#cause it feels like i go through a few weeks of Extra Depression

[erodasfishtacos]

Melt Your Cold Heart

prompt: harry’s been alone for years. a bland, bleak life where he needs nothing but his dog then he stumbles upon someone who gives him a purpose…even if for a few hours. word count: 8k

warnings: heavy angst, emotionally unavailable harry, suicidal/depressive thoughts, mental health struggles, mentions of trauma, discussion of sex work

authors note:

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++++++++

Harry hadn’t wanted to pull over but it was impossible to continue on the highway without potentially causing an accident.

The snow was coming down hard enough that it was a white sheet, the high speed winds were making it to be a tornado of pure smokescreens that made it impossible for his windshield wipers to work.

The semi-truck had eighteen wheels but they were all at risk of hydroplaning or losing grip on the layers of black ice that covered the asphalt without a second thought.

With such a heavy piece of equipment, he didn’t have to only look out for himself but anybody else on the road because one wrong judgment call could turn the semi into a weapon of destruction.

It meant that he was going to be at least twelve hours behind on his delivery which was making him on-edge as it was because he hated having to deal with the dickhead client that he was delivering to.

The town he stopped in was small, nothing to note, and not unsimilar to the towns he had stayed in before in his twelve years on the road.

A small Midwest town that had a truck stop with a twenty-four hour gas station, a diner that was already closed for the night, and a pavilion of bathrooms for truck drivers to clean off.

It was just about midnight when he parked his rig, taking off his baseball cap and running his hand through his hair, it was getting long and he was due for trim next time he was home but fuck, he was tired.

He never really stopped working, constantly moving across state lines and delivery shipments as a self-employed hauler - he was his own boss and he pushed himself like no boss would (who wouldn’t want to be violating labor laws).

This wasn’t one of the nicer stops.

The buildings were outdated, looking like they hadn’t been renovated since the eighties, and that was being generous.

The parking lot lights were flickering like in a horror movie, not that it frightened Harry, he has dealt with his fair on the road, and has seen a lot of things that he would have preferred not to.

It’s why he always carried, just on his hip, in case.

He would wait until the next stop to shower, at one of the more luxurious, updated places where the showers were actually decent, there was privacy, and it didn’t feel like bathing in a back alley.

For now, he just needed the restroom and a drink.

The bathrooms were just as foul as he expected, washing his hands with extra hot water to give himself a sense of cleanliness before he’s trailing over to the gas station next door.

The wind was insane, blowing the snow directly into his face, and sticking to his eyelashes.

His eyes burned with the freezing temperatures, blinking harshly as he tucks his head down until a warm gust of air hits his face as he enters the building. The lights were blindingly fluorescent and he had to adjust for a minute after driving in the dark for hours by now.

There was an older man at the counter, sitting on a stool and watching a static-filled rerun on a small television next to the register, and his skin was a sickly yellow, most likely from working the graveyard shift for far too long.

The man nods in acknowledgement but doesn’t take his eyes off the screen.

Harry walks towards the back, towards the line of coolers to grab something to drink, a soda that he normally didn’t drink but he was craving carbonation, he hadn’t eaten yet today.

He was definetly a bit too skinny.

Truck drivers were normally the opposite, out of shape, and overweight from lack of movement.

They were sat in trucks all day, every day with nothing to do but snack.

Harry was the opposite, though he was too lean, he took pride in his appearance and maintained his muscle from strapping down, unloading, and all the physical work of the job that he did himself (unlike most drivers).

He did not eat well, he knew that but found it hard to care.

Harry was in a slump, he had been for the last few years.

With being on the road, missing all major holidays, and never sticking around one place enough to settle down - he was depressed, an understatement but no one was around to listen or care.

He was alone, truly, and at some point, that had become comfortable to him.

Harry went through the motions, driving, hauling, delivering, sleeping, and repeating it over and over again.

The only thing he had was a Fire Bird (Birdie) his cattle dog who was named after his favorite car growing up, one that had been in his grandfather’s shed, and was only taken out on the town on very special occasions.

Birdie kept him sane, gave him a reason to get his ass moving every morning, and to take breaks because though he was convinced that his dog was the laziest bag of bones. Every few hours, she required a field, her ball, and Harry throwing it for her for at least twenty minutes before she passed out on the passenger seat for a few hours.

It was his routine.

Their routine.

He had found when she was a puppy.

Some trucker at a stop in Milwaukee had left the pup in the field next to the lot after she’d chewed through one of his seats.

She was malnourished, overheated, and covered in fleas.

Harry had never had a dog on the road, never thought it practical but the first time he had seen this spotted puppy with the saddest brown eyes and its tail wagging timidity on the ground.

Well it was the first time Harry had felt anything in a long time.

That was eight years ago, Birdie was a bit slower now, a gray coating her muzzle, and an attitude of a spoiled queen.

A lot more days than Harry would like to admit, she’s what keeps him going because it’s definitely not work or the money.

Harry had a hefty sized bank account from all his hard work but it sat and sat, he never spent it on anything but bare necessities so it continued to stack and stack which wasn’t a bad thing but it was nothing that brought him excitement.

It wasn’t the dream life of a thirty-three year old.

Harry had grabbed a coke before snagging a bag of overpriced jerky off the nearest display - he can’t remember the last time he ate something that wasn’t heavily processed.

There was a girl in the store too.

Harry had just caught the slightest glimpse of her as she stood by a cooler on the other side of the store, browsing the energy drinks.

She was out of place.

Harry hadn’t seen a car parked in the lot, only two other semis, and she wasn’t a truck driver by the look of her outfit.

It wasn’t weather appropriate at all.

Not for winter in the Midwest.

The woman had on a fitted black dress, it wasn’t overly fancy but it hugged every inch of her body, and high heels of all things.

Harry wonders if she was with one of the other drivers.

He doesn’t pay much mind to her until she faces him, a purple can in her hand, and she’s noticeably pretty, more so than average.

Harry wasn’t trying to be an asshole but women who hung around these areas weren’t typically most attractive.

This woman was.

Albeit the makeup she had on was too much, thick eyelashes, her blush too heavy, and a rouge lip that contrasted the complexion of her skin in an off-putting way.

Her heels click as she steps over to the counter, putting the drink on the counter, along with a protein bar, and rifling through a small purse on her shoulder.

“Eight thirty-three,” The cashier announces after scanning it, his eyes crudely running up and down the woman’s body before focusing on her face again.

The woman is rustling through her purse, pulling out crinkled bills that had been shoved carelessly in the clutch.

Harry stands a safe distance behind her, in line, watching as she smooths out the one dollar bills hastily as the cashier looks completely unamused.

“I only have five,” The girl mumbles embarrassed after she comes up empty with no more money to be found, “Can you please take off the protein bar?”

Harry doesn’t feel much often.

Tonight, he does.

A little glimmer of compassion.

But very much like himself, the girl is too skinny, not eating enough, and from what he can infer - not being able to afford food to feed herself.

“I got it,” Harry interrupts, stepping up next to the woman, and putting his stuff down aside hers, taking his wallet out of his back pocket to pluck out his bank card.

It’s the first time they make eye contact, “Oh, you really don’t have to. I’ll be okay with just the drink-“

“I’m not asking,” Harry replies curtly, tapping his card to the screen when the total rings up before tucking his wallet away and grabbing his items.

“Here,” She insists, trying to hand him the crumpled bills that she had laid on the counter, five dollars that she needed much more than him.

“Keep it,” Harry waves her off, refusing the money before walking towards the door without another look her way.

He was drawn to her.

He wouldn’t offer most, really anyone a handout - he never got one.

Harry can feel the woman’s eyes on his back as he stalks out of the station, hugging his jacket tighter against his body as he walks back to his truck to sleep for the night.

“S’fucking cold, Birdie,” Harry had complained as he locked the doors, placing up all the blinds to keep wandering eyes out.

Birdie was currently dead to the world, unbothered by his words as she snores softly from her fluffy dog bed on the floor of the cab.

Harry had just tugged off his winter jacket when he hears a knock at the driver’s side door - for a moment, he’s convinced that it’s the wind but then a few seconds later, it comes again.

“Fucks sake,” Harry grunts with annoyance, he much prefers when people leave him the fuck alone, and he has a hunch it’s the gas station cashier or another driver.

However, when he opens the door, after unlocking it, and having to use a good amount of effort to push it against the force of the wind - it’s neither.

It’s the girl from the gas station.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around her middle.

Her lips were quivering as she tried to prevent her teeth was chattering, blinking harshly through the wind up at him.

“What?” Harry asks, it wasn’t overly friendly or friendly at all.

“Are you looking for company?” The woman replies but she’s the furthest thing from confident, eyes darting around but not meeting his, “I…My rates are reasonable.”

And oh, this is what she was doing here.

Harry couldn’t tell you the amount of times that he’s had a knock on the door and been propositioned for ‘company’.

Most drivers indulged in it, they were lonely and usually away from their spouses for long spurts of time that led them to pay for the replacement.

Harry had never.

Nor did he plan to now.

As he said, this woman was fucking gorgeous, would be even more so without the cakey makeup and slinky outfit.

But he wasn’t ever going to be that lonely.

He grew up with a mom in that line of work, he felt like it was disrespectful to put a monetary price on a woman’s worth, and he had never been into casual hookups.

So yes, he would absolutely love her company but not ever under these circumstances, where she’s offering out of need and not desire.

Harry can’t remember the last time he’s had sex but the depression had killed his sex drive for the most part anyways.

He didn’t seek it out.

“No,” Harry responds flatly, not indecisiveness in his voice at all, “Not interested.”

Typically when Harry turned a proposition down, the woman wouldn’t be too thrilled whether she delivered him a ‘fuck you’ or spit on the door of his truck - that was normal response.

However, not for this girl, her face drops in a twist of embarassment and shame, and it’s also the first time someone apologizes for offering.

“I’m sorry to…to bother you. Um, have a good night. Safe travels,” She stutters out, it was obvious that she was flustered and mortified which again, made him feel just a twinge of empathy.

Harry’s about to assure her that it wasn’t a big deal but she was already turning in her heel, walking briskly back to the pavilion and disappearing inside.

He shuts his door, slumping down in his driver’s seat for a second as he rubs his hand across his face with a groan, he was too tired for this shit.

However, the thought of that girl offering her services to the other drivers or having to sleep in that dirty, run-down building wasn’t acceptable to him.

“The fuck is wrong with me,” Harry mutters to himself as he tugs his jacket back on, he never cared about any before.

Why now?

Harry’s body detests being lured back into the frigid weather, missing the warmth of his cabin instantly as he shuts the door behind him.

By the time he’s walking toward the building, the girl had disappeared inside, and wasn’t visible to him anymore.

What was he even doing?

He should turn around and go back to his truck.

But he finds himself tugging open the door, it was warmer than the outside but not by much, the heater must be in its last leg, and it was sticky - almost humid.

Harry’s nose twitched in disgust at the smell of cheap disinfectant, a half-ass cleaning job, and garbage that hadn’t been taken out soon enough.

He doesn’t see her right away, figuring he may have to go towards the women’s restroom - he follows the sign towards the back of the building.

Harry finds her, tucked into the corner of an alcove, resting against the side of a row of vending machines - smushed and hiding.

She had taken off her bag, bundling it up, and pushing it between her head and the machine to create a makeshift pillow.

Harry wishes it didn’t make his chest ache, he was so used to not feeling, and it was pissing him off that he wasn’t feeling numb to it.

Her eyes were closed but her body was tense like he knew shouldn’t couldn’t full let herself relax because she wasn’t safe.

Harry clears his throat, standing in front of her with his hands in his jacket pockets.

She startles as she hadn’t heard him approaching, bumping her head off the hard plastic of the machine covering and wincing as she tenses.

“Let’s go,” Harry waves his hand impatiently.

Yeah, his communication skills were not the best.

The woman blinks up at him in confusion, reasonably nervous as she shuffles off the floor, stumbling as she pushes herself up on a knee, uncoordinated and clumsy as she tries to get re-oriented.

Harry sighs impatiently, sticking out his hand for to take, and when she very gingerly puts her freezing cold one in his, he yanks her up to her feet with little effort - she couldn’t weigh much.

”Did you…uh,” The girl’s voice is shaky as she grabs her purse, a backpack, “Did you want to know my rates?”

Harry stops, turning back towards her, and starting to unzip his heavy, down winter coat as he shakes his, “Don’t need ‘em. I’m not interested in your services.”

The girl pauses too, swinging her backpack over her shoulder, “Why did you come get me then?”

Harry doesn’t make eye contact as he shoves his jacket unceremoniously towards her, “Put this on.”

She accepts it but doesn’t move to, “Why?”

Harry grunts out an annoyed huff, shoving his hands in jean pockets, “S’not safe for you to be sleeping in a place like this. It’s freezing in here, you’re not dressed for the weather. You can stay the night in my cab before I head out.”

YN swallows anxiously, weighing out her options before there’s a banging noise.

Someone barging through the front doors of the pavilion, a large middle-aged man that had dirty overalls on, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and a scraggly graying beard.

When this trucker sees the woman, he smiles like a cat who just got the cream, and doesn’t hesitate to ask in a raspy, smoker’s draw, “How much for the night, sweetheart?”

Her eyes widen in unwelcome surprise, lips twisting as she struggles to find a response.

”Um…”

”I already got ‘er,” Harry gives the man a hard, faux-possessive look (maybe it wasn’t as fake as he thought it was because he really did feel a protectiveness over her for some reason), “Tough shit.”

”Let me know if you finish with her early,” The man laughs, his gaze was predatory and foul, it made even Harry feel unsettled to just see the way he was looking at her - like an object.

