#this is brought to you by declining mental health

[illiteratealliterate]

Going to drive in one direction till my tank runs out and wander into a field to scream and rot

[aceofbooks]

The funny thing about the tumblr archive feature is that I can go through it and see exactly when my depression and anxiety were at their worst. You would think that it's when I'm the most active on tumblr, but no. It's when I'm not active that I can remember being so low.

Shout out to June 2020 when I accidentally ran out of my birth control and was at the lowest point that I had been since I was in high school, even though I was on antidepressants ✌️ The pandemic was somehow unrelated to the state of my mental health at the time.

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

Raphael's First Love—A Talk With Splinter

part of the First Love Talk miniseries!

sfw 💫 word count: 1.2k

The old metronome in the corner of the dojo ticked on incessantly as Raphael sat in indignant silence with Master Splinter. After four outbursts, a fight with Leonardo, and days of distance, Splinter had put his foot down and called his son in for a talk about his behavior. Beneath his stern exterior, Splinter was concerned.

"Raphael, explain yourself," Splinter demanded with a calm voice, treading a thin line with his angriest son's temper. Not out of fear—Splinter could and would easily put the giant back in his place even as an old rat. That was no issue. "What has gotten into you?"

Weeks of this crap, that's what, thought Raph bitterly. Weeks of feeling sick to his stomach every time she was around, trying to put up a good front and getting embarrassed by himself or his brothers; he felt stupid. Weak. Utterly at her mercy, and she didn't even know. Good. I don't want her to. Splinter gave him a skeptical eye. He shifted his position multiple times, uncomfortable and trying to look casual. Grunted dismissively. But he knew his father was not going to take that for an answer. He let out a scoff, dodging eye contact, "Things gettin' under my shell like usual."

"But not like usual, because you are worse-off than usual," observed Splinter.

His mental health was actively declining the more he deliberated on the pang in his heart he felt when he thought about her. It made his guts twist to think about why he was so angry, why he was even afraid of her, deep down. The last thing he ever wanted to admit to himself, let alone Splinter, was that he cared what she thought. A lot.

Too much.

All of his brothers seemed so confident, and yet he was self-conscious. Why? Why do I gotta be like this?!

Raph shrugged. "You know me, master. Comes with the whole package, whether all of you like it or not." He was already moody, prone to rapidly-changing emotions. That was never a guess, it was a given. "Look, I'll do us a favor and just end this convo now—I ain't in a bad way. And Leo needs to stay in his lane comin' to you over a little fight." He started to get up, leave the terrible silence of the training room and that god awful ticking metronome. Splinter jabbed his cane into his plastron, knocking him back, and then brought it down hard on his foot. Raph yelped and stumbled down, quickly reassuring his seated position.

"Enough!" Splinter barked. "Sit, Raphael."

Splinter had his full attention, now. The top of his foot ached dully.

Raph was seething on the inside. On the outside, he slumped over his knee, hiding his face behind his thick forearm.

This was all her fault. If she hadn't fallen—literally crashed—into their lives, he would be fine. There would be no question about what to do or what he was feeling. It was always them and the shadows���no people, no complications. He always knew that would never be accepted despite craving it with every ounce of his being. Why change that? Why suddenly bring more emotions into the mix? Before her, it was all straightforward. Now, he worried if he was too brutish, too much of a freak, if his normal habits weren't so "normal". He didn't want to feel like he was under one of Donnie's microscopes, with her eye looking through the lens.

Splinter furrowed his gray brow at him, resting his hands on his cane. "This is about your self esteem, is it not?" he questioned carefully. Prying.

"You couldn't know anything about it!" Raph shouted back. He swung his hand as he spoke. "I'm a six-foot turtle, there's no changing it! No changing me!"

Sighing a light breath, Splinter closed his eyes. This was going to be the challenge for the day. No day was without its challenges. He recentered his thoughts, looking for a different angle. He wanted to speak his son's language.

"Correct, there is no changing you."

Raph stuttered on his response as his face fell almost imperceptibly, but Splinter knew every minute expression of his kids.

If she knows, I'm done for. Raphael's mind was swirling and his thoughts were reaching dead-ends left and right. There was no changing. No hope? He couldn't tell. He'd given up before he'd even tried. Because like his weapon, he was defensive, and did everything possible to protect what? Himself. His big, soft heart in there that needed some serious attention. The thought of telling her made him want to hurl. But like a moth to a flame, he kept coming right back to her, torturing himself with "what-if's" and doubts he had all the while.

"What do you want me to say, Splinter?" Raph spat with a low voice.

"I want you to be honest with yourself," Splinter replied.

Raph poked the tip of his sai into the mat before him, digging it into the material. "Okay, I'll bite," he said, "what do you think I'm lyin' about? Huh?"

He already knew the answer to that. It was everything; he rejected the shyness he felt inexplicably when she was around. He felt dirty next to her, or if he accidentally touched her, it was an ordeal. Because he was a mutant and she was a human. Out of all of her pick of people, he never could have been at the top of her list. He doubted he even made the list as an option.

Knowing Raphael was lying then, too, Splinter simply lifted his chin at him, and waited for the real answer.

The silence was getting to be too much for him. He jammed his sai into the mat, stabbing through it. But in his face was sadness, not anger. He finally admitted, "I just want to be accepted. Even just by her." Fiddling with his sai, he averted his eyes to stare at something random next to him, adding quietly, a little bashfully: "Aaaaaand sometimes I think Leo has a…better shot than me. That's why we were fightin'. I went nuts because he was gettin' along with her and it made me feel some stuff I don't want to feel."

There it was, thought Splinter, bingo. "Well, you are certainly not the first young man to make a fool of yourself over a girl."

"Master, I don't even know what to do with myself. How am I ever gonna know what to do with her?"

"The first step would be to stop ruining my mat," Splinter said as he bonked his son's head with the end of his cane, irked that he was creating a hole in it with his sai. Raph quickly tucked his weapon away. He muttered an apology. Splinter cleared his throat before continuing. "The second step would be for you to face your fears, Raphael. Accept them, conquer them. You are as you are—what humanity thinks of you is not your concern. You know who you are. I would like to think that [y/n] does as well."

Raph shifted, uncomfortable. "Yeah, I don't think she does. I don't really…"

She was all too kind, beautiful, and smart; a deadly, terrifying combination, in his predicament. He'd been plagued with dreams of being with her night after night. Not worrying about a single thing until the moment he woke up—he was stressing every morning. His anxieties always seemed to curse him cropping up in his dreams; not even in sleep could he escape her sphere of influence.

Placing a gentle hand on Raphael's shoulder, Splinter looked down at him, "Then, you show her who you really are. Raphael."

[chosos-mascara]

all my love, suguru

chapter 4

summary: after an unexpected night spent with your close friend, you find yourself pregnant, and unable to tell him so. will you be able to come to terms with this news, or will it destroy the delicate relationship you’d had left?

chapter warnings: mentions of declining mental health (suguru), general angst, secret pregnancy/child

masterlist

⋆₊⋆⋆₊⋆⋆₊⋆⋆₊⋆⋆₊⋆

A brown head of hair follows you from your car to the apartment. It's an uncomfortable journey knowing you're back in Tokyo again, so close to a life that feels so distant from you now.

There are many boxes to unpack, and when accompanied by a young child, the task feels insurmountable. To credit her, she does make an attempt to help, picking out a few toys from one of the containers with a smile, though just as quickly becomes distracted by the prospect of actually playing with them. This does make things easier for a short while; you're able to unpack some dinnerware into empty shelves, folding down just one cardboard box before she's back at your side. "Mama!" She toddles to you with tears brimmed at her lash line, a doll in one hand, it's arm in the other. "Help, please."

You offer a soft smile, crouching and accepting the broken toy. It's easy to slot the arm back into place with some jostling (a manuvre you've learned from experience with this particular toy), and she's smiling once more, a shriek of excitement when the doll is returned to her in one piece.

Her expression lightens your mood, how beautifully she wears her emotions. There's so much innocence to children you hadn't expected before meeting her, so much joy. Her brown eyes are locked onto her barbie as she babbles, some nonsense, though some actual words do crop up - mummy, love, play.

You'd spent your entire pregnancy wondering what she would look like, whether she would take after you or her father, and to little surprise when she was handed to you, she was the image of Suguru. Even more so with age. Brown hair and eyes, and she has his nose too, with a calm temperament and warmth that you also accredit to him.

Being a single mother is hard, and seeing so much of him within her is bittersweet. He's the man you fell in love with, but he's also the man you had to leave. There's so much you've wanted to share with him too; her first steps, words, her first birthday. Despite this, you know even if alone you've raised her well, and she is so loved. You've brought her this far without sorcery, but now a blue flame surrounds her. She's an early bloomer in the cursed sense, and just as you'd feared, inherits her father's technique meaning she'll likely be a special grade... something you'd wished so deeply to avoid. 

There was change on the horizon, beginning only a few days ago when you'd been told to pack these very boxes, and push your daughter into a future you hadn't willed. You feel sick when recounting the memory.

"No." The sight of his face brings a burning to your throat, a sinking feeling as if a bowling ball had been forced into your chest, dropping to weigh within your stomach. Two years in hiding, to end involuntarily by no one other than Gojo Satoru. White hair draped over his forehead, blue eyes meeting your own. They look tired, aged somehow, though you can't seem to care when that weathering is accompanied by remorse, lips downturned.

"Invite me inside." His voice is quiet, low. It's late, and you're sure he's exhausted, yet he's at your door instead of his own. There's a small spark of hope that perhaps he simply needs a place to stay, though this is snuffed out when you look back to his face. He knows. "Satoru, why are you here?" Your voice trembles on the verge of tears, but he doesn't comfort you, instead remaining silent as you try to steady your breaths, eventually regulating them enough to step to one side. There's some hesitance as he walks past you.

You lead him to the livingroom, and as he trails behind his gaze wonders the painted walls of your entryway, pictures decorating an otherwise bland white. Most of which appear to star a small child from the ages of infancy to two; the same dark hair and brown eyes that he recognised within his close friend. There's dimples in each cheek when she smiles with her mother's lips.

"You had a girl." He means it to echo a question despite already knowing, though it sounds to be a statement. Your eyes lift from the floor to meet his, and you nod.

