#feels like i’ve just dissociated since i woke up

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for wanting healthy communication?

🎨💫 <- so I can find it

For context this is about one of my exes from 2022. It was an online relationship. At the time of this story I was 19 and they (🦜) were 18. This also involves their friend (🪐) who was also 18 at the time.

When me and 🦜 met, I was 17 and they were 16. I had just gotten out of a toxic relationship with someone who had been cheating on me with 🦜. Me and 🦜 bonded over the toxicity of that person, which is how we ended up getting closer. Trauma bonding isn’t healthy, I know.

Me and 🦜 started dating in January of 2022. I was in college at the time but I ended up dropping out and moving to another state. During this time, I asked 🦜 to communicate with me if I ever did or said anything wrong, as I’m autistic and often can’t tell. I thought that 🦜 also being autistic meant they would understand, but oh how wrong I was.

Our relationship lasted from January to October of 2022. In that time, me and 🦜 only ever had one conversation about something we were upset about. I’d often ask them if they were okay, if I was doing anything wrong, if there was anything I could improve on. Every time they answered saying they were fine.

Fast forward to October 2022. I woke up to a long DM from 🦜 telling me I had been abusing them and that they were blocking me. I didn’t know what they were talking about since I had no memory of ever doing anything they were claiming I did. Their friend 🪐 had also DMed me with pretty much the same thing as 🦜. I was left completely unaware and confused about what happened until October 2023, when 🦜 and 🪐 sent out a long document about me. In it were things I never remembered doing, things that aren’t even bad at all, and things I honest to God never even did. There were some screenshots but most of it was word-of-mouth “just trust me bro”. They had even included a message from me where I had said neither of them ever communicated anything with me other than the singular time.

I made my own document, including how I had several times asked to be communicated with, and how some of the things I was being accused of were in fact things that 🦜 had done to me and were now placing onto me. Of course this got thrown around as “victim blaming”. This all took place on bird app, so of course fork found in kitchen.

If it helps at all, I suffer from dissociative amnesia, which means I often lose or “forget” chunks of time ranging from a couple minutes to whole months and years. I lost my memory of most of 2022 which makes 🦜’s accusations a lot harder for me to believe and honestly, it feels like they’re gaslighting me. I’ve been told I’m lying about things I never lied about. They were extremely toxic to me, I admit I was toxic to them as well. My trauma has been looked over in favor of banishing me from the internet.

I hope this explained this well enough. I’m a little scared 🦜 will find this if I give any more details of the situation but I’ll try to answer any questions as best I can.

Thank you for listening. I’ll 100% accept if I’m the asshole here. I just need to know for my own sanity and so I can work on myself moving forward if I am actually the asshole.

What are these acronyms?

[wsdanon]

okay messy little thing for Paulo Ventura of Ordem Normal fame \o/ content warnings under the cut as they feature some spoilers

summary: Paulo Ventura goes grocery shopping

reblogs appreciated \o/!!

CW: light dissociation, depression, discussion of the death of a family member

——

Paulo really doesn’t know how he ended up here. 

“Honestly, meu, I don’t know how you remember all this star sign shit.”

He had woken up to a text from Roberto telling the group that he was going to the store and asking if anyone needed a lift there, too. 

“It is a lot to learn, but it’s interesting, you know? And useful in a lot of situations.”

It’s been their routine for the past couple of weeks, and still Paulo doesn’t really get it. 

"Ah, I get it. Well, if it makes you happy.” 

It’s for luck, Roberto insists. Their first time shopping together—the accidental time—they got all their stuff for free. Apparently the stars will align and grant them with that kind of luck again, and the chances of Roberto benefitting from it goes up if they shop together, so he may as well drive them there, too.  

Paulo can’t find it in himself to care if that’s his real motive, or whether he just pities them. If Carlos was asked, he’d say it’s because Roberto is their friend, but Paulo doesn’t think he’s a great judge of that kind of thing. 

“Um, Paulo...” Carla’s soft voice cuts through the drone of—well, nothing, apparently. The car has stopped moving—the engine off—and Carlos and Roberto’s conversation has been moved to the parking lot. “We’re here.”

Carla’s hand is half reached out like she was going to nudge him, but she withdraws it quickly when he turns to look at her. 

“Thanks.”

He gets out of the car. Catches the slight pause in conversation as Carlos and Roberto’s eyes both flick over to look at him. They both fail to mask their concern. Or maybe Paulo’s just better at picking up on it now because of how often he’s seen it. 

Carla walks slowly with him while the other two take up the front. He checks his pockets. He has a shopping list he wrote that he doesn’t remember writing, and all the money he probably thought he could spare. 

It’s not a lot of money at all. 

Maybe Carlos will offer to buy his groceries again.

“We all know what we want?” Carlos asks just before they reach the doors, casting a look over his shoulder at Paulo and Carla. 

“Yes.” Carla responds, waving something—her own list, probably. 

“Yeah.” Paulo responds. Mostly to get Carlos’ eyes off of him. 

“Let’s go then!” 

The store is—as always—loud, bright, and overwhelming. Paulo can already feel the wisps of the headache that’s been floating around his head since he woke up start to solidify into something stronger. 

He feels someone grab at his arm and he stumbles a little. He goes with the movement, but ducks his head in preparation of receiving a hit of some kind, and—

“Oh, meu, calm down!” Carlos’ voice. Unmistakable, really. “Let’s go.” 

Paulo can’t say he’s too keen to be touched right now. But his head hurts, and his eyes hurt, and navigating through this store and his list feels like a worse fate. So, he lets himself be dragged around. 

The hand belonging to the arm that’s linked with Carlos’ holds his shopping list. The other holds a basket. He’s not sure when, but at some point Carlos plucks the list from his hand and starts throwing things into Paulo’s basket as well as his own. 

“Oh! A two for one deal, meu!” And both of whatever it is are thrown into Paulo’s basket. “How lucky!”

Carlos is probably going to pay for his groceries. Again. 

“This is what I’ve been saying, you know?” Roberto says. “We’ve got a pretty good spread across the charts with all of us.” 

Paulo should probably protest. He should probably fight back against entering into this debt with Carlos. 

“Oh, but, meu—isn’t there always some kind of deal on?” 

The first time, Carlos insisted it was to pay him and his mum back for helping him while his dad was out of town—and just that honestly more than paid back whatever little they did. The second time he didn’t even bother with an excuse. 

But between funeral expenses, and making sure Pera has everything he needs, and the bills, and his mum having to look into getting a job again, and the mess with the bank, and the fact he feels more like a hollow husk of a thing than a person, and—

—Well. Paulo really can’t find it in himself to care. 

“Paulo?” Someone—probably Carlos—clicks their fingers in front of his face, and he flinches back. “Hey, meu—do you want anything else? This isn’t a lot, you know?”

Paulo had probably planned very hard to make sure everything he bought was simultaneously enough food, and within their very, very small budget. 

“It’s fine.” 

“No, no, I’m serious.” Carlos unlinks their arms a little to stand in front of him. Looking around, Paulo can’t see where Carla and Roberto have gone. How long was he zoned out for? “My treat, I promise.”

“You can’t keep… buying all my groceries for me.”

“Of course I can, meu!” He’s worried. Paulo’s almost forgotten what he looks like when he isn’t worried. “I already told you—dad sorted everything out, and we have plenty of money to spare again!”

Paulo should try and find it in himself to care.

“Okay.”

He doesn’t. 

“Not that I know how he did all that.” Carlos continues conversationally. “It’s seems a little shady, right? But it’s my dad so, you know, it’s probably fine!” 

Carlos laughs, and Paulo allows himself a second to let his eyes slip shut so he can try and gather the strength to continue the trip. 

“Paulo.” Carlos’ hands are on his shoulders. He opens his eyes to Carlos’ serious face in front of his. “We’re friends, okay? I—I already said it back then—whatever you need, I’ll help with.”

Paulo should maybe tell him it isn’t deserved. That he really isn’t sure how he ended up here—with three people he met randomly during the worst week of his life calling themselves his friends. That if it wasn’t for the mix up with the bank papers he probably would’ve ghosted Carlos entirely. 

That Carlos is a kind person. And Paulo is using that kindness. Because if he doesn’t he’s not sure how he’ll survive. 

“Okay.” He says instead. “Thank you.” 

If it was just himself he had to worry about, maybe he would. 

“It’s no problem, meu, seriously!” Carlos claps his shoulders and smiles. Then links their arms together again. “Let’s go find the others, okay?”

Paulo ends up with more in his basket than he set out to get. He feels numb looking at it. 

They all check out their groceries together, but don’t run into any promotion that makes their purchase free. Roberto frowns and mutters something about next time. Paulo stands to the side while the other three work out payment between themselves. 

He can at least organise the bags a little and try to make sure everyone’s groceries stay separate. They’ve no doubt annoyed the cashier at least a little by insisting on this method, but oh well. 

Before too long they’re filing back into Roberto’s car. Paulo stares out the window, watching the scenery pass as the others discuss going through a drive thru somewhere. 

Food is deposited on his lap, and there’s some hushed whispers between the three that he ignores in favour of snacking. 

“Um… Paulo?” Carla starts. 

“Yeah?”

Except she doesn’t answer. She looks at Carlos in the passenger seat who twists around to look at him. 

“Do you want us to go to the funeral, meu?”

Oh. Not a conversation he wants to be having.

“Why? You didn’t know him.”

Carlos is the only one who would’ve had a chance of meeting him. And that only would’ve happened if he didn’t travel so much for work. 

“To support you, Paulo.” Carla says, painfully earnest. “But if you don’t want us there it’s totally fine, you know? It’s your choice, of course.”

He takes a moment to think. And doesn’t feel strongly about it either way. 

“You can come if you want.” He says with a shrug. 

He pulls his phone out and sends the details in their chat. The less time he spends thinking about it the better. 

“I could drive you guys.” Roberto offers. “If I can come. I’ll have to check my schedule first.”

“It’s fine.” He shrugs again, uncomfortable with the attention. “If you can that’d be nice.”

It’ll be one less thing to worry about, at least. And it’s not like Roberto hasn’t already seen them at their worst. 

They drop Carla off first. She mentions something about seeing them all tomorrow, and Paulo tries to remember if that’s something he said he’d go to. He’ll have to check the chat later. 

And then it’s his house. Carlos is getting out of the car with him. 