“Fuck off,” Harry dismisses the man easily, though Harry was skinner than he’d prefer, his muscles were still prevelant and enough to intimidate, especially the out-of-shape man.

The girl tugs the jacket on hastily, the other trucker clearly motivating her not to stay in here.

”That’s why you shouldn’t try to sleep in here, you think he would think twice before dragging you to his truck?” Harry scolds as he steps forward, without thinking, he zips the jacket for her because the zipper can be finicky at the best times - it was old and needed replaced three winters ago at least.

”I know you could lie,” She says softly, the most she’s really said thus far, “But you’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

It was dumb question, on her end.

Why would anyone tell her the truth if their real intention was to cause her harm?

Harry really should be questioning what he’s doing.

Never once in the past has he ever taken it upon himself or felt the need to do what he was doing for this girl.

He should mind his own business and realize that she isn’t his responsibility.

“No, I’m not going to. You can get warm, get some sleep, and tomorrow at five in the morning I’m kicking you to the curb,” Harry informs her, trying to maintain the coldness that he normally keeps in his tone but he feels guilty even talking to her like that.

“Okay. I…Thank you. I’m YN, by the way,” She tells him, still shy as ever and really a contradiction to how a sex worker is - outgoing and assertive.

“Harry,” He replies as he walks them towards the exit, not looking forward to having the freezing temperatures hit the bare skin of his arms nor have the wind throwing icy clumps on snow in his face but he would take it if it meant YN stayed a bit warmer.

YN’s face pinches up when the door opens, the cold hitting her aggressively enough that her hair goes flying behind her in the wind, every which way as it tangles into a bird ‘s nest.

Harry is lucky he turns around to check on her because right as he does, she slips on a patch of ice which has her nearly falling backwards.

He grips her forearms tightly, a gnarled frown on his face as he gripes, “Who the fuck wears heels in below zero temps?”

He expects a snarky response back.

And he feels even more like a piece of shit when she tucks her chin down, mumbling an embarrassed apology as he guides her, keeping a hold of her arm.

Harry unlocks his truck, swinging open the door, and steps back, “Go ahead.”

YN hesitates for a moment, glancing back at the pavilion and seeing the truck driver from early emerge, winking at her.

She hurries inside as quickly as she can in her outfit, trying to tuck her dress to her thighs to avoid it flipping up and giving Harry a view.

Harry shuts the door behind them, locking it tightly, and double checking both side of the doors before he’s unfastening the blinds - blocking the outside world.

Last step is to put up the privacy screen along his windshield as YN keeps tucked carefully by the corner of the driver’s side.

“C’mon, I have a dog. She doesn’t like anyone but me so just leave her alone and she won’t bother you,” Harry informs her as he pushes back the curtain to his cabin, it was always spotless, and clean which was probably surprising to her.

It was a luxury sleeper, it wasn’t anything extravagant but Harry had put his savings to good use about three years ago.

A small kitchen, a dining room table that folded his bed out, and a television mounted on the wall that was usually on for background noise more than anything.

“This is really nice,” YN stands timidly in the breezeway of the front of the truck, unsure, and looking out of place.

Harry just grunts in agreement, questioning what exactly his plan was, and he grabs fresh sheets out of a small cabinet.

“You can have the bed,” Harry tells her as he strips off his sheets, they weren’t dirty but he had slept on them a few nights, “I’ll take the lounger.”

It wasn’t the most comfortable chair but he’d survive.

“No, no. I can take the chair,” YN insists sincerely with a shake of her head, her teeth still clenched as her body shook from the cold.

Harry ignores her, tugging the new fitted sheet onto the mattress, changing the pillowcases, and the comforter - he’s lucky he had a spare.

He doesn’t say anything else before gathering the comforter he’d just taken from the bed and tossing it on the lounge chair.

“Go to sleep,” Harry signals impatiently because she’s just standing there, shaking with how cold she is and he moves over to bump up the heat.

YN listens, walking slowly towards the bed, her eyes catching on Birdie’s sleeping form (who hadn’t even stirred) - what a shit guard dog.

YN sits on the edge of the bed, her hands were trembling from the cold and nerves, fingers stiff, and when she leans down to unstrap her heels - she can’t get a grip.

Harry watches for a moment before stalking over, kneeling down and wrapping his fingers around her ankle to hold of still.

YN watches him quietly as he slips the shoes from her feet, annoyance prevalent in his words as he asks pointedly, “Why the fuck would you wear these today? Do you have no self-preservation? You’re lucky you didn’t get frostbite.”

She shuts down again, like earlier when he had questioned her clothing choices, and doesn’t respond for a long second, voice soft when she does, “They’re the only pair I have.”

And…well Harry didn’t think of that.

Harry doesn’t have anything to reply with so he makes quick work of taking them off her freezing feet and she needs socks - they felt like ice under his own cold fingers.

He stands up, turning to a built in storage unit to his left as YN nervously moves to lay down, completely unsure as she lift the comforter.

“Not yet,” Harry gruffs as he digs out what he was looking for - a waffle-knit henley, a soft pair of flannel pajamas pants he never wore because he much preferred his underwear, and a pair of thick wool thermal socks, “Here. It stays relatively warm in here but it’s freezing outside. Put these on.”

“Thank you,” YN replies quietly as she stands up, without hesitation she reaches for the hem of her dress and begins to pull it up.

“Jesus,” Harry mutters as he quickly turns, giving her the privacy she deserved, rubbing a hand over the bridge of his nose.

“I’m dressed,” YN tells him after a minute of rustling as she changes into the clothes provided, “I didn’t mean to, um, make you uncomfortable. Most men want something in return, I figured you wanted to see me…change.”

Harry feels disgust seeping through him.

Not at her.

But at the deplorable men she had to be in the company of when at these types of stops.

“I told you, I don’t want shit from you. M’just trying to be a decent human being and I’d rather not see your picture on the morning news tomorrow. This is a horrible part of town,” Harry was too blunt, was constantly scolded for it during his upbringing but he never got better at it.

YN was still nervous, trembling at that as she sat down on the edge of the bed - all of the clothes were hanging off of her, the shirt slipping down her too-thin shoulder.

“I really appreciate it. I haven’t been able to sleep somewhere even half this nice without…you know, working,” YN sniffles as tears start to gather in her eyes, “I’m so tired.”

Harry feels that same tug on his heartstrings, a sensation that reminded him that he even had a beating heart.

“You’re safe. I know you just have my word but I won’t let anything happen,” Harry promises, feeding his own need to keep her safe and also make her feel that way too.

YN nods as she wipes her eyes, the makeup smearing around the edges thay has him sighing and getting up to head to the small bathroom.

He runs a clean washcloth under warm(ish) water before wringing it out.

Harry steps out to walk closer to her again, her chest was heaving as she let out emotion that Harry didn’t understand.

He doesn’t say anything - he wouldn’t even know what that would be because he hadn’t had real communication with anyone other than the other truckers on the radio for years now.

Harry is slow in his motions so that she’s not taken surprise at any point, with barey any pressure, he cups her face with one hand.

He brings the cloth up to wipe gently at the layered, tacky makeup that comes off in a thick muck, wipe after wipe.

When her face is clear of the overdone eyeshadow, harsh blush, spidery mascara clumped lashes - its startlingly how beautiful she is.

Her skin is perfect or nearly close to.

Smooth, clear, glowy in the dim light of the sleeper.

Her lips a puffy, delicate rosé pink - full and pouted.

The clean face takes at least a few years from her, that makeup had accentuated every wrinkle and crevice - aging her more than she was.

Fuck, she was pretty.

Harry tosses the cloth in his hamper, walking towards the lounge chair and kicking off his heavy, steel-toed boots.

He wasn’t obviously going to sleep in his briefs tonight and he had just handed her his only pair of pajama pants.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept in his jeans nor the last, some nights he was too tired to strip them off before collapsing in bed.

“Goodnight, thank you,” YN murmurs after a mute snuffle, he watches out of the corner of her eye as she wriggles down into his bed - looking like she fucking belongs there.

“Sleep well,” Harry rumbles as he shuts off the lamp, throwing the cabin into darkness - the only light filtering through the curtains of the neon gas station sign - bright enough to grab the attention of people on the highway.

Harry reclines the chair, he didn’t normally sleep on his back but he would manage for tonight - for her.

The wind was gnarly, scraping against the sides of his truck - the occasional loose tree branch hitting, the sleet pattering against the windows.

+

Harry didn’t sleep in, his body didn’t allow him.

He ran on five hours of sleep at max before he needed to get up, move around, and get on the road.

When he blinks his eyes open, blearing at clock on his wall - three fifty-four am.

Normally, Harry wouldn’t waste much time.

He’d be on the road within the next thirty minutes after letting Birdie out, getting her breakfast, and popping into the gas station to get the biggest size coffee they had.

However, when he glances at Birdie’s bed, he has to do a double take because she’s not in there, and his heart starts pounding instantly.

Harry didn’t care about much on this earth, really barely anything but he cared about his dog - the snappy, crotchety thing.

She was always in her bed.

Harry sits up quickly, a horrible thought that the girl he let sleep her had stolen her but as soon as he is standing - he hears a telltale snore from the dog.

He follows the noise and to his utter dismay, literal dismay, because Birdie didn’t like anyone but Harry (and she didn’t like him sometimes either).

The mutt is currently being spooned by YN.

It was the most absurd thing he had ever seen.

YN was on her side, facing towards him with her face half-smushed in his pillow, her arm was slung over Birdie as the pup was nuzzled into the shape of her body.

Birdie was relaxed as can be, snoring up a storm, and pillowing her head in the crook of YN’s shoulder like they’d known each other forever.

The dog hadn’t even woke up when YN had entered.

Traitor.

Harry tucks back into his boots, tugging on his winter jacket that YN had discarded on the back of the kitchenette chair.

As he fills the disposable coffee cup, black - no cream or sugar, he tries to map out his course to Washington state.

He had done the trip many times before but having to account for horrible road condition would tack on at least a day of travel - if not more.

Harry had to get on the road as soon as possible if he didn’t want to be later than that extra day.

The weather hadn’t changed, granted, it was only nearing four in the morning but he swears that the temperature dropped even further.

As he steps back up into the cabin, his eyes trail to YN and Birdie, all cuddled up like this was their home together.

Harry needed to wake her up, kick her to the curb like he had told her (and himself) but he couldn’t imagine waking her.

Not when only a few hours prior, she had cried as she told him how tired she was, and fuck - where did his heartlessness go?

He didn’t mess with sex workers, not that he judged the profession but Harry was never a casual sex kind of guy.

And anyways, the depression that was nearly constant killed his sex drive to the point where he rarely got the urge to take care of himself - let alone pay someone to do it for him.

Harry sighs as he contemplates his choices, he was going to be behind, and he couldn’t find it in him to shake her awake.

He decides to shower, even though the rest stop was foul because he had the time and he sure he has showered in worse places.

The water doesn’t get as hot as Harry would like but the pressure get good on his aching back, he’d always had a bad one, and sleeping in the lounger would make him sore for days.

Harry takes him time, washes his hair extra well, shaves off his stubble, and he’s not doing it to be more presentable to YN - he’s not.

By the time that he’s dressed in clean clothes, it has to be close to five in the morning, he refills his coffee on the way back before he’s unlocking his truck again.

Harry’s met by Birdie, who was acting strange, she rarely waited at the door and didn’t often whine like an injured pup.

However, Birdie was clearly upset as she anxiously paced in the small area, these high pitched yowls coming from the back of her throat - head upwards as she howled.

“What is it?” Harry asks her, automatically concerned as his eyes dart to the bed.

She was gone.

The bed had been made as neat as a pin, the clothes she had borrowed were folded on top of the comforter, and it’s like she’d never been there.

Harry should feel relief because he wouldn’t have to wake her up, kick her out but it doesn’t feel anywhere close to relief,

Not when he had this vicious, innate urge to protect her.

He didn’t know what made her so special.

Harry had stumbled upon countless women down on their luck before, it was part of working around the country, stopping as places were those people tended to populate, and he had never felt any desire to help them.

He knows she must have either went to the gas station or rest stop, she didn’t have a jacket so she couldn’t have gotten far.

A sickening thought of her getting into the scumbag from last night’s truck makes him close the door and head back toward the building.

He was just in the gas station to get another coffee, he would have seen her, and when he goes back into the dank rest stop - he walks towards the women’s bathroom.

Outside the door, he can hear the patter of water streaming from one of the ancient showerheads, and knows that has to be her showering.

And so he waits.

He hears the telltale signs of heels clicking and he has to laugh when she exits the bathroom.

Her hair was sopping wet because she didn’t have a towel, her black dress was waterlogged where the ends of her hair were kissing the fabric - all while wearing those god damn shoes.

YN’s eyes go wide, scared instantly as she stutters, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Harry’s replies, brow knit in confusion.

YN’s face contorts, eyes darting away for a moment, “Um, I don’t know? You look upset with me. I-I left as soon as I woke up like you said.”

Was Harry upset?

Yeah, he guesses he actually was.

But not with her, not really.

He was upset that she was in a ridiculously small dress with wet hair (and clothes) in sub zero temperatures.

“What is your plan?” Harry answers instead, watching as goosebumps erupt all over her skin - it was a sticky humid in the cinderblock building but the cold couldn’t be ignored.

“My plan?” YN repeats, he hates how nervous she is around him - he understands but it’s so unnecessary, he wants to keep her safe.

He should leave.

Let her do her thing.

It’s not his business.

“Where are you going? What’s next?”

YN picks at the skin of her thumb with her index finger, chin tilted down, “I am hoping to get enough cash today to get a jacket, maybe a hotel room? That, um, that guy yesterday is still out in his truck and offered me a hundred and fifty so that’s why I was..showering.”

