#the anxiety is still kinda there but i blame it on meds not working yet

[tcustodisart]

#i'm actually nervous about sharing this one ough

please don't be, it's a really lovely piece! connie and shads are such sweethearts, and i love your little comics quite dearly. i hope you're enjoying a little moment of rest and recovery after polishing this one off <3

Thank you! I finished that comic yesterday around noon, so after that I let myself just rest and play witcher 3 on switch (I'm almost done clearing skellige map). I'm probably going to allow myself to rest for a few days before jumping into another idea (which I have plenty).

[hello-there-world]

so. thought about the MCI's families in the Rewrite. so have my fun headcanons!

Naomi's Family:

hardworking upper-middle class family.

her parents work a lot, so they seem rather distant. they do love their daughters, though.

Susie and Samantha are her younger sisters. Samantha was born a couple of years after Naomi died, though.

they kept promising to get Naomi a dog, but kept putting it off due to not having much time. they were, however, planning to get Naomi a dog before school started back up.

her parents didn't talk about her too often after she died, mostly because it was a sore subject for them.

they did get Susie and Samantha a dog, though! a golden retriever :]

if the girls ever went somewhere without their parents post-MCI, they'd usually make sure that Susie and Sam stayed together. a bit annoying for Susie, but she didn't mind too much.

the girls didn't learn about Naomi and what happened to her until sometime in the mid-90s to early 2000's. they barely even knew she existed.

i mean...technically they met her ghost in the Fnaf 2 location...but still. they didn't know who she was, much less that she was their sister.

Gabrielle/"Gabi's" Family:

not...the wealthiest. they're getting by just fine, but they don't have a lot of extra income or anything.

her mother is Mexican and her father is black. they had gotten together sometime in college, and they had twins first. several years later, they had Gabi.

alongside the twins (Mia and Martin, who were around 14-15 when Gabi was murdered), Gabi has a baby brother (Leo) who was around 4 when she died.

most of Gabi's more feminine clothing came from Mia as hand-me-downs.

the Franklin-Martinez family were close to the Aftons because of how close Gabi and Liz were.

they tried to tell William "hey, uh we think two of your sons might (cough definitely) have severe anxiety issues, and maybe getting them medicated for that?? would be good actually?? i mean, we did it for Gabi, and while nothing's perfect, it's made a drastic difference in her life, so maybe it'll help Mike and Cass??" and William went "Nah, I think they're fine, but I appreciate the concern 😊"

so yeah, Rewrite Fun Fact: Gabi had anxiety meds. it's one of the reasons she gets along with Cass so well (both have horrible anxiety).

they were fucking devastated when Gabi disappeared. on her birthday no less.

the family never really recovered from it. when Martin finally had a family of his own, he named his daughter after her.

final fun fact: Mia and Martin were some of Alex's classmates, but they kinda. Fucking Hated him. understandable. they only tolerated him for three reasons: 1) for Liz and Gabi's sakes, 2) he's one of the few people that didn't deadname/misgender Gabi, and 3) They Aren't Getting On The Bad Side Of The Afton Family. They Just Ain't.

Baker (+ Jeremy)'s Family:

pretty well off! not exactly middle class, but not really struggling, either.

both Jeremy and Baker are AuDHD, but...to put it one way, it was much more obvious with Baker.

their parents were very loving, even if their dad had to work a lot.

Jeremy and Baker were really close, despite how far apart they were in age (Jeremy being in middle school and Baker not even starting kindergarten yet).

since Jere's mom had asked him to look after Baker due to the disappearances of Naomi and Gabi the day before, Jeremy blames himself for Baker going missing. he'd been playing in the arcade and told Baker to stay in the area in front of the stage and to not follow any strangers (unfortunately, "O'Hare" didn't count as a "stranger" to Baker). his parents, however, don't blame Jere for what happened.

Jeremy is of course our good old boy Mr. Fitzgerald, so...he has a Lot of plot things that i can't put here because then it'll be LONG, but have a few: Fnaf 2 Main Guard, Bite of '87 Victim, Beloved Husband of one Michael Afton, Father of two lovely boys (Cameron and Gregory), you get the gist.

Jeremy struggled with the guilt of what happened his whole life. i'd say he made peace with it around Pizzeria Sim, though.

Felix's Family:

he and his Dad...they're doing their best!

Felix's mom left when he was young. he's doing fine, though! (...kinda)

he and his dad are both Irish. he uses the accent to make his "pirate accent" sound more accurate.

Fritz drank a lot, but he was never abusive. he loved his son dearly, and he was trying his absolute best. sometimes, though, that...wasn't really enough for Felix (mostly because it meant Fritz was never there as much as Felix would've liked).

their relationship was a bit...strained. but they still loved each other.

Fritz actually witnessed Felix being taken and tried to go after him and William, but there were too many kids in the place, and he couldn't get around them in time.

(he knows it was William. there's no way in hell it wasn't. it doesn't matter if he claims to have an alibi, or if he claims that someone else could've fit in a suit that size using stilts; it's all bullshit. as far as Fritz cares, the bastard can rot.)

so...yeah. Fritz Smith and William fucking hate each other.

Kelsey (+ Andrew)'s Family:

uh...not doing so hot in the money department.

their parents are divorced, but they live with their dad (because their mom wanted to make some more money before she tried taking the kids).

their dad Fucking Sucks. physically abusive to Andy, verbally abusive to both, and he throws his empty beer bottles at either one of them.

Kelsey was technically "the favorite," but...that ain't saying much. it's pretty much code for "Mr. Schmidt tolerates this kid more than the other one."

Andrew stayed over at the Afton Household pretty often due to this. the longest he stayed over there for any prolonged period of time was for like. a month.

due to the concerns over the other missing children, and Mr. Schmidt wanting to at least pretend he was a good father, he pretty much sprung Babysitting Duty onto Andrew last minute. Andy wanted to go help comfort Jeremy after Baker's disappearance, but since Kelsey wanted to go spend time at Fredbear's, their dad forced him to take him to Fredbear's.

in Andrew's eyes, it wasn't fair. this always happened; he'd make plans, clearly state those plans, and then his dad would just! fuck them up last minute!

besides...it's not like anyone had gone missing at Fredbear's. only Freddy's. why would the killer suddenly switch it up?

so, they leave. Kelsey stays behind, drawing at one of the tables. he promises to draw a picture for Andrew when he gets back.

he was only gone for a couple of hours.

they were only gone for a couple of hours.

they find Kelsey's sketchbook and crayons, the promised drawing being on the open page. Andrew searched the diner top to bottom...nothing. Kelsey fucking vanished.

their father blamed them for what happened to Kelsey. he was supposed to watch him, after all.

and Andy internalized it. it was his fault. he blamed himself for it hard.

(Kelsey never did, though)

Andrew also inherited the alcoholism issues. so. Fun (sarcasm).

Mr. Schmidt tried to eventually reconcile with Andy later on, but...well, Andy was hesitant to fully let him back into their life after all of that (which included some homophobia and transphobia. Andrew is a demiboy and aroace, for context). but Andy was willing to give him that second chance.

Andy eventually gets better and starts going to therapy. good for them <3

Andy also lives with Mike and Jeremy and the kids. just thought i'd mention that. :]

anyway, my beloveds <3

Oh, god. The families are suffering. Poor Andrew, too. It's not his fault. Andy couldn't have saved him...

[giorno-plays-piano]

Not good enough

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, implied stalking and kidnapping, kinda home invasion, reader is struggling with anxiety.

Words: 2055.

Summary: The stranger you had been texting for a few months is worried about you not taking care of yourself.

P.S. Yes, some more soft!dark!Steve because I need it 😣

__________________

“Tell me you love me.” 

Rubbing your eyes and trying to wake up, you stared at the screen of your cellphone, reading the message Cap sent you at 3 am. You hadn��t heard from him during last two weeks, but you knew it had something to do with his job, as always. Even if it wasn’t though, it was none of your business. He was just a stranger you had been texting for the last few months.

“Good morning, Captain.”

You hit the send button and sat in bed, yawning and stretching. You still felt exhausted, but mornings were always much better than evenings. Then you typed one more message, thinking whether the man (you supposed he was a man) had time to sleep tonight.

“I love you.”

Watching the three dots appearing on the screen, you realized he probably had insomnia or was forced to go to work despite returning late. You smiled, waiting for his reply before finally leaving your bed and absentmindedly dropping your phone on the desk when you headed to the shower. When you returned with a big white towel wrapped around you, you saw three more messages - Captain wasn’t really patient, but you couldn’t blame him for that.

“I love you too, little star.”

“How have you been doing? Are you taking good care of yourself?”

“I missed you.”

Your lips curled in a smile when you read all his messages. No, you weren’t taking good care of yourself, but you could do little about it. Your anxiety and panic attacks were still making your life pretty difficult. Well, not that Captain needed to know about it, considering he probably had a handful of his own problems just like everybody else.

You didn’t reply him right away, getting dressed first and applying some makeup before heading to the kitchen with a phone in your hand. Despite being hungry, you didn’t have strength to cook something, so you simply cracked two eggs into pan and turned the stove on, proceeding to make yourself some coffee after that. You were still proud you started eating any breakfast at all.

As you finally settled, a plate with fried eggs in front of you, your phone buzzed again.

“Please send me photo of your breakfast, honey.”

You laughed at that but did as he asked you before proceeding to eat. A part of you was happy at least someone still cared. Sure, sometimes Cap could be a bit weird and maybe even controlling, but he was the only one who wanted to see what you ate, not your naked boobs or ass. This was probably one of the reasons why you still kept in touch with him after all those months.

“No fruits or vegetables? This is not good. Your doctor wanted you to eat better.”

True, you thought, sipping your coffee. You couldn’t tell Cap you just had no strength to go shopping because he definitely wouldn’t like it. You simply needed to get yourself together and order delivery this evening after returning from work.

“I’m sorry, Captain. I’ll try to do better.” You sent him after finishing the plate.

“Are you alright, little star?”

No, you weren’t. But he didn’t need to know that.

“I am, thank you. I hope you are alright, too.”

With that you left your empty plate and cup in the sink, heading to the hallway and grabbing you bag before leaving for work. With or without Captain, it was just one more useless day you had to get through.

The office was busy with people making thousand phone calls, talking to each other about that new marketing campaign or a contract with an advertisement agency or what they brought today for lunch. This constant noise didn’t bother you anymore as you sat at your desk and put on your headphones - you didn’t have to deal with people as your job was to finish that damn sales report you’d been struggling yesterday and the day before. If only your boss was willing to buy a better software, you’d be done in a matter of two hours the most, but the man was the cheapest cheapskate you had ever met. 

Well, you were grateful to have a job, anyway.

“Are you taking your meds?” Cap probably had the day off today as he kept messaging you again.

“I do. Thank you for asking.”

He was really lucky he didn’t need any, though, of course, you didn’t know whether he lied or not. You knew well some people weren’t comfortable talking about such private things. Actually, you weren’t either, but Cap had somehow gotten pretty close to you comparing to all those strangers you were talking on the web from time to time. You knew you had no reason to trust him, yet again he had no reason to gain anything from it. You were no one. You had no money, no valuable possessions, no network, nothing special at all. You were just one more no one.

In fact, Cap was the only one generally interested in you and your wellbeing, and it was the one and only reason you kept messaging him despite his long absences. You suspected he had some kind of a hero complex because you had no other explanation whatsoever. 

“Thank you for everything, Captain. I really missed you.”

“I’m glad you did, little star.”

With that you hid your phone in your bag and tried concentrating on those endless numbers in Excel columns. Your eyes were already hurting from just a quick look on the report.

By the end of the day you were totally drained again, barely having strength to take a ride home. Did you promise yourself to order food from the nearest store? Nope, not today. You thought you couldn’t even lift your finger when you threw your bag to the floor along with your shoes and went to lay on the couch, not even taking off your clothes. It felt like you ran a marathon - despite the fact you weren’t doing any sports for at least a year, your body failing to engage in whatever activity but just get you moving from one place to the other.

Captain once mentioned he needed to be in a pretty good form to keep doing his job, and you were a bit jealous. You really wanted to be able to just wake up and not feel like you were working the whole night, so remembering him talking about jogging in the morning was making you jealous. Why couldn’t you have what he had? 

“I feel like you’re not completely honest with me, honey.”

You barely smiled, looking at your phone. Cap was always so perceptive.

“I’m sorry. I’m not good, but I’m trying my best.”

“I know you do. Can I help you? Do you need money?”

Huffing, you rubbed your nose. It wasn’t the first time he offered to help you, though you had never accepted this kind of help. You felt like it would make you obliged to him, and you wanted none of that. 

“No, thank you, Captain. You’re too nice, you know? I’m worried someone will eventually take advantage of you.”

“I promise to be careful.”

Laughing, you got up and went to your room: you never knew whether he was joking or dead serious. Captain admitted once he just didn’t get how to use emojis. Thinking of him writing something like “I’m too old for all this”, you burst out laughing again.

“Are you sure I can’t help?”

“Yes, thank you. You’re already helping me. Sometimes I don’t even know why you keep doing it since I’m not the most responsive person on the Internet.”

“Because I love you.”

Dropping your phone to the bed, you just pushed your face into your pillow. You wished he was serious, but your knew he wasn’t. Anyway, who would? He had never even seen or met you. Only teenagers believed they could truly love some strange dude they’d been talking to on Twitter.

You wished there was someone, anyone, who would be by your side. Maybe then it would be easier to go through all this and finally recover. However, you couldn’t be sure Captain was as good as you pictured him. It could be all a lie.

Forgetting to take your meds again, you drifted off to sleep still wearing your suit. It was only 7 pm, and you were so tired as if you were carrying rocks on your back the whole day. 

Nonetheless, you weren’t given time to sleep properly - in an hour you woke up from your door chime ringing and hurried so much you almost fell of your bed. Damn. Who could it be? You didn’t remember inviting anyone. Hell, you didn’t even have anyone who would want to visit you now. 

Forgetting about how you looked in your wrinkled suit and blouse, you ran to the door, opening it without even checking who had come. It must have been a mistake, you thought. Or could it be your neighbor who came to talk to you about something?

But it wasn’t an elderly man who lived in the apartment next to yours. It was someone else. Someone you only saw on TV and a few promotional posters you stumbled upon in the subway.

“Hello.”

Steve Rogers smiled at you as you struggled to understand whether you were still sleeping or awake. Steve Rogers? Captain America? At you door? Oh, you should have taken your meds.

Staring at him with your mouth half open, you couldn’t utter a single word. It just didn’t feel real, you thought when he watched you with such kind expression it could make you cry. Why was he here? What for? Looking at him glowing with a euphoric grin on his face, you suddenly realized you were still dressed in that suit, and your makeup was probably smeared by now. Damn, what a great coincidence.

“Why are you looking at me like that, little star?” The man asked joyfully, entering your apartment and almost pushing you away, a big grocery bag in his hand. “Are you alright?”

Little star. It was a username you had when you started texting Cap a few months ago. You had changed it multiple times after that, but he always called you that, saying it really suited you. But how did Steve Rogers know about that, and, more importantly, why would he need to know that?

Cap. Captain. Captain America.

Oh shit.

“It can’t be.” You muttered, gripping your phone in your hand. “This just can’t be happening.”

Watching the man smiling at you, you felt nauseated and starting slowly losing control over your body, sliding onto the floor. Captain left the bag full of fruits and veggies immediately to help you to stay on your feet and guide you to the couch. Feeling his strong muscular arms holding you carefully, you started chewing your lips: apparently, Steve Rogers standing in the middle of your living room was real, and your meds weren’t at fault.

“You’re making me worried.” The man said as he helped you lay down on the couch and loomed over you, watching your face. “I see you’re not taking care of yourself at all. Do you want a glass of water? Do I need to call the doctor?”

You shook your head, staring at the hero intently while he bowed lower, touching your forehead with his lips.

“No fever, that’s good.” He mumbled and made you open your eye wide, then got back a little, giving you space. “I know you’re not talking your medication properly. Little star, this is no good.”

“How did you find me?’ You whispered, rubbing your eyes and smearing what was left your makeup completely.

Steve smiled. “It’s not as hard as you think, but you shouldn’t worry about it. I hope you are sorry for lying to me all this time.”

“W-what?”

“I see you can’t look after yourself like you should. Don’t worry, I’m not mad. I know it’s very hard for you, so I’ll be taking care of you instead. Give me just a minute to gather your belongings, dear.”

With that he smiled again and disappeared in your room as you stared at the ceiling in horror.

