challenge. His quirk had something to do with manipulating metal, and Bakugou was absolutely fed up with being smacked by lampposts and narrowly avoiding cars. The fucker had even managed to throw a manhole cover at the explosive hero and Bakugou really wasn’t looking forward to the resulting bruise on his shin. The criminal kept dipping between different streets to throw him off, but Bakugou was locked on, refusing to lose him. Bakugou shoots forward with another blast from palms open to the world whipping past him. Like this, he was easily gaining on his target, who ran on foot. The man checks behind him at the rapidly approaching blasts, panic in his eyes and the set of his jaw. Swiftly, he throws his left arm out and his hand shakes, but he never slows his pace. Bakugou was so close. Another blast and he brings his knees up closer to his chest, a wicked grin curling at his limps as he aims his body at the criminal. Creaking and shattering drew Bakugou’s eyes up, barely catching the steel beam swinging out from a building and right at him. His eyes widen and his palms shoot out, detonating just in time to push him back from the beam. He lands harshly but keeps his footing and is running in a matter of seconds. He sees the criminal pushing himself up, likely having been thrown over from the blast. He’s almost to his feet when Bakugou comes up behind him and slams one gauntlet-clad arm across his back. The man grunts as he goes down. Bakugou grabs the man’s hands and keeps them in a vice grip in one hand, the other reaching back for the quirk-nullifying cuffs. “You’re gonna regret running.” He barely has them out of his belt when there’s a loud scream. Bakugou looks up to see a desk fall through the air to the left of him. A shoulder bag follows, and his vermilion eyes shoot up to catch legs dangling from the corner of the building the villain destroyed. “Shit!” he yells, slapping the cuffs onto the villain, harshly in his haste. He takes two steps away from the man with a threat to stay put, palms aimed at the ground and ready to blast him into the air, but before he can even get a spark going, he sees [h/c] hair just to the right. It takes him a moment to realize it’s a person. A person jumping through the air. Is that a civilian?! He watches her gaining altitude, knees curling up to her chest, arms aimed out, and she lands, ungracefully, on the floor below the person dangling. Now that Bakugou has moved he can see the floor falling out and the person’s failing hold on the edge of it. Bakugou blinks, realizing that he’s just standing there watching this. He’s a hero for fuck’s suck! He runs closer to the mess of glass and office decoration. Bakugou get a better look at their position: from the way the floor sags down if the civilian feel they’d clip the edge of the floor below them, but it would be likely it would also fall in with the force of their fall. There was also a chance of them tumbling over the side with the momentum. The woman stands straight and reaches up to the person with both arms, speaking to them, but Bakugou can’t hear her from this distance. The person turns their head to look at her and he’s sure they respond before the woman bends her knees as if bracing herself. Bakugou’s hear pounds in his chest, and then the person lets go and tumbles into the woman’s awaiting arms.

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You hadn’t thought farther than making it onto the 10th floor. Your landing had been met with an unsteady surface, the floor beneath your very feet warning of impending collapse. Anxiety inflates in your chest, wind whipping at the hem of your shirt, hair brushing your shoulders and you are distantly thankful you put your hair up on the way out of your apartment this morning. The person before you whimpers, clutching as tight as they can to the carpet, fingers drained of color with the strain. You step closer to them. “Hey,” you try not to yell and startle them, but the wind whistling past the maw of destroyed glass makes it harder to hear anything. The person tenses. “Oh my Gods, please help me.” It comes out as a sob and your chest tightens. You take a deep breath and take another step closer, arms spread out before you in an almost welcoming gesture. You quickly eye the space behind you from your peripheral, where the floor begins to bow in at the point where it once met a corner and now meets the city air. “Listen, I’m right behind you. You’re going to have to let go and fall back into my arms. I promise, I will catch you.” Promise? You purse your lips at your own choice of words. The person turns their head as much as they can to see you, eyebrows furrowed, tear tracks obvious on their cheek now. “O-okay. Please don’t drop me…” They turn their head back and tighten the grip of their aching hands momentarily. You bend your knees, ready to brace yourself for the weight. You hate your impulsive nature but remain thankful for the nature of your quirk. “Ready.” She yells. When you feels the person’s weight hit you, you absorb the force of them throwing themselves backwards, but still stumble back somewhat, right foot sliding and lodging itself in the gap between the floor and the steel frame, which gives a low groan at the force you unknowingly put out in your panic. Arms securely around the person’s waist, you glance back to check your foot placement. The floor that had been dislodge from the frame is sagging in more with the pressure of your weight pressing right into its weakest point. “Now what?” the person asks, sounding winded. “HEY!” You startle, craning your neck further to find the source of the shouting. Your breath catches in your throat as you spot a hero. Not just any hero, but Ground fucking Zero. You let go of the person and turn to fully face him, brushing away the hair that blows into your eyes. Below, Ground Zero is walking up, kicking glass aside. “What the fuck are you doing?” he yells. His arms hang at his sides as best they can with the gauntlets he wears, shoulders bunched up and what you know to be his signature scowl pulling at his lips. “Uh, well, I –“ you try fishing for an excuse, but are cut short by the jolt of the floor under your feet. The added weight of another person and support of the building’s frame quickly disconnecting have you struggling to think fast. You hear Ground Zero curse but can’t decipher it, not that you’re focusing much on it. “Jump!” You look back at the hero as he walks closer. The person grips your arm tightly. “W-what?!” they squawk at him. “Fucking jump! You did it before, didn’t you?” His tone is impatient, but you feel the anxiety hidden behind it, mirrored in the way your knees tremble slightly. “But that’s t-ten stories!” You bite your lip and glance to the person holding to your arm deathly tight, a tremor running through their body. “Hey,” you start softly. Their wide eyes cut over to you. “Don’t worry. I caught you. That man down there is a pro hero, so if I can catch you then you have nothing to worry about.” The frenzied look does not leave their eyes. “Come on!” Ground Zero barks. You look at him, then back to the person. “It’s okay,” you say before reaching one foot forward and bracing it on the empty frame. You push slightly to test its strength and hear the slightest protest from the floor beneath you. “Step up here, I’ll keep you steady.” The person lets out a sound somewhere close to a sob, shakily moving after a moment’s hesitation. They step up, both hands holding yours so tight you feel your bones creak. You keep your other foot on the increasingly unstable floor to provide yourself balance as you keep the terrified person steady. Ground Zero holds out his arms, and he looks ready to dash whatever way he needs to receive the civilian safely. You nod to them, and it’s still another minute before they let go of your hands and leap out. Ground Zero moves forward and locks his knees as they land in open arms. He ends up falling back onto his ass, but the person scurries to their feet and offer to help him up. The blond hero brushes them aside and hops to his feet. “Your turn, lady.” Ground Zero rolls his shoulders, possibly to prepare himself for the next impact. You puff out a laugh. “I’m good.” As his face morphs into confused rage, you remove your foot from the floor, swing it out, and use the one on the frame to push off. You ignore the ‘what the fuck’ screamed at you and focus on your landing. Blacktop comes at you fast, and a breath away from landing you flex your toes out, energy dispersing through the movement and the pavement cracks shallowly beneath the front of your feet. Rolling to the heels, you gaze up to your right, only to find vermilion eyes boring down at your. Ground Zero must have gone to catch you but didn’t make it to you first. He’s less than an arm’s reach from you, heat rolling off of him, and you wonder if it’s from his exertion or his anger. “Are you fucking crazy?” he spits. You frown and cross your arms. “No,” you’ve barely turned to face him when he’s suddenly right in your face, teeth bared at you in a snarl. “You could’ve died up there. What kind of dumbass are you?” “Well, they could have died, and you weren’t here.” You snap back, angry at his scolding. Was he right? Of course. Were you going to admit that and roll over? Fuck no! You didn’t respond well to most authority unless you were paid to. Ground Zero growls, a retort heavy on his tongue. “Zero!” His head snaps to look over his shoulder, murder in his eyes. Red Riot now stands beside the villain Ground Zero had been chasing, holding him by a cuffed arm. The ash blond grumbles and turns back to the newest source of his annoyance, only to find the space in front of him empty. He frantically looks around. You have already made it to the end of the street, eager to avoid whatever the explosive man had to say. You look back, seeing the stunned and furious look on his face, and hive a wide smile and a waggle of your fingers before darting around the corner. Hopefully he wouldn’t give chase. You pull out your phone, dialing your coworker as you slip into the curious crowd of onlookers and flee the scene of your impromptu rescue.

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Bakugou slumps into the booth, arms crossed against his chest and a scowl hard-set on his features. After the fight, they’d talked to reporters, did the necessary paperwork, and all Bakugou had wanted after showering at the agency was to go home to his cat and zone out to nighttime television. Instead, Kirishima had talked him into (“harassed” as Bakugou had put it) going out and grabbing a drink. He had to admit that a drink would help ease the irritation from being shown up by some wannabe civilian. Of course, Kirishima had steered him to a bar near their apartments and when they approached a table the redhead had seemed set on, Bakugou was met with the familiar cackling of two of their friends. “Oi, what the fuck, shitty hair? I thought you said this was ‘winding down’?” Bakugou huffed as Kirishima slapped Sero on the back in greeting. “What? We know how to wind down,” Kaminari feigned offense, scooting further into the semi-circle booth and patting the now open seat beside him. “And it involves shots!” the blond cheered, Sero laughing in response. “He’s already two in.” Sero took a sip of his drink, obvious in his refusal to down it in one go. “You guys better catch up.” The challenge wasn’t subtle, Kirishima laughing and looking over to Bakugou. On any other day, he would have put up a fight, or made a bigger deal out of it than necessary before partaking. Instead, he reached out, snatched Sero’s glass and knocked it all back. Tequila was not on of his go-to’s, but he should’ve expected the tequila-based cocktail to be the ravenet’s choice. Not that it really mattered now that it was burning down his throat and putting a different kind of heat in his chest. Sero made a noise of complaint. Kirishima laughed and stood up from the booth while Bakugou finally dropped into his own and slumped into the seat. “Why don’t we grab some drinks for the table?” he grinned at Sero, who just sighed and waved his hand at the other two dismissively as he got up to join his muscly friend. Once out of sight, Kaminari leans across the table to squint at Bakugou. “What’s got your panties in a twist?” Bakugou slumps further into the seat. “Fuck off.” “You’re mighty grumpy.” “I’m always grumpy.” “But not like this.” Bakugou kicks his leg at Kaminari under the table, but the shorter man had anticipated it and pulls his legs up to sit cross-legged. “This is more like…like ‘someone wronged me and I’m pouting’ kind of grumpy.” Bakugou growls half-heartedly. “I don’t fucking pout.” Kaminari hums a disagreeing noise. “Sounds fake but okay. You didn’t deny the first part, though!” He smiles brightly, pressing his palms flat on the table and folds himself almost in half to lean closer. “So~ who kicked your cat, huh? “No one fu—” “Some woman from patrol.” Bakugou snaps his teeth at his partner as he and Sero approach the table with a tray of shot glasses. “Shut your damn mouth,” he hisses. “What’s this about a woman?” Sero quips cheekily, sliding in and pressing his shoulder to Kaminari’s, smile wide and sly. “Nothing.” “A civilian saved someone and totally blew him off.” Bakugou lets out an undignified sound. Kaminari leans back when Bakugou slaps his hand on the table. “Shut your shitty fucking mouth before I do for you.” He growls low at Kirishima. Said man pops down beside Sero after setting down the tray, laughing all the while like he hadn’t just been threatened. “Speaking of women,” Kaminari sets down an empty shot. Bakugou’s glare was almost exhausted. “how’s your shitty love life going?” “No, nope. I told you cocksuckers I wasn’t gonna tell you shit.” “Actually…” Bakugou looks over to Kirishima’s devilish smirk. “You said you would.” He sounds far too pleased with himself, Bakugou decides, and he has not drunk nearly enough to have this conversation with these idiots. “Not with dunce face and horse mouth.” With a sweeping gesture to them, both men frowning harshly. “We’re a delight!” Kaminari snaps, taking another shot and pushing one to Sero. The latter nods sagely before downing his. Bakugou swayed his bothered gaze over to his best friend. His resolve wavers at those puppy dog eyes. He grumbles and snatches a shot, knocking it back, followed by another. The ash blond slumps back into his seat and releases a heavy sigh. The three eager men watch Bakugou expectantly. After a long beat of silence, he snaps, “Well, I’m not starting this shit! If you want to know, you fuckers gotta ask.” He eyes another shot, debating how inebriated he could be without this conversation going all kinds of sideways. Kaminari immediately goes to speak, questions ready to burst forth, when Sero holds a hand out and looks pointedly to Kirishima. The redhead purses his lips and holds his chin, contemplation creasing his brow. Bakugou avoids the scrutinizing look and reaches for the drink Kaminari had set out for, enjoying the offended scoff he gets in return. Kirishima hums. “Okay, how about” why are you so scared to try dating again?” Bakugou scrunches his nose. “I’m not scared, you moron.” “Then what is it?” Kirishima looks as if this subject honestly concerned him, that empathetic shine in his eyes that Bakugou claims to hate so much. The other two merely raise their eyebrows at their grouchy friend. Bakugou crosses his arms over his chest and huffs, looking at the dried water ring on the table. It wasn’t that he just refused to think about it. It was quite the opposite, actually. He knew why he couldn’t date someone, what he regretted in his last relationship, what he missed, what he, dare he say it, feared about getting into something that he’d only ruin again. “I can’t,” Bakugou growls and clenches his fist. “I don’t have the time. I’m gonna be number one and I won’t date someone just to leave them alone all the time.” He purses his lips, feeling the warmth of the liquor hitting him and trying to puke his feelings out in front of this many people. “If I’m gonna be someone’s boyfriend then I’m gonna be the best, and I can’t do that with the way I’m working now.” Kaminari leans forward, face scrunched in an expression of disbelief. Bakugou briefly wonders how many of the empty glasses belong to the loudmouth beside him. “Dude, that’s way less irrational than I thought that would be.” Kaminari sits back to avoid the half-hearted swat from Bakugou. He leans on the table again and says, “Why not just find a friend with benefits or something?” Bakugou sneers. “I’m not looking for a quick fuck. I can take care of myself; I don’t need to rope somebody else in just to satisfy me. Or to spread rumors about my sex life.” “I think you actually offended him,” Sero looks from one blond to the other. “Okay well, what do you want from a relationship? Like, if you could have it without the commitment?” Kaminari asks. Bakugou curls his lip and jabs an accusing finger in his direction. “Are you saying I can’t do commitment?” Kaminari raises his hands in surrender. “What? No! Bro, now way I just—” “Katsuki,” said man turns to Kirishima, shoulders tense. “what were your favorite things about having a girlfriend?” He gives a soft smile, genuine, a weapon more efficient than any other when bargaining with the gremlin. Bakugou holds his glare, then exhales, whole body deflating and sinking into the booth. Kirishima remembers talking vaguely with his friend about this when Bakugou had initially started dating his now-ex. He’d been so much more relaxed an open (as much as he could be). Kirishima knew first hand that Bakugou took his role as boyfriend very seriously and enjoyed many aspects that came with it. He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess,” he scratches the back of his head. “I liked getting to spoil her. Seeing her light up when I bought her gifts or taking her out to dinner and showing her off.” Bakugou frowns, suddenly thinking back to all of the dates he planned, the trips he planned and endless effort he put into making her happy. “I liked getting to treat her like a queen and making her feel good.” He gives a half smirk at the multiple meanings behind that last bit. “Just wish it hadn’t turned one sided…” it’s under his breath, but the three of them catch it. Before he can spiral any further through memories, Sero snaps his fingers. “Holy shit, Bakubro, you should be a Sugar Daddy!” Kaminari, mid-shot, snorts and coughs as the liquor comes out of his nose. Kirishima dissolves into laughter, wheezing and smacking his hand on the table. Bakugou goes from a look of pure shock to absolute fury. “Ex-fucking-scuse you, Tape Face?!” Sero waves his hand around as if remorseful, though the shit-eating grin says otherwise. “Hear me out!” Bakugou glares him down while the other two try pulling themselves together. Once Kirishima gets his breathing under control and Kaminari is wiping up the liquor from the table’s surface, Sero speaks again. “I have a friend, another pro, and he’s on this sugar daddy site. Don’t give me that look, just listen!” Bakugou rolls his eyes and tries to keep his features as neutral as he can manage. “He found a sugar baby and he says it works well for him. She’s his date to galas, she does all that publicity shit with him, and he pays for outfits, lets her buy shit, I think he even pays her rent.” “Do they sleep together?” Kaminari asks with a look of bewilderment. “I didn’t ask.” Sero holds his hands up in a shrug. “My point is, if you want to treat some girl like a queen but don’t want to date her, there’s women out there who would be beside themselves if THE Ground Zero said he wanted to spoil them.” He wants to yell at him. Tell him how stupid it is, how low it is, how he’d never do something so…sleazy. “Don’t people like that expect sex? It’s the same as paying for a prostitute and playin’ ‘Pretty Woman’.” Bakugou crosses his arms again. “I mean, some sugar daddies do. A lot, actually.” Sero says the last part under his breath. “But! Not everyone does, and not every sugar baby does, either. Each person has different needs, I guess.” Bakugou scoffs, willing another refusal to come to mind. “I don’t know, man. It might be worth it to check out.” Kirishima says, picking out a shot. Bakugou grumbles and looks at his phone to take his attention away. After a couple of minutes, the rest of the group catches on that he’s done with this conversation, and move along to other topics, laughing and yelling like drunken idiots in no time.