Harry wanted to be sick, his stomach was actually churning the coffee he had chugged down because she deserved better than that.

“No,” Harry says without thinking.

YN’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “I don’t know-“

“Three grand,” Harry interupts her, “I’m going to Washington. I’ll give you cash today to do the trip with me. Five or six days overall. I’ll buy your food, get you clothes, anything you need. On the way back, I’ll drop you off here again.”

YN is rightfully confused, biting at her bottom lip, “And what do you expect of me?”

“No sex,” Harry assures her, “I won’t try anything.”

“But why? This doesn’t make any sense. It’s just wasting money,” YN points out, she was starting to tremble from the cold.

Harry tugs off his jacket once again, this time he holds it out, and YN slips her arms in without complaint - she was freezing.

“You seem easy-going. I’ve been on the road for five years, guess I’m lonely and some company would be nice,” Harry shrugs, a rueful smile as he adds, “Also I’ll be damned if you’re getting in that scumbag’s truck. You deserve better than that.”

YN does something that shocks Harry.

She steps forward and wraps her arms tightly around his middle, her face burying in her chest as she hugs him.

The tips of her hair are dampening his own shirt but he cannot find it in him to complain.

This hug makes him realize just how long he’s been without human touch.

Harry is stiff, still processing, and YN must realize that because she starts to pull back with wide eyes, “I’m sorr-“

He shakes his head, finally moving his arms to wrap around her back, and he pulls her back into the hug - just for a moment.

“I got you, alright?” Harry rumbles as he pulls away, taking a step back, “Do you have a cell phone? Is there anyone you need to let know that you’re leaving for a few days?”

“No to both. I don’t have a cell phone, it broke a while back, and I couldn’t afford a replacement. And no, I don’t have anyone who will be concerned,” YN replies quietly, her voice was soft and sweet and filled with hurt.

“Okay,” Harry responds because he doesn’t know how to put into words that he doesn’t understand why she’s in a place like this, with no one.

She didn’t seem to have a bad bone in her body.

Harry guides YN back to his truck, as he opens the door he tells her, “I’m going to run Birdie for a few minutes. The clothes are still folded on the bed. I’ll get you new ones on the way. There aren’t stores for the next long stretch of miles.”

YN nods in agreement and as soon as Harry opens the door, Birdie is down the four steps and bounding towards YN.

Birdie jumped up on her hind legs, tail going wild as she accepts ear scratches and coos from YN, leaning down to kiss her snout.

And that’s another thing Harry doesn’t get, Birdie doesn’t do that with other people, normally she growls and bristles, bares her teeth and barks to get them away.

Birdie gets her love before bounding into the snow-topped fields, swallowing her up until Harry can only see flashes of black and white as she darts around.

It’s too cold to give her the normal amount of time and plus, he didn’t have his jacket so Birdie only got ten minutes before he whistled for her to come back.

Birdie’s whiskers are ice-tipped, snow dusting her beard, and she races back into the cabin with no issue in escaping the cold.

YN was already changed again, sitting on the bed.

Harry would be okay if he never saw her in a tight black dress or high heels again.

“I’m going to go refill my coffee, do a quick check of my truck, and then we’ll get out of here, okay?” Harry asks as he wipes Birdie off with a towel to get her dry - her fur was coarse and pretty water-resistant as it was, “Do you want food, a drink?”

YN shakes her head, declining as if it’s the polite thing to do, “No, thank you.”

Harry nods before disappearing back out of the truck.

The gas station is as desolate as it’s been the other two times that he’s gotten his coffee but now he had an armful of things.

Juices, water, hydration drinks, granola bars, a breakfast sandwich, a few cellophane-wrapped pastries.

The same clerk is still behind the register, his skin almost translucent from how pale he was, purplish veins contrasted the yellowish tone of his skin.

The man is old, his name tag reads ‘Gary’, and he scans the items with a bored expression, eyes blearing up to Harry at one point.

He had a rough, mid-western accent that made him harder to understand as he spoke, “Never a good idea to fall in love with a hooker.”

Harry is taken aback, startled by the comment as he replies, “What did you just say?”

Gary nods towards his truck out front, he clearly had seen YN going back and forth from the rest stop to his rig.

Then he nods down at the snacks, “M’just saying, son. Don’t put your eggs in her basket. They’re all smoke and mirrors. They’ll say and do just about anything for cash. Remember that.”

Harry is silent as he taps his card to the screen, he wasn’t in love with this girl, he had just met her mere hours ago under weird circumstances.

He didn’t feel anything towards her.

At least that’s what he was going to continue to tell himself so that he can remain headstrong on the promise he made to himself that he doesn’t need anyone.

He’s fine by himself.

Just him and Birdie.

Harry doesn’t give him a reaction nor a response, grabbing the plastic bag, and trudging back out into the cold.

Ready to get the fuck out of here.

YN is still where he left her but Birdie had finished her breakfast and was currently nuzzled up next to her thigh like she was her mother.

Harry unceremoniously drops the bag of items next to her, opposite of his traitorous dog, and doesn’t say anything - awkward and unsure.

YN opens the bag, glancing inside before looking up at him.

“It’s for you,” Harry waves his hand dismissively before moving to rub the back of his neck, why the fuck was he acting like this?

Like he was trying to court her with cheap gas station food and his clothes.

“Do you do this often? For girls like me?” YN wonders out loud, it’s not necessarily judgemental but curiously confused.

“I’ve never had a girl in here before, so no,” Harry shrugs, unable to hold eye contact because she’s pretty and he’s embarrassed.

“Do you…” YN hesitates, glancing down at her hands, “Nevermind.”

“You can ask me anything,” Harry doesn’t have much of anything to hide, “S’fine.”

“You don’t have a wife and kids at home, do you?” YN is timid, like she’s worried about how he’ll react to such a question.

Harry snorts, nonplussed, “No. I don’t have any family and I call this rig my home. No wife or kids.”

“Guess we’re both alone,” YN picks at a loose thread on the pajama pants, it was a fact for both of them, and the air was solemn between them.

“Well, for the next few days we have each other, right?” Harry huffs as he turns to the cabinet, out of sight, he punches in the code to his safe, and takes out the cash he promised, “Here’s the money.”

YN’s eyes go wide, taking it after a moment, running her thumb nail under the bills as they flutter before she’s tucking it into her backpack.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve your kindness but I am so grateful,” YN said earnestly, her eyes were doe-like and molten like heated caramel.

And Harry realizes for the first time since he’d met her that he hadn’t thought about his depression, about how he didn’t want to be here most days, and how most days had been all of his days lately.

She had given him a reason to keep on going for at least the next few days because he had her to take care of, protect.

Birdie was the only thing that had kept him here for the last three years, when it’s started to get really bad because he’d never abandon her.

Even if it meant enduring his own suffering for her - he would do anything for that dog, his lifeline, his lifesaver when he’s drowning.

He’s getting that same feeling with YN and he knows that’s dangerous because she could want to jump ship tomorrow and he’d be alone again.

Despite Gary’s forewarning, Harry might be putting his eggs in the basket of a girl he met less than twenty-four hours ago.

[meow-minola]

.

[wishful-thinking64]

HH Rewrite Related Post #01

Not too long ago I reblogged a post that involved some of the background characters in Hazbin Hotel because there's a few that I'd like to make into actual characters as they have potential to be something cool. Well, I finished the key information for what I came up with for the Siren Overlord and I'd like to share it! ________ [APPEARANCE]

[CURRENT NAME] 🞂 SCYLLA. 🞂 She hadn't chosen a new name for herself until after she had been in Hell for about 4 years as that's when she became an Overlord.

[FORMER NAME] 🞂 TANASHIRI DATUMOLOK. 🞂 Her first name means Sacred Lotus while her surname essentially means Natural Born Leader.

[D.O.B + D.O.D] 🞂 BORN JUNE 27TH, 1720. 🞂 DIED AUGUST 27TH, 1756. [AGE] 🞂 BIOLOGICALLY 36. 🞂 CHRONOLOGICALLY 304.

[GENDER & SEX] 🞂 FEMALE.

[ETHNICITY & NATIONALITY] 🞂 A FILIPINA WHO LIVED IN THE PHILIPPINES. 🞂 She never left the motherland until her passing forced her to.

[SOCIAL STATUS] 🞂 OVERLORD. 🞂 I'm still having her be a current Overlord in my rewrite cause I'm a sucker for her design. [OVERLORD SYMBOL/SIGNAL] 🞂 A LOTUS FLOWER. 🞂 This is both a reference to her original name along with being another reference to the Odyssey.

[CRIMES COMMITTED IN LIFE FROM LEAST OFFENSIVE TO MOST OFFENSIVE] 🞂 THEFT. 🞂 B&E (Breaking and Entering.) 🞂 TRAFFICKING OF ILLEGAL & STOLEN GOODS (Specifically treasures belonging to rich or wealthy conquistadors.) 🞂ESPIONAGE. 🞂 AGGRAVATED ASSAULT. 🞂 KIDNAPPING. 🞂 TORTURE. 🞂 MURDER. [SINS COMMITTED IN LIFE FROM LEAST TO GREATEST] 🞂 PRIDE 🞂 GREED 🞂 WRATH 🞂 ENVY [OVERLORD PROFESSION/THEME] 🞂 PRIDE'S #01 KILLING BUSINESS. 🞂 Ranging from run of the mill hitmen to top tier assassins, Scylla's got a wide selection of killers ready to get their hands dirty instead of yours! As long as the price is right (and you actually have the money), simply provide the target's name, time, and location so your killer knows when and where to be. And if you have something sick and twisted in mind, you can customize how your killer handles the process whether it be a specific murder plan to follow through or a more devious torture method before your target breathes their final breath! However, keep in mind that customization does cost extra.

[HOW SHE SECURED HER CONTRACTS] 🞂 PRIMARILY DUE TO DESPERATION. 🞂 Unlike many Overlords who fool demons into signing away their souls with false promises or clever wordplay, the demons that go to Scylla tend do so out of necessity. The majority of her vast catalog of killers were once demons who were either jobless or homeless. With nowhere else to go, they turned to her as a last resort to, financially, get their lives back on track. Her soul contracts offer good perks to the contractor as they get free healthcare should they get injured on the job, if they're homeless when signing their contract they're able to live in company's apartment complex until they get back on their feet, contractors only work four days out of the week, receive a bi-weekly income, etc.

[TERRITORY NAME] 🞂 ANG LUNGSOD NG SALUNGOS. 🞂 English Translation = The City of Urchins.

[CORE PERSONALITY TRAITS] 🞂 ADEPT. 🞂 ALERT. 🞂 AMBITIOUS (I feel like this is just a mandatory trait in order for a demon to become an Overlord.) 🞂 ANTIPATHETIC. 🞂 DARING. 🞂 DILIGENT. 🞂 PERSPICACIOUS. 🞂 RECLUSIVE. 🞂 RESOURCEFUL. 🞂 SELFISH. 🞂 SLY. 🞂 TENACIOUS. 🞂 THANKFUL. [RELATIONS TO OTHER OVERLORDS] 🞂 BARELY ANY. 🞂 She has little to no relations to any of the current Overlords on account of only appearing for mandatory/urgent meetings; the last of which happened back in The Great Depression. The Overlord she knows of and has spoken to the most is Zestial as the old(er) bastard has somehow managed to stick around. She's spoken to Rosie twice and has spoken to Alastor all of one time. What she knows about the current Overlords is through social media and whatever intel Zestial has to offer her but other than that she doesn't know them anywhere near on a personal level and vice versa which is exactly how she wants things to be.

________ I had a lot of fun creating Scylla's character (minus her design of course that credit goes to and belongs to Spindlehorse) sheet and I can't wait to share more stuff like this in the future! Thank you for reading and bye for now everyone!

[manari-archives]

how many things | LS18

I wonder how many things you think about before you get to me I wonder how many things you wanna do you think I'm in-between I feel myself falling further down your priorities And I still make excuses for you constantly

pairing: Lance Stroll x Reader

warnings: angst and alot more angst

word count: 1.4k

note: again this isn't based on the entire song, just a couple of lines mentioned. this took longer than expected to write and ive realised im not the best at writing depressing stuff which is ironic cause the entire eics album is mainly just sad songs. also english isn't my first language so any corrections feel free to let me know and any feedback is welcome :)

masterlist

Lance slept on the other side of the bed while you sat up reading your favourite book, a frown present on your face as you watched him. Over the last few weeks, he had abruptly become distant. Initially, you attributed it to a tough race but this strange and unusual behaviour persisted far too long. When you questioned his engineers and friends, they claimed everything was normal at work. However, you knew something had changed when he stopped doing the little things that made you fall in love with him in the first place, yet you waited for things to return to normalcy and for him to stop treating you like you were not even a second thought

The next morning, you woke up beside him and watched him sleep, realizing that the intimacy you once had faded. You no longer sat on the roof talking until the sun came up, he no longer held you close at night. You wondered the possible reasons for his sudden detachment, perhaps he felt you were too needy. You also considered the possibility that something had happened at work that he didn’t want to burden you.

Lance used to let you know when he was returning home after the race but he stopped doing that as well. You used to eagerly wait for him at the door, but those days had passed

In a vain attempt to salvage the relationship, you had put in extra effort to spend time with him, but he brushed it off, claiming he ate at work and showing no gratitude for your gestures. His cold demeanour and passive-aggressive remarks during everyday tasks made it difficult for you to express your feeling. The lack of appreciation and affection left you feeling neglected and unseen.

As time passed, you tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, making excuses for him constantly instead of confronting him directly. The emotional distance between you had grown, leaving you feeling unloved. You couldn't even remember the last time he said he loved you.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you confronted Lance about his distant behaviour. You expressed your frustrations, pointing out how patient and understanding you had been for months, yet he remained closed off and dismissive. 