"Keiko." Usually her name on your lips brings you joy, but telling Satoru only makes your heart ache.

"Satoru, please tell me why you're here."  You swallow thickly, afraid of the news you're about to be privvy to. He offers little reprieve with his reluctance, and you expect the worse. "You have to come back, to Tokyo."

There's a numbness that begins at your throat, and slowly, like mould spore growing through a piece of fruit, you find yourself rotting before him. You're plagued with dread as you picture your daughter, only two years of age, opened up to a world you wished to shield her from. "Why would I need to do that?" You act as if you're unaware, yet you understand clearly. She's gifted, even if you hadn't wanted to give her this strength.

"She has Cursed Spirit Manipulation." When those words leave his lips, you realise you truly have lost this case. This is it, this is what she will be forced to use. Your jaw tightens as you form a response, though you're unable to begin when Satoru elaborates. "Two weeks ago, a small girl was seen chasing a grade four, and upon capturing it, the curse was ingested."

You frown. "Who reported this?" Satoru hears the panic in your voice, no matter how strong you try to be. Just like when you were teenagers, you feign confidence against him, yet in equal power, Satoru can see right through you. 

"A grade three sorcerer working within this district reported it to the higher ups. They've decided her potential is too strong to ignore."  You're staring at him wide eyed, and he feels guilt as he watches you grieve this life. Satoru wouldn't tell you how he'd practically pleaded with them to let her be a child before introducing her to the horrors of this world, because he didn't want you to know he'd failed you. 

"What if I refuse?"  "You know the answer, do I really have to spell it out to you? There is no other choice." His words imbue a hopelessness into you, and you finally give up, walking past him to take a seat on the couch. The cushions sink under you, and your hands rest upon each leg. There's one question you have left.

"Does he know?" Monotone, dead. Your tone sends a chill over Satoru's spine; he's never seen you so genuinely defeated. Even when he'd found out about your pregnancy, you held yourself together better than this. But even with all of Satoru's experience, his strength, he still couldn't empathise with that of parenthood. Megumi was the closest thing he had to that, though he understands that the relationship the pair share is nothing close to the love you would have for your own blood. 

"You left with no word as to where you'd gone. If I told him it was to have his child, what would he have done?" There's some bitterness to his words, and you cringe.   "Didn't he question the fact there's a child with his technique?" 

Satoru moves from one foot to the other, crossing his arms as he watches your meek state. You're slouched and sweating, and your eyes haven't lifted from the same patch of carpet for the past two minutes. Though with his quietness, your gaze lifts, stopping at his lips. 

"He doesn't know." 

You nod once, taking your teeth between your lips. This is worse than being lectured, you think, enduring the judgement of a person you value highly, feeling their revulsion of a decision you made long ago. "Don't you think he had a right to know before all of this?" You stay silent, your arms closing in closer to your body as if to hug yourself. "It's only right he hears it from you, before this goes any further." 

Only, you still haven't made that call, and told him the truth. You watch your daughter walk toward the school, her hand in yours, while Suguru is none the wiser. It's a secret you knew would be revealed within the next few hours, unrevealed as long as you'd been able.

Shoko's leaving the lab when you enter the halls. You don't notice her at first, instead preoccupied by the small girl beside you, though when your eyes lift from the little fingers wrapped around yours, you stop dead in your tracks. 

Not many things shock Shoko. She likes to think she's seen all, and likely knows most of what goes on even if only surface level, but when she sees you in Jujutsu High with a child clutching at your hand, she comes to a standstill, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

 Keiko takes a few steps, her little feet tapping on the hard floors, though soon notices her mother's halted action.  "Mama, come on."

Shoko's brow raises, a sharp gasp on her lips as she pieces things together. The child looks to be around two, and not long before that you'd left - this must've been the result of that pregnancy test you'd requested long ago. And as she stares at her a little longer, taking in at the warm toned brown eyes, she realises why you'd left. This child had to be Suguru's, her features were far too akin to his to be coincidental.

She says your name, though it sounds foreign to her now. She wonders when the last time she'd called out to you was, and when you peer anxiously to her expression, she realises how you've matured, mellowed almost. There's a protectiveness she can sense, you're definitely more closed off, but that's understandable considering the fact you've been gone and likely without much social contact.

"Hi." Part of you had hoped for a better reunion, but with how things went it was only understandable that Shoko wouldn't be running to hug you anytime soon. "You’re a mother, huh?" There's little goosebumps over your skin as you swallow, nodding slowly. Of course, she'd remember your offish self asking her for tests, and she'd be able to piece things together. "What's her name?"

You knew Shoko wouldn't bring harm to you both, and if she's worked out your daughter's father, she wouldn't press you on it. "It's Keiko." You look down to your daughter, who's holding your hand a little tighter in the presence of a stranger. Funny, growing up you'd thought these people would be your children's family, yet here your baby is, backing up at the sight of a woman she'd never met.

"Keiko," Shoko crouches to her eye level. "That's a beautiful name." Shoko offers her a smile, and Keiko's hand loosens up a little, though it's still clammy on your palm. "Thanks." It's spoken quietly, and the 'th' sounds more like an 'f', but it's coherent enough.

"What are you both doing here?" Shoko's looking back to you now, standing up to meet your level once again. Mouth opening, your free hand comes to your arm to fiddle with your jacket. "The higher-ups found out about her technique." "Manipulation?" You pause. So, she's figured it out. "Yeah. They want him to show her the way, I guess." "But he doesn't know." "No, he doesn't." You offer her a half smile in hopes she would forgive you. "I was kind of hoping he'd find out before i got here, but he hasn't."

Shoko wants to tell you it's your job to tell him and that you need to face your fears, but she keeps her mouth closed in order to save your feelings. Instead, she nods quietly, arms crossed. When the air is too stale to bare any longer, you breathe it in, deciding to take you leave before you would combust on the spot. "I've got to find Yaga, we have a meeting." Your words are rushed and you almost stumble as you walk past her. 

"Who was that?" Keiko questions in her own muddled words, and you force a happy expression when meeting her gaze. "Mama's old friend, from school."

Suguru sits back in the beat up couch, bitter instant coffee still swirling as he places it on the low table. The staffroom has definitely seen better days, he was sure this furniture would've been used back when he'd attended Jujutsu High, with stains and scratches over old wood, rings from mugs of coffee much like his own. Budget cuts had meant money was syphoned into other things, much less into staff.

"A meeting, with Yaga?" He repeats Satoru's words carefully, brow creased. He watches as the brown liquid begins to settle, a few bubbles at the surface meeting in the middle. "Yeah, something about a new student." The explanation makes much less sense to Suguru, because this year he's supposed to be taking on more missions, and offering a supporting role rather than holding his own classes. "And why would that concern me?" His voice is tired, he's tired. The school is working them all into an early grave, he thinks. What was supposed to be more of a career break had somehow turned into more work than he's ever had, and he realises the only way out of this is to leave Jujutsu society for good - much like you did.

Suguru can't deny he feels responsible for your sudden leaving. As if a phone call would've fixed anything between you after he'd not only slept with you, but left you to fend for yourself afterward too. He thinks about you a lot, much to his own distaste. It's his fault you're not here, after all.

"You'll be teaching them part time." Suguru outwardly sighs, a hand flying up to massage his temples. "Of course." It was drenched in acidity, and Satoru shifts. He's still standing, muscles tense as he watches his friend stress himself further. It's been a difficult few years, and he is sure Suguru is at the end of his tether. Satoru worries that your return might just be the thing that breaks him entirely.

"What do you know, Satoru?" When he zones back into the room, glancing away from the disgustingly beige walls to peer into his friend's brown eyes, he realises he'd worn his concerns too evidently. "Not much," He lies, something he's found himself doing consistently as of recent. "She's young, though. A child." He tries to soften the blow by letting on that piece of information now, because he knows Suguru will be disgusted to find out they're having him begin training with a child who cannot yet read, let alone understand what a curse is.

"How young?" Suguru's intuition tells him that something is awry here, but he can't place his finger on what exactly it is. Satoru is definitely withholding something important, and he understands that he's not going to find out what until he's in Yaga's office. "Fine, don't tell me."

With a sigh, he pushes himself up from the couch, all the while Satoru is stood in silence, that pitying look he hates being bestowed unto him. The coffee on the table is going cold, not that Suguru has much of a stomach for it anyway.

a/n: soooo yes, reader ran from her problems (sorrrry) but it looks like suguru is about to find out everything...

tags - @animeisforkings @emikisses @boredwithwrath @karazorel7 @tomiokasecretlover  @mrsoharaa @magey0412 @thisbicc @aemiliabruno @zeunys @sukunaspillow @caixgee @ssetsuka @pinkpunkdynamite @harlamarie @chilicopsticks @khoochie @hojoslutoru @karazorel @idkuluka @itztamar @magey0412 @strflp @kaeyakaikai

[pinkyqil]

Can you do a Mapi x Ingrid x reader where maybe the reader is struggling with depression and Mapi and Ingrid help her?

We'll help you through it// Ingrid engen x mapi lèon x r

Least to say that you we're struggling life sucking every single one of your motion to keep living it felt like you lost all hope in your self you didn't know what it was but your mental health decline took a toll on you.

Every day felt like a struggle to be alive and keep on breathing. but thanks to your amazing girlfriends who were able to notice what was wrong with you.

It all started with when they had to leave a lot for away machetes you get that it was apart of their job but sometimes you felt lonely and jealous about what the two could be doing without it.

You doing what you do best overthink the whole situation but nevertheless you were able to push back.

You stopped answering there calls and texts whenever they sent in one. Just wachting the phone ring away without trying to pick it up.

Feeling worthless and unimportant as life would have been better if you just stopped living you thought to yourself.

But you never get close to doing it. It's been weeks since you last saw them as you've been ignored them.

You had a new routine now wake up work sleep and eat. And well repeat totally ignoring your other aspect of life.

Mapi and Ingrid had obviously noticed the pattern in your behavior and decided to vist you as soon has they could.

"Ingrid you think all this is enough". Mapi asked Ingrid showing her comfort bag that they brought for you filled with your favorite snacks to everything that you like.

three different brands of your favorite chocolate, huge ass blankets you wanted to get but didn't they had it your favorite movies had it makeup,dresses, aersoiess they had it all but mapi over here was still worrying that it wasn't enough.