Carlos is getting out of the car with him, and carrying his groceries to Paulo’s house. 

Carlos is—

Paulo sighs, and ducks down to make eye contact with Roberto. 

“Thanks.”

Roberto gives him a little gesture of acknowledgment and smiles. 

“Anytime.”

He closes the car door, and grabs his groceries. 

“Oh, meu.” Carlos shuffles to the side to let him open the door. “Can I put my colds in your fridge while I’m here?”

“Yeah, sure.” 

He doesn’t even know why Carlos is here. He doesn’t remember making plans. 

But he’s also not remembering a lot these days. 

“Where’s Mrs. Ventura?” Carlos asks as he deposits his groceries on the kitchen counter. 

“At a job interview.”

“Oh? She’s working again?”

Paulo nods, and shrugs. 

“Just until we get back on our feet, I hope.” 

“Paulo, meu, let me know if she’s having trouble, okay? My family’s got connections on top of connections—we’ll find something nice for her, I’m sure.”

“Thanks.” It probably would be a good idea to take him up on that. “Maybe mention it to her next time you see her?”

“Will do.”

Paulo listens to Carlos ramble as he puts away the groceries. It’s… nice, in a sense. Not being alone. Not having to deal with the silence. 

He doesn’t even know why it’s been getting him so badly. It’s not like his dad was here all that much to fill the silence in the first place.

“After the funeral…” Paulo starts, unintentionally interrupting Carlos who stops dead in his tracks when he speaks. “After the funeral I can buy my own groceries again, okay?”

“Are you sure?” Carlos frowns. “It’s no issue, ser—“

“Yeah. I’m sure.” He sighs. “Everything’s sort of… approaching normal again. You know?”

It doesn’t feel right to say that. But life goes on even if Paulo feels like some part of him died that day, too. It has to be normal eventually. 

“I get it.” 

“And with mum getting a job again we’ll be getting more income.”

“That’s true…” Carlos sighs. “Alright, meu—just don’t hesitate to tell me if you want help with anything, okay?”

“Alright.” 

“Good.” Carlos pauses for a second. Like he’s waiting for Paulo to say something else. Then he turns, looking about the house. “Now where’s Pera?”

“In my bedroom, I think.” 

Carlos calls out to him, not hesitating to march his way to Paulo’s bedroom door. 

It… makes him smile. A little. 

He grabs some food for the cat, and follows after. 

——

I found this difficult to write, but I had the idea and wanted to finish it…

I like the idea of Paulo and Carlos (as well as Roberto and Carla) becoming proper friends, but I don’t think Paulo is in the headspace to fully deal with that right now

(also I’ve seen two different spellings of meu (meo as well?) so I hope this is okay… I figured it’d be easier to just use it as is then try to find an English equivalent)

anyway hope you enjoyed \o/!!

[eddies-disability-swag-blog]

So, I have a lot of friends with dissociative disorders, one actually became aware of their (they as in multiples, neither of them uses they/them iirc) DID quite recently.

And like, I’ve been trying to talk about my experiences with dissociation and depersonalization with them, but no one seems to relate to what happened to me and I just feel so alone.

So, if you find any of the following relatable, I’d love to talk about it. I am very scared of it, but I think it would be nice to meet people who have gone through the same.

CW: Mentions of death and descriptions of dissociation

I feel like I have died multiple times. Well, not me, but someone else died and now I’m in their place.

I think this has happened about 3 times, the last time was around 2015.

When “I” died, I just woke up one day, feeling strange and out of place. Nothing usually felt real. My memories felt like they weren’t mine, I had no connection to my names, my family felt like strangers that knew me. I still recognized everything, but after waking up, I was a completely different person. Eventually the odd feelings would disappear and I’d assume my role as the person leading the body, or at least most of the time that happened. It was a very weird experience, like growing up suddenly in one night, feeling completely altered, but still somewhat like me deep inside.

I don’t think I have multiples, or at least not ones that existed simultaneously, if that even makes sense. The different identities just replaced the past ones, one after the other.

The first one was what I assume was a girl. She loved to wear one of my sister’s purple dresses and role play as Minnie Mouse. She was really jealous of the cute little princess costumes my grandma made for my sister and cousins. She must’ve died when I was like 7.

Number 2 was a weird one. They didn’t think of themselves as human, to them they were just in this body temporarily and soon they’d return to their home to their real family. They’d also communicate with their family using methods I will not describe because I don’t really want to talk about them.

This must be the time where the autism dehumanization kicked in or smth.

No idea how long they lasted for really.

Then there was number 3, probably a girl, like a sequel to number 1. She was really not that remarkable. Since the purple dress and my sister’s other clothes were too small for us then, she explored her gender through club penguin and MLP. She wanted to be a club penguin YouTuber and then a MLP YouTuber and then an everything YouTuber. She died around 2015.

There’s a possibility there might be a secret number 4 since I have a lot of missing gaps from 2016, but eh, the others didn’t cause me amnesia, that might be something different.

And then I was born! I’m by far the oldest, at almost 10 years old. Idk what else to say. I’m not a girl. I’m somewhat a guy, so he/they pls, in that order.

I don’t think I have alters. I don’t think I have DID, I don’t have amnesia and stuff and my personality and sense of self is fairly consistent.

There’s been times I’ve allegedly woken up, done stuff, talked to people, promised to do stuff, go back to sleep and then wake up again, remembering nothing. But I think that’s more a sleep disorder, night terror or sleep walking rather than me having a cohabitant that only wakes up to make me look bad and untrustworthy.

Anyways, remember, if you relate to any of this and wanna talk about it, pls DM me.

[r6-unifiedlands]

A Little Company with Big Bad Wolf

[Remington "Espion" Harmonics & Emil "Fenrir" Svensson]

Summary: It seems that the new guy was having difficulty blending in with the team, and Espion decided she wanted to befriend him by helping him with his lab work.

A/N: I blacked out and woke up with this fic, what the fuck.

It’s been a week since Fenrir arrived at Rainbow’s main HQ at Hereford.

Reth liked the codename that the new guy chose for himself. Fenrir from the fabled Norse legend stories, a wolf that could devour both heaven and earth alike and cause massive apocalyptic events. Feared for his name and reputation, how the ol’ wolf got despised by gods and mortals alike.

Except, this new operator feels like he’d topple down if she nudged him slightly, probably.

Fenrir, or Emil as his real name, doesn’t talk as much. He was shunned by almost half of the team, and the rest either offered him friendship or avoided interacting much with him. An overworked man who barely even sleeps in his own room and prefers to rest on his messy desk, observation papers written in Swedish scattered across the surface of his workbench. He eats almost alone most of the time in the cafeteria, with the exception of either Kapkan or Stena would sit together with him and keep the chemist company.

[There was a moment when she heard Nomad talking to Kaid in Arabic during training, and she thought it was just a normal conversation. But as soon as she heard Fenrir and Thermite’s names in there, she figured out they were talking shit.]

With that in mind, she figured out that she wanted to keep the anxiety-riddled man company by—

“No, I don’t need a test subject for now.” Emil didn’t move his head from soldering a circuit board, his voice remained flat and very much tired. Might be because of the damage that Mike caused on his F-NATT device. “I’ve tested the current formula of the fear toxin on myself, and that was good enough for Jordan and Mira.”

…Welp, there goes her plan of accompanying the Swedish operator by helping his lab tests.

She sighed softly, and it seemed that her slightly disappointed expression was noticeable to the other, because Emil gestured towards an empty chair near him. “I don’t mind someone to chat, though. Saif is currently on a mission, and it’s been a quiet evening without him.”

Oh, that’s a new information. It's not surprising, considering how Saif was known as the friendliest being in this hostile environment, but still new information regardless.

With slight hesitation, she pulled the chair close to her and sat down, eyes watching the way he tinkered with the gadget’s inner workings. Calloused hands carefully plucking burnt parts with tweezers and replacing them with new ones. No rushed job. Just slow and steady work.

Reth likes watching the process. She enjoys how machineries work and how people handle them. Little screws got put aside, small cables roughly connected with each other, or in this case, how the Dread Mine’s gas canister casing finally got replaced with a newer and possibly stronger one. Everyone’s gadgets and devices are wonderful by themselves, and it made her heart swell up in pride whenever she saw people taking good care of them.

“You look happy.” Emil’s gruff voice snapped her out of her train of thought. His head finally turned to face her. “Something on your mind, hm?”

Reth smiled widely, her fang peeking out. “This is the first time I saw your gadget close by.” She then let out a nervous laugh, her violet contacts avoiding the chemist’s blue eyes. “The last time I saw it, I got sprayed by your fear gas and got myself knocked out until the end of the practice round.”

“I don’t remember you getting knocked out. You were doing well back then.” He followed by a soft mutter of Swedish, probably a swear word. 

“It’s my thing.” It’s her amnesia that prevented her from remembering lots of parts of her day-to-day basis. You possibly have a dissociative disorder, Harry’s voice rang through her mind. “Speaking of well, how’s F-NATT? Did you fix it?”

The mention of his gadget made the chemist shift his attention back to his work desk, examining the circuit board once again. “I’ll run some tests tomorrow. It’s dinner time.” He sat up and stretched his body, she could hear the subtle crackle and pops of the joints. “If I remember correctly, today’s dinner is steak with steamed carrots and broccoli florets.”

Reth groaned, the previous smile now replaced with a small frown. “I’ll skip. Old man Baker would chase me down to make me eat vegetables.”

Emil raised one of his eyebrows. “That’s unusual, coming from someone with a military background.” The engineer now noticed how tall the chemist was as he came closer. “Now that I think about it, you barely showed up in the cafeteria. What did you eat all this time?”

“Instant cup noodles, my best friend!”

He clicked his tongue; the blue eyes gleamed brighter under the room’s lighting. “Unhealthy. Do you know how much sodium is in there and the health risks if you consume it daily?” Now he reminded her of her late mother, who would nag her whenever she found out about her eating a raw block of instant ramen secretly.

Besides Gustave, Emil’s response is nostalgic to the engineer in a good way.

Another sigh left Reth’s mouth, eyes now shifted to the ground. “Vegetable texture and taste would make me gag. I can’t force them into my mouth unless it’s mashed into other food to mask the yuckiness…” Her voice lowered, thumbs twiddling. A sign of her nervousness.