You certainly should have taken your meds.

_____________________

Tags: @finleyjayne​​​ @alexakeyloveloki​​​   @helenaeisenhower​​​ @villanellevi​​​ @hurricanerin​​​ @void-hoechlin​​​ @abyssaint​​​ @heeeyitskay​​ @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​​​ @navegandoaciegas​​​ @rosalynshields​​​ @brattycherubwrites​​​ @sllooney​​​ @angrythingstarlight​​​ @lovelydarkdaydream​​​ @soleil-dor​​​ @lookiamtrying​​ @buckysbunny​​ @stargazingfangirl18​​

[madexinxheaven]

@whoxyouxhate said: 💊 - Is your character on medication? If so, why? @ the mains

"In this line of work and after everything we've been through? How could I NOT?"

Seriously, no one saw the kind of things Caitlyn had seen without developing serious cases of PTSD, SEPARATION ANXIETY & PARANOIA. She couldn't even HUNT these days without being hopped up on meds. After all, the last time she went out on the hunt, she'd come back to a BLOODBATH; With every last servant DEAD and her parents MISSING. Since then she'd risen up the ranks of the L.G.D as far and the way most prolific SNIPER they had. And from INFECTED to MURDER to RAPE to THIS VERY WAR, well... They hadn't made the nightmares any easier... The meds did, though. (Kinda...)

"This world breaks people. One way or the other."

"I, uhh... Texas says I SHOULD..."

Hyperactivity, blunt impulsion and a struggle with maintaining her own attention had LONG been problems that had cast Exusiai into danger TIME & TIME AGAIN. The youthful Sankta had a whole list of bad run-ins, mistakes, REGRETS, to her record. Yet, still, for the most part, she remained UNBOTHERED -- UNBURDENED. Fact also remained that she'd grown RECKLESS, CARELESS & IMPULSIVE in many things. Definitely didn't get enough sleep at night. And had a tendency for getting herself KNEE DEEP IN SHIT. But she meant well, and had fun, and only hurt the BAD PEOPLE, right? So it couldn't have been THAT IMPORTANT... -- RIIIGHT??

"But... What's the WORST that could happen?"

"I... What exactly are we counting as medication here?"

Did they count the CANDIES & TREATMENTS that protected against FROSTBITE? Did they count the various ways she'd tried over the years to actually feel some level of WARMTH? To warm the CHILL that was in her deathly rattling bones? Or were they just talking about the medications that Rhodes Island filled Infection with to pretend like they were actually making a DIFFERENCE. Then again, maybe they WERE making a difference... And it was all just so much harder for FrostNova to see from so far away. Irregardless, the answer was: No. she DIDN'T take any official medications. But she had her own self-medications. For what they counted for. 

"I make do."

"Mmh? Oh, no..."

Shake of her accompanied her simple answer. Sometimes she wondered if she should have. Mostly whenever her personality PISSED OFF Blaze, but in truth she spent more time ADMINISTERING medication than TAKING IT. After all, she may have been a designated SNIPER, but she still was an operator working for Rhodes Island. And every last INFECTED in the world NEEDED medication. In fact, the more she thought about it... Maybe they should've been screening people more closely on a PSYCHOLOGICAL basis rather than observing their levels of ORIGINUM CRYSTALIZATION, no? Not to say they didn’t. They absolutely did. PRTS was surprisingly adept at it. But... But just like with treating the Infected, couldn’t they always do a better job at that, too?

"It's surprising, really. Or... Or maybe we're just not thinking about that kinda stuff? Maybe it's just become the new normal, y'know?"

"Medication? Me? Oh, no. I'm not any medication."

Granted, for every pill Makoto DIDN'T take she had a line in her contract with JOHANNA that all but unshackled her from the constraints of her greatest mental battles. Including her OBSESSIVE COMPULSION, PERFECTIONISM, CODEPENDENCY & INABILITY TO SAY NO BORN OF NO SMALL AMOUNT OF SELF-DEPRECATION. But then, didn't Johanna make everything in Makoto's life turn monochrome? Flirting in that moral grey area, caught between her duty as a Lungmen Guard and her own INFECTED VIGILANCE. In many ways, she supposed she was LUCKY for that. Every last inch of that self-deprecation came with another inch of herself she GENUINELY didn't like. And since Johanna had come into her life, Makoto had step-for-step came closer & closer to someone she could be PROUD OF.

"But I don't blame people if they need it. This... This world is... It's hard... So very hard..."

"Huh? Medication? What on Terra possessed you to ask a question like that?"

For once, Swire was NOT acting out of self-defence but, rather, asking very genuine questions. Albeit... She still didn't exactly ask them WELL. Confrontation was Swire's life. The bitch wore her heart on her sleeve, and her heart was big but easily wounded. To answer: Swire was not presently on any medication. She'd had her BOUTS of issues and therapies, usually when those insecurities ADDED UP, and she stopped being able to SIT ON HER FEELINGS, but largely she remained clean. At her standard, she liked to think she was HANDLING IT WELL... ALL THINGS CONSIDERED... But deep down? Well... Her episodes DID speak for themselves. (And it was usually Ch'en picking up the pieces.)

"Not right now. But sometimes life just gets to ya, y'know?"

"Medication? Hm. Sounds almost novel at this point, in all honesty. One might say, NAIVE."

If ANYONE was a poster-child for SHOULD BE ON MEDICATION, it was far and away TALULAH ARTORIUS. The girl had been broken for one or two decades far too long. & now she was FAR TOO FAR GONE. Pretty sure anyone who rallies together a radicalized group of freedom fighters to take over Lungmen & Ursus through TERROR TACTICS with a central goal of enacting revenge on the friends and family that HURT THEM as a child most certainly qualified for needing therapy. (Or maybe an ASYLUM.) Maybe if people had cared back when she was still BREAKING, all of this coud've been avoid. And, no, Ch'en DIDN'T count. How could she? What was her baby sister SUPPOSED to do about her abused sister who had been driven to psychosis by their very own family?

"We're far beyond the point of no return by now. Sometimes tells me I'm going to die before even taking one pill."

"Kee-Ahaha... Haha... Ahahahahahaha... Oh... That's cute."

Holy. Fucking. Shit. They really had to ASK that question? No. Of course she wasn 't on MEDICATION. The psychotic bitch didn't even let Rhodes Island treat her for Oripathy and she'd SIGNED ON AS THEIR MERCENARY. Of course, being feared by every last motherfucker in the galaxy kinda had some BENEFITS in that sense. Now, should she have been? Of course she should have been. Girl had one of the highest Originum densities in all of Rhodes Island. Oh, and there was the little tid bit of her being a PYROMANIACAL, MURDEROUS LITTLE PSYCHO. Yeah, that level of destructive psychotic mania PROBABLY needed a maximum security INSANE ASYLUM, let alone anti-psychotics and sedatives. But as they say somewhere else in the world: Y.O.L.O!!

"I'd like to meet the doctor that can actually make me take my pills~~!!"

"..."

Silence spoke louder than words, as they always say. And the truth was... Yuhsia was on SEVERAL medications as a result of the youth she spent alone in Lungmen after the disappearance of TALULAH and the abandonment of CH'EN & SWIRE. Would anyone really be surprised to learn that? Probably NOT, in all honesty. Mafia girl was left alone with some of the corrupt narcissist this side of the Ursus border and later forced to do all of the Rat King & Wei Yenwu's DIRTY WORK. Not to mention the sting of BROKEN PROMISES. To this day, Yuhsia had never EVER let anyone get remotely close to her. Most of all, Ch'en & Swire. Though they persisted like nagging little GNATS. But back to the question at hand... Yuhsia had developed a certain... TEMPERAMENT that she liked to keep on top of. The Rat King saw the worst of it. But she'd be damned if she EVER let Ch'en and Swire see it in the slightest. Meds HELPED with that.

"You should be careful asking questions like that to people like me. Who knows what might happen to you..."

[twokinkybeans]

Company - Chapter 1: Samhain

Moodboard made by Kim <3

“I know you need a miracle right now to help with all of this  and- well, I don’t really know anyone who’s good at that kinda stuff, but... “ MJ scoffs an awkward laugh before continuing. “I mean, the help  of a Fae would be nice, but it’s not that those just show up if you ask  them to.” “A Fae?” Peter chuckles, though his eyes don’t spark. “Like Puck? From the play we had to do at Summer camp?” “Sort of,yeah!” MJ grabs Peter’s other hand and places both of them on his  knees, resting her own on top. “But I’m playing with you, Pete. It’d be a stretch to find one willing to help,” MJ says. Lucky for Peter, he is quite flexible. Or: May's health is deteriorating fast and Peter is running out of  options (and money), so he goes into the woods at night on Halloween to find a Fae willing to help him out. ____________________________________________

Warnings for this chapter: Mentions of chronic/incurable illness, blood, etc. Magic and folklore. Slow burn with resolved sexual tension. Lots of mischief, a bit of spooks and of course fluff, angst and smut.