"Mapi it enough or maybe to much". Ingrid questioned.

"Let's just go". she said to her girlfriend

They finally got your place with the spare key and weren't really expecting to see you in the condition that you were in.

With just one look at you it was quite obvious that you weren't getting enough sleep nor eating enough.

They both immediately dropped the things they had rushing to your side. It hurt them to see you this way like you were waiting on death.

Ingrid was the first to speak up. "Baby I'm so sorry we haven't been there for you".

"Nothing is your fault I'm particularly to blame".

"No don't say that about yourself".she told you

Mapi on the other hand didn't know what to say so she just pulled you three into a hug. you all stayed like that for a while before Ingrid started cleaning.

the whole place and convinced you to go take a bath so you could feel more relaxed. mapi was changing your bedsheets and placing the things that they got you.

By the time that you were out your places was looking better than it was before.

Ingrid made you a bowl of spicy soup putting it down and helping you with your hair and clothes on. You ate what Ingrid had prepare with mapi feeding you and not missing a single drop.

After that they both convinced you to leave the house for some fresh air. And that what you did getting in the car mapi first went back to there place to pick up bagheera to join you guys.

Having bagheera join you guys on the beach was perfect the cat being there made you perceived and calm. It wouldn't have been your normal couples walk if mapi didn't start talking you and Ingrida ears.

off something that you missed even though she could go on for hours she was recently yapping about. how patri and pina were quite obvious about each other but to afraid to confess and how she was going to play cupid.

Let's to say you felt happy and a little better all you need was come comfort and love from you girls which they understood.

© PINKYQIL

[gay-dorito-dust]

May I please request any comfort fluff with Jiyan from Wuthering Waves if you're open to those requests?🙏😔 I need bro to comfort me

‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m sorry?’ You asked, looking up to see Jiyan stood over your seated form with conceding lacing his golden eyes.

‘Are you okay?’ He repeated, sitting down next to you, ‘you’ve been acting differently as of late and I feel as though there’s more to it than just a shift in personality.’

You chuckled humourlessly, the jig was up and you knew it but were too stubborn to accept help from anyone, especially from one who had more important matters at hand than your slight decline in mental health. ���It’s nothing, honestly, I’m just a little-‘

‘Tired?’ Jiyan cuts you off and suddenly your throat felt drier than a desert and he must’ve known that he caught you in your one lie as he levels you with a stare, leaning slightly towards you. ‘How often have you used being tired as an excuse because people in your past have proven themselves ill equip with handling a difficult situation, despite saying false promises of being there for when life gets hard.’

‘Way too fucking often.’ You replied. ‘It’s like they were only in my life to take something from me, why? I’ll never know because they’re all gone and fucked off, like they didn’t just tore my souls to shreds snd left me to pick up the pieces.’ You concluded and it wasn’t until then did you realise that you had started to cry when Jiyan wordlessly wiped one away with his thumb.

You had let your guard slip, the one thing you’ve promised yourself to never do again in the presence of another person due to how they made it all about them; not to mention how they gone on about how suddenly they couldn’t handle your baggage before ghosting you completely whenever you tried to reach out to them again. You didn’t deserve that type of treatment and you know it, but you’ve less yourself to believe that their reaction will be how others would perceive your situation, and so you never bothered reaching out for help and instead letting it bottle up inside until you cracked.

‘I’m sorry.’ You gasped as you began to violently wipe away at your eyes when Jiyan held your wrists in his hand and brought them away from your face.

‘Don’t apologise,’ he started, ‘never apologise for your own emotions nor the people who’ve made you believe that others would turn a blind eye to your plan, for that is simply not true, but I understand that this is a hard mentality for one to unlearn after so long.’ Jiyan wasn’t well versed in comforting others, seeing as how he spent most of his life in the frontlines of the battlefield as both a medic and general, but that didn’t stop him from recognising that a misdeed had been committed against you and that he wouldn’t allow; So for you, jiyan would try his best to provide comfort that you needed.

‘Oh yeah? And who’s going to change that then you?’ You scoffed.

‘Yes.’ Jiyan answered without hesitation and a seriousness you’ve only ever seen in battle and that alone had you choke on your own words.

‘Why?’ You asked, looking into his eyes in hopes of getting the answer you wanted, you wanted to look for a lie within his eyes but his eyes only told you that he was being genuine with his words.

‘I want to prove that if there is one person who’s willing to shoulder your burdens with you, it’s me.’ He tells you. ‘I will not allow you to suffer alone during you’re in pain. So please, allow me to lend you aid in these difficult times.’

You stayed silent for a bit and Jiyan thought that he may have overstepped a boundary or two but his own worries were put to rest when you gripped onto his hand just as he was about to pull away. ‘If it’s not too much trouble for you.’

‘I wouldn’t have suggested such if it was, which it isn’t.’ Jiyan cuts you off softly.

‘Then I guess it couldn’t hurt.’ You said, slowly beginning to grow hope for this seemingly small promise.

[vaspider]

So I need a more adult persons take on this. Is it wrong to ask people to tag gory/graphic images from gaza? I'm not trying to bury my head in the sand. I don't want to block mention of palastine but god these images are triggering the shit out of me and it isn't making me more aware or more empathetic, I'm already angry and heartbroken and praying and donating what I can.

It is never wrong to ask someone to tag something for any reason. I've asked people to tag animals that I have a phobia of, and mentions of Laika (the first animal in space), because Laika was a good girl and she didn't deserve what happened to her. It was cruel and horrible and it upsets me in a way that I recognize is out of scope for the death of a single dog seventy years ago. That person may decline to tag things for whatever reason, and if that's the case, it isn't wrong for you to unfollow them, block them, add their username to a filter list, whatever you need to do in order to curate your online experience. Without talking directly about the topic you brought up, 'cause it's something I don't do, as I've said about ninety squintillion times -- I used to reblog/post pretty disturbing images of human bodies out of a misguided sense of justice. I have been online for a really long time, and a lot of the stuff that was posted as 'necessary education' Back In The Olden Times were images of police and/or mob brutality visited on Black & brown bodies. Out of a sense of white guilt and a feeling that I should be 'bearing witness' rather than turning away, I perpetuated some of those images, until -- very kindly and gently, I think, for the scope of what was happening -- it was pointed out to me that:

it is unkind to subject the people who have been or might be subject to that sort of racialized terror to images of bodies broken by it, and

it is almost invariably the exact opposite of what the families of those people want, and

it does nothing to actually make me a better person or to advance any sort of real justice, and instead

it simply acts as a grotesque sort of terror tourism or war porn for people who can simply turn off their computer or phone screen and go about their lives.

I am really grateful to the person who took the time to gently shake me. They didn't owe me that, and I'm glad they thought I was a worthwhile investment of time and energy.

Whoever is posting images of bodies or gory images of victims from any injustice like that, especially without appropriately tagging the images so that people don't have to engage with that? They may be motivated by the best of intentions, but as long as they are engaging in that sort of casual, continual terror tourism, they're ... not helping.

There was a great article about this back during Ferguson that really flipped a switch in my head about the subject, where it basically said this is just another way that dominant cultures, Americans especially, seem to treat the bodies of people they view as Other as theirs to consume. There are ways to talk about whatever is going on which do not require people to utilize the bodies and blood of the dead as tools of persuasion (or emotional bludgeoning, tbh), as symbols to show how Righteous we are by "not looking away," and at the cost of those who have been or are more directly affected by the images.

Doing that sort of thing isn't a good idea in the first place, and you're not wrong to ask anybody to tag anything, or to disengage from those people if they find themselves unwilling or unable to tag that content so that you can care for your own mental health.

[mandarinmoons]

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gender neutral reader

Word count: ~ 600

Summary: Spencer breaks up with you after seeing how much his job at The BAU affected you as he didn’t want to be the cause of your declining mental health, but ending the relationship had the opposite effect on you than what he thought

Spencer lied on his bed as he stared up at the ceiling, trying his best not to give into his desires of grabbing his phone and calling you because lord knows he’s the last person you’d want to talk to. He missed you terribly, but he knew you would be upset at him if he were to try and make contact.

The reason for that being is that Spencer forced himself to end things with you because he saw how his work life affected you. He’d lost track of how many times he’d found you fallen asleep behind his door for when he got home. He’d unlock the door and scoop you into his arms, his body shuddering from the cold that emanated from you. Or how he took notice of your thinning figure. You made sure that Spencer always had a full dinner platter whenever he got home, but he often saw you only finishing half of what was on your plate.

“I ate before you got home, I’m not that hungry,” is what you’d always say, but it didn’t stop Spencer from worrying.

After a few months of consideration, Spencer bit the bullet and tried his best to let you down easy. But unbeknownst to him there was never a way of doing things that way, because he was the love of your life and that day was the day you felt your heart break into so many small pieces that it would be impossible to mend it back together.

Spencer kept on imagining all of the ways you’d improve now that he wasn’t in your life. Maybe you’d learn to cook more or perhaps maybe you took on those yoga lessons you’d been dying to try out.

In reality though, you were having a hard time getting dressed and even harder time getting out of bed. You had your mother and friends check up on you daily to see how you were doing and every time you’d respond with “I’m okay,” when that was the farthest thing from the truth.

Half of the day was spent either lying in bed trying to read one of the last books Spencer had gifted you or being sat on the sofa while watching a crime show, the same show you’d watch while waiting for Spencer to come home, and now hoping that he’d magically come up to your door take you back.

A majority of the week's diet consisted of supernoodles and the occasional piece of fruit so you wouldn’t feel like complete crap. You’d chuckle to yourself bitterly as you’d remember a fact about the fruit you were having that was told by Spencer. Most of the time you didn’t understand any of the terminology he’d use, but you still loved to listen to him talk and as you ate away, you realized you’d never get to experience it again.

As much as it brought you a bit of ease whenever each day was over, it also brought along a bit of misery with it as it finally dawned on you that Spencer was really gone. He would never hold your hand again, he would never kiss your forehead again and you’d never hear the three words you loved most that came from his mouth,

“I love you.”