In all honesty, Reth is embarrassed to tell people about this quirk because of how wildly different people would react to it. Baker went on a rant about how she should’ve gotten her shit together a long time ago and to grow the fuck up, and she decided not to listen to it. Flores was still kind to her, making her try Perico, a Colombian dish consisting of scrambled eggs with chopped vegetables, with the veggies minced more finely than usual. 

[Marius agreed with her since he also can’t stand vegetable texture other than starch roots like potatoes and yams. He just masked his dislike better than her.]

“So you’re telling me…” Emil crossed his arms, tapping his index fingers absentmindedly “...you have food hypersensitivity?” She nodded slowly. He hummed, closing his eyes for a while.

“Emil? You alright?”

“I’m alright, just thinking of something.” She could feel the chemist’s gaze piercing through her. “If I cook you something that wouldn’t make you gag every day, would you eat food properly from now on?”

Blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me right correctly, Espion.” More blinking gestures from the younger operator, and he let out a loud, exasperated sigh. Strands of his jet-black hair fell, and he combed them back up with his fingers. “I will keep track of what you like and don’t like in vegetables and run extensive experiments on them in the kitchen. You’ll be my test subject.”

For a normal person, they would be highly suspicious because of that ominous statement alone. This person previously worked for Deimos, blew up a whole site, and developed a gas that possibly would end up with people killing off each other if inhaled for an extended period with an incorrect amount of formula.

Too bad that Reth is not “normal,” in a sense.

“I don’t mind.” She grinned, an honest smile for the other. “When you start?”

“The kitchen beside the cafeteria would be free of use around nineteen. Walking now would get us extra spare time to talk during the trip.”

Somehow, her task failed successfully.

[poodle-anon]

☔️ for the ask? I love hearing about concepts! Especially the ones that’ll never hit the paper.

-miniscrew

OH BOY this took a minute to think on but I think I got one @miniscrew-anon

For the life of me I can’t figure out how to write it, but I really really want to explore Wild’s relationship with his dysphoria/lack thereof. I’ve genuinely tried putting it to paper more than once, but each time I can’t seem to get the vibe quite down in a way that resonates with what I enjoy about it in my head

Under a read more because it’s long, and has to do with HRT, gender dysphoria, panic attacks, discussion of needles, and trans!Wild having an overall Bad Time for a day within a 99.99% positive experience being trans otherwise. 

As a disclaimer upfront, I am transmasculine nonbinary myself, and feel that I have a right to depict explorations of that experience in combination with binary ftm experiences. Also, this is NOT a story about detransitioning or “forced feminization,” do NOT get it fucking twisted or I will hunt you down. I will find you. This is about euphoria and dysphoria and happiness with one's body but clothing/presentation causing issues.

So for background, in my headcanons, I’m pretty convinced that Wild normally doesn’t experience dysphoria at all - something that very much separates him from Champion, whom is a very binary trans man. Wild woke up in a very masculine post-transition non-op body, Champion had been very satisfied with himself and his transition, having begun it as a teen with access to puberty blockers prior to hrt, so he never went through estrogen puberty. Wild is at first pretty bad at keeping track of and administering his hrt shots, something that Champion was very strict about and pretty much never failed to keep up with. At first, the other guard boys had to help him with them when he did remember because the anticipation of a shot is TERRIBLE for wanting to get it done when you have adhd and it’s something you don’t really think matters in your own personal upkeep. Eventually, Wild just kinda gives up on it with a happy shrug and carries on his merry way in his very androgynous body, transness usually being a fun afterthought for him. Even when he starts retaining fat differently, and growing breast tissue through lazy estrogen puberty, he’s having fun with this new experience! Heck yeah more gender fuckery, he’s having a great time being a man while doing it. Nobody in his life invalidates his gender over it. Period.

However.

There is an idea that I must credit to Stormy for sparking but has been making me lose my mind (/pos) over ever since, wherein at some point Wild goes to the mall with one of the other boys (possibly Hyrule, possibly Wars and Sky, never been able to figure that one out) to shop for higher end lingerie. (I see this fic as separate from and kinda irrelevant to the second puberty concept, so disregard that point for now and play with me in this space.) And he picks out some really cute finds! He's very happy with some lacy little numbers that he knows will go well with his eyes or whatever, but you know how they make lingerie that comes in pairs with bras that are equally as cute? Well, he goes to try one on, and standing there in the changing room, looking in the mirror, the world kinda stops.

There’s this overwhelming sense of badwrongbad while looking at himself in a bra. He doesn’t recognize the person in the mirror, he doesn’t like that person, and has no real way of articulating it to himself why.

Now, bear in mind, Wild very technically is a dissociative fugue state initially brought on by a severe concussion, which is a WHOLE OTHER can of worms I hope to explore one day. As thorough of a personality change there is though, he’s not as stable of an existence as I think he presents

So something about how he feels about seeing this sets off a dissociative panic attack that is probably the closest thing that he’s ever come to Champion surfacing into active memory, bearing some resemblance to the one in The Brave that was set off by Time playing the ocarina.

But is the bra too small? The wrong material? Who knows. Doesn’t matter. He’s suffocating. His skin itches like hell. He needs this thing off now.

Once he exits, the guys he’s with immediately notice a shift. He’s uncharacteristically serious for a beat or two, maybe even recognizable if he’s with the guard boys, but if he’s not nonverbally putting stuff on the reject rack, Wild laughs it off as nothing being wrong. Either Wild or someone else points out they can go get a smoothie after Wild decides he’s not buying any clothes, and his day gets a little better. The temperature of it maybe makes his nipples a little hard and Wild doesn’t know why he’s so aware and uncomfortable with that right now, but the others might also notice that he’s still periodically itching where the band and straps were until they get home.

By the time they leave the mall, he’s more or less fine and all of the Overwhelming Dread has passed. That night though, he puts a blanket over the mirror in his room. And when he curls up in bed, there’s this shuddering sigh that leaves him. That kind where you're just on the edge of crying but don't.

Anyway thanks for coming to my TED talk :) 

[goblinbugthing]

Salutations! I wanna know what kinds of physical affection your Gala would do to Meta. This will help me in mu scientific research hehehe

Oh you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to ramble about this.

Gala is very affectionate. And also very clingy.

He’s big on cuddles and kisses. His number one love language is physical touch. Sometimes, he’ll just come out of absolutely nowhere and jump on an unsuspecting Meta like a goddamn lemur.

One of his favourite things to do with Meta is cuddle him and kiss him everywhere he can reach. Every single night, he’ll cling onto him like a child to a plushie, wrap his wings around him, and *smooch smooch smooch smooch smooch smooch smooch smooch smooch smooch smooch sm*

Meta loves it. He prefers giving gifts over physical touch, but his favourite thing in the world is just holding Gala and feeling his warmth.

Gala gets extra cuddly in the winter. He knows Meta can’t survive in cold environments (bc fire dragon), so he almost constantly has his wings around him, wrapping him up like a burrito. Meta really appreciates it — even though he can live perfectly fine in Dreamland’s winters, he really enjoys the extra warmth and protection his fiancé gives him.

If he’s feeling a bit bored (and not being given the attention he wants) he’ll just. *chomp*

It makes Meta jump sometimes, since usually when this happens he’s either dozing off, dissociating, on another plane of existence thinking about some random shit (probably the wedding lol), or hyperfocused on something else. But no matter, he’s chill with it either way.

Gala also tends to ramble about specific things, like magic, art, and music. He’s a passionate guy. (Meta thinks that maybe he should get a test for The Tism an/or ADHD, since he himself is autistic and Gala expresses a lot of the symptoms. Totally not bc I’m projecting or anything haha)

This is all I can think of rn, I literally just woke up and my brain barely works dhgdgdgdy—

Uh anyway enjoy your homosecksul sillies

[queerautism]

I had my first experience of a full switch the other day but I haven’t told anyone that I’m plural so I thought I’d talk here just to clear my head, if you don’t mind.

As a short background; I’ve noticed dissociation and depersonalization feelings since middle school, but since entering my 20’s a few years ago it has intensified. I realized I had headmates and the voices I had been hearing were not just normal thoughts or anxiety. I’m still trying to figure out everyone.

I’ve always felt that I (host) am always fronting while talking internally with anyone else hanging in headspace at the moment. I always have control of the body. But the other day I was on a date with my partner and started feeling foggy and detached, which is common, and then my partner said something triggering and immediately I had two headmates YELLING to be let in front. All I remember is thinking no no please no and then I wasn’t fronting anymore. I was still in headspace and didn’t experience any amnesia but i don’t know for sure who was fronting. It was honestly so fucking scary. We were in public getting dinner and then for the first time I can remember I was not controlling the body.

When the body woke up the next morning I was back to fronting. Brain fog has been laying thick since then. There’s a voice that sounds like mine telling me I’m making it all up and it was just a panic attack triggered by what my partner said (they didn’t mean to trigger me btw) and idk maybe that’s another headmate or maybe it’s just my own thoughts I can’t tell. But I know I’ve never felt that powerful a sense of losing control before ever.

That’s it I really needed to get that off my chest and try and cope by writing it down. If you have any words of encouragement or anything I’d appreciate them <3

I'm sorry you had to deal with that so unexpectedly. It sounds like a pretty intense and scary situation!

Triggering stuff commonly affects who is fronting for a lot of systems. Often it happens because your headmates are trying to protect you from the trigger the only way they know how, and I think it can help to appreciate that intention, even if it resulted in an unexpected and disorienting experience in the end.