Go to the Masterpost Read Company - Chapter 1: Samhain on AO3

HERE IT FINALLY IS AAAA, I hope you enjoy! <3 -Lien

... “If it makes you feel any better, I could do a ritual for her?” MJ’s words struck a chord with Peter. He knows she’s always reserved about her Paganism, aware that it’s not a conventional religion. So, this came as quite the surprise. “I-” Peter is at a loss for words as he sinks down into the sofa, eyes locked on the dried, bloody patch in the cushions. This means a lot to MJ, which, in turn, means a lot to Peter. Her connection with her beliefs is strong and deep. She doesn’t say something like this to just anyone. “Yeah…” he sighs, absentmindedly tracing the stain with his index finger. “I’d appreciate that.” Peter hates how formal his reply sounds but MJ smiles encouragingly anyways. She sits down on the floor in front of him and grabs his hand away from the patch of blood and the sour memory attached to it, to make him look down at her. Her hair is up in a messy bun, the flyaways frame her face playfully and she grins up at him. MJ’s been helping him clean the apartment the last few weeks with zero complaints whatsoever. All she said was: “One day, I’ll need your help and then you’ll be there for me too.” It’s true. He’d do anything for her, as he would for Ned. And May . About two months prior, May had suffered a hypo so severe she had to be taken to the hospital. She recovered enough that she could spend the rest of her time at home, but the damage had already been done. Not just physically. Peter had to sell pretty much everything worth anything that he owned in order to cover even a quarter of the bills. Both his and May’s savings had gone into the treatment and now they had next to nothing left, which posed another issue: the insulin. They wouldn’t be able to afford her medication for a while, which meant May was at a constant risk. She wasn’t strong enough to go back to work, but the fact that the meds weren’t there to help her with her recovery meant that it wasn’t going fast. On the contrary. She was deteriorating. But she also decided to keep that from Peter for as long as she could. She didn’t want him to worry about her, nor did she want him to take any other measures in order to get her her meds. Peter noticed, though. May always hated wearing her prescription glasses. But a little over four weeks ago, while Peter was studying at the dinner table, she asked him to fetch them for her. And even as the glasses were on her head, she still squinted- still brought the book further and closer, further and further. Her eyes were getting worse, but she blamed it on her age. Peter knew better. May knew Peter knew better. With the lack of money, good food was out of the picture too. Everything May would need to recover and live a healthy life was figurative miles away- out of reach. It was difficult to determine her body’s needs without the right equipment and she felt lifeless and tired most of the time. She started dropping stuff, accidentally. And her walk became stick-like. Her hands and feet were ice-cold, and she had to wear her mother’s old compression socks to keep her circulation under control. It became increasingly more difficult for her to run errands, though she tried. There was no way she was going to give up. And there was no way she was going to let Peter in on it, regardless of whether or not he noticed. He’d experienced enough loss, she wasn’t going to burden him with any more anxiety. However, the fact that she didn’t talk to him about it, even when he asked or confronted her, only increased his fears. His nights were sleepless. Restless. His mind ran with doom scenarios. What if. What if. What if. A few days before MJ first helped him with the cleaning, Peter found May on the sofa again, casually reading a book when he noticed her leggings around her ankles were a deep red colour. Not the khaki shade he’d seen when he left for uni that day. “May, what’s that?” He’d asked. When she lifted the book - which she was now reading with a magnifying glass - to follow Peter’s glare, she exclaimed a surprised: “Oh!” May aimed to get up from the sofa, but ultimately lost her balance and dropped back into it again. The sofa cushion was stained, just like her feet were. Peter immediately ran over to her and helped her compose herself but she broke down. Tears streamed down her face and the only words that she could utter were unneeded apologies and heavy-weighing regrets. She sobbed against Peter’s shoulder and it took him every inch of willpower not to lose himself to his sadness as well. Apparently, May went downstairs to grab the mail and on the back way up, she tripped, hitting the lower part of her ankles on the steps. She thought it was okay- that she was fine, but she couldn’t feel the wounds underneath her clothes. She hadn’t noticed the blood seeping out from them, not even when she sat down on the sofa and blurred her sight even further with the book. When she was calm again, after taking in all of Peter’s encouraging, hopeful words, he told her to stay seated so he could patch her up. He carefully took off one of the compression socks and tossed it onto the coffee table. It’d be easier to get the stain off of there than the light rug he was now sitting on. Her foot was freezing and he swallowed when he saw the damage on her ankle. He grabbed the first aid kit and cleaned her up. After her first leg was all ready, he moved on to her other. Gently, he pulled at the hem of the other compression sock, but before he could toss it onto the table, he spotted her pinky toe. It was darkening. Dying. That’s when Peter broke. “I know you need a miracle right now to help with all of this and- well, I don’t really know anyone who’s good at that kinda stuff, but... “ MJ scoffs an awkward laugh before continuing. “I mean, the help of a Fae would be nice, but it’s not that those just show up if you ask them to.” “A Fae?” Peter chuckles, though his eyes don’t spark. “Like Puck? From the play we had to do at Summer camp?” “Sort of, yeah!” MJ grabs Peter’s other hand and places both of them on his knees, resting her own on top. “But I’m playing with you, Pete. It’d be a stretch to find one willing to help.” Peter smiles, but he makes a mental note nonetheless. Not that he thinks Fae are real; that’d be kind of insane. “Anyways, what I wanted to say is that… Well, whatever happens, I’m here for you, ‘kay? And for May, too.” “Thanks, MJ.” Peter’s expression softens as MJ stands up. “Now, let’s finish up so I can go home and perform that ritual.” She winks and helps Peter to his feet. He’s not sure how to express his gratitude any further. Should he ask to be there? Or is it private? It’s not like he knows much about Paganism anyways. He’s interested, though. Peter is desperate, sure, but he never imagined he would be this desperate. As soon as MJ is out the door, he grabs his notebook to scribble down everything he thinks he knows about Fae. Fairies- whatever. He even re-reads Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream , the play he had a part in last Summer. Puck’s lines- his lines- were still marked. “It’d be a stretch to find one willing to help,” MJ said. Lucky for Peter, he is quite flexible. … Peter knows it’s ridiculous. Fae can’t be real. It’s folklore. A story. Yet… Peter still finds himself seated behind the library computer that still runs on Windows XP, somehow. Every day, he tells himself he should stop looking up information on Fae. That he should study. Regardless of his attempts to set himself straight, his fingers still type the wrong things into the search bar. To say his obsession is bordering unhealthy is an understatement, to be honest. He just wants May to live a full and happy life. He wants May to live. And at this point he’s willing to try anything. He can’t lose her too; she’s all he has left. It’s nearly Halloween, or Samhain in the Pagan religion. On this day, the border between the world of humans and Fae should be relatively thin, which means the odds would be in his favor if he were to look for a Fae then. Samhain’s in two days, so there’s no time to lose. Every trick, every single thing that could harm Peter’s safety has to be ingrained in his brain. Yes, he would do anything to save May, but it’d be nice if he got to spend some time with her after. The most important things Peter noted for himself are “don’t accept anything from a Fae, especially not food,” “don’t listen to their music and definitely don’t dance with them,” and the one that Peter knew he would most likely slip on: “don’t give them your name. Under any circumstance.” Peter quickly decided that if any Fae asked for his name, he would just say his name is Ned, for a lack of creativity. … Samhain’s Eve, or Halloween. Peter squeezes his way into the train. He’s very grateful that the New York council had decided that students get to travel the subways for free. Otherwise, he’d have no idea how he would’ve gotten out of the city and into the suburbs. Towards the woods. May is with a friend tonight to give Peter some breathing space, but the opposite is true. The anticipation has knocked the air out of Peter’s lungs. Peter manages to sit down next to a few kids, dressed up for trick or treating. He offers them a nervous smile, clutching his backpack against his chest. The journey out of New York seems to flash by as much as it takes an eternity. After about two hours of travel, Peter steps out of the last possible station and breathes in the cold October air. With an old fashioned map of the area and a thrifted flashlight, Peter finds his way into the woods. He knows he has to get off the paths at some point, but the mere idea frightens him to the core. He’s suddenly not so sure anymore if this was a good idea in the first place. Maybe… Maybe he should turn around? Settle on the couch and watch some bad horror movies? That’d surely be a lot safer than whatever he’s doing right now. Peter’s feet don’t stop, though. He keeps going forward, his mind telling him to go back, but his heart cannot refrain from reaching out for May. For answers. For hope, no matter how little he may have left. He can feel his blood pump through his body, experiencing how it grows heavy with every step he takes. The distinct ache of loneliness in his chest grows tighter and tighter. It’s cold, it’s dark, he’s alone. Utterly and indescribably alone. His eyes are fixated on the path in front of him. So much so, that he doesn’t realize he loses track of his map. Worst of all, he only gets back to his senses when the flashlight starts flickering dangerously. “No,” Peter whispers, shaking the tool. “No-no-no-no-” “Need a hand?” Peter yelps and turns, stumbling backwards until he trips over himself and collides with the harsh ground. He looks up at the man, now towering over him, hand outstretched. The flashlight is on again, lying next to Peter and illuminating the fallen leaves, creating a pattern against the trees just off the path. The stranger has a kind smile. He seems to be in his forties, hair still dark and crow’s feet enunciating his smile. Peter sighs exasperated, reaching forward to take the man’s hand until… No, wait, who is this man? Peter turns his head to grab the flashlight and when he shifts back to the man, it flickers again. Peter loses his breath when the man’s irises seem to light up in the short dark moments. The man’s smile doesn’t falter, even when Peter’s expression drops. On the contrary, the smile turns into a smirk and all that’s left for Peter to look at when the flashlight finally dies is a pair of intense, golden glowing eyes. “What’s a young sprite like you doing in these woods? At this hour?” The man’s illuminated eyes lower and lower until he’s at eye level with Peter, who’s still staring at him. “I-I... “ Peter takes a deep breath. “I’m looking for someone.” The man leans in closer, near-hovering over Peter’s body. Peter tries to move back, but the man follows. “Are they lost? Like you?” His voice is strangely beautiful. Deep. Close. “No, no- It’s... “ “Do you have their name? If you give it to me, I can find them for you.” Peter’s nearly laying down now, the man’s hands caging him at his sides, but not touching him. In a flash of half confidence, Peter replies: “Are you a Fae?” A dark chuckle rumbles below the golden eyes that now squint with glee. “I am many things.” “I’m too, that doesn’t answer the question, though.” Shit. Shit-shit-shit, why did Peter’s sassy side decide to show up when he’s in the clutches of someone who is definitely not human and could probably kill him without thinking about it twice. Instead of getting angry, the man laughs yet again. “Fair enough, boy.” The eyes pull back and Peter quickly scrambles until he stands, so that he can look down at the man this time. “I am what you say I am.” The man pauses as he stands up too. There’s a short shuffle and suddenly, a small fire appears in the man’s palms. The way it lights up his face is an odd combination between warm and creepy. “Does that frighten you?” “N-no.” “Your stutter betrays your lies.” Peter wants to protest, but the man suddenly raises his hand, eyeing Peter curiously. “Were you looking for me?” The man’s words send a chill through Peter’s entire body. He presses his lips on top of each other and fiddles with his fingers. “Maybe.” “So, yes.” “Yes.” The man smiles again. “And why were you looking for me?” “I’m not looking for you specifically.” “Ouch,” the man chuckles. “You’re looking to use my power.” Peter’s jaw tightens. It almost feels like an accusation. Like it’s hurtful to the Fae that Peter’s only there for that. Peter swallows. Now that he puts it like that, it does sound a little mean. “Why?” “It’s… It’s a long story,” Peter says as he looks down at his feet. The light of the fire in the Fae’s hands creates a bubble of light around them. They’re still surrounded by utter darkness, save for a few faint silhouettes of the trees around them. “I have all night.” The man nods, but stops halfway down, seemingly mulling something over. “What did you say your name is, again?” “P-” Peter barely catches himself. Simply saying the first letter of his name already makes him feel a strange, otherworldly tug at his heart. He can’t say Ned now. He already started the word. What name could he possibly give to the Fae? Peter composes himself quickly as the gears in his mind turn fast. Fae. “Puck.” “Ha!” The man laughs bombustuously. “Fitting for a sweet and pretty young man as you. Though, you are not a Fae.” The man wiggles his eyebrows. “Or are you?” Peter opts to ignore the flirtatious compliment. “Am not. You and I both know I shouldn’t give you my real name.” Peter takes a deep breath, relatively pleased with himself for talking back. “You may call me Puck.” “Puck.” The Fae breathes in the name as he closes his glowing eyes. “I’ll call you Puck.” “And what should I call you?” Peter asks carefully. A playful smirk creeps up on the Fae’s face. “I go by many names in these woods. Some call me Inventor. Others call me Iron Man. You may call me Tinker.” Peter can’t help himself and bursts out laughing. “Tinker?” he repeats. “As in Tinkerbell?” The Fae sighs exasperated. It seems like he’s heard that before. “No.” He rolls his golden eyes. “I make things. I tinker. But I suppose you deem the nickname unworthy?” The flame in his hands grows bigger for a split second. “If you’ve got anything else, I’ll gladly call you that,” Peter chuckles. “Inventor… Iron Man. Wait, isn’t iron a Fae’s weakness?” The man laughs softly. “It’s why they call me it. I am one of the few who feels no effect from iron, or technology, for that matter.” The man nods at Peter’s pants. “So, the screwdriver in your pocket is quite a lousy weapon against me.” The playful smirk returns on his face. “Or are you just happy to see me?” “I- I-” Peter takes a step back, wide-eyed, and looks at the tool in his pocket. The man knew he had it on him. Peter shivers. “I like you, Puck,” the man says suddenly. He takes a step closer to Peter, who is stuck in place. The warmth of the fire in the man’s hand now reaches Peter’s skin. It’s… Nice. Comforting, somehow. “There is something about you that I can’t quite put my finger on.” “I’m nothing special, sir,” Peter says politely, breaking eye contact and looking down again. “I’m just here to help my aunt.” “Your… Aunt?” Peter tells him the entire story. About May’s diabetes, without mentioning her name, and the inevitability of amputations and likely death if things keep going the way they are. The Fae listens thoughtfully, not breaking eye contact with Peter the entire time. The man doesn’t flinch, not even when Peter’s voice starts breaking and tears threaten to spill from his eyes. “I shouldn’t be this vulnerable with you,” Peter suddenly interrupts himself, attempting to swallow away the lump in his throat. The Fae finally changes expression. A kind smile spreads on his face and he nods. “A wise assumption.” The man cocks his head and rolls his shoulders, still looking down at Peter. “Though, I am not interested in tricking you right now. I prefer my catch on guard. I like a challenge.” “Good to know,” Peter sighs, tightening his jaw again in an attempt to stop his emotions getting the better of him. “Company.” The Fae’s voice is soft, nearly melancholic. “What?” Peter takes a small step back and frowns, quickly wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. The soft breeze glides between the trees and tickles his face. It makes the flame in the Fae’s hand dance. Peter blinks once. Twice. “I’d much appreciate it if, in return for helping your aunt, you keep me company.” If Peter knew any better he’d say there was a hint of desperation seeping from Fae’s words. Is he lonely? The spark of hope grows brighter in Peter’s chest. May might just survive, if the Fae doesn’t screw him over. Peter takes a second to ponder his words. “How long?” “Bargain for it, boy.” Peter sucks at his teeth and takes a deep breath. He has no idea what kind of price he has to pay. What’s normal. Though, about a week ago he didn’t even think Fae existed, so everything was a wild guess at this point. “I- I don’t know… What would you ask of me?” Peter fumbles, wrapping one hand around the index finger of the other and pulling at it absentmindedly. It’s a nervous tick he couldn’t seem to shake and it betrays his uncertainty. Suddenly, the Fae pushes into his space, making Peter stumble backwards again. He barely keeps himself from tripping over and the Fae cocks his head playfully. “You and I both know I’d rather have your name, but you won’t give that to me, would you?” His tone darkens and he orders. “Bargain.” “Two days. Consecutive. So, 48 hours?” Peter tries. A bargain means the Fae will start with a higher price. If they’re going to work to a middle ground, 48 hours might be a good starting point. “Two days?” The Fae sighs dramatically and raises the back of his hand to his forehead. “You wound me.” The Fae stands up straight again, putting the same hand on his hip and puffing his chest. The flame in his hand grows brighter and brighter. “Eight. Consecutive.” “Mh, three.” “Six…” The Fae’s tone is threatening somehow, but Peter won’t give in that easily. “Four, separate meetings, not consecutive.” The Fae’s laughter shakes the trees and there’s a mischievous glint in his eye before he continues. “Is that all you think your aunt’s precious life is worth, Puck?” Peter jolts and immediately shakes his head. “Y-You told me to bargain!” “Hmm… So I did.” The Fae steps closer to Peter, refraining from touching him, but Peter can feel his hot breath on his skin. The Fae smells of pine and Peter has to set his mind straight to look away from him. He didn’t realize he’d been staring straight into the Fae’s golden eyes. “I really do like you.” Peter shudders. The Fae then pulls back again and nods approvingly. “Four days it is. How about we meet every upcoming celebration up until Beltane?” Peter doesn’t know how to reply, so instead, he keeps quiet. His silence isn’t taken kindly, though. The Fae clears his throat and looks at Peter from behind his long lashes. He smirks. “Have we come to an agreement?” Peter isn’t sure whether or not he should say yes straight away. There’s something that’s still missing from this contract and the last thing Peter wants is to be tricked. “Your medicine has to work completely, otherwise the deal is off,” he states resolute. The Fae chuckles. “Clever boy,” the Fae sighs as he circles Peter. Goosebumps spread over the young man’s entire body. “I cannot cure an illness like hers, but I can ensure she does not suffer. I will help your aunt live a long, full and healthy life, regardless of the ailment she carries with her.” The Fae sniffs once and cocks an eyebrow at Peter’s reply. “Whatever means necessary?” “Whatever means necessary.” “Deal.” The Fae grins and tilts his head slightly. “Good boy.” Peter shivers and takes in a deep breath. That voice . Those words . They shouldn’t do as much to Peter as they actually do. He should be scared. Yet, this whole thing is kind of… Exciting, in a way… Invigorating. “Do you think you can find your way back?” The man asks, snapping Peter out of his thoughts. He looks around and into the darkness, which causes his heart to sink. “I’m not sure.” “You can say no, Puck. It’s alright,” the Fae jokes. “If you are comfortable with following me, I can lead you back to the nearby town.” Peter eyes the Fae cautiously. “A human town.” “With a train connection into New York?” “If I knew, I’d tell you. But a town is better than infinite darkness, isn’t it?” The man grins cheekily and gestures around. Peter looks into the dark, realizing that if he doesn’t agree, the Fae will leave him here alone. Without light. “Please, take me there?” His voice is smaller than he hoped it was. “Only because you asked so nicely.” Peter isn’t sure how long they’re walking. The man doesn’t say much, but Peter can’t help but notice he tries to keep the flame close to Peter to keep him warm. He’s kinder than he thought Fae would be, but there is a small weight of dread in Peter’s stomach. What if the Fae did trick him? What if he’s being led somewhere else? His worries fade when he spots a brick house in the distance. He releases the breath he’d been holding and turns to look at the Fae.

“Thank you.” “Of course,” the Fae replies. He seems lost in thought. “Are you okay?” Peter asks quietly. The man seems surprised by his question. “Yes, eh… It’s just been a while since I’ve… Well... “ The man frowns and looks away. “Nevermind.” He leans back on his heels and uses the hand that still carries the flame to point at the path ahead. “If you take a right after the first house, the road you’ll be on should lead you into town.” Peter stares at the man and the sad expression that is still on his face. It confirms Peter’s earlier thoughts. The man is lonely. Peter bites the inside of his cheek. The Fae obviously doesn’t want to talk about whatever is bothering him, and since Peter doesn’t want to push him over any edge, he decides to leave it. For now. “Thanks.” He starts walking away from the Fae, but halts after a few steps. “Is there something small you want in return?” Peter replies. The man blinks a few times, confused. “You did help me.” Peter shrugs. “I... “ The man stops his sentence, purses his lips and frowns. “Ahh,” Peter smirks. “There is something you want.” “You’re a cheeky little thing, aren’t you?” The man’s eyes giddily light up for a split second. “Only with people I’m comfortable around.” Peter replies without thinking. A soft “oh” falls from the Fae’s lips. Peter tries to lighten the mood. “Bargain for it,” he says. The Fae looks at him dumbfounded, but collects himself. It’s odd to see him suddenly turn shy. “Is a hug too much to ask for?” “A hug?” Peter repeats surprised. The Fae looks away rejected, so Peter continues quickly. “A hug should suffice.” Peter smiles as he steps towards the Fae. He opens his arms, but pauses. “Do… Do you want me to give you a hug, or do you want to… Take one from me?” Peter doesn’t know why he asked it. Obviously, he should be giving the hug in return for the directions. But something about how the man stood there, tells him differently. “May… May I?” Peter nods encouragingly and before he can even blink, he feels the Fae’s arms wrapped around his body. It feels strangely… Cold? One of his hands finds its way into Peter’s curls. The other presses Peter against him tightly. Peter is completely enveloped in the man’s presence. It’s comforting, somehow, to feel the Fae’s warm breath on his ear. The flame the Fae held has disappeared, but his hands are still tingling with heat, even though the rest of his body seems so cold. “Thank you,” the man whispers quietly. Peter has no idea how long he had been held in the Fae’s embrace, but he had to admit, he kind of didn’t really want to leave. He hasn’t had a hug like this since Ben died. He should let go, obviously. There’s still a small voice in the back of his head, telling him that this is a trick to make him stay. To make him say or do things that would result in him never being able to go home. But Peter can practically feel the man’s sorrow aching against his chest. “Of course,” Peter replies, once again mimicking the man’s words. The Fae finally pulls back, but he doesn’t yet let go of Peter. He seems to be looking for something in Peter’s eyes, but he can’t find what he searches for. Eventually, he clears his throat and lets go. “I’ll see you when Yule graces us.” “When’s that?” Peter asks innocently. The man smiles and cocks his head. “Around your Christmas.” “Ah,” Peter says with a nod. “Well, see Yule then.” Peter wiggles his eyebrows and finger guns. He’s about to hit himself in the head to condemn his stupidity, but what he doesn’t expect, isthe man bursting out laughing. The sound fills Peter’s heart with warmth. The Fae‘s laughter eventually dies down and then he nods at the path ahead. “I will visit your aunt soon, before this week ends. Thank you, Puck.” Peter grins and turns towards the town, continuing his journey home. After about ten feet, he stops again, though. There was a question nagging at his mind that he hadn’t yet gotten the answer to. “What do I call you?” The Fae looks down at the ground between them and starts walking backwards. “Oberon,” he says softly. He smiles one last time before retreating into the dense woods. “You may call me Oberon.”

[flowerslightning]

Let's take a quick look on how Cloud handle his depression in AC - specifically his room

In the Remake, pretty sure Cloud actually suffered from PTSD + depression due to the trauma he faced, but since his memories messed up everything and need to hurry come back in action - click here to read what I ranted about his memory - , so Cloud didnt show much symptoms of someone with depression.

I wanna highlight more in the AC. We all certain that Cloud was happy enough with Tifa and the kids. He was recovering, slowly but improving. Yeah, though he had some problems with Tifa, but I consider he was in recovering phase. However, things changed when he got himself Geostigma, this was where Cloud got deluded he was worthless, guilty and his depression kicked in (again)

We'll focus his room, the place where he sleep. This was the room where he slept (well I believe he sleeps here) and took orders for deliveries, and also he used this room for studying about Denzel's illness through medical books. Dont try to mention about the color of this room. Cloud, pls give some sunlight to ur room. It was gloomy. 

But hey the bar looked gloomy too so i guess devs should take the blame for this? No, jk. Blame the lighting the devs gave

There was no curtain, no mirror, no decoration, plain. Oh well, this room belonged to a male, what were u expecting for? It was quite clean if u ask me. And there we see an old tyre, some boxes and.... An old tyre in second floor room.... Hmm alright..