Taglist: @radioactiveinvisible @whoisspence @sreidisms @lanascinnamongirls @luvkatryna @sp3ncelle @iluvreid @khxna @keiva1000 @reidstheyfriend @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @kimm4710 @niktwazny303 @reidsdaisies @mindfullycriminal @cumulo-stratus @themarauderseraslut @gayfor-rosadiaz @gubsbuubs @multifandomsimp69 @chyozai @deppfanatic @potatovoyager @indyvelazquez @nini123 @justlivinginadaydream @kers505

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[sizzlingstarlightsky]

Waging A Mental War

Azriel x Reader with OCD

Summary: After the battle with Hybern, your mental health declined. The OCD you thought you had control over begins to consume you. Everything is wrong. Will anything ever feel right?

word count: 1500

The morning light spilled into the room, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. It was a sight that had once brought you peace, a gentle reminder of the world's persistent beauty, even amidst the quiet moments.

But today, as you lay in bed, your eyes followed their erratic paths with a sense of dread, your mind already racing with the tasks that awaited.

You knew you wouldn't find peace in the day ahead.

Your OCD had taken over your life since the war ended, turning simple routines into exhausting rituals that had to be performed to perfection.

The nightmares had lessened over time, but the intrusive thoughts remained, a persistent echo of horrors. Experienced and hypothetical.

You sat up, your body moving almost of its own accord, as it had so many times before. Your eyes scanned the room for any signs of imperfection, any items out of place.

The sight of your sword, leaning against the wall, sent a shiver down your spine. The blade gleamed, a stark contrast to the darkness of the memories it held.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus on the present. The compulsions grew stronger, demanding that you check the weapon, ensure it was clean and sharp, despite having done so only hours earlier.

The bed sheets felt like a prison, clinging to your legs as if to hold you back from facing another day. But you had to go on.

With trembling hands, you began the meticulous process of folding them, smoothing out each wrinkle, aligning each corner until not a single thread was out of place.

The scent of breakfast wafted up from the kitchen, a mix of roasting meat and baking bread that usually brought comfort.

Today, it was a call to hurry, to perform your morning rituals before the others awoke and noticed the extra time it took you.

You knew they didn't mean to pressure you, but their very existence felt like a weight on your shoulders.

How could you explain that the mere act of existing was now a battle?

Even here, in the warm embrace of your home, the whispers of doubt lingered. Were you truly safe? Would today be the day the enemy found you again?

Safety isn't real. My thoughts aren't real.

Your mind healers' words echoed through your head. Usually, it helped ground you, but today was an extra bad day.

As you descended the stairs, your heart pounded in your chest, the rhythm setting the pace for the rituals to come. Each step had to be taken with care, the right foot first, then the left, alternating in a precise pattern to ward off the anxiety.

You reached the bottom and paused, your eyes darting to the floor. A speck of dust caught your attention, and your hand twitched, yearning to wipe it away.

But no, not yet. The order had to be maintained. That would mean washing your hands again. They were already dry and flaking.

You tried to smile at the others as they greeted you, but the effort felt forced, the muscles in your face protesting against the lie.

They couldn't understand the chaos in your head, the relentless need to count, to clean, to ensure everything was in its rightful place. It was a war you fought alone, even as they offered you companionship and warmth.

Azriel looked at you with concern. His eyes, once cold and unreadable, had softened over the months you'd spent together. He knew something was wrong, but even his understanding couldn't bridge the gap between you.

"You're taking longer than usual," he said gently, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the very air around you.

Yoy nodded, your throat tight with the effort of keeping your emotions in check.

"Just...just making sure everything's right."

He approached, his movements fluid and silent, a stark contrast to the cacophony in your mind. He placed a scared hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding.

"Let me help," he offered, his voice filled with genuine concern.

For a moment, the compulsions wavered, and you considered his offer. But the fear of losing control was too great.

"No," you replied, your voice shaking slightly. "It has to be me. It has to be perfect."

He searched your eyes, his own filled with a mix of compassion and frustration.

"Y/N, you're not alone in this. Let me share the burden."

You pulled away, the need to clean now overwhelming.

"I can't," you whispered, the words barely audible over the clanging of pans. "If it's not perfect, if I don't do it, something terrible will happen."

Azriel's eyes searched yours, understanding dawning.

"Your thoughts are lying to you," he said firmly. "You're not responsible for everything, not every outcome."

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

"They feel so real," you murmured, my voice tight with anguish. "It's like they're a part of me."

With a sigh, Azriel stepped back, giving you the space you needed.

He knew pushing would only make it worse. Instead, he picked up a plate and began filling it with food.

"Eat," he said, placing it in front of you. "You need your strength."

You stared at the plate, your stomach twisting in knots. The food looked delicious, but the thought of eating it without first ensuring that the kitchen was spotless was unbearable.

"I-I'll clean up first," you stammered, already moving towards the counter where dirty dishes were piled.

"No," Azriel's voice was firm, but not unkind. He took your hand and led you to the table, gently guiding you into a chair.

"You need to eat. Your health comes first." His gaze held yours, unyielding yet filled with care.

The others in the kitchen paused their work, watching you both with a mix of curiosity and concern. They had seen the changes in you, the way you flinched at sudden sounds or the way you checked and rechecked the locks at night. They had offered their support, but none of them truly understood the monster that had taken residence in your mind.

"Please," you whispered, the word a desperate plea. "I can't."

But Azriel's grip on your hand was firm.

"You can, and you will," he said, his voice a gentle command. "We'll start small. Just a few bites."

You nodded, the fight draining out of you. The others returned to their tasks, the sounds of their movements a comforting backdrop to the silent war waging within.

You picked up your fork, the metal cold against your fingertips. The food on your plate looked so normal, so innocent. Yet the simple act of taking a bite felt like defying an unseen enemy.

The first bite was torture, each chew and swallow a fight in itself.

But as the food settled in your stomach, the hunger you'd ignored for so long began to gnaw at you. With shaking hands, you took another mouthful, and another. The taste grew more familiar, less foreign with each bite.

The warmth of the food spread through your body, and for a brief moment, the obsessions receded. It was a small victory, but one you clung to with desperation.

The others had learned not to disturb you during these moments. They had seen the toll your compulsions took on you, the way they stole your joy and energy. They had offered to help, to take over some of the tasks that triggered your anxiety, but you had always refused. It was a prideful stance, you knew, but one driven by fear.

If you let go, if you allowed the chaos to seep in, you were afraid it would consume you.

But as you sat there, the weight of Azriel's hand on yours, you realized how much you had missed. The simple act of eating breakfast without first scrubbing the kitchen to an impossible standard was a small act of rebellion against the relentless voice in your head. It was a taste of freedom, one you hadn't experienced in what felt like an eternity.

"Thank you," you murmured, your eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"You're welcome," Azriel replied, his thumb making comforting circles on the back of your hand. "It's okay to need help."

For a moment, you allowed myself to just be, to feel the warmth of his touch and the solidity of his presence beside you.

You took a deep breath, feeling the tension in your chest begin to ease. Maybe he was right. Maybe you could fight this, with his support.

"Let's go for a walk," Azriel suggested, his voice a gentle nudge. "The fresh air might do you good."

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[bengiyo]

Love in the Big City Part 2: The Weight of Homophobia

I’ve been struggling to write about this week’s episodes. The way Yeong feels so worn down by the homophobia around him feels suffocating in a way that I haven’t had to deal with in a long time. I remain impressed with the way this adaptation brought this story to the screen, and genuinely like many of its changes.

The Internalized Homophobia Suffocates

The first thing I noticed in this section was how much quieter Yeong felt. He didn’t have the pep in his step that had him and Mi Ae skipping through grocery stores together. He wasn’t dancing in the street. He’s spending a great deal of time with his mom, and now dating a closet case. The weight of all of his pain and suffering has seemingly dimmed his light. 

@impala124 summed up the comparison between the major relationships of Parts 1 and 2 well with “Part 1 was about the loneliness that comes with not conforming to societal expectations for Yeong and Part 2 was about the pitfalls of conforming to societal expectations and how it manifests in their actions towards others.” @shinjiikar1 further detailed how both his mom and Hyung hurt Yeong with their behaviors, particularly how Christianity plays into this. I find myself lingering with the sense of futility that the expectations of heteronormativity inflicts upon us. In Part 1, Yeong found himself unable to connect with Mi Ae and Nam Gyu because of their conformity to heteronormativity, and in this section both Yeong’s mom and Hyung try to enforce that heteronormativity on Yeong. 

With his mom, she had him committed to a mental institution when she caught him with a boy. However she may feel about that now, it’s clear that she will not engage directly with his queer reality. She expressed relief when she didn’t get to meet Yeong Soo, and she will not read his books. She toes a line for herself by taking clipping of articles about her son, and letting him find that she saved a picture of him with his then boyfriend, but she will never say anything else aloud. Their relationship is difficult, and I found myself returning to the final scene with Chiron’s mom in Moonlight (2016) when we left them in the park. 

With Hyung, I find myself thinking about @lurkingshan’s observations about the way episode 3 used familiar romance tropes to build up the relationship with hyung before crushing it in episode 4. It’s easy to see how the beginning of that romance with Hyung was so intriguing. Yeong was tired, lonely, and dealing with the slow death of his mother. He had removed the couch and TV from the apartment, making it clear he’s not doing any group fun in there anymore. It was inevitable that a closet case like Yeong Soo would let Yeong down, and I’m impressed that the show gained the same mortification in Yeong Soo writing that horrible article that I still feel about him sending Yeong an edit of his own goddamned diary. 

I can’t find the comment now, but I think @wen-kexing-apologist commented about how both Umma and Hyung are obsessed with appearances. Despite her declining health, Umma tries to maintain her physical appearance, and performs Christian sacrifice by writing lines from the bible. Yeong Soo wearing ragged clothes, carries a back, speaks on philosophy, plays sports, and more to maintain his masculine appearance, and only wants to be with Yeong where others cannot see him. It’s so exhausting to be inside of the closet, and the paranoia it inflicts on you is mind numbing. I’m so glad that Yeong wasn’t actually alone with this man in this version. Finally, I keep thinking about the way @solitaryandwandering noted that the ideas of ownership play heavily with everyone’s actions in this section. So much of compulsory heteronormativity is about what others think we should be doing for them, and how they wield shame as a weapon. 

Lastly, I want to comment that I appreciated the tasteful way the director chose to show Yeong’s darkest moment. I liked that we didn’t get close-ups or see his face, and I like that we cut away from the moment in his apartment to when he wakes up in the hospital. 