I hope you feel better soon. It's okay to need your time to process it, too. There's no need to push to make sense of all of it too quickly. Take care 💜

[raining-anonymously]

been thinking about how different aspects of my neurodivergency affect me in multiple ways.

for example—hyperfixation. easily one of my favorite things about my funky brain. sometimes (like this year), i’ll spend a while just feeling… blah. depressed, executive dysfunction, autistic burnout, dissociation, some combination… i don’t know. i felt like i wasn’t fully there and i didn’t know why or when it would stop.

and then i was thinking about the concept of characters that talk to their narrators and went, “hey, wasn’t there a game like that?” and proceeded to look it up. that was friday or saturday. now it’s thursday and ever since that moment i have been swimming in a mass of youtube and fandom wiki and tumblr art and ao3. basically, learning as much as i possibly could about the stanley parable and its history and its fandoms history in a few days. it’s been a while since i had that intense of a hyperfixation, and… whew.

it’s been great.

i’m happier, i’m more energetic, i can’t stop smiling, i’m not getting long periods where i can’t do anything fun productive for hours…

but it’s not all good either. like how my concentration’s been much worse whenever i have to think about anything unrelated. like how i’ve been staying up later. like how when i actually do go to bed, it takes me longer to fall asleep. like how i woke up so many times last night until i gave up on going back to bed. i’m restless and overexcited and needing to mask more.

do i want to go back to a week ago? hard no. i very much appreciate looking forward to the day again. but this was a good reminder that neurodivergency—even the “fun” and “cute” ones—is a nuanced experience. i do consider my adhd to be a disability, mostly because of the affect executive dysfunction has on me, but even when i’m having a high in some areas, i’m lower in others.

i don’t know if i had a point to writing this or if i just felt like getting introspective on tumblr dot com, but… here we are! thanks for reading and goodbye while i go read more stanley parable fanfictions / try to get my pressing responsibilities done.

(disclaimer: this is about my personal experience; i am not trying to say that everyone has hyperfixations/experiences adhd in this way.)

[protected-and-loved-by-castiel]

I have had difficulty with food and body image for a lot of my life. I was diagnosed with anorexia shortly before I found out I’m Autistic. Between chronic stress and several illnesses in a row, I lost enough weight to be clinically recognized as a person with an eating disorder.

I felt so much shame when I got this diagnosis. It felt like they were blaming me, and they gave me no tools, just told me to eat more.

That huge cloud of shame started to melt as I began to understand why I have disordered eating habits. (Per my usual, I’ve done a lot of research!)

What they called anorexia is actually a combination of things for me. It is

- culturally conditioned body image issues

- intense food-related sensory sensitivity

- natural responses to stress

- Autistic inertia & executive dysfunction

- a default strategy of using adrenaline to cope with societal expectations

- navigating food allergies

- trauma around food insecurity in my own life and in my ancestral lineage

I could write paragraphs about each of those elements that led to disordered eating for me. Maybe I will someday.

For the last few years, I’ve been managing my own recovery with the help of anti-diet nutrition coaches on Instagram and TikTok.

I’ve found it astonishing how much food or lack of food affects my mental health, how quickly just having a snack can change my thought patterns from everything-is-terrible to I’m-okay-now.

Symptoms that show up when I’m not eating enough include feeling cold often, insomnia, nightmares, early morning panic attacks, dizziness, doom & gloom thought patterns, muscle weakness, and fatigue. When I’m eating enough food early enough in the day, these go away.

One of my current nervous system support goals is to eat more food earlier in the day.

.

.

.

I shared this post in late 2023. For a long while I didn't reach that goal to eat more earlier in the day. I knew it was a helpful goal for me, I just didn't have the support to reach it.

Since then, I discovered a layer of support that has made that goal possible. Gender-affirming hormone therapy has reduced my dissociation, re-connected me with my hunger cues, and also significantly helps with executive dysfunction and energy levels.

I discovered something in the past year that blew my mind. I have been misinterpreting hunger pains as indigestion for most of my life. Interoception is confusing lol. I have been waking up past-hungry, with my stomach gnawing for food in the mornings as if I should have eaten an hour before I woke up. And I've typically responded to that by waiting "till it settled" which was more or less waiting until the pain turned into a dissociation/shutdown response. Now, if I eat when my belly hurts in the morning, I feel better almost instantly. Who knew.

[contact--light]

.

[saintobio]

sincerely yours. (3)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after.

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+

tags/warnings. suggestive, mentions of the following (illness, infertility, suicide, abortion, pregnancy, infidelity), violence, bullying

notes. 10k wc. have been trying to get out of this writing slump to no avail :’( i guess this series will have slow updates until i get back on track.

series masterlist -> episode four

FLASHBACK — Zen’in Estate

“Hey, you okay?”

You couldn’t exactly tell if you were okay, or trying to be, or somewhere in between. As much as you wanted to be transparent with Toji about the current dilemma that you were going through, you would pretty much walk on eggshells if you ever brought up the ineffable name of your ex-husband. It had already been half an hour since his frustrations had lessened, but you weren’t exactly sure if his unusual roughness in bed had actually sealed the obvious pain that you caused him. You weren’t dumb to know that his dominating treatment towards you during your session was a form of punishment per se, and you certainly allowed it because you were feeling that odd sense of guilt. Why, you could ask yourself, didn’t you reject that feeling?

Because thinking about another man in the presence of your current lover made you just as worse as an actual cheater.

“Are you okay?” Toji repeated the question like you didn’t hear it the first time—the worry in his voice increasing.

You pushed your palms against the soft mattress and gave yourself some leverage just enough so you could meet his verdant eyes. By raising your body and covering your bare chest with the silk sheets, you sat upright and placed your head on his shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” The eventual lie left your lips while you were regaining your energy with every minute that passed. “I don’t think I can walk straight, though. My legs are still shaking.”

Your small joke didn’t seem to humor him, and instead, only made him lean his back against the headboard with a regretful face. “I’m sorry. I was too much, wasn’t I?” His sincere eyes glistened as he looked at you. “I should’ve been more gentle—”

“No, no. You were great. I’m all rested now and I enjoyed doing it,” you tried to appease his growing sense of guilt, “I’m not at all bothered about the sex we had, I’m just thinking about…”

The man’s breathing slowed down as he reached for a green pack from the bedside table. “About Gojou?” he asked, finishing the sentence for you and proceeding to light his cigarette, eyes now avoiding yours.

“Y-Yeah.” It was difficult to hide how nervous you were at opening up. With your hand clasping the sheets, you decided that it was better to be completely honest now than to cause misunderstandings later. Toji would either be laissez-faire about the set up you willingly agreed to or he would erupt like a volcano at the possible betrayal he might see it as. But, wasn’t he always the type to understand the bigger picture? Or perhaps running away from your wedding had left a permanent strain on your relationship? “He woke up from a coma,” you decided to spill the details no matter the outcome, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’ve been visiting him at the hospital and I found out that… he has amnesia.”

His immediate reaction was clear that you sounded absurd to him. “This isn’t some kind of a romance movie, Y/N.”

“But I’m not joking,” you said, grabbing the cigarette between his lips and putting out the embers on the ashtray, “It’s dissociative. He doesn’t remember some things the right way.”

“Let me guess,” he held back a sigh and continued, “he thinks you’re still his wife and now you wanna play pretend. Now you wanna relive that marriage and stay with him.”

Whether he was simply sharp enough to guess or you were just very easy to read, you didn’t expect that he would connect the dots way before you could go straight to the point. And because you were feeling bad for the way his mood turned sour, you planned not to acerbate him further by offering a mechanical response. “It’s just until he recovers,” you clarified, wrapping an arm around his torso, “I mean, he’s gonna detest me once he does recall everything that happened for the past three years, but for now I think it’s the right thing to do. I don’t wanna worsen his condition. I’m the reason he tried to kill himself and I just can’t afford to not do anything to prevent it from ever happening again.”

“I get all that, but before making decisions, did you ever stop and think of how I would feel about them?” Toji’s question sent a bullet to your chest. “We’re a couple, but it’s rare that you put my feelings into consideration and I’m forced to just accept everything because I have no choice.”

You tried to cup his cheek, desperate for him to face you even though he clearly refused to do so. No matter what choices you made, you just always end up hurting the people around you and Toji had been soaking the impact in silence all this time. You two started a relationship believing that you were ready and that the past could no longer haunt you again, but yet here you found yourself agreeing to his words and feeling extremely awful for not having the backbone to completely separate yourself from your first love. “You know I’m mostly doing this because he isn't in the best state right now. I hope you don’t take it the wrong way.”

It hurt that he had turned more and more insouciant about your explanations as if he was tired of dealing with the paroxysm of emotions that you constantly laid upon him. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered, sitting up from the corner of the bed and reaching for his sweatpants, “Do what you want. I did tell you to patch things up with him for Sachiro’s sake, so if you wanna take care of him, live with him—it’s not like my opinion can change anything.”

“You’re mad. I know you are.” Unfortunately, the sorrow in your voice was ignored.

Instead, he pulled up his pants and headed towards the door without looking back. “Go to sleep.”

The sudden distance he was placing between you two induced a faint tear in your eye, but you knew that he was reasonable for feeling that way. You had become fully cognizant of Toji’s sentiments about this whole charade because he himself could not stomach it. In the first place, he wanted a woman that he could love for himself, not a woman he had to share with someone else. You had been in that position before and you understood how painful it truly was to always be on the losing side no matter how much of a good partner you were trying to be. He was left in a position where he was obligated to let things be without interfering because at the end of the day, you had a son that tied you to your ex-husband and your priority would always be to mend their relationship.

How could he hope for a silver lining when the skies constantly offered him a thunderstorm?

According to the doctor, Gojou had a good chance of getting discharged from the hospital soon because he was recuperating well and his body was responding to the medications quicker than they had initially estimated. Of course, his memories haven't been restored, but he was getting better on the physical aspect of his recovery and he no longer had all those bandages in his head except for the one gauze on his temple, showing how the bruises had started to fade and that he was almost back to normal. You were happy to see him improving and you didn’t conceal your emotions when you came to the hospital that day, knowing full well that your ex-husband would excitedly share the good news of his fast recovery to you. Surprisingly enough, you weren’t expecting to see Miwa and a tall, blond man visiting Satoru by the time you returned to his room. Deadly silence welcomed you along with the genuine perplexity that casted their faces, paralyzed with the sight of an ex-wife acting as the poison.

Were they not aware?

If you remembered correctly, Gojou’s mom told you that a man named Nanami was taking care of burying her son’s infamy across the media, which consequently meant that the said man would have had a briefing about the current marital arrangement that you unhesitatingly dove back into. So, if your prima facie theory was that this blond man was the physical manifestation of Kento Nanami, then why did it look like he was clueless as to why you were walking so casually in Satoru’s supposedly harmless realm? Like you were the devil incarnate in the form of an estranged wife who would only bring nothing but destruction to the poor amnesiac man sitting innocently in his bed.

Seeing people’s distaste wasn’t new to you, but that didn’t mean it should hurt less. That didn’t mean you were oblivious to the nurses’ sotto voce remarks whenever you walked across the hall, or the caustic words spoken by Satoru’s mother, or her initial veto on your visiting when her son was still in a coma. And now, you can add this blond man to the list of people who viewed you as the perpetrator to Gojou’s suffering versus those who tried to understand your situation with a neutral perspective.