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You crouch down, pouring the cup of food into a ceramic bowl next to the fridge. The cup wasn’t even empty before you feel a wet nose against your elbow, then the weight of your dog leaning against your left side. You laugh and turn to pet the red heeler. He shoves you over, losing your balance and tumbling over, almost knocking into the water bowl. “Rōrupan, you naughty boy! You’re such a bully, you know that?” You scratch his scruff while the brindle dog scarfs down his kibble. You stand and walk to the dining table, opening up your laptop and typing in a webpage. You walk around the kitchen, pulling out leftovers and assembling some sort of meal before throwing it into the toaster oven. Once the timer was set, you sit down in front of your laptop and sigh. “What do we have today?” you ask aloud, briefly glancing at Rōrupan, who could care less. You scroll through four new messages and grumble at each of them. All were from men with no tact in their greetings, coming on way too strong, one even saying: “Any chance you’re interested in a tall, attractive, and well hung married man?” You snap your computer shut, not even bothering to browse tonight. You would put more effort into your search if you hadn’t gotten home only mere minutes ago. You had originally joined the site as a joke, not really putting any stock in sugar daddies and that sort of lifestyle. Browsing through your options, you laughed at half of the men, coming off as try-hards facing a mid-life crisis and wanting to splurge on someone other than themselves – or their wives. You expressly ignored anyone who made their married status known, having no desire to be some rich fuck’s side piece when he had a loving wife at home. In the few months you’d been on, though, you had managed to go on a few dates, completely paid for. One man had bought you a beautiful silver evening gown for the dinner date with him. A couple of men offered to give you an allowance, which you politely declined at the realization that you didn’t want to be a reoccurring presence with these men. You weren’t a materialistic person, by any means. Your apartment was a simple one bedroom with decent amenities. It was well decorated but most of it consisted of gifts from family or absolute steals you found while browsing thrift stores. You spent more money on your dog than yourself, most times. That didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy gifts, though. Treating yourself was hard, but you absolutely lived for others tending to your needs and treating you better than most. You never looked too deep into that, ignoring the psychological implications of what led you here. Browsing may have sounded more enticing had your mind not been so occupied by one of your favorite heroes. You had dreamt so long of getting to meet the hothead, and this is not how you imagined it going down. You cursed your impulsive nature. This took the cake for “Dumbest Thing I’ve Done Because of My Cool Quirk”, which had previously been held by “The Tree Incident”, aka “The Reason I Can’t Bend My Left Leg All The Way”. You pull yourself from the table, grabbing your food and wandering into the living room. Setting the food down on the coffee table, you throw yourself onto the couch face first with a groan. He was so much dreamier up close, even when enraged. You turned your body to face away from the couch. Rōrupan trotted over, tongue lolling out of a perfect smile. You grab the throw pillow at your head and hug it to your chest. “You should have seen his eyes,” you complained to your pet. “Rōru, they could pin you in place all on their own.” Rōrupan plopped onto his rear and gave a dramatic yawn followed by a whiny rumble. “Don’t be rude,” you grumbled into the pillow. “If I see him again, I’ll DIE. He probably wants to kick my ass. Right now, I want to kick my OWN ass.” Your dog set you with a bored look. “I pulled some real vigilante shit today. You would be proud of me, bud.” You pull your head up and reach out for the still steaming plate. Sitting up, you furrow your brows and give a worried frown. “What if he tells a cop or something and they come looking for me? You’d starve without me, y’know.” At that Rōrupan leaves the room and retreats to his owner’s. You pout and huff loudly. “Let’s hope that doesn’t actually happen.”

[heyyyharry]

My Girl Series: Chapter 13 - Ghosts

…in which Y/N returns to Holmes Chapel, and Harry is a little too late.

Series description: Y/N falls in love with the older boy next door who doesn’t feel the same, years later they meet again at a funeral.

AU: actor!harry, older!harry, younger!y/n; (4-year age gap)

Chapter 12: I Love You - Y/N wants to face her past, but Harry wants to leave his behind.

Warning: EXTREME angst. 

Idk why I decided to break my own heart and everyone else’s but let’s bear with me for a better future for our babies lmao. Btw, if you guys want a cute happy song to cheer you up, Taylor Swift’s new song ME! fits their relationship very well.

OC version

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1:45 AM.

Most of the bad decisions in Harry's life by far had been made at this time of the day, when his brain was numb and his defenses were down. It started with teenage Harry throwing pebbles at his crush's window and getting chased by her father, to 24-year-old Harry picking up the call from the person he'd been avoiding for months.

Though his number one advice to himself had always been: 'if you're awake at two in the morning, just go to sleep', it was still something he'd never learned.

Sitting in the swivel chair by the floor-to-ceiling window, Harry looked out at the city, one hand gripping the phone at his ear, the other subconsciously tapping on his knee. The woman on the phone was waiting for his reply, but what she wanted to hear wasn't what he could give.

"H, say something."

A little part of him wanted to end the call and go back to bed where his present and possible future was expecting him, yet there he was, clinging onto the ghost of his past by prolonging that unnecessary conversation that was heading nowhere.

"Can I—" Ruby spoke again when all she could hear was his ragged breathing. "Can I just come over? I need to see you."

"I don't want to see you," he finally said. Judging by the sudden pause, he knew she was taken aback by that stone cold answer.

"I broke things off with him. It's true this time." Her voice trembled just like how she'd told him she would never leave him the night before she left. This might be another one of her easy lies. But why did he keep on listening instead of hanging up?

"We're gonna make an official announcement soon. But I wanted you to hear it from me," she went on to fill in his silence. "Baby, I-I know you won't believe me when I tell you this, but I love you. I still do. As much as I did before. I'm sorry I waited until now to finally end things with James. I guess I was just scared, but I'm not scared anymore. Now I know what I want. And I want us."

That was exactly what Harry had wanted to hear a couple months ago. But everything was different now.

"Rubes," he whispered, eyes squeezed shut as his brows furrowed harder. The sound of her laugh used to take him to heaven, now it only dragged him to hell.

"I missed your voice," Ruby said, funny how a smile could be heard through the phone. "I miss you. Terribly."

He shook his head slowly, afterward smiling to himself as he remembered she couldn't see him.

"Please say something, H. Anything. Let me see you."

His face contorted as she begged him in the most tragic tone he'd ever heard. It was like cleaning your closet and trying to debate if you should throw away the t-shirt you used to love that didn't fit anymore. He wanted her to shut up, but at the same time, didn't have the heart to end the conversation.

"I loved you a lot," he said at last, trying to steady his breathing when he heard her do the same. "I guess...you're always gonna mean something to me."

Ruby released a slight laugh as he took a pause. "But?"

He sighed in response to her voice crack, praying that she wouldn't burst into tears, for he wouldn't know how to cope with it. "I can't do this again, Rubes. Go back to your fiancé. We're over."

"I can't go back to the man I don't love."

"You did once before. Sure you can do it again." He chuckled wryly. "I-I'm very sorry."

She wasn't the woman he loved anymore. She was Ruby Ellis — his co-star, an actress, a stranger. That was who she was to him from now on. And he knew better than to go back to her. However, his heart ached to the thought of never hearing from her again after this call. Now he was so confused. What was it that he wanted?

Ruby didn't say anything, yet he could hear her quiet sobs which were slowly killing him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, holding his breath while waiting impatiently for her reply, which, sadly, never came.

The loud noise at the living room entrance caused his head to spin just in time Y/N caught the vase before it collided with the floor. Her big eyes stared straight at him, and his heart broke in reaction to her expression. Without reluctance, he ended the call with his ex-lover and rose from the chair, keeping eye-contact with Y/N as she took a few steps forward, eyes already filled with tears.

"Ruby?" Her voice was strained. "Ruby Ellis? The actress?"

Harry nodded, eyes glued to the floor. Y/N held her head with both hands, trying to fight the battle of emotions inside her chest as she put two and two together.

"But she'd been with her fiancé for three years." It was more like her talking to herself than to him. "Did she...cheat on him with you?"

Hurt and disbelief was etched on her face, but she still had to ask, expecting a different answer from the truth. However, Harry picked the worst time to finally be honest. He sucked in a breath, nodding his head and finally looking up to meet her eyes.

"We had an affair, but...it was more than that, at least for me. I was in love with her." Harry swallowed hard as he broke their eye-contact. "I couldn't walk away even though we'd tried to call it quit endless of times. She told me she wasn't happy and that she was gonna leave him soon, and I was stupid enough to believe her...until she left me."

Y/N's face fell fast. In that instant her skin became pale, her mouth hung with lips slightly parted and her eyes stretched wide.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She almost choked on her own words, but he wasn't looking at her to see how broken she was. "I told you everything about Blake. I trusted you!"

"You're overreacting," he mumbled and turned away. Immediately, she marched straight towards him and clutched his elbow to force him to look at her.

"What else are you hiding from me, Harry?"

"Are you serious?" He scoffed. "The past is the past. Why are you digging into mine now?"

"Because you can't seem to let it go!" Y/N shook her head fast. "We won't have a healthy relationship if you keep things like this from me."

"But we're not in a relationship, are we?"

Those words which got out on spur of the moment shocked her to the point that she let go of his arm and stumbled two steps back. Harry wasn't even thinking when he blurted out that sentence. He should've stopped there. If only he'd stopped.

"You're not my girlfriend, I don't have to tell you everything. Even if I'd told you, you would've judged me like you do now, just like everyone else!" Harry raised his voice, apparently too out of his mind to even notice the fear in her glistened eyes. "You had one boyfriend and the break up wasn't even that bad. You don't fucking know how awful it feels to give someone everything you’ve got, and still cannot compete with the person who doesn’t love them."

Y/N stared into those green eyes burning with anger. Her heart fell silent.

"Then how do you think I'm feeling right now?"

That question struck Harry like lighting. It was only then that warmth flooded back to his features. Once he saw tears streaming down her pretty face, his entire body went limp and the rapid beating of his heart echoed within his brain. The red mark on her cheek was there to remind him she'd been hurt before, now it was him who caused her more damage. The second lesson that he had never learned, was never to let anger do the talking.

“Blake left me just a week before my mother died, then you came back, you kissed me and left me too...Now put yourself in my shoes, H. Just because your pain was different from mine, it doesn’t mean you had it worse. I hurt too. I was depressed and starved myself for weeks...Is that what you want to hear?”

Trembling and afraid, Harry shook his head fast as he reached for her hands, but she shrugged him off to cover her face and muffle the heartbreaking sobs that were tearing him apart. Although she was standing right there, he couldn't help but feel like she was slipping through his fingers. He quickly clutched her arms, tears shone in his eyes yet she refused to look at him now.

"I’m so sorry...I shouldn’t...I-I don't love her anymore...You have to trust me," he pleaded, tilting his head to catch a glimpse of her face. He watched her shoulders tremble with despair. Finally, she looked up, both pairs of tear-filled eyes staring at one another.

"You don't love me either."

Y/N could see that Harry was taken aback by those words so she gave him a nod to confirm the truth.

"Yes, I knew what I said, Harry. I love you. I thought you just needed more time," she whispered, her brows drew closer together. "But now I know...I can never compete with her."

Harry's heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he heard those words. Y/N stood still, arms glued to her sides. She should feel affection when he held her face, not this, not the discomfort of his cold palms against her skin. She wanted to push him away, but she didn't have any energy left to even flinch.

He shook his head fast, pressing their foreheads together. "Bambi, look at me...You're not here to replace her. I don't love her anymore."

When he repeated those words, she almost believed him. Almost. But she couldn't. Not after what he'd said on the phone. Not after what he'd said to her when he lost his temper.