You couldn't hold back your emotions any longer. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you faced Lance, feeling a mix of frustration, sadness, and love. His eyes welled up too, but he seemed to be struggling to find the right words.

"I can't do this anymore, Lance," you said, your voice shaking with emotion. "I've tried my best to be patient, to understand what you're going through, but you keep shutting me out. I feel like I'm living with a stranger, not the man I fell in love with.

Lance looked pained, his brow furrowed as he tried to respond, but you couldn't bear to make more excuses for him, it's become a habit at this point. You continued, your words gaining strength.

"When was the last time you told me you loved me?" you asked, your voice wavering. "It's been months, Lance. I deserve better than this."

As tears streamed down your cheeks, you couldn't help but wonder, "Am I not even a second thought in your mind?" The realization hit hard, and you felt yourself falling further down his priorities with each passing moment. 

You questioned, Your voice trembling with emotion, "How many things do you think about before you even get to me? It feels like I'm lost in the background of your thoughts." The weight of your words hung heavily in the air, reflecting the growing distance between you and Lance.

"I can't help but wonder how many things you want to do, and I feel like I'm just in between, an afterthought," you added, voicing the uncertainty and doubt that had been plaguing your mind. The sense of being unimportant and overshadowed in his life continued to haunt you.

Amidst the turmoil of emotions, you realised that his corner in your mind is well established, but you're starting to fear that you don't have a prominent place in his anymore. The contrast between your feelings of devotion and his apparent detachment became increasingly evident, leaving you with a sense of insecurity and sadness.

Despite your heartfelt plea, Lance remained resolute in his emotional distance. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, but he couldn't find the words to express what he was going through. You could sense that he was grappling with his demons, but his inability to share them left you feeling helpless and rejected.

"I can't do this anymore," you said, your voice trembling as you stepped back from him. "I love you, but I can't keep waiting for you to let me in. I need more than this."

Lance looked at you, his face a mix of pain and regret. "I'm sorry," he whispered, but it felt like an empty apology.

"I deserve more than this," you repeated, trying to steady your voice, but it cracked with emotion. "I deserve someone who will communicate with me, who will love me, who will let me be a part of their life. I can't be with someone who keeps shutting me out."

He reached out as if to touch you, but you flinched away, the hurt too fresh and raw. "Please," he pleaded, "give me more time. I'll figure this out."

But the well of patience had run dry, and you shook your head sadly. "I've given you enough time," you said, your heart breaking with every word. "I can't keep sacrificing my happiness for someone who won't let me in."

With that, you turned away, unable to bear the pain in his eyes. The weight of your decision settled heavily on your shoulders as you grabbed your belongings and left the apartment, the echoes of his apologies lingering in the air.

As you walked away, tears streamed down your cheeks, and you couldn't help but glance back one last time. But you knew deep down that you had made the right choice, as difficult as it was. You deserved to be with someone who would cherish and communicate with you, and staying with Lance would only prolong the heartache.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and the ache of loss remained, but Lance's silence remained. He never reached out, and you found yourself trying to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart. It hurt to think that the love you once shared had slipped through your fingers, lost in the abyss of his silence.

You tried to move on, to fill the void he left in your life, but the pain of losing him lingered. Every little thing reminding you of him, there was hiding from the thought of him and you got ways to find him in every corner. You cherished the memories of your time together, but they became bittersweet reminders of what once was.

And in the quiet moments, you couldn't help but wonder what went wrong, how the love that once burned so brightly had fizzled out into nothingness. You would find yourself looking back, wondering if Lance had ever found the strength to open up, to let someone in. But that chapter of your life had closed, leaving you with the poignant lesson that sometimes, love isn't enough to heal someone else's wounds. 

In the end, all that remained were the fragments of a shattered heart and the bittersweet memories of a love that had been lost. And as you gazed into the night sky, you wondered if time could ever truly heal the wounds it had caused, or if some scars were destined to linger forever.

[sweetheart4you]

helllooo~~ i absolutly love your writing!! so if you don't mind i wanted to request something? Reader and Chrollo/Illumi had like this really heated argument over how the character can't spend time with the reader and that causes the reader to feel insecure, worthless? and just how the characters would feel when the reader storms out of the house over this? thank you!! and no need to hurry

Nice Idea! It's gonna be angst, and I'm going to make it omega verse for extra angst

(　・ω・)

There are some slurs.

Illumi, over the past few months, had been spending less and less time with you. He'd been focusing so much on his brother, Killua, and his job that it left you feeling neglected.

For the past few weeks, you hadn't seen him once. You started to spiral into depression and have very insecure thoughts. You'd felt worthless, and the thought of him cheating had crossed your mind often.

You always asked yourself what you did to fuck up.

Eventually, he came home, finally. It was midnight, and you had happened to have a nightmare, so you were awake at that time.

You started talking to him, trying to communicate your own feelings, yet he shut you down.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP OMEGA. YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO SERVE ME, NOT ANNOY THE SHIT OUT OF ME YOU DUMB CUNT. I KNEW A MALE OMEGA WAS A BAD FUCKING IDEA, I SHOULD'VE PICKED A BETTER ONE. GO THE FUCK AWAY.”

Your scent immediately turned sour, letting out a sad whimper as you held back tears. He broke his promise not to yell at you. You nodded and softly just left, the claim on your neck starting to burn in immense pain.

You didn't know where you were going, but eventually, you had walked about 5 miles. You felt yourself getting tired, the pain in your neck finally taking its toll on you. You passed out.

When you left, it took about half an hour for Illumi to break down in guilt. He went to your shared room to make himself feel a bit more calm before he went to get you, yet it only made him more stressed. As soon as he opened the door, all he could smell was the heavy scent of his omega's pain. It stained the room like smoke, no matter how many doors, windows, or curtains he opened, the scent wouldn't go away.

He then noticed your laptop was open, the one he specifically got you to journal your feelings. He started reading through it and was completely horrified by himself.

He ran, and he ran until his legs burned. He couldn't find you. You weren't anywhere. At least until he got the call from the hospital that you had experienced an omega drop, and it could have severe effects on your and your baby's health. You were pregnant?

Once you woke, you had an emergency nest surrounding you. It was filled with your alpha's scent, clothing, and blankets. Everything else was the exact description of a hospital, white, clean, sterile smelling.

You quickly noticed the alpha, your alpha, by your bedside and started sobbing. He was there.

[aether-link]

Let’s have a sad hc fic of yangvik shall we? (emotions are all over the place and been thinking of this for a few days).

Cw: death, extreme depression, heartbreak syndrome, old age.

-

First up, I personally have this thought that Raava just genuinely extends the life force of every avatar. (All my homies pour one out for kuruk😔) Compared to their companions who don’t really have that light energy extension. SO…

Yangchen and Kavik are the same age right? They are pushing 100 or around early 100s, Yangchen over time has personally given Kavik days off from avatar duties to be with his family and other tribesmen. Mostly a week too two weeks he has, Kavik mostly goes on hunts that also take majority of that time. By the time he gets back, he always brings back at least a new wound or scar. Yangchen doesn’t really like that, when she finds a scar or a fresh opening somewhere she’s on it, quickly healing it. Though Kavik is mostly riddled by now, she always shakes her head in disapproval though forgives him.

Things start to slow down for Kavik. His health mostly, the sheer stress of the past catching up to him. Duty and fights taking a toll mentally but more physically. A day he goes to set out, preparing for a hunt. He is home with what family he has left, Yangchen is there to (thanks to his mother, Yangchen is always welcomed to his home and family no matter) but this day was different for him. Things felt off, slow, uncomfortable for him. The weirdness of slow breathe, Kavik had to sit down. A few deep inhales until a wave of pain struck him in the chest, clutching himself there. Yangchen flew into action without even speaking a word. She was on it. Supporting his weight while he sits keeling over, using her healing she figured out what was happening to him. A silent heart attack.

Panic set into her, wide eyes. Eyeing Kavik’s face that is now drenched in sweat. Fear now over takes her, her knowledge in the human body is vast, once a person has an attack the rest that follow are more harsh until death, if your lucky.

Yangchen upset spoke with a stern voice at Kavik. Telling him do not go hunting, he is in no condition no more. Only for Kavik give her a smug smile with a look that she knows to well, a look of “I’ll be ok, it’s alright…” but no. Yangchen brows flex, eyes sharp, a frown dawned on her face. Her figure shadowed over him who was still slumped in the seat he took, reality grew on his own face. She was the boss. His life is now in her hands from now on.

Months had past since the attack. Kavik felt less in energy then before, what he would report to Yangchen on the daily on how he felt. It would give so much relief when he was ok. More extra comfort is when they slept together, respectfully. Yangchen would have a routine throughout the night checking Kavik when he sleeps. A hand on his back, chest, then pulse checks on his neck and wrists. To catch anything of the abnormal through out his body. Things seems to be fine until a week later.

Yangchen doing her check ups, half asleep for to be fully awake after discovering that Kavik is silent. A silence that was eerie and deafening. Throughout that night a second silent attack had happened, before her check ups, just her luck. Yangchen is in a horrible mess, scrambling to a lifeless Kavik who slept by her. There where no signs on his face, no signs of stress on the outside, the only evidence she could find was his still heart that felt like it was strangled from the attack that hit hard, feeling it with her water bending. Yangchen now beginning to hyperventilate, mute sobs. Running her hands over his chest trying to bring him back though nothing prevailed. Finally she let it out with a scream that bursted the windows, rattled the doors of the home they lived in. So loud that it made other water tribe members wake and rush too the house, only to find what cause such a scream of horror.

She hasn’t slept in weeks, dark circles under eyes, pale complexion and now underweight. Her solid rock that gave her peace is now gone. Yangchen started separate herself from the world. Started to ignore pleas, asks for help, avatar duties, literally everything. The woe was taking over her day by day, to weeks, to months evolved to years. Chaos was dawning. Even spirits started to break worlds without her interference and cause destruction. People and nations kept at her, everything was too much now. Even Raava that tried her best to ground her was unsuccessful.

Yangchen looked like death itself, a being of no other. Strangely things where going quiet, all the pleas stopping over time that kept falling in deaf ears. Finally she thought to herself, a perfect time to flee and disappear without witnesses. The place she now stays at, the cove in the side of the mountains where no one could see. Yangchen lazily mopes day in and day out. Her depression completely took the wheel of her life now, she could bearly eat anything and when she did, pain. Pain shot through her chest, specially around her heart and lungs. The suddenness made her think rapidly, more attacks? This was something else, she never even felt like this before until now. The pain grew in waves then stopped, it was torment.

The pain and the depression was at its maximum at this point. Yangchen laying against the wall of rock. Hissing the pain out when it struck. Her heart felt like it was tearing apart, it hurt to breath. Raava broke the silence, for a moment Yangchen had forgotten about her, her words where soft and comforting to hear after a while of stress. When Raava spoke, she mentioned something that Yangchen had never heard of when it came to human health. Why didn’t anyone tell her? Why didn’t anyone report such a rare like thing in history.

Broken Heart Syndrome. Valves of the heart ripping apart slowly over time from suffering from extreme depression, stress or grief of a lost loved one. Kavik’s loss affected her so harshly that she never wanted to admit it. But it was true, he was the last being and even thing that gave her joy, happiness, a reason to live another day. Why did she hang on after so long after his passing? Was it self false hope? Perhaps. The pain is back, Raava’s words faded when it became to unbearable. Grunts and gasping for air came from Yangchen, her hands death grip her robes in a fight for life. Things where blurring, sound was getting more and more quiet. Raava spoke more, her final words sounding like a gentle guidance. Yangchen started to realise what was happening to her, to herself. Her last few moments. The gasps sounded horrific to the ear, weakness grew all over. Yangchen’s body gave a last ditch effort, an effort too cry. To let it all out once and for all. For this this life. Soft lights shun around her, just making it out from failing vision until complete darkness. Raava. Saying her goodbyes to this avatar who lays before her motionless and finally at peace, the great air avatar Yangchen.

[pforpedro]

EPITOME

Pedro Pascal x Reader

WARNINGS: SMUT! Pedro having a certified breeding kink, depression may occur cause we’ve been ripped of seeing pedro as a dad 😭 MINORS DNI.

SUMMARY: Pedro having a certified breeding kink.

It hadn’t been clear to you from the start, but let’s face it, Pedro 100% has a breeding kink.

Don’t even try to deny it, you know it’s true.

He’s amazing with kids, you’ve seen it first hand. With every child actor he’s worked with, both young and breaching their 20’s, he’s treated them as though they were his own. It was the epitome of his entire being. He was just a sucker for kids.

He wanted to be a dad so badly. That’s why he took to the role of Joel so strongly when he was offered the place. He’d rant on about it for weeks at a time about how excited he was to finally be playing a father figure again, and you couldn’t be happier for him.

You’d kickstarted your relationship with Pedro a little late in life. You’d been friends ever since you met on the set of Game of Thrones in your early 20’s, Pedro in his 30’s. The age gap wasn’t jaw dropping, but it turned one or two heads.

You’d been together three years and stumbled upon the topic of kids one or two times. Mainly sparking after fleeting moments of words that slipped in the bedroom.

“Gonna breed you so fucking good, mama, fill that tight little pussy with my seed.”

That was only the beginning.

“That’s it baby girl, take it, take my load, let me fill you up, my girl, that’s it, fuck, let me put a baby in you, mama, let me breed you.”

He was kind of shocked the first time you let him. You loved Pedro deeply, and you didn’t plan on going anywhere. You’d settled, you were comfortable and happy, you knew if it wasn’t now then it may be never.

“W-what?” His head bolted up as his thrusts stopped in place so he could see you clearly through lust ridden eyes.