At least, Miwa’s gaze wasn’t as cynical. Her disinclination was more so because Satoru was her boss and she was therefore committed to submit her loyalty to him beyond her moral compass. Whether she saw you as a villain or not wasn’t the issue—she was duty-bound to take his side no matter what the situation was.

You felt melancholic as you jumped into the conclusion that you would be subjected to another abhorrent conversation, but that didn’t stop you from greeting your ex-husband’s acquaintances. “Hello.” You forced a smile. “I didn’t know you guys were coming. I should’ve brought something to eat.”

Miwa’s hesitant mien dissolved into something more genial. “No, it’s okay, Mrs. Gojou. We actually brought zunda and cream kikufukus because Chairman requested them.”

“I was craving,” explained Satoru, the very man who was the focal point of your endless heartache. He made the effort to reach for your hand, pulling you to sit next to him at the edge of his bed. “Babe, haven't you met Nanami before?”

Alas, your theory was correct. “Yeah, I…” Glancing at the blond, you tried to measure his visage and if he was willing to play along. The answer was a yes when he offered a quick nod. “We’ve met before. Of course.”

Nanami cleared his throat and placed his hands inside his pockets. “Gojou-san, why are you acting like your wife isn’t aware that I’m your interim CEO?” Ah, he was introducing himself indirectly. How clever. “Pardon me, Y/N. I should’ve notified you beforehand that we were going to visit.”

You gave him an awkward smile, squeezing Satoru’s hand while speaking to the blond. “No problem at all. I’m sure my husband’s happy to see the both of you,” your reply was casual, not too pretentious. And amid the small talk, you were once again failing to connect the missing pieces of this complicated puzzle as you turned to your spouse with an inquiry, “Wait, you remember Nanami? You remember that he’s running the Gojou Group?”

Because if he did, then shouldn’t that mean that he had recovered some of his recent memories? You had never met Nanami over the course of your marriage with Gojou, so how…

“I don’t remember exactly,” your husband quickly answered, locking an arm around your waist, “I just feel like I have this pre-existing knowledge that I put him in charge while I’m on medical leave. I don’t know how that came about.”

Nanami shook his head. “You don’t remember this being non-consensual?” he joked, digesting the information in a playful manner, “I was supposed to be on a year-long vacation leave, you know?”

Satoru froze as if a certain word roused a flash of memory before his eyes. Your heart started pounding until he smiled at the quick recollection. “To Kuantan, Malaysia?” he recalled, eyes gleaming at his ability to remember small details, “I suddenly got a flashback of that conversation.”

The three of you traded glances after the white-haired man revealed his very first instance of accurate reminiscence. Based on how Nanami and Miwa threw a cautious look at you, it was safe to deduce that their reaction was due to them having the full knowledge of Satoru’s anamnesis, or at least a general idea about his dissociation (which, by the way, was your fault as per all the fingers pointed at you). It was a good first step for Satoru, frankly. If he was now able to recall even the smallest of details, then it wouldn’t take long for him to retrieve the missing pieces to fill the gaps in his brain. Perhaps tomorrow, he might remember more. Perhaps next week, he might recall 80% of it. Next month, you would be in jail once he had the full memory bar to a hundred.

The purpose of Nanami and Miwa’s visit was more than just to check on Satoru, but also to update him of the current state of the Gojou Group in his absence. The key points being 1) everything was properly taken care of, 2) the construction of Gramercy Towers was nearly finished, and 3) that Nanami would be going on a business trip to Macau on behalf of Satoru for an annual visit to their subsidiary hotel and casino. Miwa also made a quick mention about Yuuta returning to Japan for Spring Break and that he was looking forward to visiting his step-brother again. There was very little emotion on Satoru’s face for you to conclude if he remembered the fact that he and Yuuta have had an improved relationship ever since his step-mother got sent to jail, but you silently hoped that he wouldn’t summon that awful memory back into his brain because it was a direct landslide to the complications that brought you and him to this day. Wasn’t it where it all went down? Him, being exposed to the world for his adulterous nature and you, being fully conscious to the root of his toxicity as a husband. After that was your hospitalization, then your reckless decision to escape his grip by faking the termination of your pregnancy, and then his complete spiral to depression when you left him in this country.

Even you couldn’t handle that memory, so how much for Satoru whose brain was a fragile glass that couldn’t afford to be shattered more than it already was?

But aside from all the business talk, Satoru also boasted about how cute his son was and if they were aware that Sachiro looked exactly like him. They clearly weren’t aware, but that was something that the three of you didn’t mention to him as he proudly talked about imagining your baby’s bright future as the heir of the Gojou Group, claiming that he must have been an ecstatic dad for the past triennium of raising his little boy. It was a poignant topic to touch on because everyone in the room knew the unshakeable truth and you were suffocated by the false pretense of Satoru believing that he had always been there to witness Sachiro’s growth. Whenever your companion in life showed enthusiasm as he talked about his (actually broken) family, you always deemed the situation as if you were standing at the apex of a mountain, forced to walk towards a cliff while everyone else anticipated your downfall.

Maybe one day, you would willingly jump for your sake.

“Y/N?” Cutting you out of trance was Kento Nanami who approached you near the vending machine. Although he seemed reticent, he was anything but. It looked like the only reason he was taciturn around you was because he was avoiding the intention to offend. “I talked to his mother this morning about the doctor’s advice and I was told that he has to avoid things that’ll trigger traumatic memories. I know it might be hard for you to act, but I hope you’ll be patient with Gojou-san.”

What he was trying to say was: you better not do anything to hurt him again. The only difference was that he said it in a respectful manner, unwilling to engage in a confrontation because he wasn’t in the position to meddle with another person’s marriage. He didn’t care about your history nor your personal hardships. Gojou’s recovery was the holy grail in all this and you could never obstruct the road to that. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him,” you promised, offering a smile with your unfeigned compliance, “I also want him to spend as much time with our son.”

The blond’s bony features and sharp jawline made him look more intimidating than he actually was when, in fact, he had the ability to display sympathy in his gaze while staying composed. “I’ll coordinate with some people to prepare the penthouse before he comes home. Do you have a specific preference for the child’s room?”

“Anything for a toddler, really.” You simply appreciated his help. “I’ll be moving in within the week so I’ll get the maids to arrange my things there the same way it was set up three years ago.”

His eyes settled at this thought. You could discern what he was pondering about and you had an inkling that it was regarding your bedroom arrangement—such obvious implications left for him to imagine what would transpire between an estranged husband and wife sharing the same marital bed. Though, out of respect, he didn’t really voice it out.

So you were the one who asked him a self-sabotaging question. “Nanami, I’m just curious…” your hesitation lingering for a few seconds, “What do you think about this whole thing? Like, me pretending to be his wife?”

Admittedly, you waited for him to express his aversion for it—just like the general public’s hostility and odium towards you before Toji cleared things up. But for Nanami who would side with Gojou 100%, he actually showed you that it was possible to understand both parties without favoring one over the other. “All I know is even if he has full consciousness of everything that happened, the Satoru I know would still choose to be with you.”

Damn it.

Maybe you shouldn’t have asked Nanami, because now an immense feeling of remorse was being squeezed out of you. Your poor battered heart was clenching as you walked back inside of Satoru’s room, hiding the glitter of protective tears in your eyes as you thought of how much he truly loved you to the extent where he would rather end his own life than to spend years of it without you by his side.

Before you had the chance to process the gamut of human emotions that entered your body, a clueless Satoru was dragging his IV stand just to decrease the distance between you and him. Afterwards, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed his warm lips on your cheek. “Turn around for me, baby. I got something for you.”

“For me?” Your smile was a mere mask to hide the chasm of sadness you had inside. And in an attempt to hide your destructive countenance, you pivoted on your heel and allowed him to brush your hair to the side, revealing a shiny gold necklace that he soon locked around your neck. The pendant was half a heart, a locket that needed its pair to be complete. Your fingers immediately traced the pendant’s outline, turning your head to meet Gojou’s electric blue eyes in gratitude. “Satoru, you didn’t have to…”

“Why not?” A pout momentarily appeared on his lips before he lifted his fingers to show his own necklace which was the direct pair to yours. “I asked Miwa to go get them as soon as I heard Cartier was releasing those couple necklaces. I hope you’ll wear it often like I’ll do with mine.”

You allowed him to tuck a few strands of hair on the back of your ear, caressing your cheek with his huge hand and tracing your lower lip with his thumb. “It’s beautiful,” you told him as he fondly stared at you, “Thank you.”

Too close. Way too close.

Right before you could avoid his kiss, he had already trespassed the zone you wished he could stay out of. You couldn’t melt into the kiss even though he was affectionate with how he enveloped his lips with yours, deepening the action by tilting his head so he could run his tongue along your lower lip. He was breathing you in, swallowing your presence, and absolutely diving into the sensual gratification of kissing the wife he was mistakenly smitten with. It took a forcible breath before you managed to pull away, hands pushing against his chest in surprise. “What’s wrong?” was his expected question. “Sorry, was I too eager?”

“No.” You blinked repeatedly as if your brain short-circuited from that one simple kiss when you two had done more than that as a couple. Out of panic and an instinctive defense to act, your arms enclasped his neck so you could embrace him and hide your face on his chest. “You’re alright, I was just surprised. We haven’t kissed for a while.”

He rubbed your back and chuckled. “Mm. Then, I’ll kiss you day and night until you get sick of me.”

Asking for kisses was definitely not what you meant, but you decided not to say anything. You couldn’t do anything. You were stuck on this portrait of a happily wedded couple, framed under the premise that you were a perfect wife and he was a perfect husband. But while you were lost in thought thinking about how to play your role better in this situation, Satoru’s eyes caught a particular interest on your skin as he lowered the fabric of your turtleneck to scrutinize the purplish mark given to you by none other than your actual lover.

“What’s this?” Gojou became forceful with how he lowered the collar to expose more of your skin. There was very little space to breathe from the intensity of his touch, showering you with dread because you were too overwhelmed to think of an excuse, too taken aback to even remember that you had a damn hickey, too fraught to prepare yourself from the outburst of emotion that might explode out of him. Your anxiety had increased tenfold just by seeing the crease between his eyebrows and the trajectory of his clearly accusatory gaze.