The T-aras Remain The Best Change

I was surprised when the show introduced them so early in Part 1, but I’ve grown to love the T-aras so much in this show. They embody perfectly the kinds of gay friends I had in my 20s. We couldn’t step into each other’s lives to meddle and fix everything, but they’re always there for you. They also have great instincts. 

It’s notable for me that they seemed iffy about Nam Gyu in Part 1. While much of that was likely them being catty about him being older, old-fashioned, and kind of a dork, they recognized that Yeong wasn’t actually into him that much. Nam Gyu was outside of the culture with them, and that builds in distance. In this part, they noticed immediately that they couldn’t tell if Yeong Soo was actually queer. That is a huge sign that Yeong Soo wasn’t going to be good for Yeong, because Yeong lives his life publicly. Yeong Soo doesn’t want people to know, and as such he would never vibe with the T-aras. It’s also notable for me that Yeong Soo never got to meet the T-aras, which at least Nam Gyu did. 

Finally, this show made me sob openly when they rushed to the hospital and fought with staff to get to their friend. Only family is allowed to be in the room, but they would not let their friend go without him knowing that they were there. It’s so scary when you’re in the community because of how death stalks us, and I love this change to the story. The version of Young we get in the book is so unwell that he doesn’t think about all of these people around him, and I love this version of the story showing that he was loved. That his friends cared about him. When he flashed that heart sign to them and they answered back, I cried. I’m crying now even as I think about that moment. Queer friendship is so important to me, and I really love the way the adaptation expanded the role of the T-aras.

Anticipating Gyu-ho

I find myself feeling a small sense of dread about Gyu-ho’s entry into the story. We’ve seen two pairs of relationships in Yeong’s life fail because of compulsory heteronormativity, and I just know that seeing Yeong be unable to build something long-term with Gyu-ho on screen will devastate me. The losses and wounds Yeong has taken from all of the previous history will seep into his relationship with Gyu-ho, and it’s not going to be pretty. 

[eejilunio]

I'm gonna say it again because i thought about it again and it disturbed me again.

But to see the graphic decline of Azula's mental health, with her insomnia, hallucinations, crying fits, self-isolation, and final breakdown that Katara and Zuko witnessed first-hand, and then, to see Katara and Zuko and every other characters in the show flourishing shortly after with no mention of Azula ever again, It feels insulting to look at.

Azula showed scary symptoms of mental illness, and that was the first time she showed vulnerability in front of someone, even her parents didn't see that part of her, so it is a huge thing right? By breaking down in front of her brother and his friend, it could have opened the door for communication. So what are they ogling her for? Are they enjoying the show? At least Katara was disturbed and looked away, but then she looked at Zuko as if she felt sad for him, idk, idk what that look meant i'm not psychic, and Zuko just looked stonily at Azula crying. Nobody said anything, nobody moved while Azula was restrained and sobbing. And then the scene fades out. What am i supposed to think of that conclusion? Am i supposed to forget about it afterwards ? Did Zuko and Katara leave her there and rushed to celebrate with their friends ? Is that what happened? Did they help her or not? I needed to know that before the screen faded out. And i could have also known after when every characters in the show made an appearance, if only they showed Azula somewhere.

Azula feels like the elephant in the room at the end of the show. She should be brought up at least in conversation, but the writers don't want to talk about her.

The way the writers focused so much on Zuko's pain and on giving him a beautiful conclusion, but just left Azula like this with Zuko looking disdainfully at her as if she was beneath him, as if he was satisfied of finally beating his sister at something and he was proven right in the fact he is actually better than her at life or something, it makes me angry. Do i misinterpret Zuko's face? Probably. It's not as if i could understand what he felt through his poker face. A poker face in front of someone sobbing feels like disdain to me, if it's not followed by attempts at helping.

It triggers memories of my own breakdown when my mum and brother just looked at me without saying anything.

I feel like that passiveness in front of clear emotionnal distress is the result of a mix of bystander effect and a lack of empathy. You don't feel enough empathy that could drive you to help, and you don't feel responsible for not helping either because there's another person next to you that could have done it too but didn't. So you feel normal by not helping and standing there like a statue. Like an idiot. And it must be an interesting show to them, it breaks the monotony of everyday life at least.

So yes, i'm projecting on Azula, but maybe if the writers didn't want people projecting on her, they shouldn't have made her have such a realistic breakdown.

I feel like the writers managed to write by accident a realistic depiction of how mental illness is handled by most people in society though : by not handling it at all and purposefully ignoring the obvious distress even when it's in your face, because it's more comfortable to look at someone dying inside for years and call them crazy than to actually get involved and talk about feelings.

There, i'm done.

[earthstellar]

Warlord Ratchet: A Fascinating Concept 

“And to think, the Doctor of Doom’s mad quest for power continues...! His marauders pursued us to this planet’s orbit.” 

What gets me about Megatron telling Orion Pax that the current dilapidated condition of Cybertron was brought about by the Warlord Ratchet, Doctor of Doom (aside from the concept in and of itself) is that he also states that Ratchet has a legion of marauders who carry out his bidding 

and because marauders are raiders, and Megatron states they were “pursued by marauders” to Earth, the implication is that Ratchet is not on Earth himself--

-- which is smart on Megatron’s behalf, because this would deter Orion from potentially attempting to leave in order to confront Ratchet and instils a concern that perhaps marauders may appear at any time (at this point, Orion Pax does not yet realise that he is armed and is operating under the belief that he is still an Archivist and therefore not Warrior Class) 

but also, this gives us the incredible mental image of Ratchet milling around in some kind of rusted fortress made from the remains of several different Cybertronian buildings, quite possibly the remnants of Iacon -- maybe even the central hospital there, converted into a hive of terror 

still living on an otherwise uninhabited planet, with a loyal band of raiding troops who scavenge the remains of their world and possibly other planets as well (as we know these marauders supposedly have space capable vessels), quite possibly doing so in order to source spare parts and other various salvage -- Ratchet is a medic, who knows how he’s been having to piece together his army, repairing them from the remains of random citizens? 

and he supposedly, presumably either from his makeshift base in the shadows of Cybertron or from a war ship of some kind, commanded an army of raiders to chase Megatron and his followers as far away as Earth 

“I cannot imagine Ratchet capable of such horrors!” 

I can only guess at what Orion Pax was thinking in this moment, aside from his immediately stated disbelief: What drove Ratchet to such lengths? What happened to turn his compassionate, caring friend into a warlord capable of carrying out inconceivable destruction? How could such a thing occur, especially at the hands of a respected medic, someone he thought he knew so well? 

Would Orion Pax start to blame himself, for what was clearly the brutal decline of one of his greatest friends? I can imagine him starting to wonder if there was anything he could do, any signs of discontent, any indication that Ratchet was headed down a violent, dark path. 

And I’m sure he would be concerned about Ratchet himself, as well. How is Ratchet faring, nearly entirely alone on their planet save for his loyal bandits, as aged and worn as he ever has been, possibly accepting a lonely inevitable death on an already dead world? 

Or does Warlord Ratchet have yet more plans in store, his instruments of destruction poised to afflict themselves upon other worlds as well? 

The Doctor of Doom: How Could This Happen? 

It’s somewhat easy to dismiss the idea of Ratchet being this “Doctor of Doom”, because it so wildly opposes what we know of the character and what we know actually occurred with the war. 

But when you think about it for a little bit, an unhinged Ratchet would very much be a formidable opponent, especially with his social position in pre-war Cybertron giving him more immediate access to higher class/caste areas than many others would have been able to reach... 

...Perhaps this Warlord Ratchet was able to work his way into the Council’s good graces, possibly after attending to one of them after an injury and restoring them to health, gradually manipulating the Senate from the inside in order to secure more power, resources, allies, and ultimately the whole of Cybertron for himself-- Leading to a violent conflict which resulted in the destruction of their world? 

With his medical knowledge, even if he started out with a fairly small number of followers and whatever troops he could finesse away from the Council, he may very well have “built” some himself-- We do see in TFP that protoforms may be possible to manipulate into certain frame types, or some types of “cloning” may be possible. 

Any version of Ratchet without morals (or at the very least without any medical ethics) is a very dangerous Ratchet. 

Repairing the injured via patching them together with the remains of fallen comrades, creating a “zombie” army. Ghoulish, lumbering soldiers, marauders held together with armour designed for other frame types. Instructing his former colleagues (who would likely have at least started out with some inclination to follow him) to carry out “repairs” in such a way. 

Warlord Ratchet himself may have chosen to ingest dark energon much like Megatron actually did, perhaps out of a desire to create a new fuel source once Cybertron began to go dark and natural fuel sources began to dwindle. We already know that our actual Ratchet wasn’t afraid to test synthetic energon on himself, with similar motivations. 

His base of operations would quite possibly be Iacon’s medical centre, turned into a horrific hive-like structure, some wards actively still in use for repairs (at least for his own followers) and other areas dedicated to terrifying research, with supply basements full of experimental tech and defensive weaponry. 

Ratchet’s more support class (as opposed to warrior class) approach to things may well carry over to Warlord Ratchet’s approach to war-- An emphasis on intelligence ops, R&D, indirect and direct manipulation, initial political manoeuvring from within the existing system, and defensive systems to counter any munitions etc. that may come his way from opposing forces. 

His initial goals may well have genuinely been intended to improve Cybertron, to help people. Much like Megatron, back when he was Megatronus and wanted a more egalitarian, fair society. 

After working on lower class/caste bots who were nearly offlined from a lack of maintenance, poor to no access to healthcare prior to being dragged to him, etc. it may have been the catalyst for his decision to start using his upper class social contacts in an effort to change things from the inside out. 

Unfortunately, in this universe in which Warlord Ratchet rose to power, things may have derailed just as severely as they did with Megatronus and his initially well-intentioned efforts. 

The longer you think about it, the more plausible it could be. 

It would be easy for Megatron to build further upon this idea to manipulate Orion Pax, that Ratchet truly could have done this. 

I’m sure Orion Pax did not recharge well, his first night on the Nemesis. 

Where did things go wrong? What happened to his friend? How could he do this to their world, a world that Ratchet loved so much? 