"But that's not what you meant." She exhaled sharply. "She still has a place in your heart."

"She...I...I don't...I just—" He tried to explain, though the words that got out made absolutely no sense.

"Did she leave you right before you came back for my mother's funeral?" She cut him off, not wanting to be fed with more of his meaningless words. She just wanted solid proofs that she wasn't his rebound, yet there he was, looking startled and hesitating before nodding his head to confirm her fear was real.

"Was she the one who called you after we kissed in the treehouse? The reason you were so eager to leave?"

"It's—"

"Yes or no, Harry."

"Y-Yes."

Now both of them were crying in front of one another. Y/N soon forgot about the mark on her cheek. Not a single slap could compare to this pain she must endure from hearing his confessions.

"One last question. And please be honest with me," she spoke with a breathy voice. "Do you love me?"

Silence.

Utter silence.

He could've said no, and it would've felt less insulting than him giving her silence and reluctance instead. She loved him so much that she wanted to justify for his reaction by saying he'd been hurt before and was terrified by the idea of love, that she could understand. But weren't they both the same? She'd been hurt too. She had every single reason to believe love didn't exist until she looked into his eyes. She had fought all that fear within her just to say those words to him, and meant it. If he couldn't fight for her, if he must have a second thought to decide how he should feel about her, then what was she still doing here?

Harry sucked in a breath when Y/N grabbed both of his hands and removed them from her face.

"Don't be like my dad." Her voice became as fragile as glass. "I love you...but if you don't love me back, you have to let me go."

When Y/N said those words, she did hope that he would change his mind. She did wait. But he didn't speak. And when her time for him had run out, she quietly went back to the bedroom. As for Harry, he was rooted to the spot, still trying to get grip on reality.

It didn't take too long until Y/N returned, now dressed in her own clothes and holding her handbag. He was still standing there, waiting for her to leave him instead of saying those words she'd shrugged off all of her pride to say to him. His face was paler than her ever recalled it being, as if his blood was all shrinking away.

In the blink of an eye, the door fell shut. And she was gone.

.

.

.

When Y/N stumbled out on the street, her eyes flooded with tears and the first person she called was Celine. She just needed to talk to someone or else her heart might combust any minute now. She bit her nails while waiting for her best friend to pick up the phone. Though it took a bit longer than usual, she knew Celine would never miss any of her calls.

"Hey, baby! Wow, I was just about to call you. Talk about being soulmates!"

"Cece, I—"

"I hope you're sitting down right now because your girl has an announcement to make!"

Y/N literally held her breath for that one-second pause.

"I'm engaged!"

When Celine screamed the big news into the phone, her best friend from across the ocean was so shocked she couldn't make a sound. She stood like a corpse on the side of the road, tears in her eyes but she was too afraid her heartbreak would ruin her best friend's happy day.

"Y/N, are you still there?"

"Yeah...I'm here."

"Are you crying?"

Y/N faked a laugh. The last thing she wanted was to make this about herself.

"I can't help it. I'm just so happy for you two," she said, trying to sound as cheerful as she could pretend.

"Aww, my love! Gosh, I wish you were here with us." Celine giggled. "Oh, why did you call by the way?"

"I just missed you, that's all." Y/N pressed her lips together, taking a deep breath. "Hey, something just came up, I gotta go now. I'll call you another time, yeah? Then we can spend hours talking about this."

"Oh, we certainly will! Love you, baby."

"Love you too, baby."

When that phone call came to an end, Y/N sank even deeper into depression.

How could it be?

In less than twelve hours, everything had been taken away from her. She had prided herself on being independent and laughed in the faces of the ones who needed the company of another to feel fulfilled. Here she was, completely lost with no one to turn to, not even herself. So she kept on walking, letting her tears fall and her feet lead the way. Maybe when the sun rose in a few hours, everything would be alright.

If only it'd been that easy.

The rain came without warning. It started out with little droplets, and the next second it was a torrential downpour, washing over her skin so strongly that it felt as if she was standing under a giant waterfall. Y/N didn't have an umbrella with her, so the only thing she could do was cover her head with the handbag and attempt to call a taxi on the phone. Due to unfortunate carelessness, the device slipped out of her grip and fell right into the puddle on the pavement, causing Y/N to literally scream out a curse word. There wasn't anyone around to think she was insane anyway.

The phone was dripping in rainwater when she picked it up, thus only magic could get it to work again. This time, instead of risking her life to run home, she dashed to find cover under a roof nearby, just in time two headlights appeared through the thick water curtain.

A car pulled over in front of Y/N. The familiar voice grabbed her attention right before she could recognize the person in the driver seat.

"Get in!" Marcy shouted as she tapped on the window.

This woman would be the last person Y/N wanted to be around at a moment like this, but she was given no other choice. It was either being safe in the car with the crazy person who'd slapped her, or risking standing there and getting swept away by the thunderstorm. Any sane person would've chosen the former in a heartbeat.

Immediately, Y/N got into the passenger seat and heaved a heavy sigh as she slammed the door shut, trying to catch her breath with her head back tossed back and eyes shut. Marcy quickly turned back to grab something from the backseat.

"Here." She wrapped the huge blanket around Y/N's body, stroking both of her arms to keep her warm.

"Why do you have a huge ass blanket in your car?"

"I get cold easily." Marcy rolled her eyes, although she did find it amusing how Y/N was more shocked by the blanket, than the fact that she'd showed up just in time to rescue her from the storm.

"Better?" Asked the blonde as she drove away in the rain, taking a quick glance at her future stepdaughter whose eyes were still shut, too lost in her own head to even hear that one-word question.

"How did you find me?" Y/N asked once she'd calmed down.

"It was pure luck I guess," replied Marcy. "I was driving around the city looking for you, and when it began to rain I was about to give up, then I saw you on the side of the road."

Y/N didn't say anything, instead, she turned her head to the left. Water droplets hit the car window as they drove onwards. She watched those raindrops race down, somehow finding a little bit of peace and calmness in the loud and chaotic storm.

Now that the heavy shower had washed away his scent on her body, she didn't want to go back anymore. She didn't even want to return to her flat where everywhere she looked reminded her of him. Now she had no other place to go but one.

"Are you heading back to Holmes Chapel?" She asked Marcy, who was taken aback by the sudden question.

"Uh...yeah, but I can drop you off—"

"No." She shook her head, staring at the road ahead instead of the woman in the driver seat. "Just keep on driving."

.

.

.

Harry completely lost track of time, which seemed to fly faster as he was lost in his own thoughts. Maybe he would've continued sitting there on his sofa and replaying Y/N's words over and over again in his head until he passed out from exhaustion, if the sound of thunder hadn't dragged him back to reality.

His head turned to the glass window when the rain started to pour. All that he could see was a thick curtain of water and the hazy city light hidden underneath it. His heart stopped for a second when he recalled the accident which left Y/N with a sprained ankle. He couldn't show up to help her then, now she was out in the rain because of him.

If something bad happened to her...

Harry quickly rose up as the thought briefly crossed his mind, just in time his phone began to ring. The name Ruby appeared on the screen again, but this time, he didn't even care. It was funny and sad at the same time, how the moment of realization always came a bit too late.

What had he done?

Not until then did it occur to Harry that his Bambi had left him for good. He'd officially lost her.

Now that she was gone, he missed her, he needed her, he worried about her. Now that he knew there was a high chance that he could never get her back, it felt as if he was bleeding internally. The pain couldn't compare to when Ruby left him, no, it was much worse. It tore his chest opened. If something bad happened to her tonight, how could he possibly live with himself?

What had he done?

Harry ran fast to his bedroom to throw on a pair of jeans and the t-shirt she'd left on his bed, which still smelt like her. He returned to the living room and grabbed an umbrella before heading out as fast as possible. He rushed to the street, gasping for air as the raindrops hit his cold skin. Even with an umbrella above his head, Harry couldn't save his clothes from getting soaked just in less than a minute. But it was the least of his concerns now. He turned left, then right, mouth agape, eyebrows knitted together. There was not a single person or car in sight. Where was she? Where was his Bambi?

He dialed her number but he couldn't reach her. She either had him blocked or her phone turned off, whichever it was, he wasn't sure if she was safe, and he couldn't rest knowing she was somewhere out there in this pouring rain, all on her own.

He must go find her now.

What had he done?

.

.

.

It was a long drive back to Holmes Chapel, for no vehicle could go fast in this kind of weather. The more time it took the more uncomfortable it got for the two young women in this car.

Marcy inhaled deeply as she stole another glance at Y/N, who had been so quiet that Marcy felt like it would be a crime if she breathed a bit too loud. She thought it might be for the best if she just kept silent and her eyes on the road. However, it was hard to ignore the mark on Y/N's cheek. Although it looked better now than before, it reminded Marcy of what she'd done. And she'd been tormenting herself over it from the night before.

After a couple seconds of contemplating, she finally spoke up, "About what happened in the store..." She paused to clear her throat. "I-I'm very sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"Don't bother," Y/N cut her off, speaking in a monotone. The girl couldn't sound any less indifferent, not her usual aggressive and sarcastic tone. That was how Marcy knew it had a lot to do with the big reason behind her wanting to go back to Holmes Chapel. Marcy was just too afraid to ask.

"After all," Y/N went on, this time sounding breathless. "My father was the one who took the ring from my mother, not you."

"But..." Marcy sucked in a deep breath. "But he didn't take the ring back."

This time, Y/N finally turned to look at her, eyes broadened at once. Marcy kept her focus on the road, yet her expression hardened as if what she was about to say was going to be very brutal to the young girl sitting next to her.

"On the night of the accident, before your mother left, she gave it back to him."

"W-What?"

"Your father asked me not to tell you this but...I think you deserve to know the truth." Marcy sighed, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. "Your parents had planned on getting divorced two months prior to Tam's death. I-I had nothing to do with it, I don't even know the reason. It wasn't until after she'd left that Brad and I began to grow feelings for each other. But everyone blames me for their fight, for her accident. I guess that was why I got so fed up with your attitude and—" Marcy blinked fast, shaking her head in guilt. "I'm not trying to justify my action, because I know it was wrong. But I didn't mean to hurt you on purpose."

Y/N didn't expect any of that. Besides the divorce, nothing else seemed to make sense. Why did her mother take off the ring that she loved more than herself? What was it that they were arguing about that night?

She had hoped that Marcy was just lying, yet for someone with such a troubled past, she would be able to tell if someone was spilling out lies. Therefore she was sure Marcy had said exactly what she knew. Now Y/N felt like she knew nothing at all, not even her mother, the one she loved most.

"You should take a nap. I'll wake you up when we're almost home," Marcy said with a smile.

Now that the rain was over, the sky glowed like a summer peach and the sun slowly emerged from the skyline as tall buildings rose out of the darkness. Y/N's heart was at peace once again, knowing she would be home soon.

But as she closed her eyes to get some rest, all that she could see was him.

.

.

.

"Bambi! Please, open the door if you're in there!" Harry knocked more urgently this time as he tried to catch his breath and fight back the tears. His voice was hoarse from pleading for her to let him in. It had been a while, and now he began to think she wasn't there.

The first golden light of the new day snuck through the little window near the ceiling into the hallway, blinding Harry for a second as if to let him know that the sun had come once again. How often we saw the dawn and took it for granted, that when darkness took over we suddenly craved for the light and the life it brought to our world? Same as Y/N. Now that she was gone, he finally realized what he'd lost.

Harry sat down on the floor with his back against her front door, head in his hands. Their last conversation soon came back to haunt him, and so was the look on her face when he let her go. He knew he deserved that. He was unworthy of her love. But now that he'd lost his ray of sunshine, how could he live with this cold?

In just a minute, Harry's eyes dripped with tears as he gazed toward the window above, as if the light could soothe him. His face twisted and his fists clenched so tight he could feel the sweat trapped inside them. He looked like the same distressed little boy who'd lost the stuffed bunny and the girl he loved. It would take more than a black eye and losing his captain armband to win her back this time.

But right now, he just wanted to know if she was safe. He wiped his tears and pulled out his phone, quickly making a call to the only person he knew would be able to help.

"Hello?" Isaac answered after five seconds. His sleepy voice was evident that he was barely awake.

"Mate...did Y/N come to you, or at least contact you?"

"No. What's wrong? Did something happen to her?" Just like him, his best friend sounded overly distraught.

"We had a fight and she ran off in the rain and...I'm right outside her place right now but she's not home yet."

"She didn't answer your calls?"

"No." Harry sighed, combing his fingers through his hair. "Maybe if you call her, she'll pick up."

"Alright. I'll text you if I know where she is."

"Thank you. I-I appreciate that."

Isaac hummed as a reply and hung up the phone. Harry sat there with his head tossed back, resting against the door, his eyes on the ceiling. Now he was too stressed to even get on with his day and act like nothing was wrong when everything was. But if he continued to sit there for too long, one of Y/N's neighbors might report him, or even worse, someone could start a false rumor that might damage her reputation. Sighing, he pushed himself off the floor to stand up straight, one palm pressed against the wall to keep his balance.

"Hey, you!"

When Harry heard that voice, his head jerked in its direction where he found an old lady walking up the stairs.

"Hi, ma'am," he mumbled, pressing his lips into a small smile as she approached him. But the woman couldn't look more irritated.

"You're dating the girl in that flat, right?"

Harry parted his lips, not knowing how to answer, but he assumed the old woman must be Mrs. Huang, the angry neighbor who kept complaining about him and Y/N having sex a bit too loud. She didn't even need a response from him, and just went straight into the point, handing him the pink notebook which he hadn't noticed that she'd been holding until now.

"She dropped this yesterday. Maybe you can give it back to her."

"Oh...thank you."

Mrs. Huang eyed at the young man from head to toes, making him think she might begin to lecture him on how to not disturb the neighbors. However, what she said to him was this.

"Ever since you came around, I've seen her sing a different song every day when she leaves the building. As annoying as she might be sometimes, that girl seems to be head over heels for you." Then the woman sighed happily, her wrinkles became more visible now that she was smiling at him. "I miss being young and in love with someone. Hold onto it while you still can, alright?"

When Mrs. Huang patted him on the arm and returned to her home, Harry looked down at the pink notebook in his hand. And in a few seconds, all the memories flooded back and the different images of her beautiful smile flashed right through his mind. At that moment, he realized, the goodbye wasn't supposed to be the hardest part, it was the flashbacks that followed right after.

Every single day he'd spent with Ruby had been filled with fear and anxiety, which he'd mistook for passion. But Y/N was his medicine. When he was with her, the pain stopped. She made him feel safe even though their relationship had never been solid, and with her, he could get away from the chaotic of his world to find real peace.