Hey, dont judge him.. Cloud loves his fenrir, so, its normal. Im sure there were oil cans for his bike somewhere too

But, can u see the papers and pictures on the wall?

Yup, there were plenty of papers and photos on the wall and on the table. I'm guessing those were the notes/receipts for his deliveries work. And the papers on the table were about his research on Geostigma

And the books... Ohh, if only med books were that thin, im sure the med students dont have to suffer too much to study.. Uuh, and those hard cover books. Must be pricey..

U can see photos of scenery on the walls. It could be Cloud took those pictures while he was doing his deliveries around the world. Someone who suffers from depression, they usually have no interest with such things. So, we could say that Cloud really was recovering well from his trauma. There were photos of skies (cough.. Zack's symbol cough) and open field. Cloud had a thing for this scenery

Plus, a family photo on his table ! Awkward Cloud and shy Denzel spotted there

Tifa could freely enter the room without hesitation. She even answered the phone call and talked like a normal operator. Meaning, Tifa was used to enter Cloud's room with/without permission. U could say "Ofc she entered the room without hesitation, Cloud wasnt there, duh". U see, even if Cloud was no longer there, do u know the word 'privacy' still exist? It was not like Cloud moved away forever from that house.

We've been told by the devs that Cloud had been living with Tifa and the kids for quite some time. He felt too peaceful with him to the point it scared him a lot.

After he got himself Geostigma, he moved to the Sector 5 church and lived there. This place, exactly how someone with depression would live.

Dont read this if ure Clerith shipper or easily triggered. 

Now, I've read somewhere that says Cloud having depression for loosing Aerith was a romantic act. And WHERE THE HECK DID U FIND THIS ROMANTIC? TELL ME??? OUR CLOUD HERE WAS THINKING ABOUT DEATH, HE NEGLECTED EVERYTHING AND YET U THINK IT WAS ROMANTIC???

Reduced hygiene, gave less damn about the warmth, who needs a blanket anyway. Rain? Who cares. Let my entire place be soaked wet. No pillow, no bed? Like i care about it. Say hello to my housemate, the bacterias and mosquitoes. Is that a cup i see there? Yeah, i dont need food. 

Cloud was really homeless here. Someone who was expecting to meet its end there, slowly and painfully. He wanted to 'die' there, alone.

Having depression - major depressive disorder is not romantic at all. And can never be seen as a 'sweet' thing to do for ur partner. I saw real patients with MDD and I have to say, the only things they want was to feel happy and peaceful again. They had anxiety, they felt sad without proper reason, they scared of something that i dont think it would happen, some patients were too afraid to smile, lots of them just wanted to die bcause they were feeling hopeless and shame. 

If i were Tifa, I would be sad too. U have a warm bed to live, clean water to drink and yet u choose to live in a cold damp place.. WORRY ABOUT UR HEALTH, CLOUD !

Cloud was a dork for not trying to get help, but it wasnt his fault. We should thank his family and friends to be there for him even when he kinda pushed them away for a bit.

But after he finally moved on, his room became brighter than the previous look. Cloud let more sunlight to enter his room, and more scenery pictures hanging around his wall and on the tables

Cloud framed his big FF7 family photo. Despite the cold look he always gave to the team, he is actually a big softie. From the two different pictures, the one on the right was before Cloud moved on from his guilt, we can see Cloud was not really getting well in the picture, he looked awkward, and Denzel was being shy shy. In the new picture, Cloud was seen to be more involved in the group photo. Wait, was he smiling there? I’m sure he was smiling and Denzel looked happy too. - The family conflict resolved -

It would be fairly enough to say, Cloud finally found peace within himself and looking forward for the future together with his small family.

Another thing, 

FF7 always associated with yellow flower. So, the yellow flower is not necessarily about Aerith only. The SE has confirmed in Ultimania Crisis Core, the water represents Aerith, and since Aerith is the last Cetra and an important character in FF7, the flowers always associated with her. and thus, the flower is the main symbol for the entire FF7 game. 

[xllxxrbxg]

so ayon nga hehe

so ayon nga mga marecakes hehe narrate ko na lang nangyari today.

so i was like chilling today right im all set for school because i did my homeworks naman days before it was needed so i was like, "aight lets get this shit today". tapos karlo message me he wanted cuddles eh i was like hMMM... we just made out the other day eh and its like tuesday palang today !! i told him nalang na make it happen, not rlly thinking he would make it happen. but this mf took it as a challenge and actually made it happen.

before all that tho i was badtrip because ha made a very uncalled for rape joke and it fucked me up in the head, plus the fact na im being taken to someplace unfamiliar. i was very tensed the whole ride there. anw he didnt get the hint na it was THAT awful to me, but its aight we resolvedt it already. i'll keep a tab on this tho. for me that was a red flag.

anyways we made out in this tambayan place their family owns. basically it has a large parking lot and across that space was this little studio type housie house. the place had a large ass gate, wasnt really paying attention to what he was saying about the place because i was still tensed with the bad joke he made. anyways we went in and it was a very nice place. outside the house, it wasnt that obvious, but when you go in, it legit looked like one of those sala sets in malls with the note "thank you for not sitting" typa shit. so yeah it was nice it had same vibes with vista mall maybe because of the ceiling yellow scattered lights and of the fresh ass furniture and the whole place itself. it was a pretty decent size, not too big not too small for at least two people to share in the long run. it also had this aircon i always wanted the expensive ones u see in 5 stars. anyways it was quickly cold. there was also the bathroom that had a shower, then theres this chair where you pull a button and a foot rest will pop up lmfao. there were also two other sofa charis by the window. the window was the type then you push back up, not much windows tbh. but thats aight and reasonable since it has an aircon. i was tensed at first when the room was opened. it was obviously recently used idk maybe by his relative. WAS TENSED BRO same feeling when you enter an empty room newly unlocked by your teacher. THAT. that typa anxiety. anyways eventually joined him to sit by the small bed. was pretty much good for one big ass person to comfortably lie on, but fitted both of us nicely. didn't really bottom at that sesh so i don't really remember if the bed was uratex when weight is applied on me but it probably is AHSHDHASHDHSAHDSAHAH ok mej funny yun goiz liek- HAHA ok serious na nga hmpz. we cuddled first before doing nasty stuff. it was nice. i'd exchange all those laplapan just to wholesomely cuddle in peace and probably have a great nap together. i like the feeling the warm feeling. it was nice. yes. anyways,, yeah it was nice. cant stop talking about how nice it was because it was nice. heck... it was so nice. it was so heart heart. idc about my coochie getting rubbed, CUDDLE ME BITCH. anyways we started kissing and the rest is historyYYYYYY. jk. basically the make out routine starts with cuddling then kissing then he touches me until it reacher the forbidden softie softie, main bec he likes hearing my sexy ass moan. even before in tinder when i vm my boytoys for the first time the first thing they say my voice is smexy. cant blame them i agree. even when im alone and i randomly fake moan gat dam bro i get turned on too LMFAO. so yeah i moaned bec it was music to his ears and turned him on big time. was ngl kinda steamy when we breathe in each others mouth thats one of my favorite parts of it and also when i suck on his tongue. or also when i moan into his mouth. yep. also when he cusses it means im doing a great job. hehe. nice stuff ryt there. we pause sometimes to rest, then go aead again. i got many rounds that day. we did same stuff on the bed several times. then he pulled me so i'd be on top. im such a great top bro he aint know hoe to topppp. then was cuddling on top of him and then accidentally (wink wink) grinded on his rock solid stuff. he was turned on sabi nya shit anuyon sabi ka ah ayaw mo ok BUT THEN he was like gusto ko. tnagina pabebe yarn. anw i started kissing then grinding and he was cussing bec im so good at it. later my pants were off and later his shorts too. so we were underwear-away from grinding on directly. was nice got me tiredt. THEN HAHAH i saw this 5 peso coin by the bed and i was like eto yung token sa rides AHSDHASHDASHDHA WOF YAN TEH? tangina tawang tawa sya gago ang funny ko tlg san ka makakakuha ng kallapan na funny. tas nilagay ko sa gilid nya singko started grinding again. bet u he was grinding too. AND IT WAS SO HARD IT LOWKEY HURT TO GRIND ON. GEEZAS. so basically the whole bed was shaking. and i did my deed as a good girl to keep the music on (aka moaning) because there was no music. felt like

asmr. boring af. unlike when we make out sa car, theres always music. i like making out on the white chev instead of the fortuner BECAUSE THE FORTUNERS WINDOWS AIN TINTED what in the world was i thinking making out inside an untinted car INSIDE A PARK WHERE THERE ARE LOTSA PPL PASSING BY. anyways back to the bed, we paused, cuddled. then i was badtrip again for some reason so i got up to get dressed but we eventually made out again on the sofa hehe. legs spread again bec he liked touching there so i let him. then eventually was begging me to allow him to eat me out but i was like BROOOO NOOOO you gon taste it and it be not groomed yet in anyway but he was alr there begging looool he looked so adorbs but NOOO. i asked wala ka man benefit jan, sabi nya ikaw meron. tas sabi ko why do u wanna do it, he said he wasnted to satify me liek HNGGGGGG ok i would let you but it really not be groomed oakay NEXT TIME for sure. AND HECK the lights were on. it was daylight and the lights were on like hasdhahsdhashdas it feels liek im being eaten out at the home decor station at vista mall U GUYZ. anyways ayon. after non i think he tried carrying me for some reason. and i knew he found me heavy lols. but yeah i was a cute little moment he carried me around the room pretending its a mall and he's touring me and shit, "to your left, is the sala set, to your right is the flat screen tv..." things like that HAHAHA funny cute moment. anw later on we found ourselves sitting on the little bed again i was on top of him. he didnt want to lay down bec he alrady made the bed lol so we started grinding again sitting, me on top doing my best !! giving my all !! bec he also had a finger down there as i grinded on his stuff so it basically felt like a direct grind lols. anyways was nice. then later on we made out standing up. was kinda hard because he was 7 inches taller. OH AKALA NYO TITE SIZE YUNG 7 INCHES NOH. hinde. so ayon we were making out and he was shy to ask for a deep throat HAHSDHAHDHAS HECK NAW BITCH U TOLD ME A RAPE JOKE. so this is the part where i get revenge. he was standing there, and i was teasing him. was acting clueless, but he hinted he wanted his belt off so i took it off. was honestly confused with the belt. lol. anw i got to remove it and said, so ano next? playfully hhehhehehe. anyways ayon nga eventually me teased him everrr soooo slowly his dick went from solid-jelly-solid-jelly. LMFAO omfg will i cause him illness? omg. anwwww ayon. later on i removed his shorts as he asked. then i stepped aaway from him across the room because he was doing the shy type hands while hsis shorts was by his foot. and i LOL'd at him for a good few minutes just clapping my hands out of entertainment HAHSDHAHSDAS. then he asked me to put my hands inside, did it slowly and i told him to smile ka nga muna. AND HA THE MF WAS SHAKING. LOL. my fucking powerrrrrrr. anyways later on i was teasing out the underwear, then later i got my hands in again and then touchedt the dick *YAY* finally we got there!! anw it was only for a few secs and i told him its over HAHAHA. then i put his shorts back up again, but subtly teasing that i would suck. bec the shorts were by his ankles so i had to kneel. did i suck? no. did i make sure he thought i was? YES BITCH. and then he lay down fretting because i didnt suck his dick and then while was laying down i opened his shorts again to pretend that his dick was a computer mouse and told him "lets play solitaire, o kaya counterstrike or maybe purble place. gawa ng cake hehe" lmfao mfer be cry laughing because he dont know what to do bec he was teased. so ayon we ended that way and i thought he was bad trip bec of what i did. but he assured me na di naman like dapat lang duh. anyways ayon hehe.

uwi na kami after nakauwi ako 1. andon kami 10. hehe. hinatid nya man me pauwi. tho yung byahe pauwi di pa kami nakakalayo sa place he pulled over so i was confused bec there were no big vehicles incoming but to my surpris he started kissimg me again lol bro deins ka ba nasasawa. anw yon. was nice naman. making out with a guy from a rich fam is nice bec yall dont need to pay to rent in motels lol but still has pressure, bec if we end on a bad note, i swear most of the blgs here are engineered by his relatives. thats how prominent they are. the place we went to is owned by his uncle, who works at legazpi rn thats why the place was vacant. theyre making a mall i think idk. so thats why his uncle is making another like that na place dun. so he has somewhere to stay. like what in the wealth... its crazy how people have money. and for sure even if the place we stayed in was small, it costs millions fr. anyways ayun yung promised detailed chika ko. hehe ciao. mej pokpok nga me pero look at me suffering the consequences, may sipon na ako aside sa ubo because he had mild sipon. now my sipon is malala compared to his, and he alr is recoveredt tangina unfair. but yesterday he insisted to see me to drop off some meds and he hugeed me and cried. because i asked for a time out the night before. bec i was having a hard time. he allowed it but over thinkedt it so yeah he cried while hugging me tight in the car. and kept on saying sorry mainly bec of the sipon thing. but it was, i felt, directed to the other stuff he had disappointed me with. anyways before that sabi nya ok lang ba sayo mag punta munang emall may bibilhin lang, sabi ko naur im sick. it was bec he wanted to buy me gummy worms lol. cute. u shoulda bought them before going to me, mofo. jk. loveee u penggg.

[crystallized-shadow]

I know I’ve been kinda absent lately, so I wanted to take a moment to:

First, thank everyone who has continued to follow me, tag me in posts, and read my stories.  And second, explain a little bit of what has been going on.

tl;dr: My mental and physical health haven’t been the best and then the stress of both my classes and this fucking pandemic kinda killed my creativity. Good news is I’m writing again and will hopefully be posting stuff again soon.

More details below the cut. This is all personal, so feel free to skip.

For those of you that don’t know, I’m in college studying math. Fall semester I had to take Multi-Variable Calculus which is just fucking evil and I hated the class so much Unfortunately, between that class and another higher level math class with a shit teacher, the stress was bad. I’m not gonna lie, I had a few break downs and some dark thoughts. Over winter break, I talked to my doctor. She pretty much confirmed what I’ve thought for awhile, anxiety and depression. I’m on medicine now and things are looking better on that front, thank god.

Physical health, those issues started back in November. A little backstory, I was a fucking klutz as a child and I’m used to dealing with random aches and pains. That being said, my wrist started to hurt and after a few days of nothing working, I finally went to the doctor. He thought it might be carpal tunnel or ulnar nephropathy, which is basically the same thing just in different nerves. I was in a brace for a week and on meds for 2. It helped for less than a month, so I spoke with my regular doctor and she recommended I speak with a specialist. He agreed with the diagnosis and told me to start sleeping in wrist braces and avoid unnecessary wrist strain aka the writing/drawing I did for fun He also ordered an EKG, to check on the nerves in both my wrists. If you’ve never done it, it’s a fucking awful test that involves both shocking the nerves to see how they respond and then sticking a needle into said nerves to see how the signals are passed on. It ended up being pointless, because my nerves were totally fine (yay!) so no idea what the pain was.

The wrist pain didn’t stop, but I tried to ignore it as I didn’t have time to figure out what was wrong. In March I went back to the doctor and he decided it was likely tendinitis in both my wrists. 2 weeks of a different medicine and the pain finally went away. I can’t even begin to explain what a huge fucking relief that was! Now I wish I could say that was the end of my problems, but it wasn’t. Around the beginning of April, I started having stomach issues. It wasn’t constant so I pretty much ignored it until mid-April when I literally threw-up every hour for like 10 hours straight. I ended up in the hospital for 3 days because I had pancreatitis caused by gallstones. Having never been hospitalized before, having my first time be during a pandemic was an experience. The end result was I needed to get my gallbladder removed to avoid another episode. That surgery was last week and fuck I never realized how much I used my stomach muscles for shit until moving any of them caused me pain. I am happy to say that I am recovering nicely, no unforeseen side-effects yet fingers crossed  

Now I can’t just blame these things for my lack of writing, I’ve also been obsessed with Animal Crossing New Horizons and Pokemon Mystery Dungeons DX. They are both great games and I love them to pieces! Plus it’s a lot easier for me to play a game then try and type when I’m not feeling good and can’t get out of bed. 