“I-It’s not what you think,” you tried to explain, a shock of electricity making its way inside your capillaries, “I burned myself with a curler.”

There were two things you wanted to take note of from this peculiar situation:

He thought you were a fucking cheater

His eyes had fire in them like he was ready to destroy you

News flash: you weren’t technically a cheater and neither did he have the right to accuse you of cheating without looking in the mirror first.

Another news flash: he actually bought your bullshit.

How easily he handled the haywire in his brain must have been because of his antidepressants and you were off the hook somehow when he pulled the hem of your turtleneck back up, hugging you in his arms even though you suspected that he wasn’t really letting this one go.

“Sorry, I scared you,” he whispered in your ear, planting a kiss on your temple subsequently, “I know you wouldn’t do something like that. Be careful with the curler next time.”

Did he even remember that he cheated on you?

You didn’t have the balls to ask. For now, you were just glad to have escaped the minute of darkness that consumed his mind when he was considering the thought of your possible adultery. It was absurd that you were being labeled as such when you two had divorced, but obviously the situation was simply too complicated that it was difficult to clarify anything. You could hardly even formulate your next move without reaching a checkmate.

As he detached himself from the quick embrace, you felt the need to scan his emotions just to make sure that he was okay as you held his arm and guided him back to his bed. “Get some rest. I’ll bring Sachi tomorrow morning,” you mentioned, hoping that he would have something to look forward to, “Your little boy wants to see you again.”

“Me, too.” Satoru looped an index finger around yours concurrently when he lay on his back on the hospital bed. “By the way, how come Gen and your dad never visit me? Are they out of the country?”

You tucked him under the sheets without meeting his curious stare. “Um… they do wanna visit, but they’re just very busy with CFG and everything.” He looked a little disappointed if you were honest. Being in his position made you realize that it was definitely hurtful to hear that your in-laws couldn't even find the time to pay you a quick visit, so you suddenly thought of an alternative idea to make up for it. “I think Ian might bring Nina here tomorrow, though.”

That was another little white lie from your stockpile because Ian definitely had no prior plans of visiting, but you figured that he was easier to convince as compared to Gen who would surely say no before you could even suggest it. It was a harmless lie with the intent of lessening Gojou’s pain and you hoped that he wouldn’t place more stress on himself about it. Ultimately, it would also eradicate any suspicions that he may have about the relationship he had with your family for the last few years.

“Alright.” Satoru yawned, pressing his lips on your hand, “I’ll look forward to it.”

There were many things Megumi hated in this school.

The uncomfortable chairs in the science lab, the unnecessary space in the hallways, their ugly school mascot, the overly competitive school spirit, the know-it-all student body, the pretentious rich kids who supported elitism, and the sycophant teachers who played favorites to whoever’s parents made the highest donation to the school. This year, it was him who had to be on the receiving end of their obsequious treatment because Toji Zen’in was a billionaire and was obligated to be generous with his donation amount. Not only that, but Megumi’s female teachers wouldn’t even hold back from currying favor with his dad, even shamelessly hitting on him whenever the said man would visit the campus. Ah, fuck. How annoying is that?

But if there was anything that he specifically hated the most in this god awful school, it was Yuuji Itadori.

Heck, how he absolutely despised him. He despised his salmon hair, his lack of common sense, and his obsession with Jennifer Lawrence. He despised how loud he was whenever he walked across the hallways or how oblivious he was to the things around him. He despised how he would casually greet the girls who once talked shit about him or how he would ignore the murmurs of people who acted like they knew everything about his life. Damn, he really truly despised how this pink-haired guy could still muster to grin while being subjected to the scrutiny of those in the upper class.

At one of those many instances, Megumi couldn’t take the bullying anymore. It was on a Monday when a couple of posh senior boys littered the hallways like garbage flies, ridiculing Yuuji from a distance while the guy was minding his own business and talking to someone from his class. The insults would start with ‘he’s so fucking annoying’, then someone would add ‘he acts like a poor person even with all that money’, and of course there was always that one douchebag who would propose a plan, ‘I’m gonna frame him into stealing my watch.’

That last statement crossed the damn line and Megumi had to step in and face the entitled boys who all turned to him with a stance that was a complete opposite from the way they looked at Yuuji. They were neither supercilious or condescending, only friendly and subservient. Since Megumi was from old money and was born from a famous clan known for their unrivaled business empire, these students only paid him with respect because they could see the Zen’in money, status, and power before his face.

“Hey, Megumi. That Itadori dude’s in your class, right?”

“How can you stand upstarts like him?”

“Let’s show him that he doesn’t belong here.”

Yeah, don’t ask. Megumi got into a fight that day and was sent to the principal’s office.

It wasn’t like he got into fistfights often, but he really hated it when bullies tried to mess with harmless people and it was only a matter of time that someone had to teach them a lesson. They should have seen it coming like they should have anticipated the punches Megumi threw on their faces. They did show some reluctance to fight, perhaps scared of getting on the bad side of a Zen’in heir, but their pride was so wounded that they had no choice except to try and take Megumi down.

It was disgusting that he was getting this angry on behalf of Itadori, and for what exactly? He wasn’t even a close friend of his. He didn’t care about him. No.

“Megumi!” Running across the hall was Kirby in the flesh, chasing the stoic raven-haired guy at full speed with a beam so bright it nearly blinded Megumi. Yuuji’s athleticism allowed him to run after his unexpected defender without panting out of breath. “You really got in trouble for me, huh?”

He rolled his eyes after seeing the teasing grin on Itadori’s face. “Don’t get it wrong,” the Zen’in clan member denied, walking straight ahead without glancing at his new companion, “I did it because I can’t stand how they act.”

If Megumi was the dark stormy cloud, Yuuji was the sunshine whose bright personality always shined through. “You’re so cool, Megumi! I knew you were the tsundere type.”

Sighing, he allowed the boy to follow him like a tail for the rest of the afternoon because he didn’t have the slightest energy to chase him away, especially not when Itadori was clearly showing how adamant he was on becoming closer to Megumi. Well, the latter thought it was pretty stupid how it was the very first instance where Yuuji actually tried to befriend him when they had been in the same class since the school year began. Did he not notice how Megumi was only sitting two seats away from him? Did he not notice how Megumi always saved his ass whenever he couldn’t recite the correct answers for their English class? Goddamn, he couldn’t even understand why he was getting so irritated at the fact that Itadori would pay little attention to him, only ever speaking to him when they had to be in the same cluster for group projects or team sports.

“Megumi~,” Yuuji was getting more and more comfortable at speaking his name as they headed to their lockers after class, “Thank you… for defending me even when you didn’t need to. I didn’t expect that from someone like you who came from a very wealthy upbringing.”

How troublesome. Why were these superficial labels so important to people? “If someone picks on you, learn to fight back. Stop allowing people to trample on you just because you weren’t born with a silver spoon in your mouth.” Megumi tried to sound mature when he gave his advice. His ire was growing now and it wasn’t exactly because of Yuuji, but because he was disappointed that the guy wouldn’t stick up for himself. So after slamming his locker shut, his emotionless eyes stared back at Itadori’s surprised ones before he started putting some things into perspective. “When we all die, we’re not gonna bring our money and status with us, so why are you letting people think they’re higher than you?”

As expected, the pink-haired guy turned serious as he swam in his deep sea of thoughts, possibly realizing the logical reasoning behind Megumi’s words. Was his brain big enough to process that? Only God could tell. But Megumi knew that this guy’s heart was far more important than the simpleton he was—otherwise, Yuuji wouldn’t have bothered handing out packed food every morning for the homeless man near the bus stop. Yuuji wouldn’t have stayed after class just to help the school janitor clean up the classroom. Yuuji wouldn’t have allowed another person to take full credit for the presentation he stayed up all night to create.

Look, Megumi didn’t give a flying shit whether Itadori was chasing after the Good Samaritan award or not, but he sure as hell disliked how this guy’s kindness was being ignored because he was, according to those self-entitled jerks, an upstart.

Still, those reasons were not enough for Megumi to get caught in a brawl with those punks from the other class. He already knew that his father would give him an earful once he got home, but imagine the youngest Zen’in kid’s shock when it was Naoya who picked him up in school later that afternoon. According to the blond, ‘Toji-kun’ was inundated with business matters so he was asked to act as the concerned uncle who prevented the principal from suspending Megumi. Naoya was a master manipulator, a jack of all trades, and it was child’s play for him to hypnotize the whole campus with his skills in cajolery even for the very simple sake of cleaning his nephew’s image in school.

“Are you rebelling, Megumi-chan? Is this a phase? Toji-kun's gonna scold you when we get home,” teased Naoya as he nudged the younger Zen’in on the rib. How embarrassing was it to have the blond nag at him like a parent right in front of his school?

“I wanna go home,” he announced, swatting Naoya’s hand away after the latter tried to touch the bruise on his eyebrow.

For that short moment, they forgot Yuuji’s existence on the side who remained as an entertained spectator between the two Zen’in relatives. Was it funny to him how normal these ‘old-money guys’ act? What a pity. “Megumi, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow—”

“Yuuji!”

“Eh? Onii-chan!”

Fast approaching was a man with similar pink hair, brushed back to show his dark undercut, and visible tribal tattoos that were peeking through his shoulders, wrists, and nape. The said man was also wearing a half-sleeve coffee-colored shirt with three buttons undone to allow a peek into his toned chest. As Megumi caught the guy’s attention, he realized that this man was Yuuji’s older half-brother who led them to the newly-acquired luxurious life that they had now. The man was definitely far from humble basing on the smug expression on his face, but neither was he reeking of arrogance. His countenance merely hinted at his disdain for the likes of Megumi and Naoya who were both categorized under the social class that excluded his and Yuuji’s place at the top of the pyramid.

“Your teacher told me you’re getting bullied here,” the older guy spoke to his younger half-brother, placing a hand on his shoulder protectively, “Is that true? How about I show them what’ll happen if they mess with my little brother?”

Yuuji let out an uneasy laugh. “Nii-chan, it’s nothing like that. Megumi already dealt with them. He was so cool about it, too!”