“Breed me, baby, give me everything you’ve got, I can take it.”

“Are you sure?” He’d asked cautiously, “are you ready for that?”

“Yes, we’re ready, go on… Breed me, daddy.”

There was no letting up after those words had been spoken. He made sure he gave you everything he had, because when you asked for everything he wasn’t going to fall short. He poured his love and admiration into every thrust, kissed you tenderly through the roughness of his movements, pounding deep into your core. Finally, you felt it. The feeling you’d been craving for months; his warmth seeping deep into your core.

It was nerve wracking as the weeks passed and you’d had little to no symptoms of pregnancy, but finally it came, that dreaded morning sickness. A bright indicator it was perhaps time to purchase a pregnancy test.

After a few weeks of bad luck, finally, it came back positive. Pedro, well, over the moon was an understatement.

You didn’t release the good news to anyone until it had to be shared; until you were starting to show. The press practically imploded at your news, both good press and bad. But you didn’t care what anyone else had to say, you were happy. And Pedro, well, he made sure to tell you just how phenomenal you looked.

“Look at you, mama, you’re glowing.”

“My princess, doing so well.”

“You look so sexy like that,” he’d say as you stripped to change into your pyjamas, “c’mere, let me taste you.”

He’d been extra careful around your sensitive boobs ever since you’d shared the news with him, but there where times when he just couldn’t help himself. He’d suckle gently on the nipple sending shockwaves down your spine, he’d kneed them softly when you rode him, he was inevitably in love.

He’d pleasure you both platonically and sexually throughout the months of your pregnancy, and the epitome of his being soon came to shine through.

There wasn’t any doubt about it in the first place, but seeing it first hand you knew. Pedro was an amazing dad.

—

Thank you for 300 followers ❤️

[novamirmirsblog]

Dust Bunnies

Genre: comfort/hurt

Pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

Word count: 731

Request: yes

Warnings: none :)

A/n: This one feels kinda...unfinished but maybe that's cause I haven't written for like a year or something now XD It's just a short lil blurb but I hope you enjoy anon! <3 I made it about that flat Wanda and Vision had in Scotland cause the Scottish weather here is making me feel a lil depressed but it's still pretty.

You and Wanda had been dating for just under a year when she finally asked you to move in with her. Wanda had moved out from the compound as soon as she could, finding a cute apartment in Scotland. It was there that she met you. She had forgotten an umbrella - not expecting Scotland to be half as rainy as it had turned out to be - and you had offered to share yours while the two of you waited for a bus. It was a strange burst of bravery from Wanda that prompted her to give you her number before the two of you parted ways. Your first date had been buying Wanda a suitable coat and umbrella for the damp weather.

Moving in with Wanda was a step in your relationship you couldn't wait for. The end of your lease was coming up and rather than renew it, Wanda suggested you move in with her. She argued that you already spent your weekends at her place so what were a few extra days? It's safe to say that your previous roommate was not happy when you told them you weren't going to be renewing the lease with them.

Wanda noticed the strange behaviour a week into you two living together. The laundry pile that was usually sky-high before Wanda even considered thinking about washing it was nonexistent, dust no longer existed when you were hoovering and cleaning every other day. Not to mention you would both cook and clean up all meals.

Wanda didn't say anything though. Not yet. She wasn't sure if this was just a 'honeymoon' phase the two of you were going through. No, Wanda didn't say anything until she heard some rather loud thoughts about how if you couldn't do this, then you were incapable.

You were in the middle of hoovering - again - when the thoughts got so loud Wanda could hear them over the constant whirring of the hoover.

"Y/n"

You didn't respond. Too wrapped up in getting that one stain out of the rug.

"Y/n, stop." Wanda got up from the sofa and touched your arm, breaking your concentration.

"Sorry babe, want me to make you a drink? I think we've got so-"

Wanda cut you off before you could finish your sentence. "How about I cook for us tonight."

You were silent for a moment. Had you messed up? Did Wanda not enjoy your cooking anymore? Did she want you to move out?

"Have I done something wrong?"

"What? No of course not. I just think..." Wanda paused, cutting herself off before asking a different question. "Why do you do all of this? At first I thought maybe it was because you wanted to impress me or something..." Wanda blushed as she said that before concern overcame her features again "but now I think it's something more."

"I like doing all this." You smiled at her before leaning over to turn the hoover back on. Wanda stopped you before you could.

"Y/n, you're exhausted. You can't truly like this. You go to work and as soon as you're back you're doing chores!" Wanda's voice began to raise. She wasn't angry, just frustrated, but from the look on your face, she knew she had to turn it down a few notches. "Tell me why you really do it, love."

"I mean it's just something I've always done since I moved in with my last roommate. They told me it was normal." You gave Wanda a small, reassuring smile, silently telling her this was okay but it only made her frown harder.

"No."

"No?"

"That's not right. That's not how we're going to do things anymore. We're in a relationship Y/n which means things are going to be equal now. If you cook, I clean and vice versa. If you hoover then I dust." Wanda looked at you sternly. "We'll have one day a week when we clean because you need to rest my love." Her face softened as she tucked some of your hair behind your ear before kissing you on the forehead.

"If you're sure..." You can't lie, the thought of sharing the workload made you a little giddy. You hadn't thought of it before but if Wanda was willing to share the workload, you weren't going to stop her because you loved her and she loved you.

[writethrough]

Hi ;) I don't know if you're currently accepting requests, but if you do, may I request a Malcolm Bright x Reader fic please ? TW : Self-h*rm, anxiety, depression, ED, mental illness.

Reader and Malcolm are very close friends so they both lovingly care about each other. Reader hasn't been answering any of his calls and messages for a few days, which is unlike her 'cause she always picks up the phone when he calls her. He starts to grow more and more worried, especially because he knows about her mental health struggles. So naturally he decides to go check on her. When he arrives he finds her in a very bad state : depression, anxiety, ED and Self h*rm have been hitting her harder that usual. He stays in at her house for a few days to take care of her, which includes reassuring her when she gets panic attacks, telling her that he strongly cares about her and that nothing will make him leave her, laying beside her to help her sleep, hugging her etc. Eventually she starts to feel a bit better.

I know it's very emotionally charged, both with dark stuff and comfort/care stuff, so if you feel like you can't do it, it's totally okay, I understand. Do whatever makes you feel the most comfortable.

Please take care 🤍 Sending you hugs.

To Make It Through

(Malcolm Bright x Gender-Neutral Reader)

Warnings: Insinuations of self-harm, ED, depression, anxiety, and mental illness.

Word Count: 1203

A/N: I wasn’t sure how to begin writing this. The most important goal for me was writing this with respect to those who suffer from self-harm, depression, mental illness, ED, and anxiety. I have never experienced the first four, but I’ve dealt with mild to moderate anxiety, I believe since I was young (I’d like to add, I’ve never been diagnosed by a doctor for anxiety). I have no idea what someone who lives with these struggles goes through. I wanted this to be a comforting story, one that hopefully brings a little light to everyone who reads it.

I didn't want to include too many details that could be triggering or potentially disrespectful to those who deal with the topics above.

And to anyone who is suffering and in need of help, below are different hotlines and resources.

National Eating Disorders Association

988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline

The Trevor Project

National Institute of Mental Health

Malcolm unlocked your front door with the extra key you gave him.

It’d been three days since he last heard from you—no responses to his texts. No calls or video chats, not even a dumbass meme. And he was worried.

You were religious in your response time to him. Honestly, he had no idea how you could send a text off so quickly.

First, he noticed the dishes on your counter. A few days' worth. Then, the blanket was on the floor instead of folded neatly over the couch. Your curtains were drawn tight, and the couple of plants you had were a little less lively than when he was here last week.

He slowly pushed your bedroom door open so as not to startle you.

It was difficult to see through the darkness, but from what he could tell, clothes were thrown around the room. And he could make out a thin layer of dust on your bookshelf.

He took in your curled state under your comforter. Only the top of your head peeked out.

He didn’t need to ask you what was wrong. You’d known each other long enough for him to recognize the signs.

After slipping his shoes and coat off, he gently lowered himself beside you. He didn’t move the covers or speak, only placed a hand close enough to your back so you could feel him while not being touched. 

He didn’t know if you were awake, but that didn’t matter. He’d wait however long it took until you were ready to acknowledge him.

He wondered when you last ate—those dishes were probably older than he thought. He tried to recall if there were any warning signs he should’ve picked up on when he was here last time. But you seemed fine.

You were also very good at hiding it.

About an hour later, you shifted to face him, still beneath the blankets.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

He whispered your name. You didn’t move.

He tried again. “Can I do anything for you?”

You sniffled, and his heart nearly broke.

“Can I move the blanket, honey?” he asked.

The top of your head moved slowly in a nod.

He hooked a finger and pulled down carefully, revealing water-lined eyes with bags under them.

He thought as much. When things worsened, you never slept well.

“What do you need?” he whispered as gently as he could.

You didn’t look at him as your hand emerged to clutch your pillowcase.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled.

He nodded. He couldn’t let you stay like this.

“Then, could you do something for me? I know you won’t want to, but you can come right back. I promise.”

You glanced at him, then looked away. As much of an acknowledgment as he would get.

“Go take a shower. Take as long as you need,” he said.

You didn’t fight him, didn’t argue, and he took that as more of a bad sign than anything.

Once your bathroom door closed, he stripped the bed and threw everything in the washer. After replacing the sheets, he put the discarded clothes in your hamper and tossed any trash he spotted. He kept the blinds closed. Baby steps.

He was finishing putting the dishes away when you walked out in a towel and back into your room to change.

You didn’t ask what he was doing or tell him he didn’t have to do it. You almost ignored him.

You had already returned to bed when he entered. This time, you were against the headboard, staring off into space.

He sat beside you.

Your hands rested above the covers, wrists on display, and his shoulders relaxed.

It hadn’t gotten that bad.

He let you have your silence. Sometimes it was what you needed.

“Why are you friends with me?”

Sometimes it wasn’t.

“Because I need you,” he said.

It was all he thought to say. Superficial compliments wouldn’t stop your mind from spiraling. Hopefully, you’d believe him.

You shook your head. “You deserve better.”

He wanted to shield you from your own words. 

“(Y/N), I need you to look at me,” he said. And when you didn’t, he repeated himself. “Please?”

You glanced at him, rubbing the hem of your shirt between your fingers.

“Have I ever lied to you?” he asked gently.

You shook your head slowly, hunching your shoulders.

“I will always always tell you the truth,” he said. “You’re my best friend. That’s never going to change, okay?” He carefully pulled your hand between his. “I care about you so much, (Y/N). You’re never going to get rid of me.”

You sniffled, glancing at him through your lashes.

Tears lined his own eyes, threatening to spill forth.

You were his best friend. He’d be lost without you, and he needed you to know that he’d never go anywhere, that he belonged by your side. You made him feel seen. You made him feel sane.

Whatever you needed from him, he would give.

“Can you…Can you hold me?” you whispered, trying to keep your voice from breaking.

He answered by laying on his back, waiting for you to settle on his chest, hands still connected.

“Get some rest,” he whispered. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

—

Malcolm stayed with you for the next few days. He even called Gil and said he had to take a personal day, much to Gil’s surprise and pleasure. Thankfully, Gil didn’t ask any questions. Malcolm never would’ve broken your trust like that.

Today was the first day you had gotten dressed. Malcolm considered that a massive sign you were starting to feel more like yourself.

“How’re you feeling?” He took in every feature of your face, searching for the most minute twitch.

“I’m…I’m better.” You nodded slowly. “I’m not okay. I know that, but I’m better than I was. Not everything’s as…dark.”

The corner of his mouth tilted up in a sympathetic smile. His fingers found yours, holding them lightly.

“All healing takes time. And I’ll be right here whenever you need me.” His eyes stayed locked with yours, nothing but sincerity in them.

You swallowed. “Thank you.”

He shook his head slightly. “You never need to thank me for doing something I want to do.”

It brought tears to your eyes—how kind he was. Malcolm was the only person you could trust with everything. He knew what it was like to be trapped in your own mind, to hate so many parts of yourself that you want to rip out.

And each time you were on the verge of relapsing, he’d pull you away from the edge. As you’d done for him.

“Why don’t we take a walk? See how many squirrels we can feed,” he said, offering you his arm.

Your face lifted, not a smile, but not so melancholy as it had been.

“Okay.”

Grasping the crook of his elbow, you interlocked your fingers there and let him lead you outside.

The sun's warmth sunk into your skin as Malcolm launched into what his mother was trying to rope him into. And when the first chuckle in a week passed your lips, the darkness didn’t feel so encompassing anymore.

Taglist: @phenomenal-bird

If anyone would like to be added to my taglist, please comment or message me and tell me which character you'd like to receive updates on.

[lieutenantbiscute]

Ok so I’ve been sitting in this idea since yesterday and I kinda talked about it a little bit on Sunday I think—

But 12 April developing depression once she leaves for college and heavy anxiety due to her Kraang features blooming late while there. She’s so scared to leave NYC and the boys cause she feels safest there but Raph and later Casey urge her to go once they found out she got accepted to a college out of state.

It’s an attempt to have something normal for once.

So she goes and it’s a teary good bye, especially on Mikey’s part. Leo reassuring her that she’ll always have a place here when she gets back; same with Raph and Donnie. Once she’s there and settled in she does have an open line of communication with the boys for the first few months but that starts to get itchy once the work starts to pile up and finals start.

The boys understand cause hey, it’s a school where you pay to learn extra, of course you’re gonna get swamped by all the work.

But a week turns to a month and a month to two, almost three.

Not even Casey had been hearing from her.

On Aprils side things had gotten freaky for her. She doesn’t want to believe her eyes as she stares at her small dorm mirror as two Kraang like tendrils move out from the depths of her ginger hair. She keeps quiet in hope to not wake her roomie Gabrielle.