So again, thank you to everyone for being so patient with me! I’m finally getting back into the swing of things, and am slowing getting caught up. I have two stories that are almost done, and hopefully will be posted soon-ish. I haven’t forgotten the prompts people sent me, I will get them done, I promise! feel free to send me more XD Also slowly working my way through the tag games I’ve been tagged in, because I love doing them and find it very touching that people are still tagging me despite me basically dropping off of tumblr.

[simplylove101]

Missing Moment #4 Preview

This has been such a shitshow of a day.

Gert thinks this as she and Chase hightail it to their bedroom, with Old Lace lingering by the door. Obviously, the dinosaur has missed her and wants some attention. That said, Gert really had meant her warning to Topher just moments before about Old Lace continuing to keep a watch on him.

As long as he's staying in this mansion and near Molly, at least. We can't risk it.

While it's true the group has given Topher a reluctant okay to stay with them for now, they clearly still don't fully trust him yet. He can dumpster dive all the food he wants to try to win them over with, but it doesn’t make him part of their family. Even if Molly does now believe Topher may be some long lost relative of hers because of their matching glowing eyes and powers.

Whatever. I am her sister. Regardless if they are possibly blood related or not, that’s never gonna change.

Gert sits on the bed and yanks off her boots, trying to push this train of thought away. Her feet are killing her, and she wants to forget all about today’s events. She considers burying her face in her pillow and screaming her head off. Just to see if it makes any difference of her feeling better or not.

Probably not. Ugh. Oh well.

“You okay?” Chase asks as he shuts the door behind him.

It’s a question he has been asking her pretty much since the moment they’ve gotten together, and lately Gert’s been trying to sidestep it a bit since she doesn’t want to burden him and the others with the truth. But earlier, during the earthquake, she had completely lost her cool.

This whole ‘being without her meds’ thing is really starting to get unbearable for her. She’s been snappy, on edge at all times, and her head almost always feels like it’s repeatedly being jabbed with a hot poker.

So, is she okay? No. Is she gonna tell her concerned boyfriend that, though?

No.

“Yeah. Just peachy.”

Gert knows she’s a horrible liar. She always has been.

Every once in a while, Chase can see past her bullshit, but luckily for her, he seems like he’s unaware of it this time. That, or he’s afraid to push her limits (that’s definitely more likely, considering the circumstances), which she guesses that she can’t totally blame him for. She does tend to take her frustration out on him a lot of the time, more than most people would probably handle well. But this is hard. Anxiety is hard.

Being in a brand-new relationship while on the run and dealing with high-level anxiety without medication at the same time? Even harder.

Chase makes his way over to their bed with a sigh. “Today was… something else.” He sits down and slips his shoes off quickly so he can join her.

That’s one way to put it.

“Mm-hmm,” Gert mumbles, reaching for the copy of Slouching Towards Bethlehem she found yesterday that is sitting on her dresser. Maybe reading some Didion will distract her enough from her problems. Probably not, but it’s worth a shot, right?

“Anything you wanna talk about?” Chase inquires, in a tone that suggests that he’s trying hard not to pry, but he still really wants to know how she’s doing.

So much for fooling him.

Of course, after a day like this, there’s plenty of things for them to talk about. Her mood, on the other hand, isn’t quite ready for it yet.

“Mm,” Gert answers, as she turns a page. There’s silence, and when she looks up, she sees Chase making a face. Clearly, he is worried about her and, okay, she secretly likes it. She really does, but it also makes her feel like shit.

“Y’know, I saw your face earlier, when you joked about your meds at dinner-“

“Oh, um, that was just…”

“I know you weren’t joking, Gert.”

Gert purses her lips, ready to deflect like she’s been trying to do ever since this conversation has started but decides to be truthful. “It just gets pretty hard sometimes, you know? That earthquake really got to me. I thought it was all over for us. I thought… it was the one-”

“I know.” Chase grabs for her hand. “And really, I get why you tried sneaking into the nurse’s office, okay?” There’s a squeeze before he lets go. “Someday we’re gonna be able to get you your meds. I promise.”

Someday.

Gert hates that word. She needs her meds, now. No one truly seems aware of how much of a struggle she’s been going through these last few days. Anxiety is a debilitating illness. One that she has been suffering from for years now, and it’s not getting any easier. Why else would she dare pull a stunt like she did today if it wasn't absolutely vital to get her hands on a bottle of her prescription immediately? 

No one understands. None of them. But then, why would they? They don’t have this. To them, I’m probably just another problem they can’t solve and have to deal with. I’m not important enough. I shouldn’t expect them to care.

Now Gert does know Chase deserves some credit since he’s been trying to be there for her as much as he can since they ran away. But there’s only so much comfort he can provide her when her mind is spiraling out of control and he still doesn’t fully comprehend how bad it is. Then again, she’s trying to tone down explaining to him how it all works, because every time she does, that seems to be when her real grumpiness comes out.

Oh, how she wishes she could make him understand all this. But she doesn’t know how to explain it to him anymore.

“Right.” There’s a slight edge when it comes out of her mouth, but once again, Chase doesn’t seem to detect this.

“It’s kinda crazy how we were talking about our old lives and Atlas this morning, and then we had to go back there today. What are the odds, huh?” He shakes his head with a slight chuckle.

“Mmhmm.” Gert is back to her book, but she’s been reading the same paragraph for a minute straight because she can’t focus on it. All she can think about is taking deep breaths and attempting to keep calm.

“Gert.”

“What?”

Uh oh. Here we go.

[andbeingblueisbetter]

It’ll Be Okay.

Brendon helps the reader when they’re feeling suicidal? Sorry but I kinda need this atm.

Warnings: obviously mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts, depression, anxiety. IF ANY OF THIS MAY TRIGGER YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS!

If any of you are ever depressed, suicidal, or struggling in anyway, talk to somebody. Talk to me, a parent, a friend, a teacher, anybody. You ARE worth it. Your life IS worth living. You ARE loved. 1-800-273-8255 is the suicide hotline if you need it.

Numb. That was the only word to describe how you were feeling. It was almost as if you had cried all of the tears out of your body and felt all of the emotions your body could feel, and now they were gone. You had used up all the happy, all of the love, all of the anger, the sad, and finally, the hardest, all of the fear. Because now you were really going to do it. You were going to do the thing you had thought about doing numerous times before. You were going to kill yourself.

You sat on your bed, your legs crossed with a pen in your hand, scribbling words onto a notebook for Brendon to read. He was at the studio and you knew he wouldn’t be back for a while. He was the only reason you hadn’t done it yet. You didn’t want to hurt him, and truly, you were happy when you were with him. He made you laugh, he made you feel beautiful, he made you feel. But you didn’t think that was enough anymore.

Brendon. My love. My beautiful husband and best friend. I’m so sorry I did this to you. But please know that I’m happier now. And I want you to move on, find someone who can love you more than I can, somebody who isn’t as messed up as me. I don’t want you to be too hurt B. Just please, don’t forget me. I love you so much.

Y/n.

You sigh as you set the pen down on the notebook, pushing it onto the bed gently, careful not to crinkle the paper at all. You knew the note was short and all over the place and probably wasn’t all that coherent, but you didn’t know what you were even thinking at the moment. Your brain wasn’t even working.

You stand up from the bed and walk to your bathroom, opening up the medicine cabinet, grabbing various medication bottles and examining them. ADHD meds of Brendon’s, some of your own sleeping pills, and an anti-depressant. You grabbed the bottles and sat on the closed toilet seat, pouring a large amount of each pill into your hand, your eyes beginning to tear up as you watched the pills fall into your hand. You heart begins to race as you stare at the pills. You were going to do it.

A few moments later you hear the front door open and the sound of Brendon’s voice, “Y/n! I’m home! The studio power went out so we got sent home, I brought you food though it’s—“ he cut himself off once he reached the end of the hallway and saw you sat on the toilet, tears on your face with a handful of pills ready to be taken. He just stares at you for s seconds, dumbfounded at what he was seeing.

“Baby...” He whispers, walking forward you reach into your hand to grab the pills. You don’t even resist, you just begin to sob as he takes the pills, pulling you off the toilet and into his lap.

He opens the lid to the toilet and throws the pills in, flushing them as he holds your shaking body, rubbing your back. Neither of you notice, but he’s crying as well, because what if he didn’t come home? What if he was still at the studio?

After what felt like hours of your crying, you finally calmed down, still in his arms.

“W—Why?” He asked you quietly, his voice shaking.

You were quiet. You didn’t really know why. “I feel like I’m a waste of space. Like nobody really needs me and what’s the point of me being alive then.” You mumble, rubbing your eyes and shaking your head. “I’m sorry.” You whisper, beginning to stand up from his lap.

“Let me tell you this. You are the furthest thing from a waste of space on this earth. You are a kind, beautiful, talented piece of art. You were put on this earth for a reason Y/n. You’re so amazing. You’re so funny and I’m so, so grateful to be married to you. I literally don’t know what I would do without you,” his voice breaks, “I don’t know if I could survive with out you. You’re the reason I get out of bed everyday. I love you so much Y/n and you deserve to be alive.” He finishes, giving you a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I’m sorry I was gonna do it.” You whisper and lean your forehead against his chest.

“Maybe we can get you some professional help. Somebody better than me.” Brendon suggests, and you nod against his chest, “Right now, okay?” He finishes off and you continue to nod, feeling him to begin to stand up underneath you.

“Thank you, Brendon.” You say quietly, standing up with him.

I’m sorry this isn’t great and also isn’t very long. It was super hard to write because I went through a similar situation. I’m also on a new medication that makes me feel weird so I’m gonna blame that too :)

[beaniegara]

trying to save you (from all of the things that I'll probably say or do)

ship: eugene/zach (zagene) rating: pg-13 warnings: alcohol mention and consumption, self-worth issues. tags: friends to lovers, angst, angst with a happy ending, sorta sickfic at first, introspection on eugene's part, eugene's pov show: the try guys. partner: @lilnyckyj​   prompt: allergies, for @thebuzzfeedchallenge​! 

summary: zach is sick so eugene makes sure he has everything he needs at home, including food. and that's when he realizes.

a/n: I’m super late and I’m so sorry! :c but here, have some zagene ♥

[ao3 link]

“Zach?”

Eugene closes the door behind him and toes out of his shoes. He’s not wearing socks. The cold under his feet is more than welcome after the frankly outrageous hot weather he experienced outside. The foam container he’s holding isn’t helping, warm to the touch. He knows that it smells good when Bowie comes out of Zach’s room, pawing happily towards Eugene.

“Hey, buddy,” Eugene says, crouching down to give him a good rub behind his ears and a kiss to his head. It’s almost a bad decision: Bowie tries to reach for the package and nearly topples Eugene over. “Hey, hey,” he laughs, standing up and keeping the food out of Bowie’s reach. “This is for your dad. Be nice.”

“Bowie, stop hogging my friend!” Zach’s whine comes down the hallway. Eugene laughs.

After laying the food carefully on top of the fridge, he goes to Zach’s room. He’s not surprised to find Zach in a nest of sorts. His friend lies amidst sheets, pillows, and what looks like half of his wardrobe. He looks small, sad, and quite honestly—

“Pathetic,” Eugene says, stopping for a second at the door, then walking inside to feel Zach’s forehead. “You can’t be that bad .”

“Oh yeah, and how can you know? Do you have a stuffy nose that won’t stop running like the goddamn Niagara Falls?”

It all comes out in a rush, very much through his red nose. He sounds a lot like Donald Duck.

“Stop acting like a baby and get up, I brought you food.”

“Food?” Zach looks hopeful, but that immediately turns into a scowl. “Food? I don’t know if I can eat today.”

“Too bad, because you will. Come on.”

Eugene offers a hand that Zach takes, letting Eugene help him out of bed.

“And what I mean by that is that it can’t be that bad that you need to cocoon yourself like this,” he motions to Zach’s mess of a bed as they head to the kitchen. “It’s not even, what, 80º outside?”

“It’s comfy, though,” Zach says, and Eugene can’t contain a smile – even a slightly amused one.

Bowie follows them happily into the kitchen, wagging his tail. Zach starts to pull out plates, but Eugene stops him, takes the plates from his hand, and indicates the table with his head, “Sit.”

“You know, I really am not that bad. I’m just being dramatic because I hate this.”

“I know. But you’re taking too many meds at once and I don’t like that,” Eugene says simply. “Your tiny body can only take so much.”

“Wow, thanks, man.”

“That was a compliment,” Eugene says as he finishes setting up the table and reaches for the food on top of the fridge. “You need carbs, but you also need meat to keep functioning like a human being, so I brought two dishes, actually.”

He makes sure to set everything nicely on the table, opening container after container until Zach can see all that he has brought with him.

“Oh my god, this looks so good.”

“It smells pretty nice, too.”

Zach just gestures dismissively at his stuffed nose, “I’ll have to take your word for it. How much was it? I can transfer what I owe you.”

“Shut up,” Eugene says, dropping a generous portion on Zach’s plate first before getting some himself. “I told you, this is on me. You owe me nothing more than a couple of nights babysitting my babies.”

“Eugene, that is hardly payment, I enjoy doing that. Besides, this is like the third time this week you’ve brought me food.”

It is. Eugene hesitates only for a second, because it hadn’t occurred to him that he has been here on Monday, Tuesday and today, Thursday, making it the third time that week alone. Zach has the week off, fighting an allergy-turned-mild-cold that comes and goes around this time of the year. And it’s not like Eugene has been the only one over – Keith has been keeping tabs on him, too, and even if Ned is trying to avoid Zach, not wanting to risk getting Ariel sick, he personally rearranged Zach’s schedule so that Zach wouldn’t have to miss anything important that week. Really, Eugene is not doing more than his part here.

Or so he tells himself.

“I don’t want your money,” he says. “Just, you know, get better so I don’t have to babysit you. And so I can go back to babysitting your dog.”

Speaking of which, Bowie is sat between them, eyeing one and then the other with the cutest eyes Eugene has ever seen. Zach laughs, “You’re just using me to get to Bowie.” He takes his first bite and closes his eyes, groaning. “Oh my god, Eugene, I love you. This is amazing.”

Eugene’s heart skips a beat. He does something with his hands that makes the piece of broccoli he had on his fork go flying through the room.

He’s not sure what just happened, but he can’t meet Zach’s eyes. He doesn’t have an answer either, so he stuffs his mouth with food instead. Something’s not right. He’s overwhelmed, surprised, and speechless, all at the same time.

It doesn’t make any sense; his mind is just a swirl of what the fuck’s and fuck me’ s. He doesn’t know to react, so he focus on gulping down mouthful after mouthful. Zach doesn’t seem to notice anything’s out of the ordinary. “I can barely taste anything but what I can taste is tasty as fuck and it made me realize I was starving, so thank you,” he says.

“Sure, no problem,” Eugene answers, risking a glance. Zach’s not looking at him, busy with his food. Eugene looks down again.

This. All of this. It feels too... intimate? Maybe. They are alone, having lunch together. Lunch Eugene has brought Zach, for the third time that week. It all feels too fucking cozy, too—

Too domestic.

Eugene loses his appetite all of a sudden. He manages a couple more bites, but he starts to feel anxious - his palms start to sweat, and he has the urge to get out of there. This is not a full-blown anxiety attack but it's close enough to make him stand up, cleaning out his plate and giving Zach some lame excuse about needing to be back early for a shot. He’s gone before Zach can say anything.

It’s not until he’s in his car, driving back to work, that he starts to put his thoughts together. First things first: the thing about coming over several times, well... It's not likes it's something new. He isn’t just worried now because Zach is sick – although, yeah, he has been extra worried this week –, he is always worried about him. Not in an overprotective way, just... Thinking about him. Wondering if he’s alright. If he needs anything. If he’s as happy as he should be.

That’s something a friend would do, of course, Eugene reasons with himself, but the panic building inside of him tells him otherwise. He is kinda, sorta, ridiculously attached to Zach. Everything he abhors, from spending the night watching films on a couch that’s too small for the both of them, to missing Zach’s texts when he doesn’t text him in the morning... That’s not something he does with everyone else.

That’s not something he does, period.

“Hey,” Kelsey puts a hand on his arm as Eugene walks into the office half an hour later, too dazzled to have even seen her. “You alright there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know,” she gives him a once-over, as if trying to find out what is wrong. “You look like you just saw a ghost or something.”

You could say that, he thinks to himself.

“Too much in my head,” he says, giving her a smile that he knows will convince her. It does. “Gotta go, but we’re still on Friday, right?”

“Of course!”