--

IDK I just think “Warlord Ratchet” is an incredible idea, and I would have been totally fine if they did a whole season of TFP with the Orion Pax concept lmao 

also holy shit Ratchet in a built up fortress of a former hospital with a band of marauders under his command is such a powerful mental image 

[Screenshot: TFP Episode - Orion Pax, Part One] 

[chosos-mascara]

all my love, suguru

chapter 5

summary: after an unexpected night spent with your close friend, you find yourself pregnant, and unable to tell him so. will you be able to come to terms with this news, or will it destroy the delicate relationship you’d had left?

chapter warnings: mentions of declining mental health (suguru), general angst, secret pregnancy/child

masterlist

⋆₊⋆⋆₊⋆⋆₊⋆⋆₊⋆⋆₊⋆

30 months before

"I have something I wanted to talk to you about." You're watching him at his desk as you walk into his classroom, closing the door meekly behind you. The sickness coupled with this anxiety is overwhelming; exhausting. You're roughly ten weeks along, your first scan recently booked for two weeks time, all while Suguru is none the wiser to your current condition.

He's grading papers from a recent mock exam, and it's apparent he's much more interested in the stacks before him than you as his eyes barely rise, the red marker still between his fingers. You sigh. "Suguru, did you hear me?" He looks up from the reports, bags dark beneath his eyes. You pause in your actions as you mull over his expression. "Are you okay?" There's that concern you had for him that night, back again. You wonder if he realises that, too. Or perhaps you were only procrastinating by creating some sort of conversation, though it's better to open with something like this, isn't it?

"Sorry, what's up?" Suguru acts casual, but he can't deny that your visit is just adding to the mounds of stress he feels in this moment. He doesn't have the energy to pour into conversation, he can barely read these student's scrawny handwriting. "I was wondering if we could talk?" You begin to walk closer with some hesitance, stopping at his desk. He looks up at you, and finally puts that pen down.

"What about?" He's nervous. "Well, I just..." You trail off, your chest heavy. Your hands are shaking, even with one placed over the other. They're clammy, and god, you feel so sick. "That night, when we..." Again, you're not able to finish your sentence, instead averting your gaze to the wall and swallowing. "Listen," Suguru stands, and when you look back to him, you frown. "I don't think we should pursue anything." 

You stand in silence for a few moments; he's completely missed the mark. Raising your hands, you shake your head, trying to gesture to him that this wasn't what you'd intended, but it's lost on him when he continues.

"It was a misjudgement, I didn't consider how this could impact our lives, and for that I apologise." You stare wide eyed. You couldn't tell him how yes, this really has impacted your life, because you realise now how wrong this would go. This truly was a secret you'd have to bring to the grave, because you're sure he'd never speak to you again either way.

"You're right, I'm sorry." It's weak, and all you manage to push out.

Suguru feels reams of guilt when he watches your head bow, hearing quiet, defeated words from your lips. He's lying to himself if he truly believes this is for the best, because no one makes him feel quite how you do.

He replays that memory most nights, wondering if he should have given you a chance - he didn't even let you get a word out before he was pushing you away. He spent years wishing he'd done something different, wondering if anything would change if only he'd had opportunity to speak to you again.

He thinks of that memory when he's walking to Yaga's office, opening the door to be met with you.

Suguru thinks he's finally lost it, because why, after two and a half years would you be here, sitting at Yaga's desk like you'd never really left? His hands are brought upward to rub into his eyes, and he blinks once, twice, squeezing them closed before finally focusing back upon your seated frame. You're definitely there, you're definitely real. 

Suguru hadn't even noticed the child sat to your left until moments later, a small doll between her hands, her hair worn in a short ponytail. He doesn't linger over her presence for long though, because he's drawn back to you.

The door had clicked open moments ago and you had prepared yourself for Suguru's berating, though seconds tick by, and no words come. You're still sat in silence beside your daughter and opposite your old boss after a minute's pass, still an empty seat at your right. You know he's shocked by his hesitance to enter, but the suspense is only twisting the knife embedded into you upon his entry. In this limbo, you're left to ruminate on every doubt that had grown over the past few years, on every bad decision you've made leading up to now. 

Finally, after a minute or so of deliberating, Suguru decides to discern the reason for this meeting, and uses his curiosity as encouragement to come and sit in that empty chair.

You've no alleviation from his stare even when he's seated. He's taking you in, the new you, the mature you, still contemplating his sanity as he wonders if you're just a fragment of his madness. There's still an internal struggle while he wonders why you're here, and what this could possibly have to do with him. Suguru does manage to voice a few words through his turmoil, ever downplaying his mental state with his relaxed tone. 

"I thought you left jujutsu society?" 

His voice still feels like honey in your ears, his presence beside you causing your skin to prickle with cold, goosebumps breaking the surface. Eyes that had been glued to Yaga's desk finally lift, and you turn your head to face him after all of this time. Brown eyes greet you, purple bags weighing the skin down. The glint of hope that Suguru could forgive you begins to ebb, your lips tightening. 

"I did." Your answer rings true, at least. Your eyes falter when you can't take his gaze any longer, instead averting to sit at his lips, then shoulders. He looks the same as always, but his aura feels different. There's sombreness to him now, and you blame yourself for leaving. 

"Should we begin?" Yaga clears his throat uncomfortably, and you're reminded of his presence. You nod with deep reluctance, removing your sight from the man that still holds a place in your heart. "Geto," Yaga begins, and you focus on your breaths. This is it, it's really happening. "You're being assigned a special case; a new student." He gestures toward your Keiko, and Suguru leans forward so he can look past you, his emotionless expression interrupted by disgust. 

"She's a toddler?" His disapproval is thick. "Yaga, are you insane?" Suguru remembers the last person assigned to his care, and her untimely death. This was no world for a child, it was barely a world for him, either. Everyone seems to get on with their lives after witnessing tragedies, and he still doesn't understand how. He has never been left unscathed by the things he's seen, but he's sure to handle those massacres better than a child who would stand at his knee's height. 

Yaga peers to you behind his glasses, and you can feel the luxury of your silence ending. 

"She's at risk if she doesn't learn to harness her cursed energy." You speak, praying for his compliance. "I don't want her to get hurt, Suguru." 

Suguru stares at your expression, looking up, and down as he processes your words among the many racing thoughts he houses. Who was this child to you, why would you care? But after all these years he's brewed upon his actions, paired with the fact he can stare into you and see nothing but kindness and care, his objection merges into something else. 

He doesn't speak, but he doesn't have to, because you've already seen it on his face. He'll help. 

"Thank you." Your words of gratitude are genuine, and they're spoken to him with care. It feels a bit like you're the only two people in the room, studying the other with a sense of longing. He swallows back the old feelings that are trying to push through, and turns to face Yaga once more.

Throughout this meeting Suguru glances to that girl, a question pushing the back of his mind. Who was she to you?

Keiko's in bed when he knocks. At first, you're spooked by the sound and your cursed energy is focused into your fist, though looking through the peephole eases your fears. Your flame dissipates, and you open, not sure what to expect from your night-time visitor.

"What're you doing here?" There's a small dip in your voice. "It's late." You try and mask your unease, though he's able to read you like a book.

"That evening, before you left - what were you going to tell me?" 

When you look closer you realise Suguru's hair is loose, strays floating out from his bun, a redness at his ears from where he'd been toying with the lobes. It doesn't take you long to realise what he's referencing, and you open the door wider. You have to accept your fate, that it's now, or never. "Come, take a seat." 

Those are words Suguru didn't want to hear. Since your meeting, he's been asking himself the same question, who is this child? And why should Suguru of all people be summoned to teach her, when he's sure Satoru would've not only volunteered himself, but been better at the job in every way? 

Then he thought about her hair colour, and how he didn't get to catch her face. The timelines, the fact she's staying with you - the pregnancy test. He kicks himself for not questioning you at the time, and for dwelling over these surely disconnected details, until he thought to that afternoon, when he shut you down with haste. He thought about your body language, and how stupid he was to assume that's what you were going to suggest, how self centred he'd been the entire time. 

He sits down quickly with his heart feeling about to leap out of his mouth, a warmth coddling his ears. 

"A few weeks after we slept together, I realised I was late." You start from the beginning as you stand opposite him. You can't look at his face, arms crossed, you stare at his feet. "I wanted to tell you that evening, but you made it clear you didn't want anything else, and I got cold feet." 

His anxiety fades, morphing into a feeling he can't quite place his finger on. It might be that in this moment, Suguru can truly say he's experiencing heartbreak, and the repercussions of his own actions. If he'd have just checked up on you, things would've gone so differently.  "I have a child?" He speaks slowly, unsure of himself. It doesn't feel like it's sinking in, those words don't feel as if they are describing his own life.

"She's yours." Your confirmation sends prickles over his skin. Your things are still mostly in boxes, though there's a photo you've already set out beside the TV, one that you pick up and hand to him. It's you and Keiko, taken on her 2nd birthday. You'd had to celebrate alone, but you decorate anyway, a big '2' balloon within the background. She's smiling, her baby teeth showing while cuddled into your side. It'd taken a while to get a good photo with her, standing your phone on the couch and using the timer function, though after a few you had come out with this one. It was perfect. 

Suguru holds the frame between his fingers, looking at the little girl beside you. She looked a lot like him, the same eyes, the same shade of hair, but she housed your smile. Tears clouded his vision as he wonders how he's missed out on two years with someone he should've been there for, he's missed so much already. 

"Why did you come here?" Suguru asks, a warmth rolling over his cheek.  "She inherited your technique." You swallow. "A few weeks ago, we came into contact with a curse, but before I was able to exercise it, she ingested it, just like you. A few days after that, she was witnessed by a grade three, and we were called upon by the higher-ups." 

"I never wanted this for her, Suguru. I just wanted to watch her grow through normal means - I know it was a lot to wish for, but she's my baby. I can't bare to picture her dead in some ditch after they rinse her of everything she has." 

"I'll refuse to teach her." He's desperate through his tears, mind racing. "Then they'll just find someone else. There's really no point, unless you're really adverse."

"Why couldn't you have just told me?" He talks as if his words are sapping his lifeforce, and you only watch as he slumps forward, heartbroken and confused. That guilty feeling has hit a new high. "Same reason you shut me out after that night - I was scared, and decided it was better to leave than to face what we did." It's wrong to defend your actions, they should be unforgivable. But, Suguru doesn't seem to put much energy into his disgust with you, because he's just too upset. "I've missed out on two years of my child's life, that's not the same." His hands shake, whether it's rage or distress, he can't tell.