After getting soaked in the rain, his old t-shirt no longer smelt like his Bambi, which meant he had nothing left of her to keep, not even her scent. Now he missed her with a pain in his guts like a fire burning slow.

Had he been brave enough to just face his fear and accept the fact that it was love. It wasn't anything like the love he'd had for Ruby, but it was love. Otherwise, he wouldn't have trembled every time she called his name, his knees wouldn't have gone weak every time he caught her smiling at him, he wouldn't have spent most of the time during a day thinking, fantasizing, daydreaming about her.

If it wasn't love, what else could it be?

In his heart, he retracted all the terrible things he had said to her. He'd learned his lessons the hard way, but not soon enough for the two of them.

.

.

.

"Your sim card is okay, but I'm gonna have to take your phone to the repair store. Meanwhile, you can use my old Blackberry, it still works pretty damn fine."

Y/N pressed her lips into a small smile as she took the phone from her dad, sitting down on the edge of her bed with a blanket wrapped around her now dry and warm body. Bradford stood there for a moment to make sure his daughter didn't need anything else. He was debating with himself whether or not he should ask about why she'd come back. But once he saw the look on her face as she acted busy with the device, he took it as a cue to leave her alone for now.

Once her bedroom door was shut, Y/N finally lifted her eyes as sadness clouded her features at once. She carefully looked around the room. There was a strange melancholy feeling in her heart to be back in her childhood home after two years. Everything looked almost the same as the day she left for college, but it didn't feel the same because she was the one who'd changed.

Through that window, she used to secretly watch Harry return home from school every day. In this bed, he used to hold her as they both fell asleep on nights when her parents were both out of town, and her irresponsible aunt didn't care if there was a boy in her room. On that desk, she'd written countless pages about him, for him, that he might never get to read. She looked around this room and all she could see were their ghosts lurking in every single corner.

After all those years, the boy next door was still so far out of reach. And she was still the same fourteen-year-old pining over her older neighbor who didn't love her in return. That bitter truth made her eyes well up, but she was too old to live in Wonderland anymore. It was time for her to go back.

The new ringtone blasted from the old phone shocked Y/N to the point that she almost tossed her dad's Blackberry across the room. Fortunately, she didn't. She sighed in relief the second the name Isey appeared on the screen. Wiping away her tears, she pressed answer immediately.

"H-Hi..." Y/N exhaled a nervous laugh, hoping he wasn't able to tell what a wreck she was. But he already knew that when he decided to call.

"Smiley, are you okay? Where are you? Are you safe? Are you with someone?"

"I'm fine. What's going on?" Then the answer just appeared in her head on its own. Her smile faded soon as realization sank in. Her voice was soft and careful as she questioned, "what did Harry tell you?"

"That you two got into a fight and you ran off in the storm."

Y/N scoffed, looking down and shaking her head slightly. "It's no big deal really."

"What happened?"

"Well..." She pursed her lips, trying to come up with a white lie good enough to convince him she was okay. "We just had a small disagreement and, yeah, like we always do. It's not that big of a deal."

"I still think you should call him back," Isaac said. She could imagine the frown upon his face. "He was so worried."

"Hmm," she hummed, pressing her lips to form a straight line, not knowing what else to say.

"Where are you now?"

"I'm...in Holmes Chapel."

"What are you doing there?"

Hiding.

"I'm back for my father's wedding in two days." She chuckled nervously, eyes glancing at the spinning fan above her head. "Don't you worry about me."

There was a long pause from Isaac's side when all she could hear was his soft yet heavy breathing. She wished she could tell him what had happened, but neither her heart nor her head agreed it was a good idea to confide in Harry's best friend. So she just sat in silence and waited for him to speak. Eventually, he did.

"If you're sad, just say so."

Y/N nodded in response to those words, yet she soon realized that he couldn't see her so she quietly reassured him that she was fine. Though Isaac could probably tell she only said that so he would stop worrying about her, he was nice enough to not call her out for being a terrible liar.

"Look, I gotta go now..." She said fast, her brows pinched together as her eyes squeezed shut. "Talk to you another time?"

"Alright." He let out a short breath. "Have a great day, Smiley."

"Wait! One more thing!"

"Yeah?" His light chuckle caused her to smile a bit.

"Please don't tell Harry I'm here...I'm gonna talk to him myself when I'm ready."

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Knowing that Isaac always kept his words, Y/N trusted him entirely as she muttered a goodbye and waited for him to hang up first.

She put her phone down, staring at the window where came the new daylight welcoming her back to the small town of Holmes Chapel. The girl smiled sadly as she curled up in a ball on her childhood bed, her eyes fell shut in an instant. The exhaustion caused her body to hang limp like wet laundry on a winter day, now every one of her muscles was giving into gravity.

Taking a deep breath, she could feel the sorrow in her chest waiting to take over, yet the fear didn't seem to exist like many times before. She knew the feeling of losing someone she loved, physically, emotionally, or both; and knowing it probably made it less scary. But what was worse than fear was the emptiness that followed when that someone was gone. She was learning how to deal with it, but slowly.

[conjure-elemental]

"Neurotypical Karen" things that actually work

Look. I get it. There are few things less enjoyable than having your struggles brushed off by someone who just DOESN'T GET IT, no matter what their intentions are when they suggest "have you tried yoga?" Etcetera, etcetera. So here I am, your local Struggle Queen, with MY tried and true tips for managing yourself. Some days these tasks will feel monumental. Sometimes they're more in reach. The more you practice these habits, though, the better you will feel. I PINKIE PROMISE. No, it doesn't solve everything. But I'm in a better place than I was just from trying to incorporate these habits intermittently. Bad days still happen! I won't lie to you. But I feel healthier in body and mind, and I know you can too.

Step one. Fix. Your. Sleep. Schedule. For the love of all that ever has been or will be, FIX IT! There is a remarkable difference in my moods and ability to manage them between when I'm sleeping right and when I'm not. And it's kind of common sense, I mean, we know we're supposed to get x amount of hours a night and whatever. When you wake and when you sleep is going to be up to you and your schedule, but try to keep it consistent every day. Even weekends. What? No sleeping in on weekends? Jk, feel free to catch an extra hour or two, but the "catching up on sleep" thing is actually a myth. You can't do that. Buuuut you also don't have to push yourself right into work when you get up "early" (read - same time) on weekends. Have a slow morning, lounge around with coffee and your favorite show! Just don't sleep the day away, even though you will be tempted to. Which brings me to my next point.

Nix naps. I'm sorry. I know. I'm guilty as an absolute nap lover myself. And sometimes you really need them, like between double work shifts! I get it! But if you find yourself taking multiple naps a day or sleeping through entire afternoons in a depressed haze, recognize that. I used to, and it directly contributed to worsening moods/feelings of hopelessness and panic/etc. My hypothesis is because it directly interfered with my sleep schedule. Oh. Reread point one. Plus, when you're actually tired at bedtime from not sleeping all day, you will fall into a harder, deeper sleep...and less of a hazy uncomfortable one. I know what it's like. Sleeping when having mood issues has never actually felt like sleeping to me, just...ickiness. SO! When you feel those nap cravings. Find something to do, do it then. Don't put on TV or grab a book, you will fall asleep. Get moving! Go outside for a walk, play with a pet or sibling, have a quick workout, make some art, ANYTHING. Put on some music and dance to it. Call a friend or family member and catch up. Pick a spot of your house to clean, it will make things feel so much better.

That's point #3 is get moving. Yes, exercise is hard. My whole life I thought I hated it. But god, there's ONE HUGE SECRET that nobody is considering when looking at exercise! Exercise comes in SO MANY forms and you can PICK ONE that you are INTERESTED IN! you don't have to rent the Ab Blaster 5000 VHS series. You don't have to struggle through Buns of Steel. (But maybe you will like it!) Go take beginner level dance classes, zen flow yoga, take up hiking, fencing/swordfighting, oh my god, anything. You know why? BRAIN HACK. Getting yourself moving will directly release happy chemicals into your brain and disrupt whatever pattern is causing you to sit in your well-formed couch/bed dent in 3 day old clothes. Oh, and don't think I forgot that it's super hard to do stuff when you don't feel good. If you're not ready to go schedule a community yoga class right now, please, join me in my YouTube playlist from whatever device you're reading this on.

Water please. Pleeeease. You need to stay hydrated or you will feel like garbage. If you don't want water, drink juice or Gatorade or get those water flavoring drops. Just get something in your system so you're not withering away like a neglected houseplant!! Staying hydrated WILL: make you more mentally alert/chase off brain fog. Help prevent muscle cramping and general body pain. Make your body function easier. Make you feel less gross.

While we're at it, please eat something. Ideally, this would be something fresh and natural; grab a fruit or veggie tray from the store and keep it around for snacking. Start looking up low-energy recipes to make. Keep around foods like bananas or apples for grab-and-go foods (apples and peanut butter or cheese slices are a godsend!). But, if all you can manage is some buttered toast or a cup of ramen, I totally get it. The important thing is that you're not starving.

Help yourself feel less gross. I can only speak for myself, but I have this awful thing where feeling unclean makes me feel worse, but the worse I feel, the less motivated I am to get clean. If you can muster up a shower or bath, DO IT. And I'm proud of you. But if not??? Brush your teeth, honey. Pull your hair away from your face and wash it if you can. Baby-wipe your underarms and other crevices. Ta-da, I bet you feel a tiny bit better now!!

I'm sure there's other tips I could add on, but this is already a long post.

So in conclusion, fix your sleep schedule. Get rid of naps. Get moving. Drink something. Eat something. Wipe down. Be kind to yourself.

I know that this list may not be attainable to everyone for one reason or another, and I'm not claiming it can be. These are things that have improved MY life from MY experience. However, I would be overjoyed if anyone wants to add on their adaptations/alterations to any of these steps, be it because of disability, you're at a different point in your journey, or something else.

If you take one thing away from this post, I want it to be that consistency is key. Building routines helped me so much. Building routines is the first step in regaining control of your life. Find one, or two, of these things that you can start incorporating into your life. Then start adding in more things. Even if it's just committing to waking up at a certain time, or going for a walk twice a week.

If you read this far, thank you! I really hope that something here was helpful for you! Also, I'm sorry for the shameless plug, but I'm quite poor and my hours have been cut back at work. So if you're liking my content and can spare a dollar, my Venmo is @sage_lundquist and my PayPal is paypal.me/sagespirit

[theflenser]

Street Sects interview with Ad Libitum.

A interview with Street Sects, originally published in Polish in the Ad Libitum zine.

Interviewer: Lidia Kowalski

1) In one interview, you stated that Rat Jacket was kind of "transition point" for you. Was it only in musical kind of meaning or was it also concerning lyrical content? What kind of "topics" will be brought up on the newest album?

Leo Ashline - Mostly it was a musical transition point. I tend to approach lyric writing from a song to song basis, depending on how the music that Shaun sends me makes me feel at the time. Shaun was introducing a lot of melody on that EP, twitching guitars, slightly more patient structuring, and some really sad, melancholy synth work, so the words reflect those things. Lyrically, the thematic connective tissues of Rat Jacket are trust, betrayal, and regret. It differed from End Position in that it was less hateful and nihilistic, albeit only slightly.

On The Kicking Mule there are a lot of different themes at play. The record is more of a collection of vignettes than it is any kind of concept record. A lot of the songs are incredibly personal. “Birch Meadows, 1991” is about my parents divorce, and “Everyone’s at Home Eventually” deals in part with my love/hate relationship with alcohol, and how it has always been first and foremost a symptom of my fear and anxiety. Other songs, like “Chasing the Vig” and “The Drifter” are my feelings and experiences filtered through my love for crime noir writing, much like “Featherweight Hate” was on End Position.

2) Firstly, you have been working on making your project into a "total aesthetics" one. What exactly does it mean, what does it involve? And is it possible that one day it will go beyond simply music and visuals?

LA - An old friend of mine impressed this idea upon me about a decade or so ago. To me it means having all of the facets of your work (the music, the visuals, the words, the live performance, etc) coalesce into a unified or singular aesthetic. I think our work as a whole speaks pretty clearly to that intent. And yes, I do think it can and (hopefully) will seep into other mediums. Time will tell.

3) Concerning the visuals - on almost all of the covers of your releases, a silhouette of woman which (imo) symbolises death, can be seen. Does her presence mean simplz that death, or a thought of it, is present through full duration of your life, or does her symbolical role differ? What's your view on that?

LA – Death, or “Lizzy”, as we call her, represents different things in different images. In the original Gentrification seven inches, she represented the culture, the color that gets pushed out and washed over when a neighborhood is gentrified. People want to destroy what they are afraid of. People are afraid of what they don’t understand. Death, like diversity, scares certain people. Lizzy was beautiful, and look what you did to her. Now you can drink your fucking pour over coffees and your fifteen dollar craft cocktails in clean, vanilla scented, color-free comfort. Happy?

In other images, she is the voyeur. She is watching, waiting, refusing to participate or interfere because she knows better. She knows how it’s going to end, one way or another, so she may as well sit back and enjoy the show. In other images she is the chauffer, our guide from here to there. In those instances I’d like to think that she represents hope, optimism, and a chance at finding something more meaningful than what we have allotted ourselves this time around.

4) You have once told about that there were periods in your life, where your only motivation to get up was music you got to make. Has making music had a cathrarctic, self-therapic role for you? Or maybe it played a part and made you see anything else in life worth living for only a bit?

LA - I think maybe a bit of both. Focusing so intently upon negative energy can be therapeutic in that the negativity can, on a good day, become something purposeful. It can be a tool to be utilized rather than a weight or a burden. And yes, certainly touring, meeting people, being fortunate enough to see your work have an effect on others, all of that can be incredibly rewarding. It can sometimes help to restore that lack of faith in the whole thing. But most of the time, unfortunately, it isn’t enough. You reach down and try to dig for that feeling, and it just isn’t there. Shaun and I do what we can to keep pushing each other forward, and I think that we are fortunate to have that dynamic. I see a lot of people, artists, who struggle to make it on their own, and it’s such an uphill battle. Trying to dodge depression, rejection, self-doubt, and a constant lack of encouragement all while pushing yourself creatively can quickly become a bleak and impossibly lonely road. It’s hard to blame people for wanting to walk away from that.

5) Well, it is obvious becouse of your experiences and feelings, but in your music you often display the darkest, most ugly side of live. You had your fair share of really awful times, but here comes the question: what, do you think, has the most power to destroy a human: his surroundings or him alone?