They part with a flying kiss from her, and Eugene goes to his desk. It’s still early for most people to have come back from lunch break, so he has at least an hour until the desks around him are busy again. Except for Zach’s, which has been empty all week; a post-it on his screen says, in Ned’s handwriting, “GONE TO HONOLULU! BYE BITCHESSS”.

The thing is, Eugene thinks as his login screen loads, he likes Zach. That much he can admit to himself. But where does friendly affection end and romantic interest begin? He hasn’t been in many relationships, always avoided them when he could. It just doesn’t work for him – that’s how he’s wired, and he doesn’t think there’s any point in trying to fight it.

But then he thinks back to Zach’s kitchen, about how he can easily find his way in his apartment. He thinks about Zach’s laugh, the dorkiest and yet most adorable thing Eugene can think of, especially when it's early in the morning and Zach can barely open his eyes. He thinks about all the times one of them was out of town, and about how it has become second nature to him to text Zach all day when that happens. He thinks about the times he’s entertained the idea of kissing Zach and blaming it on the alcohol – and the two times he actually went through with it.

Hiding his face behind his hands, Eugene sighs. This doesn’t sound good. At all. He wonders briefly if he should drop by Zach’s after work to check on him, to make sure he hasn’t left Zach with the wrong impression, but of course he hasn’t. Why is he so worried about what Zach is thinking? Why should he worry about that?

He tries the opposite of what he usually does. Instead of shutting himself off and ignoring whatever it is he is feeling, he lets his mind wander. He thinks about being with Zach – being here meaning more than just hanging out together. He wonders what it’d be like to kiss him, completely sober now, with no excuses. He wonders what it’d be like to be the one Zach texts first, and realizes with a jolt that he might as well already be. Suddenly the idea of maybe cozying up together on that tiny couch at Zach’s isn’t all that weird, which is weird in itself, because since when does Eugene think about cuddling?

Soon his coworkers start to come back from the break, and Eugene has to pretend he is incredibly focused on whatever is open on his screen. That forces him to actually pay attention to the work at hand, putting a stop to the storm inside his head.

Eugene doesn’t want to think.

Better yet: he doesn’t want to think about that. He needs to think. He needs to put his mind on work, because that’s where he should be putting his mind on, anyway. This is a crucial time, and they have a lot on their hands – Eugene has a lot on his hands already, without the added anxiety of having to think about his friend who he may or may not harbor feelings for.

It’s kinda ridiculous, he chides himself once, when he’s at the break room, getting a cup of coffee. His mind wanders to that Thursday, again, the nth time it has done so that week. He thinks about how easy it is to be around Zach; how comfortable he feels to open up cabinets in his kitchen and in his bathroom; how safe he feels when it’s just the two of them, no cameras, no nothing. He thinks about being around himon camera, and how much more fun and much more at ease he feels when Zach's there filming wih him, no matter how stupid the video they’re doing is.

Coffee spills over his cup and onto his hand. It burns - he hisses and dabs a bunch of napkins on his hand, cursing under his breath. This is not who he is. He’s not one to be getting distracted at work thinking about soft hands and easy smiles. This is not who Eugene has worked so hard to become.

So he starts avoiding Zach.

It’s for the best, he tells himself. And it’s nothing too on the nose, either. He makes sure that Zach still has everything he needs while he’s at home - and even when he’s back at work the next week - but he avoids being alone with him. Avoids being too close, or too intimate. Strict business, his demeanor says, and Zach starts to look at him a little odd, but doesn’t push it. He’s too nice for that. Besides, he has always respected Eugene’s space.

No one tries to ask if anything’s different, even though Eugene catches Keith watching him when the four of them are in a room together. No one ever does because Eugene has mastered the art of concealing his emotions, and so it doesn’t show that he feels, well, like crap. Inside and out, he feels like he’s trying too hard to just be. He pulls a muscle at the gym on a Monday, two weeks into this new Avoiding Zach routine. His skin is all sorts of wrong, and his products aren't helping. He keeps forgetting things, from his keys to the time of meetings, which is new to him.

Everything sucks, but no one notices it.

Maybe it’s for the best, he reasons with himself.

That’s until he’s had more than his fair share of cocktails at one of Buzzfeed's parties. It feels like the entire office is there, more so than in past years. It’s one master event, and the place is so big that people are spread out in clusters, a lot of them already occupying most couches and benches. He has been talking to Kelsey – Impicciche, not Darragh –, Annie, and two other people he’s sure he’s learned the name of, but can’t remember anymore, when someone touches his elbow.

He turns to find Zach, no glasses, holding a cup of something reddish in color.

“Eugene, can we talk?”

“Mmmmm,” Eugene pretends to think about it, then, “Nope.”

He pops the ‘p’, and Zach snickers, “Please? I know—I know this isn’t the best place but I can’t stop thinking that you’re mad at me and this has been eating me from inside out forever now, and I really, really wish you’d just talk to me—”

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” Eugene says, slurring a bit. He has had a lot to drink. A lot. He realizes that when he considers just walking away, both from Zach and from the group he has been standing with, and his legs take quite longer than usual to understand the command. “I don’t have anything to say,” he adds, raising both hands. He fails to notice he has spilled some of his own drink.

“Ok!” Zach says, rather defensively. His face is flushed, and if Eugene were a little less drunk off his ass, he’d see Zach’s had plenty to drink, too. “But I do have something to say. Or actually, to ask. I have things to ask. And I don’t know, man, I can’t just corner you at work, that would be a dick move, even if this is technically work but not really, because we’re not being paid to be here tonight... Sorry, I’m getting carried away, but seriously, can we—?”

He touches Eugene’s elbow again, using his head to indicate that they can step aside, closer to the bushes, away from the group. He is looking so good tonight, Eugene thinks – he almost looks like he’s glowing under the artificial lighting, the pale of his eyes more clear than ever, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol. Eugene looks down at his lips, and his stomach does something weird, like somersaults. Zach doesn't look nice, he looks gorgeous. His hand has left Eugene’s elbow, because he doesn’t force contact if Eugene doesn’t let him, he never does, and fuck, why does he need to be so nice all the time?

“Fine,” Eugene says, walking away with him. If only to hear more of his voice, which he hasn't been hearing a lot of lately – avoiding Zach comes at a great cost, he concludes.

Zach just walks them a little to the back of the crowd, so they can hear each other better, and maybe not be heard by anyone else. They’re outside, and it’s quiet beyond the perimeters of the party – they can’t hear anything else in the neighborhood, and it feels almost otherworldly to be there that night. It certainly feels weird to want to touch Zach’s arms, and his face, when Eugene is standing this close to him.

“So,” Zach starts, clearing his throat. “I just—I just, you know, I wanna know if I’ve done something wrong? If I’ve hurt you, or—I don’t know, if, if—You’ve been distant, Eugene” he says, looking up at Eugene.

And fuck, man. Fuck. Eugene can’t deal with Zach’s big, beautiful eyes, looking up at him like that – nervous, sad, hurt. It makes Eugene feel like the biggest jerk ever, and all he wants is to make Zach understand that nothing is his fault. Nothing about this is on him, it’s all on Eugene, and he shouldn’t be the one looking at him like that.

“It’s for the best,” Eugene says, repeating the words he has been saying to himself a lot lately.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s for the best’? Whose best? Why is that the best for anyone?”

“Because it is! You don’t want me fucking up your life, do you?”

“Eugene, what the fuck?” Zach looks confused. “Why would you fuck up my life? What’s going on?”

Eugene looks away, shaking his head. He feels embarrassed. He understands, deep in his core, that this is all his fault. For letting himself feel any of this, feel this way towards one of his closest friends. Just how dumb is he, really? It’s not like he doesn’t know what would happen. What is happening.

“Forget it,” Eugene says, but Zach is adamant.

“I can’t forget it, not when you’re trying to keep me away from you.”

“It’s—Jesus Christ, Zach, it’s the other way around. You got it all wrong.”

“Yeah? And how exactly did I get it wrong, Eugene?”

“I’m trying to keep myself away from you so I can stop feeling the way I feel about you.”

A pause. Zach stares at him.

“Which is...?”

“This,” Eugene gestures to himself, which in his mind makes perfect sense. He’s showing Zach the walking mistake, the man that can’t get attached, the man that’s bound to make a mess and hurt him and just— “I can’t hurt you. I just can’t. I don’t want to and I don’t think I can fucking handle it.”

“Well, that’s good,” Zach starts, but Eugene isn’t finished; he feels the words tumbling out of his mouth before he has processed them.

“Because that’s what would happen if I let myself have feelings for you, or if I let myself get too attached to the idea of being with you, because that’s who I am. I—I fuck up, I make messes, and I don’t—I don’t know how to be with anyone, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before,” he laughs, incredulous. “Fuck me, I’m in my thirties, it’s way too late to learn this shit. I just can’t.”

Zach doesn’t say anything at first, staring at him, wide-eyed. Eugene is trying to stop laughing, but he’s now giggling uncontrollably, looking at Zach.

“This is ridiculous. Isn't it? How a person can fall for a friend and ruin one of the best friendships, relat—work relationships he’s ever had? Of course I’d do that,” Eugene opens his arms wide, takes a couple steps back. He’s grinning from ear to ear. He says even louder this time, “Eugene Lee Yang, a fucking moron!”

“Stop that,” Zach says.

“I don’t care if they listen.”

“I don’t mean that,” Zach gets close again, tries to take the drink away from Eugene’s hand. “I mean, don’t call yourself that, don’t—You’re not a moron.”

Eugene bats away Zach’s hand, keeping the drink close to his chest. He doesn’t remember what’s in his glass, but it doesn’t matter, because he knows it’s alcohol. Just what he needs, and will always need. At least drunk he doesn’t need to worry about a thing, he doesn’t need to hide or calculate his words. Zach looks weird, now – his smile has dropped, and his eyes look shiny, and he’s not looking Eugene in the eye.

And that’s when Eugene understands what he has just done.

“No,” he says, heart starting to beat faster. “No, fuck, forget I said anything.”

“You can’t ask me that.”

“I just did. Please, Zach—”

“You know, I think we should have this conversation some other time,” Zach looks at him, immediately winces, and looks away. “I—I should go.”

“Zach—” Eugene tries, but Zach steps around him and then away, not looking back.

Eugene’s heart tightens as he watches Zach’s hunched figure dart between the crowd before he vanishes from sight. It’s a stupid muscle, Eugene gathers, and he must’ve pulled it too because it hurts, now. Not something he has ever felt, but like his heart is a tiny bird flapping its wings very fast, trying to fly out of a cage that’s a size too small for him. It keeps throwing itself against the bars, hurting, hurting, hurting, and it never stops, it won’t stop. Eugene feels sick. He chugs the rest of his drink, trying to quell the awful feeling in his chest; the liquid burnshis throat on the way down.

It hurts, and it doesn’t stop hurting the next day. His head is exploding when he wakes up just after lunch, mouth dry and stomach lurching. He hasn’t thrown up in a long time, but if it continues like this, he might be bending over his toilet later. After he has taken care of his most basic needs – water, peeing, a toast to keep his blood pressure where it should be – he checks his phone.

One name stands out in his notifications, and it all comes back to him. His heart clenches again, thinking about the night before.

Zach.

Eugene regrets opening his mouth, but he doesn’t blame the alcohol. If anything, he blames himself. He should���ve known better – he does know better, and fuck, since when does he let any kind of feeling dictate how he should behave? Since when does he let his heart, hurt as it is, dumb as it is, take the reins?

The message simply says “can we meet?”. It was sent around 10 a.m., because of course. Zach probably has a headache, too. He always has when he drinks too much, even if his too much is miles away from Eugene’s too much. Eugene groans just thinking about it. He knows Zach so well, and he knows himself so well – why did he need to say anything?

He texts back with a “Sure”. He’s far from sure, but he owes Zach this. If he can at least explain it, explain why he didn’t say anything before and why he was such a jackass, then maybe... Maybe Zach will just leave it all behind.

Maybe.

After some more awkward, emoji-less texts, they settle for 4 p.m. at Eugene’s place. It gives him enough time to shower, order in some lunch, get onto some important emails. He calls his mom, too, when he’s sure she’s not at church. It’s a weird conversation; he doesn’t know how to explain why he sounds so tired, or why he’s giving one-word answers. He wants to tell her, even if just to let it out of his chest, but this is not something they talk about. They never have, and they’re not starting now. She wouldn’t be comfortable with the topic, and he probably wouldn’t either.

His apartment starts to feel very suffocating.

He does his best to clean up after he hangs up, opening the blinds, changing the towels in his bathroom, taking out the trash. It helps him keep focused, even if his head is still sore, and his thirst never ending. 

Zach is there at 4 p.m. sharp.

It’s a weird thing to have him there, in front of him. Eugene is scared when he opens the door, which is something he isn’t expecting to feel at that moment. Zach, wearing a cap, hands hidden inside the pockets of his hoodie, smiles.

Eugene tries to smile back, but his heart is doing that stupid thing again.

He doesn’t want to lose Zach. He doesn’t want to see that smile any less. He doesn’t want to walk on eggshells around him because he doesn’t know how to keep his emotions in check.

“Hey,” Zach says, walking inside. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, which is good, but he does hesitate, standing in Eugene’s living room before he crouches down to rub Pesto's belly. “Should we, uh… Should I sit down? Can we sit down?”

“Of course,” Eugene follows, but doesn’t sit next to him on the couch. He perches himself on the only armchair there is. Emma is taking the seat, so he opts for the arm.

They are in silence for a couple of seconds before Eugene says, “I think I have—No, nevermind, I don’t. Water?”

Zach chuckles, “No, thanks. I’m guessing all you have to offer is alcohol?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

They laugh; Eugene feels his shoulders tense and tries to relax, but it’s hard. He’s hugging himself, almost, arms crossed in front of him. Zach looks small on his couch, like he’s trying not to take too much space.

“About yesterday, I think I should—"

“Wait, Zach, no,” Eugene interrupts him, sighing. He lets his head hang low for a brief moment before he’s looking Zach in the eye again. “I need to apologize. That’s the first thing that’s happening here. I was… Well, I was a dick yesterday. And I…” He tries to find the right words for this, but nothing sounds right in his head. “I don’t know, I think I had some kind of breakdown. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

Zach watches him, patiently. When he’s done, Zach looks down at his hands and nods.

“It’s alright, I wasn’t—You were drunk, we were bothreally drunk.”

“Yeah, well, that’s still no excuse,” Eugene says, mumbling the words. Zach smiles at him.

“You’re right, it’s not.”

There’s a moment of silence in which their eyes meet.

“Did you mean it?”

Zach’s voice is so low and soft, it’s barely a whisper. Eugene hesitates, mouth hanging open as he tries to think of a way to answer that at the same time that it dawns on him that Zach was most probably holding back tears the night before. The glasses he's wearing now catch his attention, reminding him of how at the party Zach's eyes were clear, shining with tears. He doesn't know how he missed that.

“I—” He stops, wets his lips. “Yeah. I did mean every word of it.”

“So you have feelings for me?”

Eugene nods. He’s proud of himself for not avoiding Zach’s eyes when he does.

“But you don’t… like anyone.”

A beat. “I don’t. Usually.”

“Wow,” Zach blinks, looking down at his fingers again. “A lot to process there.”

Eugene can’t help but chuckle a little, because yeah.

“Why did you act like that was a bad thing, though?”

“Because—” The words die on his throat. Because maybe this isn’t real and I’d only hurt you, he thinks. I’d ruin our friendship by starting something that’s not gonna last. He doesn’t have the courage to say any of this, not right now. Something inside of him is screaming for him to not say it. The part of him that thinks that this is different. That this is not just a fling that may be worth keeping around. He and Zach have known each other for so long now, they know each other so intimately well, it’s absurd. They have talked about everything under the sun, except maybe the things Eugene tends to keep for himself. But he realizes in that split second that he wouldn’t mind maybe - who knows - sharing those with Zach, too. Slowly, someday. The idea of sharing some of the things hidden in the corners of his mind with him isn’t so bad. Zach means all the good things Eugene can think of, including...

Home.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Eugene finally says. His voice cracks a bit.

Zach’s eyes on him are soft, understanding. “Neither do I. No one does, I think.”

“Ned does,” Eugene argues. “Keith does, too. Shane and Sara—”

“Well, maybe some people do,” Zach stops him right there, shifting forward so he’s on the edge of the couch. “But not everyone. I certainly don’t, you know I haven’t had a relationship in forever.”

Eugene shakes his head, both negating what he just said and also to shake off any tears or uncertainty from his voice. “It’s different.”

“How?”