That’s when the nightmares start, nightmares where her whole head turns into a Kraang brain and she loses her self to Kraang Prime—

She butchers her hair a few days later. A shitty pixie cut and now she’s constantly wearing a beanie cause dammit that was a stupid move is she now has two weird tendrils moving around at the base of her head. She’s not telling the boys anything and unconsciously cuts context with them.

It takes one Casey Jones driving up to her dorm building in the middle of the night and throwing rocks at her window while her roomate is out to get her to crack. Unbeknownst to her the turtles had tagged along, worried sick about the silence on her end. She, in her anxiety riddled and sleep deprived mind, was gripping a tendril in one hand and craft scissors in the other when the banging at her window wouldn’t stop.

They bully there way in once April keycards them through the building door up to her room. The boys not asking questions until the room door was shut, and then immediately Mikey is the first to hug her. The first words out of Raph’s mouth was ‘you look like shit O’Neil’ with Casey seconding that statement with ‘what’s going on red?’. And suddenly that gap of silence between them was gone and she spills everything on the metaphorical table, the stress of class, her anxiety, the Kraang features coming in, the nightmares, how she was just about to cut these damn thing off her head—

And now she’s sitting on the floor Donnie’s hands on her shoulders telling her to breathe. Her heart is racing at a worrying pace as she feels a blanket being draped over her shoulders. To the boys it’s a worrying scene as well. Months without communication before Casey decides one night decide that that’s enough and make you and your brothers tag along with them to see what the fuck is up with their closest friend/sister. She’s got bags under her eyes and he hair is in a messy cut and now that the beanie is off she’s got two Kraang tendrils resting on her shoulders and she’s crying and trying to steady her breathing on the floor of her cramped, shitty dorm room.

Leo asking if she really wants to stay here. Seeing how she isn’t doing her best right now only being barley a semester in. She wants to though, wants to get through finals before she thinks about dropping out. Which leads to a Mikey and Raph wording more about her health.

“You haven’t spoken to us in what? Almost four , five months now and you expect us to just, let you stay here?” Raph is quick to snap out. He cares, he really does. But his anger is forefront to concern sometimes. Donnie reasons that she could talk to a campus therapist that he saw on a flyer as they were snuck in earlier. But talking to someone ‘normal’ about something ‘not normal’ doesn’t help.

It’s a back and forth before they decide that yeah fine you’ll finish the semester but the minute she’s done with her last final they’re driving back to pack her shit and dip back to NYC.

She gets better, not great but better enough to have her hair grow out again and manage to grow to a unsteady acceptance of her new Kraang parts. Maybe down the line she does college again, only this time community college to stay close. She has the opportunity to transfer once she gets her basics done but she’ll settle for a two year diploma for right now.

[ursaspecter]

Some Charles headcanons because I feel like giving him some love :]

His father escaped the south and met his mother somewhere around Montana. His mother was from the Blackfoot tribe. When Charles was around 4 or 5, he and his parents moved to Canada to get out of a dangerous situation with the US Army.

Everything he knows about hunting was taught to him from his father, and he was around 8 when he started going with him on hunting trips.

His mother taught him more about which plants are okay to eat and which are good for medicines and how to make his own materials instead of paying someone else to. Teaching how to darn holes in his clothes and sew seams back together.

He was 10 when his mother was taken away, and both he and his father took it hard. His father used alcohol to cope with depression and was a sad drunk. By 13, Charles couldn't take it anymore and left in search of his mother. His line of thinking being that his mother being gone was what made his father an alcoholic, so if he gets his mother back, everything will be okay again.

He drifts from place to place, staying out of major towns unless absolutely necessary. Runs with a few smaller gangs but only for a few days or a week at a time. Just to have someone to watch his back. He's just a kid, he's not gonna rat on anyone.

He meets the Van Der Linde gang November of 1898 after saving Lenny from a snake bite. He sticks around because they seem like an alright group, and Dutch's belief in his own cause is admirable (though I think at this point Micah is already here as one of the newer members, so this really is the beginning of the beginning of the end oof)

After the epilogue, he's back to drifting from place to place again, but eventually does meet someone to settle down with. Not a romantic relationship but a queerplatonic one :) They get a little plot of land together somewhere in Canada and live a simple quiet life

And now for some little headcanons that are more for extra flavor :]

His birthday is February 10, 1867 making him 32 for the events of Red Dead 2 (honestly I think it's a crime that r* didn't give us specific birth dates for everyone. smh)

He is 5'9"

He has thick curly hair. About a 3B or 3C texture. I know his in game model has smooth wavy hair, but sometimes the game is wrong. Hope this helps!

I know this is a popular one, but autistic Charles is so real to me

Uhh he's also gay and demisexual sorry for making all my blorbos aspec in some way (I'm not sorry. These are my headcanons I make the rules)

He is deceptively ticklish, but anyone who tries to test that is in for a broken wrist.

He's a cat person big time. Post-epilogue he gets a little tortoise shell cat he rescued as a kitten.

He's a baritone but can hit the tenor range if he really tries. His singing is smooth as river rocks.

Spending a lot of time alone with his thoughts, he's bound to come up some pretty out-there ideas. He would very much ask Arthur if he would still love him if he were a worm.

He's an amazing cook, but cannot follow a recipe for shit. He just does what feels right. Do NOT ask him to bake.

He doesn't really laugh much. Most of the time he just exhales through his nose. Unless he finds something REALLY funny, then he laughs so hard he's in tears and can't catch his breath. There is no in between.

I think for my modern au I'm gonna make him a hockey player. Just cuz.

[bellezabelize]

✨Weekly Tag Wednesday!✨

Tho here, it's already Thursday

Thanks for the tag @jrooc ♡. I'm a tumblr loner, so no tags from me 😅 hahaha.

how is your day going? Pretty damn shite, have another two hours to work through with an attention span of a goldfish.

are you okay? Nah, if it wasn't for meds I would have a full on depressive episode.

are you single? Indeed.

are you happy about that? Yes, I don't do romance, tho I think it might be nice to have someone to come back to and share the daily shit with.

what is your favourite shade of your favourite colour? Obviously it's Hamlindigo blue 💙.

what age do you feel in your brain? Good question, it tends to swing between 19 and 69.

do you feel like the good times are behind you or ahead of you? Both? Had a few years between severe depressive episodes, when I was doing crazy shit while maniac, but other than that I don't think I was ever truly happy in a healthy way and currently my life is shit, so I can only hope the actual good times are ahead of me.

do you have a best friend? Yeah, I do.

did you have a childhood pet? Yes, I had crazy-aggressive rabbit and few other pets, till I finally got my mum to get me my dream dog - a foxterrier. Been with me for 12 years - sadly she passed away when I was about 21.

do you light candles or incense? Incense, then I read tarot for shits and giggles, but apparently what I see helps some people so that's nice? I'm basically younger version of Professor Trelawney, and my room smells like her classroom, lol.

are you busy Friday night? Yeah, team outing. I would skip it, but I've already missed the last one and don't want to be accused of not being into company values. I will have one beer and go home.

if you were a circus performer which act would you be in? I used to do gymnastics and I do aireal yoga sometimes so maybe something involving that.

what's the last thing you created? An invoice, lol. Apart from that, the lunch I had today at work - considering I enjoyed it despite the lack of appetite, it was pretty fuckin good.

what is your favourite outfit? Either my pale blue dress, or black tennis skirt with some nice sweater. Unless I'm depressed like today, then oversized hoodie and some yoga pants.

what is your favourite fic or book of all time? Fuck, I have too many. Maybe from the top of my head "The Dead Zone" for a book and "Stages of Hope" for a fic.

what are you looking forward to? Long term, getting a new job and leaving my shithole of a country, as for today, smoking weed, cuddling with my cat and reading/watching something.

what can put you immediately in a better mood? Fanfictin and Shayne Topp reading reddit stories.

do you like hugs? Depends, I'm very particular about who can hug me. I can really like someone and feel awkward when they hug me, or I can meet someone for the first time and feel comfortable in their arms

what is something you wish people understood about you? I’m bitchy and won't sugar-coat, but I will go an extra mile to help you, if you're my friend. Also, I'm not just moody, I'm bipolar. I can ghost people for a week, not because I feel like ignoring them but because holding a conversation even getting out of bed is too much of an effort. And when I go overly mad, that's because I'm maniac, and not just being dramatic for the sake of causing drama. My bank account is really sad when that happens, lol.

[veradragonjedi]

Tag Game - New year's resolutions/wishes

Ty @its-kinda-snowy for tagging meeeee :D

I named them all last night let's see if I can do it again — Sorry that they're Long, I didn't mean them to be! TL;DR -> the bits in bold.

1. Start throwing out things I don't want, and using things I do, (don't panic about the future)

Every time I bought a scented candle, or a nice outfit, or a pack of nice pens, I'd suffer endlessly waiting for an opportunity to use them, and in the end I never would. I'm going easy on myself: unless there is a time in the near future where I am certain that these [scented candles] will be needed, I am using them Right Now. Because I like them. And this is why I purchased them.

(This also goes for things I don't need. If something is clogging up my counter space, or distressing me by taking up space, then it's going in the bin unless it's necessary for the next few weeks of my life.)

2. Write 140 words per day!

They don't have to be good or bad words, but they gotta be words and there gotta be 140 of 'em. At this rate, I'll have written about 50,000 words by the end of the year! This isn't enough for some people (I could never NaNoWriMo), but it's enough for me. I'll be channeling them into Blood, Blindfolds and Butterflies. Hopefully I can finish the fic, and if this works, next year I can update to 280 words for double the effect!

3. Start thinking about the Now.

I gotta say, I wasn't sure I'd make this, but I'm gonna try anyway. By focusing less on the future and the past, maybe I can let go of the anxiety I feel about the present! This goes well with "don't suffer twice" — the 'philosophy' that states that if you have nothing to worry about in the present, you shouldn't make something up to worry about in the future just to suffer. I have suffered a lot this year, needless to say, due to that depression and anxiety. I'd like to let it go.

4. Be more appreciative of myself!

One of the biggest struggles in my life — due to a load of educational trauma — is understanding myself to be Worth Something. I'm going to try and change that :3. This also goes for things I make and things I like! My fics, my arts, my special interest, etc. If I focus on those, and what they mean to me instead of what they cause other people to think, I think I'll be happier. That being said, this will probably have to be a three-year-resolution, as there's no way I'll manage it in just one, but maybe the extra day of a leap year will make it count 👀

5. This one's for @airlocksandaviaries — ily bestie.

I want to have more faith in people, for reasons I won't go into. It'll be tough, but — I'm gonna start having faith right now — I trust that my friends are gonna help me through it :")

Some of these seem life-changing to me, perhaps that's because I gotta change my life. My friend just put "read more", and honestly that's not any less important!

I'm tagging @iamscoby @airlocksandaviaries @doublechocolate @insertmeaningfulusername @babygirlbridger @jspookywolf @positivityjediprince @emilianadarling @24-guy ily guys :))

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Jane A.

Published: Jun 3, 2023

I am speaking as the parent of a young woman who declared a transgender identity completely out of the blue at the age of 17. So many parents feel they cannot speak out for fear of harming the relationship with their child. I am speaking because, as I have sadly discovered over the past few years, this phenomenon is much, much bigger than my family, and we most certainly do need to talk about it and raise awareness of what is being done to our children.

Our daughter has just turned 21 and has been in the transgender bubble for just over three years.

Growing up, she was not particularly “girly” and did not like dolls, for example, but I thought nothing of that because I hated dolls as a kid and I was a bit of a tomboy myself. She loved soccer and handball, and she was a brown belt in taekwondo. She tried so many extra-curricular activities – dance, singing, gymnastics, swimming, and tennis – to name a few.

She used to walk with me every morning when I walked our dogs and go to the gym with me as well. She enjoyed shopping with me and choosing her own clothes. We would go and have our nails painted together. We would go to plays and concerts together. We had such a close and loving relationship. She is very smart and always did really well in school growing up, but she was bullied at school when she was younger. As a result of the bullying and the lack of support from the school, we moved her to a new school when she was 13 years old. That went well for the first two years, and she had a stable friendship group of really lovely girls.

Around the time she turned 15, she switched friendship groups. The new group had a girl who “did not identify as a girl” and that was my first introduction to gender ideology. I felt the new friends had a very negative influence on our daughter. Around the time she changed friendship groups, our daughter started experiencing mental health problems. For three years, these mental health problems continued. We moved through both the public system (called the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service) and private mental health systems in our efforts to find help for our daughter.

We collected diagnoses of anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder and possible borderline personality disorder. We took our daughter to more than 70 medical appointments related to her mental health in that three-year period. We focused on diet, exercise, love, support and psychotherapy. But our daughter’s mental health eventually became much worse.

We found out that she had been cutting herself and binge eating as well. She had always been very conscious of what she ate – in a healthy way – as she had been a vegetarian for several years.

In hindsight, I believe this period was when she started focusing on transgender. She ended up having a four-week admission to the mental health ward of a local private hospital in the winter, as it reached the point that she was refusing to get out of bed and refusing to go to school. When she came out of the hospital after those four weeks, she cut her hair short.

The next few months were extremely traumatic for our family. She barely attended school and became aggressive and verbally abusive toward us and her younger brother. She was lying, stealing and binge eating, and would not do anything that we asked of her. I found out she was smoking marijuana. If we wanted to go out as a family with her younger brother to, say, a soccer match, she would declare she was anxious and suicidal so that I could not go. She became extremely manipulative.