"I'm so sorry." You bow your head, ashamed. "I was so scared, please forgive me." Suguru looks up at you, a heavy breath on his lips. It's not as if you hadn't tried to tell him; he'd practically shunned you. It wasn't fair to give you all the blame, even if it would save his sanity. "Do you wanna meet her?"

"Keiko, baby." She's clutching a small bear against her chest when she walks through the door, rubbing her eyes. The small girl's brown hair is a little messy, and she's still in a pair of cutesy pink pyjamas. "I want you to meet someone." You voice to her slowly while holding her little hand, your heart racing. There's no textbook answer when it comes to difficult parenting decisions, and uncomfortable situations. How do you tell a two year old they have a father in which they've never met?

Suguru's reluctant to look at the doorway when he hears you two coming through. This is the biggest moment of his life, meeting his child, his heartrate reflects this in it's unforgiving pace, his breaths leaving him before he's ready to breathe back in. He'll have to count down, he thinks, to force himself to look at his kin - there's no way he can surely meet her eye otherwise. Five seconds and he'll look, four now. Three, and he's sweating, shaking at two, swallowing harshly before he counts one, eyes forced from their spot over the floorboards to flicker up at the little girl standing at her mother's side.

God, it feels like nothing on this planet has ever mattered to Suguru, because in those brown eyes, there's so much innocence. He can feel his heart melt as he recognises so much of himself in her, his DNA, used to build such a perfect daughter with the cutest version of his character. Her huge, wide eyes, cute roundish nose - but her lips are all you. 

This child is a part of him he didn't know existed, a jigsaw piece melded to fit right within his chest. There's some kind of primal urge to protect her at all costs, to hold her closely, which is why Suguru finds himself at his knees with open arms in search of her comfort, to have his forbearing body embraced by his entire world. A child he'd never known is suddenly the key to his happiness, because she is everything he isn't.

"Hi." He wants to say more, yet a million words couldn't describe how he feels. Suguru can't decide on what to say, so instead settles with that small greeting. She smiles at him nonetheless, and you watch as his eyes soften, a smile over his lips.  "Hello." Her voice is small, much like her stature, and she's still sleepy. Suguru puts a hand over her shoulder, and you find yourself overcome with a grin you can't hide. Despite your anxieties, you know Suguru will love her as much as you do.

"Remember I told you about your daddy? This is him." You're gentle, and you're not sure she'll understand entirely, only seeing that family dynamic on films and tv shows. You'd told her a few times she has a daddy, though she's never seemed all too interested beyond that confirmation. Though she stares at him wide eyed, a smile growing over her cheeks. 

"Daddy!" She repeats, and Suguru has to stop himself from breaking apart at that name. When he'd felt hopeless, weak and depressive, so many times he wondered if his existence would ever improve. Whether he'll be anything more than a sorcerer for jujutsu society to rinse, toss into battle and bury when things grew too difficult. He's grown to be Satoru's friend and not much more.

But with this child before him, he sees some form of light. There's a reason for him to keep going, because he doesn't want his girl to feel anything he's endured. He looks to you for the first time since laying his eyes on her, to your watery eyes, and his heart feels disgustingly full. This is what he's been missing out on. 

a/n: sooo this is it. i hope it met your expectations, honestly i really wanted to put more into this ending and i feel i could've done better, but life has been such a whirlwind as of late. i think this is the last post i'll make before finding myself on a hiatus, so think of this fic as a semi-good-bye. thank you so much for all of the love i have received, it truly means the world!

tags-

 @hojoslutoru  @itztamar @magey0412 @strflp  @kaeyakaikai @animeisforkings @emikisses @boredwithwrath @karazorel7 @tomiokasecretlover @mrsoharaa @magey0412 @thisbicc @aemiliabruno @zenys @sukunaspillow @caixgee @ssetsuka @pinkpunkdynamite @harlamarie @cephei-ea @dazailover1900

[prophet-rebellion]

Jolene's Emergency Vet Visit

Description posted from GoFundMe Campaign:

So for those of you who gave followed me (and maybe seen the update) you'll know Salem has been missing for almost 6 months.

She was my ESA, and given my declining mental health, I didn't have much choice but to get a new ESA.

Enter miss Jolene Macchiato L. Whom I adopted almost two months ago and have whole heartedly decided to keep after realizing just how well we mesh.

You may also know I've been in the hospital the last few days - staying with my roommate who was admitted. I've been coming home to feed the cats and (unsuccessfully) treat them for ear mites. My new roommate was dog sitting and he brought fleas and ear mites into our home.

During this time, Jolene went to the bathroom on my bed multiple times. I at first chalked it up to stress and was told to keep an eye on here. Less than a day of being back from the hospital and her stool is light in color, runny, and most terrifyingly, has blood in it.

This is no longer an issue of stress, but could be a major intestinal/stomach problem when mixed with her inability to wait and use her litterbox. On top of that, she was running around like she was in pain, or something was wrong prior to going.

My second job is not a sure thing yet - it has been more than two weeks since the company reached out to me - and I have been looking for more. The money I thought I won was more a scam to get me down to the car dealership (which by the way, I hated as is because of the older man behaving increasingly grossly and inappropriate towards me).

My funding for Salem has stopped at this point - I have done every physical thing I can to find and bring her home. And now I need to focus on the new feline in my care.

I am taking Jolene to the vet tomorrow and using my new credit card - but there are limited funds and paying it back is my current concern when I have payments taking up to the 1,000s combined due these next two months.

I am setting it to $550 for now (because they take a portion), but the price my change depending on what the vet says and what is wrong.

I know she still need to get treated for ear mites ($300 on it's own) because the current medications I've been using are not working."

This is my fundraiser.

Additional pictures of her adoption papers added on here as well proving when I got her. JOLENE IS A REGISTERED ESA NOW.

Jolene as far as I have been told is two years old, though she is very small for her age. She is a sweet heart though she was likely on the streets for a most of not all her life before she was taken to the shelter and I adopted her a month later.

She is a sweet cat that just wants to check and make sure that you're okay. She'll cuddle. She doesn't meow but she does trill and sound like yoshi.

She just wants to make friends with everyone. And if you're not petting her enough then the grabs your hand and brings it right to her face as she stands on her back legs.

This is the last fundraiser I'm making. Ask anyone I know in real life and they'll tell you just how much I despise asking for help. I want to be able to do things on my own. But until I get one bite from the hundreds (literally) of jobs I've applied to as a secondary then I'm at a loss. I can't afford to wait and save up for this vet Visit - not when her health is on the line.

I can post a picture of her at the vets office tomorrow as well to confirm, along with the update of what they set.

GoFundMe

PayPal

Venmo

Currently $750/$750

UPDATE - 08.02.2023

UNDER THE CUT

We went to the vet today.

TL:DR - she is on medications for the next two weeks, roughly. She did very good at the vet and was very brave. $500 was close, it will come out to be roughly $700 all together after ear mite treatment; we are holding off for now until the other cat in the house can be treated or they will just jump between them, which gives some more time to get there funds. But the over the counter medications are not strong enough to fight the infestation, and depending on severity, it could lead to long term health problems.

So I changed it from $550 -> $750 (again, because they take a processing fee). I also added in there roughly $200 that had been sent from PayPal and Venmo to give a more accurate show off current raised funds.

Below are screenshots of the update explaining more, along with pictures of Jolene at the vet today.

(Straight up, I almost cried because in the right two months that I have had her this was the first time she had crawled into my lap to lay down and cuddle with me.)

[abbs-writes]

talk too much | part 2 | Spencer Reid

Warnings: ⚠️ MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS ⚠️ mentions of depression, self hatred, suicidal ideation, pills, mentions of taking pills, overall very very very depressing

Authors note: hi hi! So this part is very depressing so please read at your own risk, remember you mental health matters and I won't be hurt if you can't read it or don't even want to. But im thinking about writing a part 3 with a happy ending but im not sure yet! I'll let yall know!

Spencer was right when he thought you'd change. You changed so quickly it scared him. He hated how quiet you were now. You didn't have any snarky comebacks anymore, you didn't make jokes with him anymore. You were so quiet it was alarming. He understood why, going through something so traumatic changes you as a person. It had only been a week but he still hoped he could get through to you. He would try everything in his power too.

You spent a lot of time in bed, resting of course but even after that you refused to move from your shared bed. You spent a lot of time looking out the window trying to remember how it all happened so you wouldn't mess up like that again. But you couldn't remember no matter how hard you tried, it made your head hurt how much you tried. Spencer found you like this every morning, knees brought up to your chest as you stared out the window. This morning was no different. "Hey," he said softly. You hummed in response, eyes not leaving the window as you stared at the raindrops falling down the glass. "Do you want breakfast? I can-" he started but you shook your head, "not hungry," you mumbled. "You didn't have dinner last night, you need to eat." He said but you just shrugged. "I'll make you something before I leave." He said.

He really didn't want to leave but he had missed a week of work and they needed him back. He made some waffles, just the ones you stick in the toaster. He brought them to you, setting them on the bedside table. "You know, if you need me to I can stay." He said but you didn't answer, too caught up in your own thoughts to care. "Like if you don't feel safe, I can stay." He added but there was still no response. He felt uneasy, so uneasy he wanted to call in, say something came up and you needed him but he couldn't. "I'll be back before you know it, okay?" He said but once again, you didn't give him a response. He left even though his gut told him not to.

You didn't touch the waffles, you didn't feel like eating. You could see yourself declining, as if watching yourself from outside of your body. You could see it, you could feel it, but you couldn't stop it. All you could do was sit and let it happen. You wanted to beg for help, tell Spencer you needed him but your mind wouldn't let you. You talked too much. You begged too much. You were too much. You knew you were. Deep down you knew it was just your mind repeating the words of a bat shit crazy unsub but yet, you didn't have it in yourself to fight the thoughts off.