Megumi. Megumi, ah… Must be Toji’s son. That was the discernible message reflecting from the tattooed guy’s gaze as his eyes shifted towards the youngest heir of the Zen’in Group. It seemed that he was unwilling to believe that such a well-known heir of a conglomerate would defend his brother. But despite his rigid demeanor, he still held on to the principle of ‘respect begets respect’ and so he acknowledged Megumi with appreciation. “Ah, really?” he hummed, turning towards him, “Thanks for having Yuuji’s back, then.”

“Ryomen Sukuna?” It was Naoya who immediately cleared his throat, cutting the conversation short to take the chance to introduce himself. “What a coincidence, huh? I was just about to get my secretary to contact you today about the meeting.”

Sukuna offered a hand out of courtesy and nodded at the blond. “Naoya Zen’in? Yeah, I heard. It’s an honor.”

“Likewise.” Naoya grinned, seemingly in the median between being genuine and fake. Even Megumi couldn’t tell, to be frank. What was even more weird was the fact that he and Yuuji clearly had no idea that their family members would be joining hands for some kind of a project. Since when had they planned this? Yuuji and Megumi were only further enlightened about it when Naoya continued to speak to Sukuna regarding business proposals. “It’s pretty amazing how successful your projects were. I’m looking forward to hearing your plans for NINZE’s website this time around.”

Unlike Naoya, Sukuna didn’t look particularly excited. He was supposed to see it as a huge milestone to have a Zen’in company subsidiary as his biggest client, but something in his eyes just screamed his lack of commitment to the deal. “For the department store and duty free, right?” he asked, “Your family seems to have a very European taste. I’ll need to brainstorm with my team first to make sure you’re gonna like our proposal.”

To his left, Yuuji was wiggling his eyebrows at Megumi. “You hear that, Megumi? Looks like we’re gonna see each other a lot. I get to spend more time with you.”

Damn it. Megumi didn’t turn away because of the sudden heat in his cheeks, so don’t get him wrong. “Yeah… Sure.”

The atmosphere between the four of them was surprisingly casual despite the invisible wall separating their respective status where one side were prominent clan members and the other side were the embodiment of the nouveau riche. As mentioned earlier, Megumi wasn’t one to care about such things, but he was having difficulties reading Naoya’s thoughts because the blond always maligned arrivistes—take Satoru Gojou’s stepmother for example, although she was now serving her sentence in jail, Naoya would still find himself speaking ill about her ostentatious nature. So what about Sukuna, then? Did Naoya secretly hate him, too? Sometimes, it was difficult to figure out because his methods were more natural than one could expect.

However, on this already strange day, both Zen’ins stood immobile as soon as a familiar presence came into view. That long, brown hair, slender figure, and doll-like face was neither just a dream nor an imagination, but a surprising revelation that rendered them stunned and speechless as if a bucket of ice cold water had awakened their senses. No way. This very woman who kissed Sukuna’s cheek and clung to his arm was the same woman Naoya had sadistically manipulated three years ago. This can’t be.

“Sorry, I was enjoying the view at the rose garden. This campus is beautiful,” she gushed, intertwining her hands with Yuuji’s brother like a normal couple in love.

And Sukuna, too, was just as smitten as he leaned closer to wrap an arm around her small waist. “It’s alright. I was just talking to—”

“Sera.” Was Naoya genuinely shocked? Puzzled? Bewildered? Utterly and undeniably discombobulated? He could go through every synonym, but nothing could perfectly describe his feelings when his eyes landed on the girl that he ruthlessly treated like a game. He was so genuinely surprised that he completely ignored everyone else around him. “I-It’s been awhile. I didn’t know you were dating Sukuna.”

In a game of chess, Sera was no longer a Pawn, but a Queen next to her King who put Naoya into a checkmate where no other move could allow him an advantage. And with a blank gaze and an eyebrow raised, she destroyed his ego by asking a similar question that he once unsparingly threw at her.

“Do I know you?”

When Satoru opened his eyes, he saw the face of a woman.

The woman had a gentle face, long full lashes that fluttered whenever she blinked, smooth alabaster skin that looked like shining white marbles from afar, small pointed nose that sat well on her symmetrical face, rosy cheeks that matched her rouge lips, and her signature half-up hair that was neatly tied with a cute bow. This woman was strangely fascinating, like a mermaid that could lure a sailor into the ocean just by her charms alone, or like a celestial being whose elegance could send a man to his seventh heaven. She was also Athena and Aphrodite combined—a bearer of both beauty and wisdom with how graceful she would speak and how confident she would carry herself at all times.

The problem here was this: the recipient of those saccharine descriptions was not Satoru’s wife.

Would it be considered cheating if he acknowledged another woman’s beauty without actually harboring any feelings for her? Or was it only wrong because Gojou knew that the reason he was having these thoughts was because of the rising bitterness that he was carrying towards his one and only love?

Again, when he opened his eyes, Akemi was the first person his crystal blue eyes had laid upon and she was smiling down at him as though Satoru’s consciousness was the highlight of her day. “How long have you been here?” it was him who asked, “Is my wife with you?”

Her answer was a small shake of her head. “Just me. Your mom said you’ll be getting out of here soon?”

“Yeah. Finally.” Satoru dragged his upper body forward so he could sit up and look at her better. “It’s nice of you to visit.”

Akemi's lips had spread into a thin smile. “No problem. I’m actually on vacation leave today because I worked my ass off for the whole week. It’s been really hectic and I’m trying to find time to balance my work and personal life.”

A sad smile formed on Gojou’s lips thinking of how kind she was to even pay a visit despite her busy schedule. He truly understood your inability to spend much of your time with your husband, but there were moments where he longed for your presence and could feel his sullenness growing whenever he waited hours and hours for you to come back. But here, a woman who was not his wife, took the time and effort just to bring the comfort that he needed. “You didn’t have to go here,” his voice trailed off by the end of the sentence, “but I appreciate it so much.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Her soft chuckle put Satoru at ease. “I was actually supposed to bring Sachiro here, but I was told that your brother-in-law will take him to you later this afternoon.”

Ian? Right, you did mention it two days ago. And as if by cue, Satoru’s mother entered the room with his phone in her hand, striding towards the side of his bed so she could give the gadget to him. She was quick to present a fond smile towards Akemi before she turned to her son, informing him of the person waiting for him to answer the phone. “It’s Sachiro,” she pointed towards the black iPhone, “He wants to hear your voice.”

Satoru could feel his heart jumping at the thought of his son wanting to hear his voice. There was not a trace of hesitation when he grabbed the phone and placed it on his ear, “Sachi? Hey, munchkin.”

“Daddy!” the little boy screamed from the other end of the line, “Sachi will go there later with Nina-chan!”

As a father, his son’s excitement surely had him melting inside. “Really? I can’t wait to see my baby boy later, then. Are you with Nina right now?” Akemi was smiling as the white-haired man cooed to match the toddler’s voice, probably finding it hilarious how a six-foot tall man could sound like a child. All Gojou did was scrunch his nose at her in return, staring at her amused eyes as he talked to his son. “Is mommy with you, Sachi?”

“No, dada. Sachi is with Uncle Ian and Nina,” the toddler took his time in uttering those words, “Mommy is with Uncle Toji.”

Satoru’s face must have turned white—possibly of the similar monochromatic hue as his arctic hair. The sound of another man’s name, especially that of his business rival, was giving him a whirlwind of emotions. He was frozen to the point where his mother and Akemi had to ask if he was okay, and he did eventually manage to wake up from this sudden trance by responding to his son. “Sachi, why is mommy with—”

“Satoru, it’s Ian.” Another voice dominated from the phone and Gojou realized that Ian must have taken the gadget to clarify his son's statement. “Y/N’s at work, but I’ll be taking the kids there this afternoon. How are you doing?”

Although unconvinced, he took a deep breath and replied to his brother-in-law with equal respect. “Doing better. I’m looking forward to seeing you and the kids. Is Gen at work, too?”

“Uh… Yeah, and she feels bad that she can’t visit because of prior commitments. Sorry about that.”

“That’s alright. I know you’re busy yourself, too.”

The conversation didn’t really last long and it was mostly Satoru checking on his wife’s family before they ended the call, promising to catch up later at the time of his visit. It was difficult to hide the fact that he was feeling awful inside and it was because of the fact that he hadn’t heard from his wife all day only to find out that you were with another man. He didn’t want to start assuming things without setting things straight with you, but damn did his mind torture him with the most unforgivable thoughts.

Before he knew it, the soles of his feet landed on the cold hospital floors while turning to Akemi whose gaze was filled with concern. “I wanna get some fresh air,” he informed her, “Wanna come?”

His mom’s eyes were seemingly gleaming with delight. “Great idea! You two should go.” She encouraged, as if enjoying the idea of Akemi and Satoru spending more time getting to know each other.

And that was exactly what they did.

There was a lounge area at the same floor he was in that offered a view of the Tokyo cityscape through the wide glass panels. Barely anyone was in there so the area provided the peace of mind that Gojou wanted to have since it had been awhile when he last saw how beautiful the city was from up above. He was missing the same panoramic view that he could see from his office in the Gojou Group, and now he wanted nothing but to recover fast so he could return to his normal self.

As odd as it was, the back of his mind was telling him that he was missing a very important detail about his life. But what exactly was it?

“If your partner cheated on you,” he opened the topic to Akemi as they both stood in front of the wide-open window to breathe the clean air outdoors, “Would you do the same?”

She found her silence from his sudden question and he didn’t mean to put her on the spot by voicing out such an intrusive thought, but he wanted to hear her opinion on the matter before he could lose his mind about it. Thankfully, Akemi's lips formed an upward slope as she answered him, “It’s hypocritical to do so. You can’t punish someone by making the same mistake.”

Just by hearing her perspective about the topic, the tension filling Satoru’s chest had lessened exponentially. “But do you think it’d be reasonable to get angry about it? If you were the first one who made that mistake?”

“Well, that’s a little complicated because you’re in a position where you feel like you deserve it.” She briefly met his eyes—her soft features now becoming a calming sight for him to look at. “Gojou, I know we don’t know each other well, but can I ask you something?”

He nodded as quickly as the current rhythm of his heart. “Anything.”

Akemi glanced at his lips, then stared back at his ocean blues. “You may have forgotten this, but… do you remember what you did to Y/N back when you were married?”