The stress we were under was enormous. Our son was 13 at that time, and the distress of her abusive behaviour caused him to become anorexic. I remember him curling up in a fetal position on the floor and sobbing, begging her to stop her out-of-control behaviour. I guess our son saw that his intake of food was the one thing he could control. We were pretty much shattered as a family. I remember sitting in her general practitioner’s office sobbing and begging for help. It really was a nightmare. I believe it was over this period that she started to become engrossed with online trans sites. I later found a history in her web browser full of trans searches and sites.

Then, that spring, she announced all over social media that she was, in fact, a male and had a new name. She claimed that she had told people at school months before and had been going by her new male name at school for some time. She told us that everyone at school, including the teachers, was supportive. Considering I had been in contact with the school regularly because of her mental health problems and the fact that she had had many absences from school, I was stunned that no one from the school ever told us about her transgender announcement.

She had a scheduled visit to her psychiatrist the week she announced she was trans, and she told her psychiatrist that she was suicidal, so he insisted that we take her to our local public hospital for admission to the adolescent mental health ward. The psychiatric registrar who admitted our daughter to hospital said he thought she had borderline personality disorder.

After an all-night admission that my husband accompanied her with, I went to the hospital to visit her the following day. When I asked to see our daughter, I was told that I had a son. Already above her bed was the male name.

I was aware that two other girls who attended her drama group were saying they were boys, so I was very sceptical of her announcement of trans. She had never displayed any signs of the condition gender dysphoria. My scepticism was dismissed by the staff of the mental health ward. As parents who did not immediately affirm our child’s declaration of transgender, we were shamed and bullied by the medical professionals in that hospital ward. All of our voiced concerns were swept aside, and we were put down by hospital staff in front of our daughter, accused of being bigoted, not inclusive, and transphobic.

We were also told that we must accept that we now had a son or she would kill herself. They said, “Would you rather have a live son or a dead daughter?” They said they wanted to introduce her to a transgender staff member. The very next day was a Saturday, and I was called by the hospital to come and take our daughter out on day leave. I remember thinking at the time that they could not be too concerned about her being suicidal if they sent her home on day leave 24 hours after being admitted.

At a family meeting at the hospital we were ridiculed for “dressing her like a girl” when she was little. They were not one bit interested in her complex mental health history. We were told that she needed an immediate referral to an endocrinologist for hormones. She was 17, and we said no, that we did not agree to the referral and that we were returning to her GP and private psychiatrist. They needed our agreement for that referral. The hospital went ahead with the referral and wrote up her discharge summary, saying we did agree to the referral for hormones.

Our GP recommended we take her to a private psychiatrist in our hometown who specialised in gender. The only trouble was there was a six-month waiting list before we could get in to see him. From the hospital admission onward, our relationship with our daughter deteriorated significantly. She came out of the hospital after five nights and immediately shaved her head. The abuse she directed toward us escalated, and she was pretty much out of control. Her lying, binge eating and manipulative behaviour continued. She had another scheduled three-week hospital admission that spring in the same mental health ward of the same private hospital as she had been in five months earlier, except this time they pretended she was a boy. There was no improvement in her behaviour.

All of our voiced concerns were swept aside, and we were put down by hospital staff in front of our daughter, accused of being bigoted, not inclusive, and transphobic.

She left the hospital on day leave against the wishes of her treating psychiatrist to attend the endocrinologist appointment that had been made as a result of her earlier public hospital admission – the appointment we did not agree to. By this time she had turned 18.

When I went searching, I was absolutely stunned by what I found in the browser history of our daughter’s computer. It was almost unbelievable. YouTube videos of young girls singing the praises of testosterone, showcasing the changes to their bodies, and cheering each other on. Bragging about surgeries and showing off the scars of double mastectomies. It was macabre. I felt like I had landed in the middle of some sort of alien world, some parallel universe. How could anyone be cheering all these young people on to do such harm to themselves? I can honestly say I have never been as disturbed by anything in my entire life.

I found messages from transgender adults, cheering our daughter on and telling her to get rid of her unsupportive family. “Snip snip the mother f...ers” was one phrase I will never forget. That was from a trans adult who is portrayed in Australian media as some sort of hero. All I could see were red flags and grooming.

As a family, we were on the verge of breaking down. We were subject to daily torrents of verbal abuse and she called us the most despicable things. I was told I was a disgusting and pathetic parent, a white-privileged bigot, a boring heterosexual, a transphobe – the abuse just went on and on. It was like someone had put a script in her head because it did not sound like our daughter at all. She would stand with her face so close to mine and unleash her fury.

She was meant to be in her final year of school that year. However, due to missing most of the previous school year, she could not continue with school. We suggested she do a one-year university course that would give her the equivalent of her school leaving certificate. She enrolled in that course, and on the day she was due to start she wouldn’t get out of bed, telling me she had taken pills. I called an ambulance and she was taken to the hospital. I think I was just skin and bone myself at that time. I’d lost so much weight with the constant stress.

A few weeks later, after the usual daily torrent of abuse from her, we had to restrain her younger brother from lunging at her. I told her I wasn’t going to be treated like that any more. She left the house and went up the road to her glitter family, a girl she went to school with whose mother would pretend she was a boy. She told the mother her father had threatened her, so the mother took her to the police station and later that evening the police knocked on our door, and a DVO (domestic violence order) was served on my husband. The police did not even bother to come and talk to us or to find out our side of what had happened or how she had been behaving toward us.

Following the visit by the police we realised we could no longer have her living with us. A friend of ours owned a nearby house that had rooms he rented out to university students for accommodation, and luckily one room was vacant, so we moved her in there and paid 50 per cent of the rent.

At her request, I went to an appointment with her to the endocrinologist in May. I had not seen her since she had moved out and was not aware she was on testosterone. I later found out she had been started on testosterone at the second appointment with the endocrinologist. She’d seen the endocrinologist the previous December and then was given a script for testosterone in March.

No psychiatry, no psychology, no examination of her mental health history. A seriously mentally unwell teenager was given hormones that would make irreversible changes to her body.

My sister, who is a medical practitioner, came to the endocrinologist appointment with us. There was a “multidisciplinary team” of three people at the meeting, the pediatric endocrinologist, a nurse and a social worker. They said, “Oh, we are so pleased to meet you,” yet sat there at the meeting and did not bother to mention that they had already started our daughter on testosterone. I was suspicious. Our daughter’s voice had gone gravelly.

When I asked whether they were aware of her extensive mental health history, they said no, they were not. This was despite her being referred to them by the adolescent mental health ward of the very same hospital in which the endocrinologist had her clinic. The endocrinologist said, “Don’t you just want your daughter to be happy?” I honestly could not believe what I was hearing. Then they said they were referring her to an adult endocrinologist as she was now 18.

The following month we went with her to see a private psychiatrist who specialised in gender. He diagnosed her with complex PTSD, which he said was caused by childhood bullying. He was shocked she had been started on testosterone and said he would not have recommended it. He then told us he was closing his books to anyone under 25 so could not see her again.

By now I had nearly a year of research under my belt. I remember finding Dr Lisa Littman’s research on the new phenomenon of “rapid-onset gender dysphoria” and rejoicing. I remember finding journalist Abigail Shrier’s first article, “When Your Daughter Defies Biology”. I remember finding the parents’ websites 4thWaveNow and Parents of ROGD Kids. I remember being put in contact with another Australian mum, and I ended up speaking with her for hours. My goodness, I was actually not alone in my scepticism. The more I researched, the more gender-critical articles I found, and the more I realised how shocking and widespread this medical scandal actually was.

That September, I accompanied our daughter to an appointment with the adult endocrinologist. I took a stack of those articles I had read to the adult endocrinologist and tried to engage her in a discussion about how concerned we were about our daughter’s mental health and how many people were starting to speak out about this social contagion. I was dismissed by the adult endocrinologist, who told me, “Your daughter is over 18. She can do what she likes.” I remember being in total disbelief. How could a medical practitioner have so little regard for their seriously mentally unwell patient?

We eventually had our daughter accepted into a program through a private hospital. It was a weekly dialectal behavioural therapy class. After the first week of attending the therapy class, she went back to using her own name. Within a few weeks, she stopped taking testosterone. We could see this huge improvement in her. She was coming over once a week for dinner. Our son refused to see her, so he would stay inside, and we would eat out in our back room and watch a movie. She had befriended a lovely girl from Europe who was living in the student accommodation, and she would come around with her and take our dogs for a walk. But eventually the girl had to return to Europe, and we noticed that our daughter started binding her breasts again.

Then she told us she had seen a local plastic surgeon to have her breasts cut off. We suddenly had an uneasy feeling and wondered if she could use our private health cover to do this. We rang our health fund and found out they had issued a quote to a local private hospital the week before for the surgery. We immediately removed our daughter from our private health fund. We wrote to the plastic surgeon, a long letter detailing our daughter’s mental health history and our grave concerns not only for her and her welfare but also for the growing number of young people caught up in what we saw as a social contagion. Our daughter actually gave us permission to speak to the surgeon about her.

I asked him whether he was cutting the breasts off young women 10 years ago. He sheepishly replied, “No.” We made it very clear that we did not support our daughter doing this. He made the comment that we were the first parents to object.

I briefly managed to get our daughter to see another psychiatrist around this time. Knowing that he was gender critical, I hoped for a miracle. After several sessions with him, she refused to see him again. He did diagnose her with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder and autism spectrum disorder. The autism spectrum diagnosis really made sense.

Hindsight is a wonderful thing. Looking back, I can see that she was always on the periphery of her friendship groups and that she never really felt like she fitted in or was like other girls. This became more obvious as she went through her teenage years. Yet of all the health professionals I had taken her to over those three years, no one had ever considered ASD.

The pattern is the same, over and over again … Trans suddenly gives them status and credibility, and they become the centre of attention.

Sadly, our daughter became more and more alienated from us. She fell back down the trans rabbit hole, just as we had hopes that she was coming out of it. She refused to see us for Christmas, and in January she told us she never wanted to see or speak to us again. She moved from the student accommodation and blocked all our numbers.

It is now three years since she declared she was transgender, and she has spent that three years on a disability support pension for mental health. She is not working and not studying. She attempted to restart her studies but ultimately withdrew from every course she attempted.

I have come into contact with so many parents like myself, all gravely concerned about the social contagion that our children have been swept up in and the scale of the harm that is being done by irreversible interventions like hormones and surgeries. I have read far too many heartbreaking stories of regret, of young people with maimed and permanently disfigured bodies – bodies that they will never be able to return to how they were.

The pattern is the same, over and over again: children and young adults who are mentally unwell, perhaps traumatised with histories of bullying or sexual assault; children who are most likely same-sex attracted; children who are on the autism spectrum and neurodiverse children; children who are misfits or socially awkward. Trans suddenly gives them status and credibility, and they become the centre of attention.

It is hard to imagine any other medical condition with a serious, life-altering treatment where the diagnosis is solely dependent on the reliability and accuracy of a child’s or young person’s self-report. We were supposed to accept, unquestioningly, the crazy notion that our female child became a boy overnight at the age of 17 and that she needed to alter her body to match this invisible internal identity. It was, to us, an obvious mental health issue.

Our daughter had serious mental health issues over a three-year period prior to her self-diagnosis as being transgender. There were serious red flags waving. These issues, these red flags, were all completely ignored by the medical profession.

She has also had another three years of very poor mental health because, in their rush to affirm transgender to the complete dismissal of all of her comorbidities, the medical profession has failed to treat her appropriately.

Parents understand social contagion among teens. We were teens once as well. Social contagions have always existed. What has changed is that today they are influenced by thousands upon thousands on social media and misinformation on the internet.

There was a cluster of girls in our daughter’s drama group who declared they were transgender. Three young women, all in the same drama class, suddenly becoming transgender? Surely that alone should raise red flags with any credible medical practitioner. Yet instead of seeing this social contagion for what it really is, the medical profession has lost sight of the Hippocratic oath and accepted the self-diagnosis of these young people. It beggars belief.

We all know puberty is an uncomfortable physical and emotional time for adolescents. Yet to reach maturity, we have to go through it. Puberty is not a disease, nor is it optional. It is the only path to our adult selves. To stop this in children is inconceivable. To put a mentally unwell and traumatised teenager on opposite-sex hormones is inconceivable. We are in the midst of an enormous medical scandal.

Postscript: Our daughter’s mental health issues first emerged more than seven years ago. Almost three years into this period, she announced she was trans and was started on testosterone. Now she regrets this and hates the irreversible damage it has done to her. She no longer identifies as trans.

[everythingstarstuff]

Vent post ahead, of why I am overwhelmed and stressed beyond my limits right now by multiple major changes and situations.....

.I have a heart monitor again for a week because of the continuing mysterious heart problems, likely connected to panic disorder from C-PTSD and irregular heartbeat from sleep apnea but still no concrete diagnosis. I've been to the hospital a couple times of month for the past few months after going a few months without episodes. I am on medication for quitting smoking which is causing depression, irritability and outright angry feelings. There's also a constant horrible taste in my mouth and nothing tastes good, including my rolled tobacco smokes ( which is the point of the medication). I have made progress but in a week and a half I've only cut from around 15 to 5-6 a day, and still vaping though not as much. I'd like to celebrate the progress but the side effects of the medication are nasty and this is honestly harder than when I quit alcohol and all drugs. So, there's that too.

Also, last month I took the initiative to tell my psychiatrist that I feel it's time to start titrating down on the benzodiazapine Clonazepam because I've been on it for a year and the longer your in this class of anxiety medications the more gnarly the effects of coming off them are. I'm starting EMDR work in two weeks and that was part of my decision. Based on two hospital visits this past month I'm going to tell my psychiatrist on the 3rd that in April we need to pause the titrating and go slower cutting down a smaller amount each month starting in May. I believe my heart and circulation and buzzing in my head feeling like I'm gonna pass out having a hard time breathing feelings of impending doom and like I'm imminently going to die episodes that land me in the ER are a combination of still untreated apnea and the large reduction of Clonazepam causing severe panic attacks. I have been having panic attacks every day again since cutting the medicine down. So there's that too.