LA - That’s a pretty big question, and honestly I don’t think I’m really qualified to answer that, at least not in any kind of broad sense. Speaking for myself, I blame the majority of my hardships, past and present, on my own poor decisions. I’ve had a lot of opportunity, and I have wasted almost all of it. Now I’m playing catch up, and I’m still paying for a lot of those mistakes. I used to move around a lot, different cities…different states. Wherever I went I kept fucking up. I don’t think my surroundings had much to do with it.

6) There are a lot of people in the world that live in their safe world, completely unaware of what can be happening three steps from their home, completely unaware of how depression feels. Do you see "consciousness" as a value? Would you rather be totally blind, but happy?

Shaun Ringsmuth:  Consciousness is something I've had to teach myself to value. Of course, the mind records what's happening whether you appreciate it or not, but it might be to one's advantage to find a place of calm before blowing one's brains out, or worse having one's brains blasted by another person. Violence like that, either way, always scares me, because of how little value is placed on the moments, whether it's sentiment between two people or the greatest speech ever being spoken--it all seemingly becomes a waste staring at the barrel of a gun. On this topic, I would recommend Viktor Frankle's book Man's Search for Meaning. It is with great luck that tragedy doesn't happen to a person, and of course that begs the questions of how to live, why, and what for. Arguably it is better to try to live with purpose, and if that purpose is found to then not diminish it with negative self-talk, or rot away on drugs and alcohol, and to not take out on other people one's personal sense of injustice. With the creation of art, a sense of purpose can be easily associated, because it is often self-created and comes from a place of inner truth. Even in collaboration, like with me and Leo in Street Sects, we share what we can, go our separate way for a while, and then come back with we've found. Sometimes this is a song, or a new image, or a lyric, but whatever it is the aim of these created things is to give time--time being the only thing we ever really own--a story, a way of relating the human experience, which with any luck gets passed on long after we're dead. However, to get back to your question, is it better to be totally blind but happy: that's not for anyone else to say but yourself. You have to step away from your everyday reality for a number of minutes and ask yourself, Is this who I am, is this what I want? And then change the "why" to the "how"--as in, not "why am I doing this," but "how am I going to do this."

LA - Do I see a consciousness as a value? I can’t imagine any artist or musician answering “no” to that question. If I was “totally blind, but happy” I don’t think I would have much use for art or music as a creative outlet, because I doubt that I would have anything interesting to say. Pain and despair, like death and diversity, are a part of life.

7) On "The Defence of Resentment", you start by listing some of the fears you have. However, is there any  particular fear that is close to you the most, that haunts you, if I can say it this way, "personally"?


LA - My biggest fear is the fear of being a failure, of having wasted my life. To reach the end and have to own up to the fact that I could have done so much more, that I could have tried harder, done better. The potentiality of that kind of regret is terrifying.

8) In one interview, you said that being sincere while writing lyrics isn't enough, it is also a matter of finding a unique perspective. In what way you see your perspective as unique?

LA: Everyone’s perspective is unique, not just mine. However, not everyone is able to communicate their perspectives in a way that does justice to their particular experience. Art takes form, and we look to preexisting forms as influences and guideposts for our own work. Even the most abstract artists are often hard-pressed to outrun the shadows of artists who came before them. With my writing I try to focus on expressions of sincerity and honesty, and try to couch those expressions in a form that appeals to my inner critic. I don’t want anything that I write to have the stink of familiarity or nostalgia. It has to be clear that there was an effort made to approach the work from a fresh perspective. Whether I’m successful in that or not is not really for me to say, but the effort is there.

9) Do you think that we, as a human kind, have a tendency to run away from thing we'd be better off not knowing? What we escape most frequently in modern world?


SR: Some of us, yes. I've known and admired people in my life who have preferred truth in every instance. I was not one of those people. I wanted escapism and fantasy, some of which was self-destructive. Not wanting reality exactly as it is can also lead to creativity: novels, movies, music, paintings, architecture. Attempting to see reality as it is, and attempting to see reality as better than it is--these are worthy pursuits. Lately, I'm finding what's most important from day to day is knowing exactly what one thinks and feels, followed by deliberate action. Like, really stopping all movement and asking what's going on. It's the only way to care for oneself and for others. It is worth taking the time to breathe deeply, look around, and be in that very moment of reality, because that's the best chance to really see and to create. This is easier said than done, of course, because one wakes up and all the shit from yesteryear is right there, and nothing seems good enough and nobody is kind. Everyday one has to make a choice of how to live.

10) On "Rat Jacket", I can feel a distinction, yet a weird relationship between abrasive mechanisation and a "human side" to this music (by which I mean post-industrial melodic hooks). Do you think that the same kind of connection between pure human soul and that what is cold and obcure can be found?

SR:  Yes! Though, I would add that every Street Sects recording has attempted this connection between warm human melody and cold machine sounds. Humans have the gift (and burden) of being self-aware, unlike other animals, and with that comes the urge to name, to conceptualize, to make meaning where there seemingly isn't one. It's how people come to such wildly different interpretations over pieces of abstract art. The less a piece is controlled by labels the more room a person's mind has to dream. Even if something begins with a narrative or directive, it can take a turn for the surreal and then allow more headroom for the spectator. We see this in Ingmar Bergman's films. We see this in John Barth's novels. We feel this in Harold Budd's music. Any abstraction of course does ask participation of the listener/viewer, and not everyone wants that experience. Sometimes all we want is escape. Creating these things can get complicated, but it doesn't have to be a single extreme choice, thus the use of melody or a relatable narrative coursing through abstract imagery.

On "In Prison, at Least I Had You" I wrote a fairly abstract intro. Originally it was supposed to go toward a split release with the Cincinnati band Curse. Some

of their songs have slow, doomish metal-inspired parts, so I wrote what I thought would complement that. When the song starts, it's all bits of sound, total collage work, which eventually flows into what I hoped would be doomish metal tempo, followed by the main portion of the song itself. The final version you hear on Rat Jacket didn't come out as I intended, at least the intro part before the wind-up sound that kicks off the song, but I spent a lot of time on that intro collage part, really feeling out those sounds, connecting them, making sure they had the right rhythm in the mix. The intention of that song in particular serves the human/machine dynamic, I think.

11) During the times of "Gentrification" you said that you don't exactly write lyrics, but rather do some kind of stream of consciousness resolved around central topic. Are you still working like that?

LA: No. With the Gentrifiction singles there were these pieces of micro-fiction that I had written to accompany the records, these sort of journals from characters who were caught in the crossfire of social displacement. Those pieces were the core of the writing, and the “lyrics” were more guttural abstractions of those pieces. Since End Position, my approach to lyric writing has been more traditional and meticulous.

12) Also, many times when you were asked about your process of creation, you mentioned talking with each other a lot about it. What were those conversations about? I don't mean to dwell to deep, just the general.

SR: Leo and I don't sit down and work out songs on instruments together. We tend to talk through the parts, and later I work them out in the instrumentation. This is why I sometimes only write a snippet of a song, maybe one minute or two. I'll send it over to him to think about, and he'll often listen to the pieces in his van. The conversations, on the whole, cover a long period of time in our friendship, to my mind, because he and I have been talking about music since we first met in 2002. Sometimes in talking about a current thing we're working on, we'll reference a ten-year-old conversion about a band or song. It breathes new life into old ideas.

13) This question can be a bit personal, and even if your music and lyrics are generally confessional, I'll understand if you don't answer. What's you experience with the spiral of self-hate? What makes it worse and harder to escape (if it is possible at all)? How do you experience it, can you desribe in your own, abstract way?

LA: I don’t mind answering. My relationship with self-hate probably began around the time my parents got divorced, in 1991. I put on a lot of weight and it made my life harder in terms of school, peers, and my interest in the opposite sex. I have struggled with having a negative body image my entire life, and it has greatly effected my self esteem, my confidence, and my overall mental health. These issues in turn led to eating disorders, isolating myself from other people, and self medicating with alcohol and drugs. The chemical dependencies then in turn created a maelstrom of other problems, culminating in extreme and obsessive self destructive thoughts and behavior. Fixation on suicide as a solution, which is still a huge part of my mental framework, unfortunately. I feel like I have been trying to work backwards through these problems for a long time now, but the root problems are still there. Getting off drugs and alcohol was only the tip of the iceberg in terms of the mountain of work I still have in front of me. What makes it worse is inertia. Sitting around. Not doing anything. I have to keep busy with the band. I don’t go to therapy, and I stopped attending (AA) meetings years ago. Street Sects is the only real cure I have found. I don’t know what I would do without it.

14) This will be less of a question and more of a confirmation (or denial) of my predictions. On your lyrics to "In Prison, At Least I Had You", there is a fragment that says "I'm holding the same position". Is it reffering to title of your debut LP, "End

Position"?

LA: Yep. Nice catch!

15) And finally. How are you feeling these days? Is life quite OK? I wish you the best, honestly.

SR: I am now almost two years sober, so my feeling about things in general is one of hope. Without sounding corny here, I really want to live with passion, put all the ideas into the music, and try to connect with people along the way. When I drank, i drank to black out and forget myself, and I lived that way from about 14 to 32 years of age. There was so much self-loathing, trepidation, anxiety in my life. I was afraid of everything. These days I try not to take anybody or anything for granted. I let people know that I love them and that they are loved, which is something I couldn't do pretty much my whole life. I'm grateful that I'm still making music with my best friend, Leo, and I truly believe our best work is still to come.

Thank you, Lidia, for listening and looking into our music, and for taking the time to interview us.

LA: I’d be lying if I said that I feel good more often than not. Staying positive is a constant struggle. But I have a lot to be grateful for, most of all this band and my friendship with Shaun. I’m also extremely grateful for my mother, who helped me get sober, for the small handful of friends I have, and for everyone who has ever supported Street Sects in any way. Thanks for the interview, Lidia. Sorry it took us so long to get these answers back to you.

[mister-tom-a-dildo-lover]

How do you feel when people call Voldemort dumb, cartoonish villain? Do you think he is?

They only paid attention to Movie!Voldemort. In the films, every character is dumbed down considerably. On my main blog, I am doing a re-read of the HP series and am keeping everyone up to date with my observations. I have observed a lot.

Vernon is 10X worse in the books. Easily talking of beating Harry, hating Harry, and expressing no remorse over the thought of him dying. He’s made to be a joke in the films. He is in fact, very abusive and love to lord that fact over others.

Ron is 10X smarter in the books. All of his quotes were given to other characters in the films or just left out. He was regulated to an attempt at comic relief in the film.

Book!Myrtle talks of trying to kill herself after being chased off from Nick’s Deathday Party. She’s more playful in the films but in the movie she has tantrums all the time.

Voldemort monologues in the books, but it also shows his thought process. Limited time in the films means they cut out a lot of his character and the way he thinks.

In the films, things were changed/cut to conserve time. In the books however, there is more depth.

Tom Marvolo Riddle: I Am Lord VoldemortBlood Status: Half-Blood(in denial)Born: 31 Dec 1926Died: 2 May 1998Birthplace: Wool’s Orphanage, LondonTalents: Parseltongue, Powerful Magic, CharismaMother: Merope Riddle née Gaunt - PurebloodFather: Tom Riddle Sr. - MuggleHogwarts House: Slytherin - Head Boy

Notable Happenings in his Childhood/Teen Years:

The Great Depression.

WWII - leads to him witnessing the aftermath of The Blitz. As well as perpetual bombings of London long after the Blitz ended.

Magical War - Grindelwald lording over the magicals all over the world.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was conceived through use of a Love Potion. His mother, in an effort to permanently escape her abusive father and brother, who were in prison for the time being, decided to dose the Muggle she obsessively fancied. She then forced him to marry her, take her to London, and have sex with her.

Over time she began to feel guilty, but waited until she was far along in her pregnancy before releasing Tom from her influence. She had hoped he would at least stay for the baby. However, he didn’t(nor should he have had to). He fled in a panic and she had nothing to her name but the Slytherin Locket, which she pawned off in Knockturn Alley in hopes of getting something to live off of. That didn’t work much either.

She managed to give birth to Tom Marvolo Riddle in an orphanage and died shortly after naming him after his father and her father. She also made a wish for him to look like Tom Sr.. She ‘died of a broken heart’ that in my personal opinion is a load of bull since she forced herself on someone and has only herself to blame for the situation she was in.

Now TMR grows up in the orphanage where people think his oddly named mother was a circus performer since she was so hideous(thanks to inbreeding) and had no man with her. Tom grows up being able to do things others cannot and believes himself to be special.

Like other magical children who show natural aptitude, he wasn’t liked. Much like Hermione Granger wasn’t. He was smart and studious, and poor children who are fighting to get adopted out of a mediocre hellhole during the Great Depression, aren’t going to like that.

He had altercations with some of the children. The matron, a drunkard, blames him entirely. He is framed to be a delinquent, kind of like how the Dursleys had everyone thinking of Harry. And he is a child who grows to hate people who treat him terribly just because he isn’t their definition of ‘normal’.

When he finds out he has magic, he ends up revealing that he can speak to snakes. A teacher, who is supposed to be impartial but who took the words of a woman who inhaled multiple glasses of gin while complaining about how unnatural Tom was, decided to treat him like a monster on the brink of snapping any day. Because of a language. He never told Tom what it meant either.

Tom is a hard worker. He is sorted into Slytherin which is known for treating those who are not Pureblooded, terribly. And with a non-magical name like Riddle, he was probably disliked for a time. And he worked to gain the favor of his professors, save for the one walking on eggshells around him of course.

He begins to collect prominent Slytherins and makes his little group, the Knights of Walpurgis.

In his 6th Year, he opens the Chamber of Secrets after searching so long for information on his ancestry. Marvolo was a magical name, and he somehow learned of Parseltongue being a Slytherin Family trait. So he researches and studies, and finally finds what he’s looking for, though is unhappy to find that his mother was his magical parent. After all, she was weak and died. Why didn’t she save herself and decide to leave him in such a horrible place?

And during these years, he develops a fear of death. But how and why? People scared of dying, are usually faced with a near-death experience, or are made blatantly aware of something dangerous that can cause it. Take a look back at the ‘Happenings’ during his childhood. Muggle war. Blown up buildings. Thousands of people dead. Him being forced to go back to that every summer thereby putting his existence on the line.

These are what created Lord Voldemort. This is his history. A magical orphan growing up in WWII in the thick of the danger, while the world is going through a Great Depression. These experiences shape him.