“You’re—” Eugene gesticulates, trying to find the right way to say what he has only felt so far. “You’re open. You wear your feelings on your sleeve and you’re fine with it. That’s how people should be in a relationship. I—I’m guarded, closed off, I—I don’t know—Fuck,” he presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, refusing to let himself get teary-eyed. “I’m not a good partner, ok? I just know that. And you don’t deserve it. Not that I know what you deserve, all I know is that you deserve someone better than me.”

There’s the rustling of fabric before Eugene sees Zach has walked over and is now kneeling in front of him, one hand on Eugene's knee. He’s looking up at him, the corners of his mouth curving up; he looks lovely. He islovely, and this is too much. Eugene wants to touch him, wants to caress his cheek, wants to just know how his skin feels like in a touch that lasts longer than a mere second.

“I disagree with everything you just said, and that’s fine, because you’re wrong,” Zach says, making Eugene laugh. “You’re so worried about not being good enough that you haven’t even asked me how I feel about this.”

Eugene doesn’t know what to say, so he just looks at him.

“I like you, Eugene. Like, as fuck. As in, I want to hug the hell out of you and also maybe have some crazy, hardcore sex, all in one. Or maybe we don’t hug all that much because I know you’re not crazy about hugs, and I completely understand that.”

“Wait, what?”

“I must say, though, that I’ve been pretty vanilla all my life so I pictured more of a slow buildup for our sex live. If we were to have one, of course. Not that I’ve been fantasizing about you but we’ve talked so much about sex, it just comes out like this, sorry.”

“You like me?”

Zach gives him the softest smile Eugene has ever seen, and yeah, Eugene’s heart has stopped throwing itself against its cage; it flies free now, everywhere, giving him the sensation of… fucking hell, butterflies in his stomach.

“Yes, I do. Very much so.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Look who’s talking!” Zach shoots back, laughing. “But nah, I didn’t think you’d reciprocate, you know? Like, even if you somehow looked at me that way despite all the gorgeous people you’re usually making out with, I figured you’d worry about making it weird between us.”

“Well, yeah. We work together.”

“All the better. Office sex,” Zach jokes, and Eugene almost chokes on his own spit, bursting into laughter. “No but seriously, we’re grownass men, we can handle a possible breakup. Although I don’t think we will have to.”

“We don’t even have anything to break—”

Eugene doesn’t get a chance to finish. Zach stands up to reach his face and kisses him, just a press of lips that shuts Eugene up instantly. It’s surreal. It’s what Eugene has been dreaming about doing for what? months now. It’s all Zach - Zach’s soft lips, Zach’s aftershave, Zach’s entire being and existence just in reach...

“Now we do,” Zach says as he parts, smile so big Eugene can’t help but open one of his own. “Please don’t breakup with me, though.”

“Are you sure about this?”

Because as much as Eugene wants this, and oh god, he wants it so much… As much as he wants this, he still fears what the future holds for them. He’s still unsure about his ability to give Zach all that he needs, all that he deserves, and he’s terrified that he’ll eventually hurt him. But Zach kisses him again, this time closer, harder, and Eugene finds himself holding him by the waist as Zach’s arms sneak around his neck.

“I’m sure,” Zach says against his lips. His voice is an octave lower, and Eugene is so terribly, ridiculously in love. “We’ll talk about this, but for now can you do me a favor and just kiss me until I can’t feel my lips? Thank you.”

Eugene grins, and kisses him again.

"Wait, wait, wait," Ned says, smirking. "I got this. The gift from Eugene was... a collar."

The room explodes in laughter as Ariel slaps his arm. 

"What? It's possible! They're two consenting adults..."

"That would be hilarious," offers Keith, red-faced from laughing too hard and from the wine he has been nursing.

"Jesus Christ, can we not talk about our sex lives this early in the evening?" Zach says, but he's laughing. Eugene has an arm around his waist, so he feels Zach shaking with laughter under his touch. "I'm gonna need way more beer for that."

"Good idea!" Eugene kisses his temple and walks out of the room, towards the kitchen. He runs into Becky coming back and asks her about the drinks; she directs him to the right fridge.

It's when he's bent down, piling beers on his arms, that he hears whistling. He turns around just as Zach says, "Damn, I'd so tap that."

Eugene laughs so hard he nearly drops a bottle. They manage to get six of them on the counter, and Zach uses the opportunity to say, "You think we should tell them?"

"Only if you want to. I mean, I think we'll enjoy Venice a lot more if Ned isn't texting us every ten minutes. But if you want to tell them, I don't mind. It's your present, so it's your call."

"Nah," Zach rests his chin on his hand, leaning on the counter. "They're having too much fun to trying to figure it out. But if we get stranded on a desert island on our way there and need them to find us we're so fucked."

"We're fucked either way if that ever happens, but I promise not to eat you."

Zach smiles, "Aw, baby! Thank you! I promise not to eat you too."

They laugh, and Zach leans forward to give Eugene a peck on the lips. "Happy anniversary," he says. 

It's been a year, but Zach's voice still sounds like music to Eugene's ears. He can't contain his smile when he replies, "Happy anniversary, Zach."

[satanbutwithswag]

I’ve been sober for only 3 months & nine days. Tbh I don’t know what sobriety really is anymore. They explain because of my mental illness I need to take meds. Okay. But isn’t that the same as me taking drugs? They reply no because it’s controlled. Okay fair enough. However, just because it’s controlled and monitored to whatever extent someone’s situation may call for.. it’s still messing with the chemical balance in your brain. And they explain that they have the knowledge and experience (sometimes) to know what and what not to prescribe and how much. Well I don’t necessarily agree on that point because I may not know the best chemicals to enhance and improve my brain chemistry however.. they’re experience and book learned knowledge or even degree doesn’t not qualify them to know my body better than me let alone know what works best for me. The only thing that I agree with that a psych doctor or therapist has to say about my mental health is street drugs are extremely dangerous. Any of them. Pills, prescription proof or not anybody can buy extremely illegal things off the dark web including pill pressing machines where u can put any kinda powered substance and when it comes out u have what looks like a pharmaceutical pill. And not to mention how easy it is to not only obtain capsules and put whatever u want in them. And then as far as the hard shit goes.. there is no regulation on them. U actually absolutely have no idea what u are ingesting even if u have had the real deal stuff before cause tbh with all the drugs that are out their nowadays everything is similar in feeling especially during the first use. It takes tolerance and experimenting to find a good base line for your mentality. Which bring me to another point that I can’t necessarily remember if I wrote yet or not in this but anyways the doctor does not and has no way at all of understanding what we are legitimately experiencing and if it’s not the right thing by all means how would we even know if we can even describe the change in how we feel. Let alone know ourselves what we are feeling. Which brings me to a question I haven’t asked an official yet.. what if I don’t notice a change.. what if I feel the same on everything u give me? Which a lot of the time is actually what I felt. Sugar pills? Nope I wondered that collected almost every med I had been prescribed in my life ALMOST and tbh most has a pharm kinda taste and some definitely did taste like sugar. Anyways my point is. Don’t let doctors or therapists convince u that they know better than u. But also don’t lie to get what u think works best. It may take years months whatever but they sometimes try their best but it won’t work if u don’t put self benefiting energy in it. Not self satisfying. And also therapy isn’t for everyone who experiences depression. Or anxiety. Sometimes even learning disabilities don’t need medication sometimes they just need a different way of learning. Special Ed is considered “uncool” almost embarrassing.. right? Well then why tf y’all think jail and mental hospitals are something to brag about? If that’s relatable to u. U bragging about ur institution time. Then u are indeed not sick. U might be a little insecure about ur normal life and feel like ur not entertaining. But this lifestyle of drugs, crimes, mental illness etc is not cool it’s entertaining for sure. But not in a positive way. And I don’t know how long I’ve been needing to hear this but I’m glad I realized it. At this point I am sick. But starting off I had the potential to be successful at an early age and not struggle so hard with my mental and now physical health. But because of my decision and perceptions at an early age on life due to media and news and what my parents hid from me (I don’t blame them tho) I wouldn’t be where I am at. What I truly blame is my mindset and the fact that people who report in the media wether it’s news or highly admired celebrities updates and opinions I would have viewed what was “cool” and “interesting differently. View next post for the rest of my summary.

[kathrynbutterfly4]

This is Me: BPD & Me

Here I am, yet again, awake after only a few hours sleep and not even tired. Damn I love these pills. Prescription, not recreational. I take meds for the anxiety and depressive symptoms of my borderline personality disorder (BPD). They help subside the symptoms, but not enough sometimes. I always said I never wanted to need to be on pills to control my mind. But now that I'm on some that actually work, they save me more times than I'd like to admit. Living with BPD is extremely difficult. Before my meds, I was a monster. I was all over the place. Well, I still kinda am, just not as often. When I say I was a monster, that's how I appeared to myself to be. Violent mood swings plagued my days and when triggered I would snap and yell and scream and be so out of control my strong husband could barely hold me down. I would grab for a razor and cut my skin at every little thing that pained me. And during those violent episodes, I would grab a knife and would have plunged it into my body if it wasn't for my husband subduing me and ripping the knife from my hand. I apologize for the graphic description, but I want my friends and family to finally see me. I have hidden myself for so long from the world. I'm done. I have pushed away everyone I love, for my sake and theirs. You know who you are. My friends and family who care about me and whom I've equally dismissed. I love you all. Every single one of you and I want you in my life.

It is said that people who suffer from BPD are likened to 3rd degree burn victims, but on the inside. It is really the equivalent to that. And I appreciated when someone stated that BPD is not a mental illness, but those who are diagnosed with it are victims of severe emotional trauma. It is a form, or at least related to, PTSD. The events in my life have been far from stable. I do not blame anyone. I am more than thankful for my experiences. They have been lessons that have taught me well. I couldn't have asked for better teachers than adversity and time. All my paths have led me to where I am today. All the people I've met along the road are precious to me. I have made many choices I do regret, and no I don't believe regret is a waste of time. It is part of a process that leads you to a better place. Maybe one day I will let go of my regrets, but I have hurt too many people I love to do so right now. The people in my life never judge me. They take me back with open arms every single time, no questions asked.

Social Media hasn't always been the easiest form of communication for me. I've created and deleted a Facebook account probably about 4 times in the last several years. Judgement and criticism is extremely hard for me to take, so as soon as I feel the slightest bit of one or the other, I'm gone. I have become better at that now though. I have recently joined Facebook again and I am slowly learning to put myself out into the world. It is worth the relationships I've reestablished and the new acquaintances I've made. I no longer care what people think of me. Sometimes that armor slips, but for the most part, I'm doing ok. BPD is a part of me, and has in some way or another, defined who I am. It is a personality disorder, so it has shaped my personality to some extent. Living with it for over 16 years will do that. But it will not defeat me. I am and have always been a fighter. I have put myself in some very tough situations and have always managed to scrape up the wall of the pit I threw myself into. Despite the times I've thought about and attempted to take my life, this is not how my story ends. I will fight until my life is fully mine.

~Genevieve Skinner

[ruddiestbubbles]

Remember Those Walls I built

The first time Jack hears Halo it’s during his junior year. Bittle is in the kitchen, kneading dough of some kind, hips swaying back and forth as he sings along softly. It’s a song he’s never heard, but it’s got a good beat and the singer is decent, though he much prefers country. He doesn’t mean to just stand there in the door to the kitchen, silently watching, but the song really caught his attention, and threw his mind back many years.

Also on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10209050

Parson had once been grounding. He’d been like gravity, always pulling him back to the ground when he’d gotten lost in the dark storm clouds of anxiety. Jack had fallen for Kenny, and he’d fallen hard. Maybe he wasn’t in love. No he hadn’t been. What he felt for Kenny was purely physical, sure he was a good friend-- okay maybe not a good friend, but decent at least-- but it was only ever physical. But none the less, Kenny had gotten past those walls he’d built, they weren’t very high, but they were there.  

Kenny had been a lot of things to Jack, best friend, hockey teammate, support system, friend with benefits. Their friendship was rocky, sometimes all smiles and laughs, while other times it was words spewed with venom. It didn’t help that their lives were so thoroughly ingrained that they knew every little thing about each other, from what made them tick to what made them a withering moaning mess. It was something they used to their own advantages on a daily basis. Their relationship was radioactive. A ticking bomb just waiting to hit zero. And it did. The destruction was paralyzing, bringing everyone in Jack’s life to a grinding halt, frozen in the moment, like a leaf that’s just landed in a pond that’s freezing over in the icy cold winter.

Kenny hadn’t frozen, not like Jack or Alicia or Bob. He went first in the draft. When Jack had woken up and heard, well, that had been the equivalent of a knife to the heart which someone had grabbed and twisted. And maybe whatever higher being was up there had just wanted a nice solid laugh, because the tear stains on Bob’s face and the still falling tears on Alicia’s just twisted that knife even more. The pure sympathy and sorrow, well, that had hurt to see too. He knew then and there that he’d fucked up. That he was fucked up. Royaly.

Of course while he was in rehab he thought about Kenny. Thought about how they could be out there on the ice together, the most amazing duo the hockey world had ever seen. But no. He fucked up and now he’s in rehab without Kenny. Even though Kenny had said so many terrible things, he still felt like he needed him, like he wanted to be right by his side in every single way possible. But that relationship was toxic, a bomb counting down from ten on a constant loop. Maybe this was all a blessing in disguise, though it sure didn’t seem like it at the time, not when his body was weak and his mind foggy and yearning for something. But he didn’t feel anything anymore, except for a strong desire for his anxiety meds and Kenny.

He did try calling Kenny. It had gone straight to voicemail and that had hurt, but when his phone had started ringing, Kenny’s name on the screen and that picture of him of Jack side by side, both holding red solo cups, he just couldn’t answer. Not the first call, or the second, or the third, or the fourth. He never did answer again, not the calls or the texts. And Jack watched with sorrow as Kenny took the NHL by storm.

That should be me

He thought it everytime he saw ESPN talking up Kenny like a god-- again-- and every Aces game he watched. Bob tried everything he could to talk Jack out of watching the games, out of anything hockey, but it didn’t work. When Jack was finally able enough he instantly started a rough routine. Wake, eat, workout, protein shake, hockey, a long run, shower, eat, sleep. It was a constant. Constants helped with his anxiety. Alicia and Bob both worried endlessly about Jack. He was constantly pushing himself too hard, too fast, too much. It was unbearable seeing their son pushing himself to the very edge and then collapsing into sleep when he thought he’d had enough.

Jack had eventually gotten back to where he was and farther. His chubbiness was gone. He had grown into his height, mostly, he was still did that awkward slouchy thing where he thought that would make him feel less big. His muscles were toned and strong, but his heart wasn’t in it. His heart had not been in it since the OD. He used to live and breathe hockey, but now, he just dabbled, more or less.

“You look exhausted.” Bob would say, a hand resting on Jack’s tense shoulder.

“I am exhausted.”

“You know, it’s okay to relax, right?”

“But what do I accomplish in that? I just feel like I’m not getting anywhere!”

“Sometimes it’s okay to stop, take a breath, and enjoy the view.”

That simple talk had been enough to open Jack’s eyes. He stopped his ridiculous routine the very next day. It made him anxious, but that was okay. He still went on a long run in the morning, protein shake, shower, reading a history book-- he found it on a desk in his dad’s desk and instantly fell in love. He made so many trips to the library in the following weeks. He got into the habit of sitting on the back porch with a book and bottle of gatorade while the sun set in the distance. Sometimes he’d even fall asleep and Bob would wake him up with a small laugh and a hopeful glint in his loving brown eyes.

He even started coaching a peewee team, by his dad’s suggestion, and he loved it. It wasn't the same as playing hockey, but the kids he coached were so cute and had so much determination, it was honestly inspiring. It was long lived though when he packed up and went off to Samwell. He’d gotten far better since the overdose, but he still a closed off person. His wall was built high and thick, no one was going to get through it. Well, no one except Shitty, or Lardo, or Ransom and Holster. But they weren't like Kenny, and they had to fight teeth and nail to get through that wall.

But then there was Bittle, standing in the kitchen, swaying his hips to Halo and singing along quietly, and all Jack could do was stare, lip his licks and walk the fuck away before he actually started drooling. After that day, well, he took a deep breath and clamped down on those feelings, they were not something he needed, or wanted, quite frankly. He distanced himself from Bittle. He didn’t mean to be an asshole, but it just kinda happened, and it was exhausting.