It took you almost two hours to get out of bed and away from the nasty thoughts in your head. You stood up, holding your sore stomach. You had burns from the taser, a nasty reminder of what happened to you. You walked to the bathroom but as you entered you wished you hadn't. You saw yourself in the mirror, you looked horrible, tired. Not to mention the fading bruise on your face from being hit in the head and subdued. Your body still ached from everything that happened. You gripped the bathroom sink, you didn't want to live like this, you didn't want to look like this. You were starting to spiral and you could feel it.

You couldn't bring yourself to shower, too achy to care. You stumbled off to the kitchen, you needed water. Your hands were so shaky as you grabbed a glass. You almost immediately dropped it, watching it shatter on the floor. You closed your eyes tightly, your eyes watering. "Please," you whispered, you weren't even sure why. You stepped back carefully after opening your eyes. You didn't have it in you to clean it up, you didn't even want water anymore. You walked back to the bedroom with shaking hands. You crawled back into bed, pulling the covers over you as you stared out the window. You couldn't live like this.

Somehow, someway, you felt like a failure. Like you had let someone down, like you had let spencer down and now he was having to deal with you. You felt like a burden, a problem, a puzzle with so many pieces missing that you would never be put back together. This wasnt Spencer's problem to solve, it was yours. You glanced at the bedside table and your heart sank. "No," you whispered, closing your eyes and shaking your head. "No, I-I don't want to do that," you whispered, tears spilling from your eyes. You hated yourself for what you were thinking, it was a permanent solution for what could be a temporary problem. You could work through it, you knew that, but you wondered if it was truly worth it. To make Spencer go through all this pain with you. He didn't deserve that. Your eyes opened again. You wished that bottle wasn't in your line of sight so you pushed the bottle off the table and let it clatter to the floor, the pills spilling everywhere.

"Please," you kept whispering to yourself, hoping to go the thought would go away. You were plagued with so much and you didn't need suicidal ideation added to the list. You grabbed your pillow, stuffing your face in it as you cried. You wanted to cry, you wanted to wear yourself out so you'd sleep, so you wouldn't think about what you wanted to do. You didn't need to put Spencer through that, he's been through so much and you didn't wanna add your death to that list. You clutched onto the pillow for dear life. "Please, i don't wanna do this," you cried, begging to no one but your own thoughts.

Spencer didn't feel good leaving you. It pained him, hurt him, scared him. So he left early. He went back home, opening the door, "I'm back!" He called out. He set his bag down, noticing the broken glass on the floor. "Y/n?" He called out, examining the broken glass but there were no signs of blood. He left it as he walked to the bedroom. "Y/n!" He saw you on the floor and he quickly ran over to you. You held a pillow in your lap as you cried. "Y/n, did you take these?" He asked, looking at the pills and counting them to make sure they were all accounted for. You shook your head, "n-no but i wanted to. Spencer I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," you cried. "Hey, it's okay," he pushed the pills away and moved to sit next to you. He pulled you into his arms as you cried. "I-I need help Spencer, im sorry." You sobbed. "Don't be sorry, okay? That's what I'm here for, im here to help, okay?" He said. He knew he might not be equipped for all the things you needed help with but he was going to try. "Spence, i need- I need professional help." You sobbed into his arms. "Okay, we can do that. We can find you a therapist, maybe a psychiatrist. We'll get it all worked out, okay?" He cooed, stroking your hair. "I'm sorry," was all you could say. You felt so bad, you felt horrible for making him go through this. "Don't ever be sorry, okay? I got you. We can get through this. I'll be right by your side every step of the way." He said, kissing your forehead. He held you as you cried, refusing to let go even after you stopped crying. He would never let you go through this alone. You would always have him, whether you knew it or not.

[ghostboneswrites2]

Under the Stars || One Shot

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring all my work here slowly!

Anon request from my old blog: "can i ask a tinnyyy request like you know s7 e8 daryl runs off from negans with jesus to hilltop later ricks group comes. How about reader and daryl reuniting after them not seeing eachother since negan takes him hostage and like all the time they spent away from each other in pain they try to make up for it"

Summary: Your mental health severely declined when Daryl was taken, but now he's back, and it's time to begin to heal together.

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: depression, prescription medication, general unhappiness, but a happy ending (oh, and profanity, duh)

        You had barely taken care of yourself over these last weeks. Minimal food intake, drinking water only when your body painfully begged for hydration, unable to get out of bed to even bathe on most days as the painful sinking in your gut was just too much. You felt dizzy sometimes, either from malnourishment or grief. Two of your friends were murdered in cold blood, horrifically. You still remembered how it felt when Abraham's blood splattered over your face, warm in contrast to the chill of the air around you. You could remember the way your breath made foggy little clouds in the  bright lights, how you felt every ounce of air leave your lungs when Glenn was taken out next. 

        That man -- that monster -- he took more than just your friends. He took your sanity. You didn't sleep because when you closed your eyes it was all you could see. You hummed to yourself for hours because in the silence, you could still hear the whistle of the bat as it was brought down on your family members and the squelching of mangled skulls as he turned them into mere pulp. 

        With all that, the thing that stung even more was the memory of him being dragged away, your best friend, your love. The toughest and strongest man you knew, the one with a dirty abrasive exterior and a sparkling core of gold. They took him away, just like that. You knew he was alive. They brought him once, just to flaunt him in your face and remind you of what they had taken from you. To show you just how miserable they were making him.

        On this day, though, Rick and the others had dragged you out of bed. Michonne sat with you while you showered, and washed your hair for you while you sat curled up under the steamy stream of water. She helped you get dressed, and told you they were taking you with them to Hilltop to see Harlan, their doctor. He would be able to give you a mild antidepressant, and something to help you sleep again. They had other business at the colony, but they decided you'd benefit from tagging along.

        You were reluctant, of course. Why did you deserve peace and rest if nobody you loved could attain the same? But, they insisted, and who were you to  argue when they already had more pressing matters at hand. You all did. 

        "This is setraline, or more commonly known as Zoloft. It can be used for anxiety and depression, and it isn't known to have many side effects. I'm going to give you a 30 day supply. Just take one every morning with breakfast, and it should help you break out of this funk." Harlan explained, handing you a pill bottle. "It wont take away the grief, but it will help balance some of the symptoms of it until you can cope on your own."

        "This one," he continued, handing you a little baggie with ten pills. "Is a basic valium. Take it every night with a snack, you'll get your sleep schedule back on track by the time you run out of them."

        He offered you a thin lipped smile as you stuffed the medications in your bag.

        "Thanks, Doc." You sighed as you stood up. He held the door open and allowed you to exit the medical trailer before himself, shutting the door behind him.

        "Don't thank me just  yet. I want to see you again in 30 days. We can assess how it worked for you and then maybe you can thank me."

        The others were all gathered nearby the gates, talking with Maggie and some others. You made your way over. Michonne smiled kindly as she placed an arm over your shoulders.

        "Was he able to help?" Rick asked. You nodded.

        "We'll see in 30 days." You told them. The conversation resumed where it left off, and you kind of just absentmindedly stood by, allowing little bits of information to register here and there but not enough to follow.

        That was when the gates opened and Jesus walked in, followed by someone you didn't expect in the slightest. Your eyes were dry and wide, throat tight, heart racing out of your chest. Rick was the first to hug him, then Michonne, then Maggie, who he seemed  shocked to see. 

        His eyes landed on you and time stopped. The world simply stopped spinning. He stepped toward you slowly, each crash of his boot into the dirt sounding off like bombs. Tears pooled in your eyes when you could finally reach him hear him, smell him.

        "Daryl." You choked.

        He didn't say a word, but he didn't have to. The way he embraced you and lifted your feet from the ground, squeezing the air out of you was enough. When he set you back down he planted a kiss on your forehead, lingering there as he breathed you in.

----

        The stars had never looked so bright than they did when you were underneath them with Daryl that night. You stayed at Hilltop with him, and instead of enjoying a bed and warm sheets, you both laid on the ground outside Barrington House, breathing easily for the first time since he had been taken.

        "How'd you get out?" You wondered.

        "Nah. Don't gotta talk 'bout that right now." He said softly, sneaking an arm under you to pull you into him. You rested your head on his chest and he ran his fingers though your hair. 

        "Okay." You whispered. "I missed you."

        "Yeah." He agreed. "Me too. I missed ya."

        "I haven't been able to sleep without you."

        "Mm." He nodded, fingers still twirling in your strands.

        "Can you talk? About anything? I missed your voice."

        "Well," he sucked in a breath, searching for something worth telling you. "Every minute I spent away from you just felt longer and longer, ya know? 'N' now that I got ya back I don't wanna think about none of it. Don't wanna think 'bout the fightin' that's comin'.. Just wanna be here. With you."

        You sniffled and blinked back tears as you nuzzled closer to him, wishing he could just absorb you into his very being so that you'd never be apart.

        You peeked up at him through your eyelashes and he looked down at you, pressing a scratchy kiss on the top of your head.

        "I thought about you every minute of every day." You admitted.

        "I know." He said softly.

        "I just.." You sighed. "I'm just so happy to be here with you. It feels like a dream."

        "It ain't."

        "But it feels like one." You countered. "Just so unreal."

        "It's real." He affirmed.

        "I know." 

        "Good."

        "Do you wanna sleep inside tonight?" You asked.

        "Nah. Too closed up."

        "Okay." You smiled. You snaked an arm over his torso, holding him tightly. He returned the gesture, using dropping his hand from your hair down to your back and pushing you against him. You laid a leg over his.

        "Ya been eatin'?" He asked suddenly, running his fingers over your ribcage.

        "No." You admitted quietly.

        "Gon' eat breakfast tomorrow." He instructed.

        "I have to anyways. Harlan said I have to take my meds with food."

        "Meds? For what?"

        "Depression." You huffed, sitting up and reaching into your bag to show him the pills. "Zoloft and some kind of valium."

        "Pfft." He scoffed, taking the pills from you and setting them on top of his own bag as he pulled you back down. You settled back into your previous position. "Don't need no damn drugs. I'm gon' give these back to him tomorrow."

        "I guess they were just worried about me. I wasn't really that great, you know, with everything..." You trailed off.

        "Okay." He nodded. "I'm here now. Ya don't need 'em."

        "Okay." You said sleepily, eyes feeling heavy in the comfort of his embrace. You really didn't need valium, you just needed him to lay with you. He glanced down at you, feeling a bit of warmth in his chest as your eyes began to flutter.

        "Get some sleep, now." He whispered.