Orphans cling to anything they own, which helped make him possessive of his belongings. And keeping things from kids who bothered him, isn’t a bad thing in my opinion since I did the same when people tried bullying me. If you didn’t want your hat to get ruined/taken, you shouldn’t have punched me in the face, simple. Keep your hands to yourself.

Tom Riddle as a character has nuance. But he lost his mind with the Horcruxes. He made so many that we see a vast difference in the Tom from the Diary - who has the largest soul piece - and Voldemort from GoF and onward. Looks aside, he starts getting repetitive, and a little frantic in action. He doesn’t plan things out. Why?

Horcruxes eff you up. He made 7. He’s operating on the smallest sliver of his soul and he looked like a scaley cosplayer gone wrong. The whole point of DH was to show how bad Horcruxes are and when you compare Diary!Tom to DH!Voldemort, they are massively different. Both possessive and obsessive, but still vastly different.

Voldemort ends up as a shriveled up baby-look-alike at the end of DH, never to leave Limbo. Horcruxes did that to him. Mutilated him terribly. He went mad because of his own foolishness.

Now do I think that Rowling could have done more with his character? Yes. But book Voldemort has a very interesting background, and the beauty of it, is that Rowling alludes to much in her books. She doesn’t spell everything out for the readers, and expects you to read between the lines.

So for those of us who have been in situations like Severus, Harry, or Tom’s, we see what is wrong with their childhoods and understand better. We pick up little things.

Take Harry for example. There are people claiming he wasn’t abused by the Dursleys, but then the books show him being locked in his room, bars put on his window, a cat flap placed on the door, and Petunia conveniently only feeding him and Hedwig one can of soup a day for 3 days in a row. Or how Harry learned a lesson all abused kids learn early on. [Don’t ask questions!] For those of us who’ve been through things like that, it sticks out for us.

Voldemort is an example of what went wrong in the worst way. He, Severus, and Harry are examples of the same thing going in three different directions. Voldemort got into Dark Magic and became obsessed, losing himself as he happily drowned in it. Severus got into Dark Magic and realized he was in too deep but it was too late to save him. Harry got into Dark Magic, realized it wasn’t good, and chose to stop thanks to the examples of the two before him, warning him away.

We are supposed to juxtapose Harry and Voldemort. Harry being on the one end of the spectrum and Voldemort being on the opposite end. ‘It’s our choices’ and all that rubbish.

[LIGHT]—-|—-[DARK] 

Voldemort, while not as detailed as I think he should have been toward the end, did what his character was supposed to. And that is to prove that absolute power demoralizes.

He is not cartoonish, though he is a drama queen and an attention seeker. But in the words of Sherlock Holmes, ‘the frailty of genius, [John], it needs an audience’.

[your-dietician]

How do I give up my struggle with anxiety?

New Post has been published on https://depression-md.com/how-do-i-give-up-my-struggle-with-anxiety/

How do I give up my struggle with anxiety?

Hi everybody,

I just want to be clear before I start that I appreciate this is a comment section on a post on Paul David’s blog, not my own personal blog to seek constant reassurance or to share my own experience. However, this place has so many wonderful, helpful people and I feel the need to ramble (and I do think this will seem like a rambling post) and I can’t think of anywhere better to do it. Apologies for how long this post will be – please don’t feel obliged to read it if you don’t want to. However, I hope that some of what I say might help others, and I’ll admit that I also hope somebody might have something reassuring to say to me because I’m still stuck at that stage.

So, if you were to scroll up ever so slightly, you’ll find a fairly distressed-sounding post from myself only a few days ago. This post didn’t illicit a response from anybody, which is fine. But first and foremost, I just want to let anyone who read it know that things have been better since that post. Paul has spoken often about waking up in the morning scanning how you feel as soon as you find consciousness. Well, I always wake up in an absolute state in the mornings: tired; deeply anxious; emotionally flat and quite frightened. This feeling usually backs right off once I haul my body out of bed, but sometimes it gets the better of me and I end up doing things like that previous post of mine. But here comes my first important realisation – it’s okay! I realise I don’t need to try and wake up peacefully. I don’t need to allow my feelings to demoralise me on waking. It’s okay to feel grotty. But by the same token, I also DON’T NEED TO give myself a hard time if my first thought is ‘ugh… still there’. Essentially, I’m saying that those mornings feelings are harmless, but the negative thoughts I attach to them are not something I have to force myself not to think. Whilst it’s key to stop caring about how you feel to move away from frustration surrounding anxiety, if I’m frustrated in the morning, it’s fine. I can take my frustration with me when I get up – it’s really just anxiety.

I’ve also been fretting a lot about the fact I’m on medication and having CBT. I would compare to feeling like I’m ineligible for membership of a club, by which I mean I can’t follow what Paul David teaches because I’m doing things to feel better instead of just accepting. But then I had another realisation. While I completely agree with Paul’s teachings and believe it is the road to recovery, I need to stop worrying about the fact I’m taking pills and… you guessed it… accept it. The reason people often don’t move forward with pills is that they’re actively trying to force themselves better by taking them. Well, I already know that patience, understanding and acceptance are the way through this. So why beat myself up over the pills? I need to accept that, at this point in time, I’m taking medication. Pills don’t have to be a barrier to recovery if I employ the right attitude, which basically means not seeing them as a magic fix and then collapsing in despair when they don’t fix me. It’s the same with the CBT. If I go to a session and feel relaxed and find talking to my counsellor cathartic, why worry about it? If I see him as some kind of sorcerer who’s going to magic my anxiety away, I will struggle. It will be a barrier. However, if I treat it as an appointment I have to keep, stop linking it directly to my anxiety and just see it as a chance to offload some stress and enjoy an hour’s relaxation, it can have a place in my life, and indeed in my recovery. What I’m trying to say is that, yes, pills and therapy can get in the way and I see how they can do that, but with the right attitude, they don’t have to.

At the moment, I’m still stuck in the anxiety spiral. I’ve made progress in that I feel far less ill. However, I still feel frightened, weary and spaced out. I still emotionally flat. I think it was Belgian who told me that I can see the difference between knowing something in my head and believing it deep deep down. Well, I can honestly say that I completely buy into what Paul says – he’s right, I’m certain of it. But I haven’t achieved real acceptance. Deep deep down, I’m still scared and still struggling. I’ve certainly come a long way with the physical symptoms. It’s amazing how losing your fear of them really does take away their edge. They’re paper tigers. But what I haven’t lost my fear of yet, what I’m not able to accept, is depersonalisation and derealisation, and the emotional flatness and scary thoughts that come with it. I’m terrified of psychosis and haven’t been able to accept that the thought is there in my head. I don’t think it helped when a mental health professional at the hospital said: “there’s no psychosis yet”. That ‘yet’ set me back a long way. Now all I can think is that I’m at risk of it, and I carry thought around with me a lot. Hopefully, I’ll be able to come to terms with that thought in time, but it’s very hard.

Another thing that bothers me is that I wrongly thought this all started with my first panic attack in January. I had one at work and didn’t know what it was and it led me into this spiral. However, I now realise I’ve been having panic attacks for years. Mild ones, yes, but they’ve been going on for years. What worries me is that I never feared them. I actually enjoyed them. I’d get a rush of adrenaline, a moment of derealisation and flashing images in my head, and then my heart would pound and I’d start to sweat. I liked it! It was disconcerting, and I thought they might be seizures, but now I know exactly what they are. What bothers me is that I never feared these sensations, so why do they keep coming? I genuinely never fed them fear (except for the first one or two), and yet they kept coming. That makes me think I’ll have to put up with it forever, which isn’t terrible in itself given that I used to like them, but they now cause my anxiety to spike.

I also realise I’ve had anxiety for years – possibly from the moment I was conceived. It doesn’t matter what the cause is, but I can see it now. So many things make sense. I’ve had blurred vision since a stressful time at work two years ago. I’m 31 and thought it was the result of staring at computer screens so much, but several opticians said my eyesight was very strong. The blurriness was anxiety! I’ve had eye floaters for years – anxiety! I’ve been awkward and frightened of social occasions – social anxiety! It’s all been there, building to this.

So, given all the fear I still have, what has Paul David, Anxiety No More and people here done for me over the past couple of months? Well, more than any doctor. More than any therapist. More than any mental health professional. Every doctor I’ve seen has only been trying to help me, but they just don’t understand anxiety and depersonalisation. They really don’t. It’s so common and so poorly understood. It’s no wonder people end up on internet forums, making themselves worse in the process. I believe the medical profession needs to reach out to sufferers and ex-sufferers in a big way – certainly more than they do. They could do worse than seek out Paul David. It was Paul who nipped by developing agoraphobia in the bud. It was Paul who got me out of bed. It was Paul who helped me trust my wobbly limbs. It was Paul who told me why I was trembling. It was Paul who told me why I felt sick. It was Paul who told me what that awful feeling of dread actually was. It was Paul who told me why I’d lost my emotions and the world seemed like a dream. It was Paul who told me I could have the life I wanted. That is what got me back to work. That is what stopped me cancelling a trip to Iceland. Oh god, it was hard at times, but I still managed to enjoy it. I have this feeling that should I recover, I’ll back and think ‘if I could have that trip again, I’d not want to do it without the anxiety’. How weird is that? What I’m saying is that, although I’m mired in the condition, Paul David, Anxiety No More and you guys got me back on my feet. Yeah, maybe I’m doing things wrong, maybe I haven’t accepted things yet, maybe I’m still chasing recovery, but, in a contradictory way, I’m starting to accept that I will think of recovery! I’m allowed any thought! It’s that simple.

I live in west London but I’m currently at my mum and dad’s place on Merseyside where I grew up. My dad’s been playing bass since the ’60s and last night I went to a pub open-mic night with the pair of them to watch him play. I’ve always felt awkward when I go. I think I come across as a bit off with my parents’ musician friends. I also never know where to look because everyone is a stranger to me except for my parents. When the music’s playing, you can’t really make conversation with people, so I just feel plain awkward. Last night, I took a bag of anxiety with me. It was horrible. Something was screaming at me to leave. But I didn’t leave. I stayed till 2 am. I didn’t even drink because of the anti-depressants. I sat there, probably seeming weird to people (though let’s face it, in reality, I probably didn’t) and I felt grotty, but I loved seeing my dad doing the thing he loves. Incidentally, it was nice to feel that. What I realised was that I was being lied to by my anxiety. “Michael, you need to get out of here”. “No, I don’t”. “You’ve been here hours now, can’t we just get out?” “Yes, but we’re not going to. Up yours, anxiety”.

I know I’m doing things wrong. I have mantras (‘anxiety is a lie’, ‘DP is harmless’, ‘you’re not going mad’ are prime examples). I have safety behaviours. I was given a load of Diazepam by my GP and although I pretty much never take it, I do tend to carry it around with me ‘just in case’. And chief among them, I frequent this site – reading Paul’s blogs, success stories, reassuring comments. I read Paul’s stuff about DP over and over and over again. I know that all this needs to stop. But instead of worrying about it, I realise I need to stop giving myself a hard time. I need to accept that, right now, there’s a Diazepam in my wallet, notice that I never take it, and then carry on. I need to accept that I find myself on this site and that, if I keep believing in what it teaches, I’ll not need it as much. One of the few doctors to genuinely help me was actually a nurse practitioner. I was in a dreadful state and I told her how I was worried that the pills and CBT were just crutches and might be making me worse and she pointed out that I’d probably find a bit more peace if I stopped beating myself up for needing crutches. She agreed that crutches can’t fix me long term, but I was in such a state that I needed to give myself a break. She was right.

So… I can’t promise that I won’t be back on here looking for help. I realise that I’m not properly putting everything down to anxiety and am still separating symptoms out. I realise I’m not fully accepting and that I’m still engaged in safety behaviours, still riven with fear and still doing things to feel better. But I also ACCEPT all of that. I can’t change all my habits on the spot – Paul says the same thing. Anxiety is going to go round and round in my head and I’m going to stay focused on how I feel. That’s what my mind wants to do. I’m not in that fight. I’m laying down my weapons. My mind can do as it chooses. And as I take the pressure off, and start to see anxiety for what it is, the fear will hopefully begin to slip away, the way it already has done over some of my symptoms.

I’m living now. I’m tired of doctors’ waiting rooms. I’m tired of thinking I can’t do stuff. So how am I living? Well, I’m saying yes to things. I’m meeting friends. I’m going to work. I’m getting out of the house. I’m running. I’m looking forward to my train journey back to London on Monday (first class!). I’m planning my next trip (I’m thinking Morocco). I’m considering some volunteering. I’m taking trips to Bedfont in west London to watch planes landing at Heathrow. I’m getting back into reading (not self-help books!). I’m getting my blog back on the road. I’m going to watch my sister and niece horse riding tomorrow. I’m watching football. I’m considering getting involved in local politics. And you know what? I’m not doing ANY of it to feel better. Anxiety has taught me something. Not only can I do the things I always enjoyed, I can also add new things to my life.

I want to leave you with something really positive that happened to me. Earlier this week, a friend wanted to meet for lunch, which is not unusual. I wasn’t in work that day, so I was up for it. I was quite surprised when he told me that he needed to talk about something. Naturally, I was worried about him. I’ve known him for three years, but I never knew how much of a thinker and ruminator he was. He’d had a hangover and, days later, his headache was still there and he was thinking deeply about it all day and thought he was developing anxiety. Of course, I’m no expert and advised him to see a doctor about any persistent headache. But I told him, that as far as I was concerned, he was overthinking himself into pain. He didn’t ‘have anxiety’, he was anxious. I told him that the fact he keeps thinking something awful is happening in his head doesn’t mean that it is. He just needed to stop seeing his thoughts as truth. I didn’t tell him to fight the thought, just to… here it is… accept it. Anyway, I got a lovely message of thanks from him today telling me that he’s fine now and his head is back to normal. I never for a second thought he was in the same position as me or anyone of us on here who is suffering, but he did need help. Thanks to anxiety, I was able to offer it. Who knows? He may have issues in the future. But I think he’ll be okay.

So… if you’ve read all this, thank you so much. If you’ve anything to say on my fears, especially the fear of psychosis, I’d love to hear it. On the other hand, if you think I’ve said anything that you disagree with, feel free to say. I’m just trying to navigate my way to the place where I am truly accepting all of this and it’s not hindering my life. If others can do it, why not me? Why not you?

Be kind to yourself. I intend to be kind to me from now on.