Sometimes it’s okay to stop, take a breath, and enjoy the view

So he took a deep breath, stepped back, and just tried to enjoy it. The checking practices were going well. He wasn’t too much of an asshole anymore, though he had his moments. Then the check happened and Jack couldn’t breath. But Bittle was okay. That was good. It was great. But Jack was the opposite. He blamed himself fully and that too was taking a toll. But Bittle forgave him. That didn’t fully settle the anxiety in the pit of his stomach, but it helped.

Over break, back home in Montreal, he skated on the pond in the backyard, played shinny with his dad and uncles and read so many history books. Bob noticed the slightly off way Jack was acting rather quickly.

“What’s on your mind?” Bob asked gently as they skated slow laps around the pond.

“It’s euh… nothing, yeah, nothing.”

Bob chuckled. “Definitely not nothing. I won’t push, but you can talk to me, eh?”

Jack skated a couple more laps, his eyes on his skates, the slow flash of silver. “It’s euh… umm….” He shook his head, took a breath and tried again. “...Feelings.. Euh.” And well, he was never good with words.

“Oh? Who’s the lucky person?”

“Daaaad.” He groans, gliding to a stop. “It’s a guy from the team…..”

“Is it that cute Bittle kid?”

He puts his head in his hands, his face bright red. “Y-yeah.”

“I totally called it! Your mom owes me twenty bucks!”

“Daaaaaad.”

“Have you asked him out yet?”

“N-no… I’ve euh…. Been a bit of an asshole to him.”

“Bud, it’s okay to like someone, no matter who they are.”

“I know….”

“And it’s okay to let yourself have things.” Bob puts a hand on Jack’s shoulder, getting him to look him in the eye. “You know what your uncle says, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”

When Jack came back from break, well, he didn’t exactly take that shot right away. He was going to, at the kegster, but Kenny showed up, and that was a shit storm. A raging storm. And then christmas break rolled around and Bob and Alicia pestered him for deets, which he had none of. Something always seemed to get in the way; whether it be weird schedules, people, or just bad luck, but Jack just couldn’t seem to be able to tell Bittle.

One day Jack came back from a class, the Haus was blissfully empty, besides Bittle, in the kitchen, Halo playing and Bittle swaying and dancing as he kneaded dough, singing along gently. And Jack just stood there, in the doorway, staring.

Remember those walls I built

Well, baby, they're tumbling down

And they didn't even put up a fight

They didn't even make a sound

Jack hadn’t even realized it, but those walls he had built so high and so thick after Kenny, well, they had tumbled down, and he didn’t even notice.

I found a way to let you win But I never really had a doubt Standing in the light of your halo I got my angel now

Bittle was perfectly haloed by the sun, his golden hair glowing, his small hips swaying ever so slightly. Jack was so fucking gone.

It's like I've been awakened

Every rule I had you break it

It's the risk that I'm taking

I ain't never gonna shut you out

He hasn’t felt this way since Kenny, and even with Kenny it was nothing like this. It wasn’t heart stopping, it didn’t make his brain stop and anxiety settle. This was so, so, so different from anything he’s ever felt before.

Everywhere I'm looking now I'm surrounded by your embrace Baby, I can see your halo You know you're my saving grace

You're everything I need and more It's written all over your face Baby, I can feel your halo Pray it won't fade away

How did he not realize this before? How could he not see just how much he wanted Bittle. How much he needed him in his life. It was too much, and yet at the same time, not enough.

I swore I'd never fall again But this don't even feel like falling Gravity can't forget To pull me back to the ground again

Bittle was it for Jack. That was the one thing he knew for sure in that moment. There was no one else like Bittle in the world, and Bittle’s all Jack’s ever wanted.

“Jack! You scared me!” Bittle squeaked, as he finally saw Jack. “Jack….?” He ventured, seeing the way Jack’s sad droopy blue eyes blown wide, mouth slightly ajare. “Jack, honey, are you okay?”

Bittle was right there. Shinning golden perfection. And he wanted, so bad, more than he’d wanted anything in his life. More than he’d wanted Kenny, and definitely worse than the crazy withdrawal he went through in rehab. He swore he wouldn’t fall again, not after Kenny, but this wasn’t like that, this didn’t feel like falling, it was like floating high above the clouds. And maybe Bob was right, he was allowed to have this. But talking was never his strong suit. So he took rushed steps forward and kissed Bittle. Bittle squeaked, startled, but it seemed like all he could to kiss back. It wasn’t hungry and dirty, no, it was a long, slow burn of lips and tongue. Jack pulled back once, just to see this was real, he didn’t believe it, but maybe he should. He kissed Bittle again, because that’s all he could do, step back, take a deep breath, and enjoy the view.

[tinyzoologist]

Reblogging for continuity

So today was part two of the madness (they actually call it HIIT madness, and they aint lyin’!). But I knew what to expect, so I came prepared - cool new workout pants and shoes, banana before, magnesium drink during, protein bar after - and somehow it felt like just a workout and less like the actual end of my life (but ask me again tomorrow...ugh). I also found it helpful to focus on the music to push through the pain (imagine person with sweaty strands of hair in red face, maniacally singing along to Ed Sheeran). And I need to expand my list.

4) This is a (mental) health thing. We all know about the benefits of exercise for cardiovascular and immune function (and I have actually not gotten sick in a while!). But I was mostly hoping for the often cited anti anxiety and depression effect and I guess it really exists! I was already on the verge of wanting to take meds for my wonky brain (nothing wrong if you need them, but I was glad to be managing without any so far). a) Incorporating physical activity into my life provides an immediate distraction when I feel fidgety - I tend to pick at my skin and bite my lips or think in spirals, but a few minutes of movement can snap me right out of it. b) It helps me structure my day and establish self-care routines - I tend to get depressed when my days have no structure (e.g. on weekends), so planning around the gym helps. I also like to follow workouts with nice things - today I had a DIY coffee-body-scrub in the shower and a yummy fruit salad! c) It helps me perceive my body as healthy and existent. I used to struggle with episodes of both hypochondria and dissociation. Sometimes the sight of a mole or spider vein was enough to convince me I had some deadly disease, sometimes the feeling of just floating out of my shell would send me into a panic. I have realized that my body is a good body, not a hostile entity. It does not deserve this level of distrust. The more I see and feel that body do its awesome thing, the more it feels like the real, trustworthy little miracle it is.

5) It is a potential safety thing. Granted, I live in a very safe part of the world. But I am also 5′2″ and live in a somewhat dodgy neighborhood. Self-defense coaches have told me that looking and acting like you can defend yourself will deter many potential aggressors (see also this creepy study... TW violence, assault). So if my tiny amount of extra biceps is enough to keep some creep from stealing my bag or worse - good! This is in no way to say that victims are ever to blame because they looked or acted the “wrong” way! There is absolutely no excuse for assault or violence, ever!

6) I am not looking to compare numbers. I do not and will never post my weight, calorie intake, clothing size etc. For one, I do not own a scale (I weigh myself at the vet’s office, together with the dog) and I currently do not count calories. Also, all bodies are different, so my numbers have nothing to do with anyone and comparing yourself will often do more harm than good. Just this: The first thing to go was a significant amount of boobage (apparently my body’s most “expendable” fat), so if you are just getting started, you might need to invest in a new bra before anything else. 

7) I am not “under construction”. You know when little kids say “Don’t look at my drawing, it’s not done!” – I used to feel like that all through puberty and young adulthood. I was not done, I had not reached my final form, everything felt kinda half-baked, awkward, not for anyone’s eyes just yet. And now I read so much about people’s expectations, how they’re still missing those few pounds, still not quite fitting into that dress, still 10 squats short of their goal and it somehow reminds me of that mindset. If you have a specific goal to work towards, totally cool. But I did not start this with a particular target in mind. I sort of stumbled into it and now I am trying to enjoy the ride and see how far it will take me. I strive to appreciate my body the way it was when I began, the way it is now and the way it may one day be. It is a continuum, all of which is me and none of which is my “final” or “true” shape. Because what does that even mean?

In conclusion, here is a picture of a cute cat.

On changing shape

Today everything hurts. I feel like my own great-grandma every time I try to get up from the couch. My arms, my butt, my ribs and – oh fucking hell - my thighs, all absolutely fucked up and more sore than I have ever been. But no worries, I brought this upon myself. This is the result of my first professionally coached fitness session. Bootcamp they call it, and how fitting that is! And the crazy part: As I am lying here, seriously contemplating if going for a pee hurts too much to be worth it, I actually signed up for 16 more sessions of this masochism! I fear I have crossed over into that weird zone inhabited by crossfitters, protein-shake-aficionados, and flexing-selfie-takers. Who am I?! But even though I am now thoroughly enjoying something I had never thought possible, i.e. challenging and exploring my own physical abilities, mentally I am still myself, and that makes me think.  I am still a feminist, I am still body positive, I am against thinspo and ableism, and I am realizing that these are very murky waters to navigate. So – much like my physical endeavours – this list is most of all for me, just to sort my mind.

1)      I am not doing this out of hatred for my body. On the contrary. Only very recently have I come to love my body’s shape, the way it looked when I just went about my days without special focus on diet or exercise. It was small and soft, it was healthy, it did a good job existing, so after 27 years I finally embraced it the way it was. And out of this love came the idea for change. It was along the same lines as “I wonder what I would look like with blond hair?” or “What kind of tattoo should I get?”. I was simply curious what this body of mine could do, and how it would look and feel if I tried.

2)      I am not doing this for the male gaze. Actually the first thing that sparked my thought process was my boyfriend. For six years now he has always been very coy when commenting on my looks. So when I said I had lost weight, and he said that he was “happy to see that!”, naturally my mind spiralled. Am I doing all this for him? For men?? But I am actually not. I am not trying to be the kind of woman society wants me to be. I am not striving to be thinner, daintier, take up less space. I want to be strong, build muscle, kick ass. Sure, if he likes the way it looks, good. I like the way he looks, too, let’s not kid ourselves. But that was not my main motivation. So this is for me, not for his or anyone else’s viewing pleasure.

3)      I do not want to shame anyone. I am proud of my work, of my body, of the little changes I am noticing. I stand up straighter, I feel stronger (though not right now, because ouch!). But at the same time I know how privileged I am. I am able-bodied, I am healthy, I have access to high quality food, workout videos, gyms etc. Also, I understand that talking about weight loss, dieting and the like can be uncomfortable for those who are either unable to or do not want to do those things. Not everybody feels better when they do sports or lose weight. Not all bodies react the same way to diet and workouts. And so many people are healthy and happy without adhering to traditional beauty standards. That is completely valid and I am trying to be very careful to respect their choices. This is just my own experience, my own story. I am proud and happy with my little endeavor, but I am certainly not trying to change or invalidate anyone who comes from a different place!

[crazythatcounts]

So I need to rant a little bit and this isn't directed at any one person in particular but it's definitely been a thing I've noticed over the past little bit and it's driving me up a wall

Sometimes, you need to get in there and help yourself.

Now look, there's like, the shitty version of "why not just do it" that neurotypicals use and that's not what I mean. I'm not advocating not getting help or not seeking friends to help you or not getting advice or not seeing a therapist/getting meds/doing right by you. That's not what I'm saying at all. What I AM saying is there are points in a person's life when they're having trouble and someone has handed them all they need to get what they need to get done done - and then comes the point where they actually have to DO it.

And I have seen a lot of people struggling with that particular aspect of things in my friends recently and it's kind of driving me a little crazy. In mental health, in dating, with parents, in lots of respects, and it's not just one person but like four separate people, unrelated, just-- not helping themselves. And I get it, life is hard. Helping yourself is the hardest part. But when a friend gives you all the advice you need to get a real girlfriend, and you IGNORE that advice to do all the same things you've been doing and then complain about it more like you didn't just brush off what would have probably worked for nothing, then people lose sympathy for you. Like, you know your way didn't work the first 400 times you tried it, and you did good and sought advice and that advice was sound as hell and then... you didn't take it. And now you want us to feel sorry that you're still single when we worked our asses off to help you? Nope. At some point you have to step up and go "alright, the shit I'm doing isn't working and I need to actively change that" and then actually work to change that. Just thinking it won't wish a girlfriend to your side. And even if it did you'd still be essentially looking at them like they're garbage and we tried to help you undo that gross cismale nonsense of objectification and its still an issue.

And like, I know it's harder when you're not neurotypical and I'm not asking a lot of anyone. But when you're mentally ill and you've got the good start and meds and a therapist and it's still getting the better of you, then like, the next step is to sit down and go "what can I do for myself now". You need to be actively good about figuring out what your triggers are so you can avoid them, or you need to bring up the issue with the therapist. You need to be good about realizing what parts are recurring over and over and maybe attempt to put a block up to stop them, or you need to actively bring it up to a therapist. I get that sometimes there's a lot to unload at a therapist but if you're having issues, the same ones, every night, to the point where you're causing physical distress, that's kind of more important than anything else you gotta unload. And if that's happening and you're on meds like, you might need different meds. A different dose, a different combination, a different brand, something - and like, that's how meds work. You try a thing, and if it doesn't work for you, you try a different thing, and again and again and again until you find something that does work. It's a pain, but a medication not working isn't like, the end of the world. It means those store bought neuro-transmitters weren't the right kind and that's it.

Like, look. I don't do therapy for a lot of reasons (mostly because they really like to blame my mother for everything and I'm kinda... over that trauma and really don't need to relive it, thanks) but I've got my shit on lock - because I step up when I need to step up. Yesterday I had like maybe 3 spoons total. It was a bad day - weekend stress hit me all at once and I was barely functional. So I made myself take baby steps because I needed to do things for myself - I told myself to get out of bed to play Dragon Age. I like Dragon Age, and I did. Once I was up I asked myself if I could eat any of the random food items on the table. The chips were stale, but those and some leftover easter candy were technically food. And then I got myself to get a soda, and then I let myself curl back up in bed. Baby steps, and yeah I essentially treated myself like a five year old but when you have three spoons that’s how it’s gotta be. And when an issue came up that got my bad triggers rumbling, I was upfront. I was "hey, I'm having a bad day and am particularly sensitive to these issues and right now this thing is going to send me spiraling into a hellscape, I understand this is not a rational thought but that doesn't mean it'll go away - can we make some kind of compromise where we can all come out of this feeling alright?" and that's all you really HAVE to do. Like, communicate, be upfront. Say "hey this thing is bothering me" and if it's something that's usually NBD then like, try and find some reasonable compromise.

But YOU have to step up and communicate. You can't expect your friends to ask you every time "what's wrong", especially when those friends are also not neurotypical and don’t necessarily want to spend their spoons on you. Especially when you always look kinda mad or sad about something so there's always something wrong because we're not going to baby sit you, if you need us you need to tell us what's wrong and then if we give you advice and it's sound you need to at least consider taking it and if you don't have a decent reason why not. Like, "I didn't tell my therapist about my near constant anxiety yet because X problem came up and that's effecting me significantly more right now and until I work through that I shouldn't address anything else". Alright, that's totally understandable, life sucks and that happens. "I didn't tell my therapist about the near constant anxiety because it just didn't come up" uh no?  If it's something you're constantly having issues with, like constantly, and you're coming to us all the time for it, then you reallllly need to make sure it comes up because it's a problem and your therapist isn't going to out of the blue know that it's an issue. You have to communicate with them and also with us and YOU need to do it.

There's an aspect to self care that's literally "you need to take action" and by god the people around me need to learn how to fucking handle themselves. And they wonder how I've managed to be in a relationship for 4 years and stay relatively happy - it's because I know my shit. I know my triggers, I know what makes my anxiety spike, I know what things bring my mood down. I know being outside tends to help my SAD, but vitamin D is a good sub. I know my SPD means I can't eat some foods, but I try and make sure I communicate those things to people when it's applicable and if everyone is like "let's go to X place" then I try and find something I can eat. I don't ask people to tiptoe around unknown variables and then expect mines everywhere - if there's something wrong, I'm upfront about it. If someone makes a decision and it upsets me, I tell them. Sometimes I tell them a day later when I'm a little cooler, but I tell them "hey this upset me". I always try and make sure people understand that I know some of my shit is not rational, but it doesn't mean it's not there, it's just we both know this shark shouldn't have feet but it's got them and we've got to deal with the shark in the fucking room. That's all I ask of anyone, is the basic communication and self understanding to be able to go "I know this thing is bothering me" or the ability to go "I don't know what's up but I am feeling X and I don't know how to deal with it". Like that's an acceptable answer, yknow?

Sorry I'm just. Yesterday was a day and I'm still not exactly over things that happened.