Lastly, I did not pass my apartment inspection for cleanliness and have received notice they will be doing a second, more thorough inspection to check if I've done the deep cleaning they've asked me to do which I've been and am unable to do on my own. Thank God for my only close friend and caretaker Shanna Detzauer , who talked me down from a panic attack after cooking my dinners for the next week. She also offered to come Saturday and Sunday or Monday if necessary to, with me, pull out the bed and small futon and my desktop computer area as well as a corner with a bunch of cat stuff and clean the floors and corners walls and baseboards. Also we need to clean the tub, detail the bathroom baseboards etc, clean all of the cupboards, clean the fridge and freezer inside and out and clean the stove inside and out as well as the drip pans. Usually I would have to beg my beautiful and always supportive sister Danielle Dail-Orcutt  in times of need for money for a cleaning crew ( which she's done a few times) and consider it an extremely generous birthday or Christmas gift. I am so lucky to have a caretaker and friend that was able to talk me down from an intense panic attack as well as offer to do this difficult extra work to help me pass this follow up inspection, 

I am so stressed out but so grateful for Shanna. Even though I am not close with anyone else enough to accept this kind of help I need to remember that as long as I have what I need I'll be okay. And somehow I always get by and survive so I will get through this really difficult time and handle all of these challenges with courage and grace and faith.If you read all this to this point you are a beautiful human being for caring and hearing me and I want to thank you for giving a shit about my wellbeing. It's been a while since I posted something this revealing and I don't care if people unfriend me or judge me for sharing a of it publicly. The ones who stick around through the hard times are the ones that matter anyhow, right?

Much love. -Josh

sidenote: I’m on disability and am below the poverty line. I barely make it each month with a tiny amount to spare. The emergency food stamps are ending this month and I will now be losing $200 in benefits. I’m not begging here, not asking for help. I know somehow I’ll get through, but I don’t know how right now.

With all that said, again, I will do my best to face these things with courage and grace and the strength of the survivor warrior I am.

[mapleleavesart]

Oh You’re Warm Blooded? Great, Welcome to Being My Personal Heat Pack

Mikey x Yokai OC (Mei)

Word Count: 2258

Content warnings: fluff, a freezing cold-blooded turtle, kissing, fluff, cuddling, Mikey's hands get placed over/around Mei's stomach/waist cause he feels like a corpse, concerns about mental health/ implied depression, do any of these really need to be warned about? Probably not but imma state it anyways

Was going outside in the dead of winter a bad idea? Yeah, probably. The four turtle brothers only ever went out for snow days in the first few weeks of cold, snowy weather, just enough to get a taste before holing up inside and brumating for the worst of NYC’s winter. Even when they did leave, all of them had several jackets on. And they were only out for a few hours at a time, lest they start slowing down and go into brumation early. Did they have to huddle together under the heat lamp for hours afterwards to recover? Yep. Did Mikey tell anyone he was leaving?

… Well, he told Pops and Draxum he was going out (they were sharing a pot of tea; nobody else was to be seen). They told him to put on an extra jacket, stay safe, don’t be too long or go too far, etc. Parental fretting. You know how it is.

 Did Mikey leave the lair anyways, simply because he wanted to see his most favorite person ever?

Also yeah.

The Hidden City didn’t get snow. Natural snow, that is. Sometimes the witches from Witch Town cast weather spells to mimic the surface’s weather, or for certain festivities. Not today, thankfully. That didn’t make the underground cavern any less cold though. 

Mikey shivered. His right hand was tucked into his coat pocket while the other held steaming-hot cocoa, he had a beanie on his head, and nearly every piece of winter clothing he had in his closet on. His breath lingered in the air like he was a fog machine

But Mei was enjoying herself, so he wouldn’t say anything.

“Ooh~ sparkly.” Speak of.

Mikey stopped to look at the store window the Qilin was looking through. Many pieces of jewelry were on display, all beautiful in their own ways. Kinda like people. “Something catch your eye?” He asked.

“Well, obviously, otherwise I wouldn't have stopped and gone ‘ooh, sparkly!’” Mei retorted with an eyeroll and small snort . Her lavender scales glinted in the cold light. It was mesmerizing. He forced his gaze away and back to the display. 

“Anything worth taking a closer look at?” He asked. Sure, girls typically loved jewelry and sometimes impulse-bought pretty things, but Mei was pretty good at thinking things through.

Mei gave a small hum. “No. They’re pretty to look at, but I don’t need any more,” she decided. She turned from the shop window and continued walking. Mikey followed. Mei took a sip of her drink- hot cider of some kind. Her muted orange turtleneck sweater hung off her frame, loose and thick and soft-looking and probably very huggable. Thick, beige pants that most certainly were fleece-lined were plaid-striped with various shades of coffee with various amounts of creamer. The pastel colors made her teal eyes really pop.  “So, conversations,” Mei started, knocking him out of his thoughts of ‘i’m cold but she’s beautiful i don't want to leave but i’m freezing down here, holy shell-’

“Mhmm?”

“How are you doing? Mentally, I mean,” she added as an afterthought.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Mikey answered, giving her a small smile.

“You sure?” She tilted her head at him, voice and eyes softening. “You’ve been awfully quiet today. You know you can talk to me about anything, right? I’m not majoring in psychology without good reason,”

Oh. Had she really noticed his quietness? Was it that obvious?

“Oh, I’m not- no, I mean-” Mikey took a deep breath to calm his flustered heart. He focused on the soft clip-clop of Mei’s hooves. “Yes. I know you’re here for me if I need to talk. No, it’s not that. I’m good, really, it’s just…” Mikey shrugged, “...cold.”

“Cold,” Mei repeated. She looked around the street. Most Yokai were still inside, but a few were out and about, hurrying from one destination to another. “Not… sad, bored, upset, or exhausted?”

Mikey hummed his agreement, taking another sip of his sweet hot chocolate. “And it has nothing to do with you, I swear,” he added oh-so-helpfully.

Her head tilted the other way. He spared a glance at her. How was she not cold? The tips of her ears looked paler than normal. Her eyes flicked up and down his body. Her scaled eyebrows furrowed. “But you’re dressed up in, like, ten more layers than I am. How are that cold? How’s that work?”

The question wasn’t demeaning or rude, just genuine and curious and worried  and without harm.

Mikey turned his face up towards where the sky was supposed to be. “Cold blood," he shrugged. "You know how it is."

Mei stopped again. This time to stare at him like he grew a second head. "No, I don't," she blinked. Then held a hand up, palm forward, "wait, backtrack, you're cold blooded?" 

Mikey also stopped and also stared. The realization smacked him in the face. "You're not!?"

"You are?!"

"I'm a reptile, of course I'm cold blooded! How are you not?"

"Most Yokai are warm blooded! I never would have asked you to come out in the cold if I had known!" She made her cup float and reached for him. "Show me your hands,"

Mikey obliged, taking his hand out of his pocket and resting it on one of hers. She lifted it closer to her snout and turned it supination- palm up.

“Spirits, your fingers are almost blue! Why didn’t you say anything?” Mei demanded in an oddly motherly tone, wrapping her own hands around his. Her hands were so warm… no wonder she wasn’t as cold as he was.

“You were enjoying yourself… I didn’t want to ruin it!”

“You could’ve said something!” She shot back, tone now creeping toward concern. “This is very worrying! We can go shopping some other time, we could’ve stayed inside! I don’t want you to just- I don’t know, drop to the floor in brumation like you’re dead or something,” she rubbed his hand as if trying to get his blood flowing again. Because that would help.

“Sorry,” Mikey apologized. “But I didn’t want you to feel bad for accommodating me. I want to spend time with you. I wanted to make you happy, ‘cause when you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Mei let out a little whimper-like noise, or perhaps it was a coo? “Mikey…” her expression couldn’t land on an emotion. She opened her mouth to say something but stopped when Mikey shivered again, and she stopped herself. “Here, let’s get out of the middle of the walkway.” Mei didn’t let go of his hand and dragged him over to a nearby bench. Her cider followed her in the air. She sat down, her long tail curled to outline the spot next to her, and tugged him down next to her.

Mikey of course obeyed, because who was he to deny her?

Mei wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. Her tail plopped itself into his lap, a comforting, heavy weight. Mikey could feel a tug on his mug- his previously only source of heat- as Mei’s magic pulled it out of his hand. It watched it go up to hover alongside hers. “You’d better not mix those up, hot cocoa is sacred,”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. Should I ask Shangti to come pick us up? I’m sure he won’t mind taking us - well, you - back to the manor. Or I could carry you back. Or levitate us back-”

“Shangti have a car or s’mthing?”

“... a what?”

“Carrying it is then.”

~~~

Ten minutes later and they were drifting down from the air. The Tian Manor stood below them, seated on a cliff overlooking the rest of the Hidden City. He’d never been inside before- at least, outside of the times where he snuck onto Mei’s bedroom balcony just to see her, back when they were still a secret.

The building itself was almost 100 feet tall with three floors and ionic columns made of white marble marching up the sides. The walls were made of dark green stone- malachite, if he remembered from Mei’s history ramble- with a marble-like swirl pattern within it. They went through the front doors, through a mud room, and entered a huge foyer. They went under the landing of the two giant staircases circling the foyer.

“You have such a pretty house…” Mikey murmured, his voice muffled from his nose being tucked into his jacket and pressed against Mei’s front from the way he was being princess-carried.

“Glad you think so. Hopefully you’ll be ‘round here more often from now on. You know, when you decide against freezing to death.”

“Oh, please, it’s not that cold. At worst my heart stops beating for a while and I go comatose for a few days.”

He was promptly dropped onto a couch. “Sorry. What?”

“Box turtle thing,” Mikey exclaimed, making himself comfortable against the armrest. Mei disappeared from his sight, presumably to find some blankets or something. Their cups still floated in the air.

The mutant took the chance to examine whatever room he was in. The couch faced something that looked like it might be the Yokai version of a TV. Closer to him was a coffee table a shade lighter than the dark red-brown leather of the couch. Underneath the screen was a fireplace. Over to his left was something akin to a pool table.

“Game room?” He guessed.

“Hm? Oh, I suppose you could call it that. We call it the den,” Mei replied, popping back into sight with a bundle of rich, emerald green throw blankets. She helped him wrap himself up comfortably until it felt like he couldn’t move. Then she helped him free his arms so he could drink his now-room-temperature chocolate.

Mei, the solution to all of his problems today, crouched down by the fireplace and cast a small fireball spell. The hearth bursted into dancing yellow flames. His cocoa was once again torn from his grip and went to hover by the fire to reheat it. 

Mei sat down next to his blanket burrito and took his hands. “You feel like a corpse,” she noted.

“Happens to the best of us,” he replied with a small smile. She gave him a look before scooting closer. She took his hands and pressed them against her sides, under her sweater and against her scaly skin. Her elbows tucked against his hands to keep them in place.

Mikey’s eyes widened. Holy shell she was so warm. Is this what warm blooded creatures felt like all the time?!

He felt Mei’s muscles stiffen. He glanced up at her face to see it scrunched up, probably in effort not to recoil from his undoubtedly cold hands. He was pretty sure he was making a weird face too.

“What, never touched a corpse before?” Mikey tried to joke. It was Mei’s turn to shiver. Mikey was pretty sure he was blushing, if that was even possible.

“Miguel,” the yokai scolded. “Enough with the death jokes. They’re not funny.”

To you, he thought. Out loud, he apologized. “Sorry. Leo must be rubbing off on me.”

Mei huffed. Mikey shifted how his hands were positioned. It could've been ten seconds or a minute or an hour before he managed to compose himself enough to mumble, "your scales are soft,"

"... Thanks."

Mei didn't meet his gaze, but her cheeks were darker than they were supposed to be.

"What, I can't compliment my gorgeous girlfriend?"

Mei's face darkened further. It was adorable. "You warm yet?" She asked to avoid the question.

"Hm… mostly. My lips are still a little cold," he started, blinking up at her innocently, "care to help me with that?"

Oh, if only he could record the look she gave him. It made him want to giggle like they were fifteen all over again. So he did. And in the process of that, he pulled Mei by her waist so the Yokai flopped into him with a strangled yelp of surprise.

"ACK- Mikey!" She complained, wiggling against his hold. But alas, he was a building-thrower and the most Mei worked out was when she practiced her archery. Within a second Mikey had one arm wrapped firmly around her torso, pressing her against him now. Mei quickly gave up and lay limp against his plastron. Her tail flopped around clumsily behind her.

Mikey pulled out his most charming grin. "Can I get my daily dose of kisses now, my love?"

All of Mei's muscles melted with her annoyance. Her face and gaze softened into something adoring. Her hands moved to rest against Mikey's chest. Mikey moved his hand to rest against her warm cheek in turn. 

She sighed dramatically. "Oh, if I must." 

Then she leaned forward and pressed a gentle, warm, long kiss on his lips. It left his green skin tingling. "You're such a dork." All of the love in the world was stored in her voice. Mikey could feel his tail beginning to wag from its confines.

"Yeah. But I'm your dork, aren't I?"

"Yeah," she pecked his lips again.

And so they stayed like that, cuddling and trading sweet kisses, until the two fell asleep, until the sun reached its peak, and until a dark teal Qilin adjusted their blankets and answered the texts blowing up Michaelangelo's phone. They stayed like that as Shangti reassured the little box turtle's worried family that he was okay, that the Titans would take care of him, and that the two would return as soon as they awoke.

And so, they stayed.