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[dewhiteflowerme]

I don’t even know where to start or what to say as a matter of fact. I’m lost for words and all that fills my heart and soul is just how much I love you Nicole. So much that... I am so lost, so confused, so hurt, so angry. I feel so betrayed yet all I know is how much I love you and how much I don’t want to lose you. People keep asking me why I’m so calm and are confused by the fact that I seem fine. I’m not fine, not one single bit. Every bit of me is broken. A part of me or maybe all of me just knows that this is not you. This might be wishful thinking but all of me is telling me that you’re coming, you’re coming back to me and you will eventually sit me down and just talk to me like we’ve always spoken. The treatment I’ve received in the last few weeks from you is no comparison to the love and compassion you’ve given me in the last three years and I guess that’s why I seem calm to everyone else, why I seem like I’m handling this and taking this “well”. Yes, you’ve ended it but I’m finding it impossible to believe that this is how you’re choosing to end it by treating me like shit.

Ever since you sent that WhatsApp saying “you haven’t reached a conclusion about our relationship and you’ve suddenly realised how different we are” I’ve cried myself to sleep, I’ve had thoughts and theories in my head and to be honest I knew what you were going to say but I didn’t want to believe it just like I can’t bring myself to believe that this is happening between us or has happened. I’m moving out, I’ve moved out and for the life of me it still just seems like a dream. I’m floating and I just don’t know what to do.

You’ve given the reasons why you’re ending this and I’ve listened... I’ve betrayed your trust and gone through your private messages and found out that in actual fact there was/is someone else but for all that is me I still can’t accept that this has ended and that the other person is there now in your life - that you have chosen to end things in this manner. You’ve treated me like a stranger, like someone you don’t know, like someone who came into your life and invaded your space, like a piece of shit if I can really be frank. You’ve shown me the utter most disrespect that no human should have to endure and still I sit here loving you so much and refusing to accept that this is the you that I know. That that’s my Nicole who’s treated me like a queen over the past three years. It’s not happening and I refuse to accept that it’s happening. My own downfall perhaps but I will stay hoping that someday you’ll reel me in and just talk to me.

The worst part I think was that every time I asked to talk about us and every time I mentioned to you that something is off you would say to me - “we’re okay, we just need to talk about a few things”.

If you really don’t want me in your life and you can’t see that future with me then I am now begging you to just let me in. For my own sanity and for my own well being please just help me understand this end of us. You said things like you don’t want to bring me into your emotions because you don’t want to hurt me, well Nicole, you’ve hurt me and if anything please give me the courtesy of a conversation as at this point I really can’t hurt any more than this. Things can be written down on paper or said to other people but you and I both know that never in your life would you treat me like you have - never would you blatantly lie to me, chase me out of your house not caring where I go or where I am, never would you bring another woman into the house that we’ve shared whilst I’m still living there. Out all the things we’ve discussed never would you do the one thing that we both agreed is the most inconsiderate, selfish, hurtful, disrespectful thing another can do to the one they love. Never. But here we are and you’ve done all those things, one after the other - it was as if I stole your money or slept with your relative or worse killed someone the way you just chose to day after day show me pain and no consideration whatsoever.

In one of our conversations I remember us having a disagreement about me not answering the phone when you were meant to bring me my suitcase I think - you called I didn’t answer and you left, then you told me that you never want to feel dispensable and disregarded and we had a whole thing about this but here we are and you’ve made me dispensable. I don’t get it. What did I do to you to make you purposefully hurt me day after day with your actions and so blatantly as well..

I’m not asking for much, I’m just asking for you. I want every bit of you that I’ve had and that I know I still have. If for the life of me I have lost you then an impeccable end is all I ask - I go crazy everyday seeing how you’ve moved on, see how happy you look yet even at the end when you were ending it with me you told me that it’s not you were unhappy. I’m really not sure what that means - you’d tell you love me and care but...

This is me reaching out, this is me begging for you to just.. I don’t know.. reading those messages to that other lady on your phone my heart just shattered because those are the things you used to say to me, things you still said right up to the moment you broke it off. This could be the end sure, I can’t force you to do anything, I can’t force feelings on you that aren’t there but..

Put yourself in my shoes just a little bit.. we were so great - we viewed a house, you paid for my freakin surgery so that we could have children, we were planning holidays, we were planning adventures, we were doing things for the flat, we were spending time with each other’s families, we were having sex, going on dates, buying flowers, cards. we’re still saying I love you - you were constantly telling me that we’re okay but we need to talk about some things... When and how did that all change - your reasons are valid, you’re allowed to think all those things about me but when did they all change to things that you weren’t even willing to work on? When did they all change to me not being in your future? How did you not even want to work or talk about my flaws when I constantly asked you to but in your saying you’re a decision, priority first person, how did you make that important decision to just leave me out and then when you were not happy with me just end it without a discussion/conversation?

Please understand my confusion and when you’re ready all I really want is just a conversation... even though it doesn’t end up with you and me - help me to still believe in love because in losing you I honest to God have no idea what love is if it’s not you. I look at you and I see love and I look away and I see absolutely nothing.

I love you so much.

I don’t know what it is that you have with this woman, I’m not sure how she makes you feel - she could probably give you the world that I never could but was hoping I had the rest of my life to do. She’s probably your perfect match on paper, you guys probably have more intellectual conversations than you and I - you probably have way more in common on paper than you and I but...

You’ve played such a big role in my life and I am so sincerely sorry that you felt like you didn’t fit into mine and I wasn’t that person for you that you saw a future with. I am sorry that I wasn’t what you wanted. I do however hope and to a certain extent believe that I was what you needed. You decided not give my flaws a chance or talk about them or reprimand them, I don’t know why you did that but Nicole.. I remember you telling me things like you see us getting married, things like you are so sure about me, things like there is very little that could make you re consider me, me talking about proposing soon and you being thrilled. You said things like you exist because of me and I bring out all the good things in you even though you know your flaws - you sent me the song “All I am by Glynne” and I choose to believe one doesn’t just say things like that.

I also need to get back to normal life, I also need to be okay, I also just need to be normal again.. the drinking, the smoking, the non care, I am slowly dying... very scared of depression and what pulls out of it are the very things you always told me were great and unique about me. The flaunting you did to people, the constant reminders that I’m amazing and who could ever dislike anything about me.

Gave the keys back, not to you but to your cousin because well, I personally couldn’t face that encounter at this moment. I’ve know Sereen, for as long as I’ve known you and it was the weirdest encounter we’ve ever had. Didn’t even hug, met her at the gate and she had to rush back into the house. She waited for me to get my Uber but I swear I felt like a stranger and her to me. It was so uncomfortable and I’m imagining that’s a replication of what my encounter would’ve been would with you... it’s also a replication of what you’ve said to these people about me. There’s no way that a person can just not care about another.

You seem so happy my love - your profile picture with this person changes almost every week, it’s been 5 months since you ended it and the way you’re going on I’m starting to believe your romance with her started way before the time you’re letting on and I can’t bring myself to block or stop looking because well I still miss you so much and actually I know your number and well if ever I wanted to look I would and I do even though I delete it almost every week. It’s okay that you’re happy, really it is but I need my sanity back - I just need to understand. I need to understand when it all changed, did I do something specific? Even though you reassured me every time I cried about how financially unstable I am and how apart we are in that department was it truly about that imbalance. You’ve left me for someone who’s the total opposite of me. Older, wealthier, white and in seeing you the one or two times after you ended it - you’ve bought a new fancier phone which I tried so hard to convince you to get, you went for laser which I countless times said why not and you insisting it was too expensive, you upgraded the smart watch to a more fancier gps one - you bought a car that I wanted and that we wanted for each other and a car that was more my dream car then yours and well I can’t help but sit here and think did I hold you back from the life you truly wanted - a life where you wanted that someone to rather be the one taking you on trips, suggesting luxuries stuff and actually doing it for you and not you spending so much in the both of us? Was it all just lie because quite frankly I believe and know that I never once mis used your funds or made you feel like I was with you for your money. We had so many conversations about this and it was never ever about the finances in our relationship yet your actions now tell a different story.

Be happy, go on with the life you’ve chosen, you told you don’t know the person you’ve become after I told you I know about Ronel yet that very weekend after chasing me out of the house you still spent the weekend with her. I’m worried, your actions are not of the person I’ve known for three years, you’ve met this person and appear very happy yet this relationship you’re in is bringing out the absolute worst in you. You would never treat any individual as you have me, you never just I don’t know lie and just be this unbelievably non caring person. Like I said be happy but if I have to wait forever I will for you to sit me down and be really remorseful, explain, tell me the honest the honest truth because what’s happened and what’s happening now, that’s not at all.

Yours always

Mbali

[sherlockxreader]

Solace (Sherlock x Reader)

Title: Solace Summary: You believe you are slowly losing your mind in your shared flat with Sherlock. So much so, that you only see one way out... Author: Maddy @laterthantherabbit Words: 2330 Characters/Relationships: Sherlock x fem!reader Warnings: Vivid descriptions of mental health issues and psychotic episodes. Suicidal thoughts, blood, self harm, mental instability

Request: Hay^^ Could you write a Sherlockxreader about them being in a relationship but the reader tries to commit suicide because of her schizophrenia? And how Sherlock tries to help her? - anonymous

Author's Notes: I’ve decided to change this slightly and make it that the reader doesn’t know they have schizophrenia and their symptoms become progressively worse until they become suicidal.

I was not wholly satisfied with my writing in this but I feel like I wrote this with the request in mind. I hope you guys like this as well and I am really sorry that it has taken me so long to get out another fic. My life is really draining me right now and I’m having a hard time getting myself t write. Thankyou all so much for putting up with my slack.

Also, I am not an expert nor have I experienced any of the symptoms I describe nor have I experienced mental issues such as this. I just wanted to make that clear and that if you are ever in need of someone to talk to, everyone here on this blog is willing to talk to you if you want, though if you are in need of professional aid, please seek out that help. Everyone and myself want you all to be the best and happiest you can be. Thank guys.

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Sherlock had noticed you had become increasingly quiet over the past few months. Your usual bubbly personality and bright smiles had become less so, even though there wasn’t any apparent cause for your melancholy. It worried him sick. He knew of the crippling effects of depression and anxiety, how his mind would eat away at him, how it coaxed him into multiple relapses before Mycroft got him into rehabilitation, before Lestrade gave him an opportunity to use his mind and before you came and showed him what it meant to live. Now he was watching the person he loved lock herself away in her body just as he had done.

It had been four months, and though your changes would have been missed by anyone else, Sherlock saw how you had stopped becoming excited at the mention of your favourites books and movies, how you had become less talkative, though before you could have outspoken Sherlock and all the Yard. You were a shell of the person you had been, and Sherlock had tried his hardest to bring you back out of your mental prison.

“Y/N?” You were sitting in John’s chair, scrolling through your phone without seeing your feed. You hummed in response, not even addressing Sherlock with a warm smile like you used too.

He sighed and picked himself up from his chair, making his way to the kitchen to make tea for the both of you. Bringing two steaming cups back into the living room, placing yours on the table beside you, he once again tried to get you to communicate. “Y/N, darling, is anything wrong?”

“Hm?” You looked up from your phone and glanced at Sherlock, shrugging your shoulders and picking up your tea, taking a sip and licking your lips.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I s’pose. Nothing’s wrong so everything is good, yes?” You took another sip and placed the cup back, giving Sherlock a small smile that was nothing in comparison to how you used to smile. Sherlock furrowed his brow and took a confused sip of his own tea as you picked up your phone again, but put it back down without looking at it again, your cryptic response rattling around inside his head.

“You’re sure there’s nothing to tell-”

“I’m fine Sherlock really.” You widened your smile and sipped at your tea until it was finished. Smacking your lips, you stood and patted Sherlock on the shoulder before going to the kitchen to wash your cup. Sherlock watched you from his seat, his heart beating fast when he heard you murmuring nonsense to yourself as the sink filled with water.

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You sighed and looked into the mirror, examining your face by sticking out your tongue and grinning to look at your teeth. You had been watching your face for a few minutes now and you could feel that something was off, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Shrugging to yourself, you prepared your toothbrush and smiled one last time at yourself before brushing your teeth, giggling a little when the foam began to dribble a little.

You heard the front door open then shut again, followed by Sherlock’s heavy set footsteps. You spat out the foam and called out, though you didn’t hear a reply. You poked your head out of the bathroom and looked down the hallway. “Sherlock?”

He grunted in reply and you smiled when you heard the television being turned on. You turned back to the mirror and watched yourself talk. “What’s on the telly Sherl? Better not be one of your crime doccos again.” You chuckled to yourself when you heard a muffled voice answer you. “Good. You know I love them as much as you but even I can’t watch one every weekend.” You went back to brushing your teeth when you heard the door again.

Spitting out the paste and drying your mouth, you went into the living room, expecting to see John entering the flat however it was just Sherlock wiping water from his face and beginning to take off his coat his coat, his hair was soaking. You furrowed your brow and stopped, watching him take off his outwear. You glanced out the open window and saw that the rain was beating heavily on the window panes, the view blurry from the water. You hadn’t realised it had been raining all day. You turned back to Sherlock, seeing him taking off his scarf now.

“What are you doing?” He jumped at your voice, having not heard you enter the room over the rain and turned to you, a small smile on his face as this had been the first time you had initiated conversation in a week.

“I’m taking off my scarf Y/N. I thought that would have been obvious.”

“But, you’ve been here for a while now. I thought John had just come in.” Sherlock looked around the room and his smile dropped a little.

“I’ve only just come back from the case I got today.” He hung up his coat and gave you a peck on the cheek, bringing his face back to hover across from yours. “John went to see his sister for the weekend, don’t you recall?”

“Oh yeah. But then who turned on the telly to crap telly just now?” You looked over to where the television sat, its screen black and the remote sitting on the table, unmoved since the morning. You looked back at Sherlock with your face scrunched a little in your confusion. “I swear it was just going. I heard it.” You looked up into his eyes, his face now neutral at hearing you speak. He swallowed and rubbed your arms.

“I’m sure it was nothing. I’m going to have a shower. You want Chinese for dinner?” His eyes seemed to be pleading with yours, so you smiled gently and nodded your head.

“Yeah, that sounds nice. I’ll order it.” You turned and left Sherlock’s embrace. When you left his sight, he deflated and scrubbed his hands over his face. He dropped his arms and looked towards the kitchen, where he could hear you speaking on the phone. Sighing, he went to the bathroom, his eyes shutting when he heard the click of the door. It must’ve just been the rain playing tricks on you.

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It wasn’t until after another three months when Sherlock fully realised the extent of your changed behaviour, and the fragility of your mind. You had become mute to the world, hardly smiling except when to be polite and barely talking to anyone.

What worried Sherlock the most however was the fact that you began talking to no-one. You would have conversations that made no sense to the air and you seemed to hear things that no-one else could, sometimes asking Sherlock if he heard the dog whine, or the man yell on the street.

He saw however that you didn’t always tell him of what you heard, and preferred to keep them to yourself. What he didn’t see was how this was breaking you from the inside. After the first few times you heard something and told Sherlock, you were met with confused looks and calm, slow words. You didn’t want to be comforted, you wanted to be believed.

You became shut off from the world, paranoid that people would stay and judge you for what you said or heard. The sounds became clearer after that first day and now they were indistinguishable from the world around you. You grew more and more frightened everyday, questioning every sound and every person’s intentions.

You could’ve sworn that the first time was an accident. You distinctly remember that you were cutting vegetables mindlessly when the blade slipped and cut a small gash in the flesh of your left thumb. You didn’t register the pain that emanated from the cut. The world only you could hear muted a little and the sounds faded until the blood beaded and clotted the cut. You shook your head as the sounds returned in full force, dropping the knife with a loud clatter that caused Sherlock to run in from the living room to see you with your hands on your temples, blood smeared on your face where the thumb had brushed.

He mended your cut and consoled you, hugging you softly and murmuring into your ear until you calmed and the sounds were briefly replaced by his voice. When your head had cleared you remembered the sweet silence that had came with the small cut and you became greedy, wanting that quiet again.

You knew it was a bit not good to want to hurt yourself but it was the only way the sounds went away for a bit. You only ever did it when no-one was in the flat. Then you would lock yourself in the bathroom and chase the silence. After each of your ‘sessions’ you cried until your eyes were raw and until the sounds reappeared. You made sure Sherlock never found out.

Though what was there that Sherlock couldn’t possibly deduce? It was shortly after you had begun when Sherlock saw the signs. You wore long sleeved shirts at all times, pulled at your sleeves to cover your hands and wrists, scratched at the healing scars. When he realised what you had been doing, his heart broke and he tried to talk to you, however you wouldn’t talk back. He stayed with you constantly, telling you he loved you and that he was here to help.

He and John scheduled regular appointments with psychologists and John’s therapist. You lied through your teeth and told them that it was helping, but how could they believe you weren’t okay if they couldn’t hear the things you heard. Sirens, wails and screams sometimes penetrated through the mundane sounds in your mind and there was the tipping point in your strength.

You couldn’t go on like this anymore. On one of the days where Sherlock was watching over you and the sounds were too unbearable, you locked yourself in the bathroom for one last time, Sherlock at the door pleading to let you in. You felt tears stream down your empty face as you searched through the cabinets, trying anything that would give you any bit of quiet. You could hear Sherlock’s quiet knocking and pleading turn into banging and emotional yelling. You heard the tears in his voice as the people only you heard grew louder along with him.

You searched for the razors, but of course Sherlock and John had taken them away. The medication was gone too, even the shower curtain. There was nothing there that could make the voices go away. You looked into the mirror and saw yourself. Your broken self. As you heard Sherlock begin to pick at the lock, your face morphed into rage as you screamed at your image. The mirror shattered as you punched at your face repeatedly, your knuckles becoming bloodied as pieces fell into the sink, blood dripping onto the white porcelain beside them until a large corner of the glass clattered loudly in the room.

You glared at the multiple faces in the broken mirror as you gripped the shard in your bloody hand, the edges stinging and voices dimming as you rose it to your forearm. As the door swung open, you brought the shard down hard onto your smooth skin, a long gash from wrist to elbow. You watched the blood seep quickly out of the cut and trickle onto the tiles below as the voices receded and the world became quiet. You succumbed to the weightless feeling and fell to your knees, hearing Sherlock yell for you and wrap his arms around your body as you slipped into unconsciousness.

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He stayed by your side for the days that they kept you in the hospital, the gentle monotonous beep of the heart monitor by your side a constant reminder of what you had tried to do to yourself. The cut wasn’t as deep as you had intended but paired with your already diminished health, the blood that you had lost during the time it took for the ambulance to arrive at Baker Street had sent you into shock and you had needed to be given bags of fluid and blood as soon as you had arrived at the hospital.

Sherlock stayed perched in the hard plastic chair by the side of your bed for two days before your eyes fluttered open to the blinding white light of the fluorescent hospital lights. You looked around your surroundings to meet Sherlock’s eyes, the dried tear stains on his cheeks and the redness in the white of his eyes evidence of his breakdown after the event. You tried to speak but the dryness in your throat prevented you from beginning. He had already prepared a glass of water for you to drink, which you sipped shakily before silence fell onto the room heavily. It was sometime before you could bring yourself to speak again. You fiddled with the blanket in your lap, not wanting to look into Sherlock’s eyes.

“Sherlock I -”

“Why?” Your lip quivered and tears blurred your vision as you told him of what you had been living through alone, of the voices that taunted you day and night which only left with pain. He sat silently and listened until you could no longer talk through the lump in your throat.

“I - I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t…” You head was buried in your hands when Sherlock moved from his chair to kneel by your side, cradling your shaking body within his arms.

“I wish you had told me earlier Y/N. I could’ve helped sooner. We all want to help, you didn’t have to hide this.” You cried into your palms as he stroked your back through the sobs. You may not be okay now, but with him by your side, you didn’t have to be alone anymore.

[minimin1993]

S/M 47 & B/L 40

Warning: Closure.

Sebastian and Min were finally ‘relaxing’ in her temporary apartment after her long shoot when she got a Skype call from Key. 

“Hey umma long time no talk.” Min smirked when she accepted the call seeing Key face. 

“Lady please, you were the one who decided to move to America. Not my fault our time zones are different.” Key smirks. “Ohhh whos that arm wrapped around your shoulder? Your new boo?”

“Actually, more like an old time boo.” She said turning her screen over to Sebastian who waves at Key. 

“Holy shittttt, you guys are finally together?” Key asks unable to control his excitement squealing like a little girl.

“Oh shut up, yes we are finally together. But can you keep it on the down low please not a lot of people know yet. We decided not to go public yet and keep the fans guessing.” Min explains. 

“Uggg fine my lips are sealed but shitttt I can imagine how the fans are going to react once they find out BuckLin is real in real life too so what that ship name. SebMin? Noo that sounds too much like semen… SebYoung?… StanYoung?.. OooYoungStan… That it… I like that YoungStan.” Key started to ramble making Sebastian and Min laugh. 

“Anyways Key not that I don’t want Min to talk to you but we are kind of in the middle of something.” Sebastian said, showing his topless torso with some very fresh love marks on it.”

“Ahhh, please continue I would love to watch… actually no it will like watching my little sister have sex… wait noo scratch that. But ummm I will cut to the chase.” Key said before taking a deep breath and started to talk in korean only. “I want you to know that I support you 100% and take your side but Jonghyun hasn’t been so good lately and I was hoping you could talk to him.”

“Define hasn’t been so good?” Min asks.

“You know how he was, he’s getting worse. His depression has taken a whole new turn, it is worrying me. And you were the only one who got through to him. You know I wouldn’t ask you unle….”

“I will talk to him.” Min said calmly.

“I know, I am sorry I asked, I won't… Wait? You will talk to him?” Key asked in shock.

“Yes I will, I have forgiven him a long time ago.” Min said turning to Sebastian who was smiling tenderly at her; he grabs her hand placing a soft kiss on top of it. “You have?” Jonghyun asked at the entrance of Key door staring at Key laptop seeing Sebastian look at Min like she hung the moon and stars herself. 

“Shit… I am sorry Min.” Key realized he forgot to lock his door. 

“It’s fine let me talk to him.” Min said turning to look at Sebastian to see if he was mad but he  just smiled at her encouraging her. 

“You forgiven me?” Jonghyun said sitting down when Key left the room. 

“Yeah I have.” Min said not wanting to cry. 

“I am so sorry, I will never be able to forgive myself for what I have done to you.” “We were practically kids then, yeah gotta admit it was like a stab to the heart but it's fine. You shouldn't punish yourself for something that happened years ago.” 

“But if I didn’t you would have stayed…”

“Jongie stop, I understand what you are coming from. It happened and to be honest, I wouldn’t change it for the world. I love where I am at and I love who I am with. I’m sorry Jongie, I won’t be able to be there for you as a partner anymore but I can still be here for you as a friend.” Min said smiling sadly at the screen. “So what do you say? Friends?” 

“I would rather have you as my friend then nothing at all. Friends.” Jonghyun said smiling sadly at the screen with tears running down his face. 

“Good, don’t be a stranger and message me more often. I will be expecting it more now.” Min said.

“Deal. I will let you go, it looks like you are a little busy.” Jonghyun said smirking at Sebastian. “Yeah about that. Talk to you soon, I have some business to finish.” Min winks at the camera.

“Have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

“Pftt. You would do anything.” 

“Exactly… Bye Min.” 

“Bye Jongie.” 

  Everyone was suited up in their Quantum suit walking over to the Time Machine all huddled around the platform. 

“Five years ago, we lost. All of us. We lost friends... We lost family... We lost a part of ourselves. Today, we have a chance to take it all back. You know your teams, you know your missions. Get the stones, get them back. One round trip each. No mistakes. No do-overs. Most of us are going somewhere we know. But it doesn't mean we should know what to expect. Be careful. Look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives. And we're gonna win.” Steve said, Tony looks over giving Steve an approving look. “Whatever it takes. Good luck.”  

“He's pretty good at that.” Rocket said about Steve speech. 

“Right?” Scott said looking very excited.  

“All right. You heard the man. Stroke those keys, jolly green.” Tony refers to Bruce who was typing on the keys. “Tractors engaged.” 

“We got this Linda.” Steve said looking over at Linda who was wearing a grin on her face that hasn’t been there since before the incident. 

“See you in a minute.” Natasha said smiling excitedly at Steve then Linda who winks back at her friend. They all shrink and enter the Quantum Realm, and they all split at different intervals, going to a different place at a different time in history.

The first group which consists of Tony, Steve, Linda, Bruce, and Scott; travels to New York in 2012, materializing right in the middle of the Chitauri battle. 

“All right, we all have our assignments. Two Stones uptown, one Stone, down. Stay low. Keep an eye on the clock.” Steve explains when the 2012 Hulk passes by them smashing everything in his way. Linda turns around to look at their Bruce who facepalms himself completely embarrassed. “Feel free to smash a few things along the way.” Linda said smirking at Bruce who rips off his shirt  

“I think it's gratuitous, but whatever.” Bruce said walking over to pretend to be 2012 Hulk smashing everything in a sarcastic way while growling fakely. Linda stands behind everyone holding her stomach laughing silently when Tony turns to look at her pushing her playfully but also has a smirk on his face. 

  The rest starts to pair up, Steve and Linda, Tony and mini sized Scott waiting for their signal to move in. 

“Just like old days huh.” Linda smirks as she and Steve runs over to the entrance of what was left of the Stark tower. 

“God how I missed you and your snarky remarks.” Steve smiles shaking his head. 

“Got to hustle, Cap. Things look like they're just about wrapped up here.” Tony said in the com. “Uh, Mr. Rogers. I almost forgot that that suit did nothing for your ass.”  

“No one asked you to look, Tony.” Steve said  

“It's ridiculous”  

“I think you look great, Cap. As far as I'm concerned, that's America's ass.” Scott said as Linda slows down a bit just to stare at Steve ass now in his current suit. 

“However now were on the topic of Steve ass, let me just say my view right now is great.” Linda said causing Steve to look back seeing Linda raise her eyebrows at him. 

“What? Like Scott said, America’s ass, and I gotta see what that is all about.” 

By the time they got to the elevator Tony updated them on what was going on. 

“All right, Cap. I got our scepter in the elevator just passing the 80th floor.”    “On it. Head to the lobby.” Steve answered.

“Alright. I'll see you there.”    When the elevator opens the ‘Hydra’ Agents sees Steve and Linda who both just walks in and hits the button to continue down.  

“Captain, Grey. I thought you were coordinating search and rescue?” 2012 Sitwell asks confused.  

“Change of plans.” 

“Hey, Cap. Grey” Brock said not taking his eyes off Steve.  

“Rumlow.” Steve said  when Linda and himself caught the eye of an agent grabbing his gun while everyone was getting suspicious. “I just got a call from the Secretary. I'm gonna be running point on the scepter”  

“Sir? I don't understand.” Sitwell said confused.  

“We got word there may be an attempt to steal it.”  

“Sorry, Cap. I can't give you the scepter.” Brock said rolling his eyes  

“I'm gonna have to call the Director.” Sitwell said.  

“That's okay. Trust me.” Steve said leaning over to Sitwell's ear. “Hail Hydra.” Linda heard it and plastered a smirk on her face before the elevator door opens, Steve and Linda gets off but she turns around, “Bye Rumlow.” Linda waves seductively winking at Brock making everyone smirk at the blushing Brock. 

Once they were out of listening range Steve tried to communicate with Tony but failed. 

“Tony, what's going on? Tell me you found that cube.” Steve said when he looks up and sees 2012 Steve standing there. “Oh, you gotta be shitting me.”  

“I have eyes on Loki. 14th floor.” 2012 Steve said then looking at Linda. 

“Steve whats going on? I am confused.” Linda pretends to act confused looking back at Steve to 2012 Steve.  

“Linda stand back, that's Loki.” 2012 Steve said. 

“I am not Loki. And I don't wanna hurt you.” Steve said putting down the case when they both go head to head smashing their shields together and engaged in a duel when 2012 Steve knocks Steve over.   

“I can do this all day.” 2012 Steve said making Linda snicker under her breathe.  

“Yeah, I know. I know.” Steve said rolling his eyes at 2012 himself and Linda throwing his shield at 2012 self which also threw his causing both to clash and drop down. Linda was having a blast watching not 1 but 2 Steve battle each other out staring at both their ‘America ass’ fight in a hand in hand battle smashing the case over the rail, she runs over attempting to grab it but it falls not long after the 2 boys fall down smashing through the glass pane. Linda winces every time the boys fall down further and further until they reach the ground floor. 

Linda took  her time jumping down the stairs gracefully walking over to the boys as 2012 Steve puts Steve in a headlock. “Bucky is alive.” Steve told 2012 Steve making him let Steve go. Linda grabs the septeure and stuns 2012 Steve before he collapses on the ground out cold. 

“You could have helped me you know.” Steve groans standing up. 

“I know but what fun in that when I can watch 2 america’s ass fight.” Linda said holding up 2 fingers to Steve's face before walking away from Steve. 

“That is America ass.” Linda heard Steve say before shaking her head laughing at him.