That felt like the longest minute of his life; finding the right answer, wondering if the memory was accurate, worrying if he was recalling things the wrong way, and hoping that he wasn’t as cruel as his mind presented to him. “I remember cheating on her,” he admitted, eventually, because this woman deserved to hear his truth, “I know you think I’m an asshole and I can’t blame you, but I don’t exactly recall the girl I cheated on her with. She’s faceless whenever I try my hardest to relive those memories, so I'm not sure how deep my relationship was with her.” At that same minute, his gaze fell towards the scar on his forearm. “That doesn’t excuse my actions, though. I hurt my wife and I know I did my best to make up for it. Maybe she still thinks about the pain I gave her every now and then, and it breaks my heart that I gave her a reason to betray me the same way.”

“Y/N isn’t the kind of person that would cheat on her partner.” Of course, Akemi would defend you and he wasn’t questioning her loyalty at all.

“That’s what I’d like to think, too.”

“What if she did, though?” Her question sucked the air out of his lungs. “Just on that very slight possibility that she could do it, what would you have done?”

Gojou averted his gaze because he refused the thought of his wife’s betrayal. “My emotions are uncontrollable. I don’t wanna imagine the amount of anger I’d have if another man bedded her behind my back.”

Even if it was simply the consequence of his previous infidelity, Satoru had to be real with himself. It would absolutely wreck his whole world if the person he loved the most ended up ruining his trust. You had been married for three years now and if you truly wanted to get your revenge on him, you would have done it long ago—not when you two already had a son and especially not when you were at the height of your career. It just seemed so out of character for you to do something like that no matter how awful he once treated you.

As these thoughts left him wistful, he was grateful when Akemi tried to open her heart to him to show that even someone like herself had experienced her fair share of gut-wrenching pain, too. “You two are still lucky, you know?” her eyes searched through the slate grey clouds, “You’re blessed with a kid, and a very cute one at that. I can only wish to have the same.”

“Did you consider settling down?” he asked out of pure curiosity, “You’re at the perfect age to start a family with someone.”

Loneliness was reflecting from her gaze. “I have PCOS. They say I still have a chance at getting pregnant, but after years of trying with my ex-boyfriend, I… I failed him. That’s why I had to let him go because I knew he’s gonna be childless and miserable with me.”

Satoru could feel a clench in his heart knowing that this woman was experiencing heartbreak on her own. Hers was the kind of pain that was rooting from longingness—the kind of pain that reminded her every day of what she couldn’t have. A child, a family, a chance at experiencing domestic bliss. It seemed that these facts were being shoved on her face every time she saw you, Satoru, and Sachiro living in your own bubble. If only he had another way of comforting her other than his words. “It’s not your fault,” he ended up telling her, reaching down to squeeze her soft hand, “You didn’t fail him. He’s the one who failed to be there for you.”

“It’s in the past, though.” She blinked a couple times and disregarded the weight of her feelings by projecting a smile. “Many women suffer from PCOS and a lot of them still manage to conceive. I guess it’s a matter of luck?”

“Or a matter of choosing the right partner?” he suggested, “Y/N got pregnant while she was on birth control and with a heart disease. I’m not saying it’s the same, but low sperm production could have affected your chances, too. I don’t think it’s fair that you’re blaming yourself for not being able to carry a child when the guy could very well be more infertile than you.”

Who knows? That was the look on Akemi's face when she shrugged. “He didn’t discuss much of that with me. I think it’s because we avoided the topic so much that it came to a point where he felt like his frustrations had to be directed at me. We argued a lot and he ended up leaving because he found it pointless to stay with someone that wasn't ideal for him to marry, anyway.”

Ironically, Gojou’s distaste towards the guy must have been the same thing Toji had felt towards him. Satoru was an asshole back then, and as he recalled glimpses of memories from your marriage, he realized that it now made sense why a man like Toji would view him with disgust. Toji had this instinct to be protective of you the same way Gojou was feeling an instinct to be a comforting presence for Akemi. Only now did he finally understand it.

“You still have contact with your ex?” Satoru offered a grin to lighten the mood, “How about I give you a child so he’ll realize that he’s the one who’s incapable?”

Akemi's cheeks were limned with a pink tint. “Very terrible joke,” she claimed, but chuckled nevertheless, “If the baby will be as cute as Sachiro, then I don’t think I’ll disagree with that. Should we give him a half-brother, then?”

Satisfied with the disappearance of melancholy on her face, Gojou continued playing along to their new inside joke. “Half-sister. I think I want a little girl this time around.” But with you, of course.

Speaking of which, have you and Satoru even discussed adding a new member to your family? What exact agreement did you two have to not make another baby nearly 3 years after Sachiro was born? Maybe he had to talk to you about this because it had always been his dream to see a little girl who looked so much like you—with those eyes, those lips, and that hair color of yours—Gojou would simply melt at the thought of holding his little princess in his arms.

You didn’t think that Gojou would leave the penthouse as is. After you made a visit to the exact home that witnessed your saddest tears, it felt as if you were being transported back to the past—a past where your heartaches seemed to have no end and a past where your marriage had become a nightmare. This place was filled with so much dysphoria that even the good memories were being outweighed by the bad. It was easy to forget the happy ones, but the bad ones always tend to have a lasting impact.

Seeing your wedding portrait in the living room brought nostalgic feelings of your first few months together as a newlywed couple. It was at the time when he used to neglect you out of spite while you constantly made excuses for his wrongful actions. You had been such a docile, unassuming wife who sacrificed her own happiness in exchange for her husband's. The bar was set low and you found joy with the slightest form of affection that he could give. Has it always been that way? You were certain that you learned to love all of Gojou’s flaws as a husband simply because you held such a high regard for marriage and the sacred vows that you two had exchanged.

Three years in New York taught you not to be that way anymore.

It was a difficult cage to get out of, but even if you had managed to release yourself from being a prisoner to that toxicity, you couldn’t deny that the boomerang hit Satoru twice as damaging as it did to you.

You didn’t realize that a simple visit to the penthouse could spark such a poignant memory out of you, but while you stood there in the living room with your maids carrying your things to your old walk-in closet, your trance was cut short because of the loud sound coming from your phone. Seeing Gen’s name on the caller I.D. had you prepared from the forthcoming argument that would happen as soon as you swiped your thumb on that green tab to answer the call.

“What were you thinking?” As expected, Gen went straight to the point. “You’re pretending to be Satoru’s wife. Are you out of your mind?”

You walked towards the edge of the living room to stare at the cityscape below. “You don’t get it, Gen. He has am—”

“Amnesia. Yeah, Ian told me. He’s literally about to head to the hospital with the kids and I never would’ve known if I didn’t call his driver,” she let out a dissatisfied sigh from the other end of the line, “Do you realize what mess you’re putting yourself through, Y/N? Haven’t you learned your lesson? What does Toji think about this?”

Gripping your phone tighter, you tried to stay level-headed. “It’s already a mess to begin with, Gen. Satoru is… Satoru almost died because of me, and this isn’t the first instance it happened. I never should’ve left him like that. I never should’ve hid our baby from him.”

There was a minute of silence with nothing but the cold April breeze blowing on your face. Was Gen finally realizing how wrong you actually were? Being the protective sister that she was, it was understandable why she would always defend you—whether you were right or wrong, whether you were the perpetrator or the victim, whether you deserved it or you didn’t—Gen would always choose her family. She would always choose the sister who once didn’t know her own worth. The sister who once allowed a man to treat her like a doormat. If no one would defend you, then who would?

She only ever had good intentions, but you were also a grown adult who could make your own decisions. It was about time that you learned to step on your own feet.

“Y/N, listen to me. I know what you’re thinking,” Gen spoke a lot more calmly than you expected, “You’re making decisions because you’re so filled with guilt. I don’t know how his mother’s treating you or if his friends are even talking to you, but I do know that you shouldn’t carry all that burden on your shoulders just because you made a decision for yourself. As much as I liked Satoru as a brother-in-law, it’s been hard for dad and I to accept him again after everything. And you're allowed to feel the same way, too. You don’t need to feel obligated to… to act like his wife again for the sake of paying the repercussions. Why should there be any repercussions when none of this would’ve happened if Satoru only treated you better since the very beginning?”

You swallowed the weakness forming at the back of your throat. “But I-I’m not just doing this for him. I’m doing this for Sachiro. My son deserves to see his father and this is the perfect opportunity for them to form the relationship I deprived them of,” and to clarify the situation better, you added, “I’m just gonna be his wife temporarily. At least, until he recovers physically and emotionally. I never plan to go back to him.”

“But Y/N—”

“I’m sorry, Gen. I have to go.”

Although you felt bad for hanging up, you had to do it for your peace of mind. Gen could never understand your situation and your intentions, so you concluded that it was better to let Ian talk her through it once he saw Gojou’s condition with his own eyes. It was ironic for a prosecutor like Ian to hold so much sympathy towards a person, but you were grateful that his unbiased opinion was what would allow him to fully see just why you couldn’t reject Satoru now.

He had to know how much Satoru loved his son, how much he suffered from your absence, and how much he wanted to live his whole life with you.

You didn’t want Ian to see it just to prove that your ex-husband really did love you more than life itself. You just wanted him to see with a clear understanding why you were holding yourself accountable for the decisions you’ve made. In the first place, Ian was never in favor of you hiding Sachiro in another country. He was always one to convince you that nothing good would come out of it, but because you were so emotionally fragile and broken at the time, he had no choice but to let you be.

Now he would see that you were only trying to mend the broken pieces of you and your ex-spouse by doing what was right in this situation.

No, you weren’t going to stay with Satoru forever and you knew that. You wanted him to be happy on his own, or even with someone else if he met another woman that he could love one day, and you promised that you would be content with co-parenting Sachiro as good parents and more so as healthy individuals.

No, you didn’t love him that way anymore.

But how come you could feel your chest tightening when you visited the hospital later that day, only to see him hugging another woman in his arms?

“I invited her.” Gojou’s mother appeared on your side, noticing how you became static at the sight of your ex-husband and your closest friend embracing one another from a distance that wasn’t near but neither was far. “She brings a positive influence to Satoru’s psyche. Didn’t you send her in your stead because you didn’t have time to take care of my son?”

You held your breath, trying to pacify your surging lungs. “I-It wasn’t like that. I was just really busy that day.”

His mother raised a dismissive hand. “Either way, I like her. I told her to come visit whenever she likes because Satoru seems to be fond of her. Don’t you see? They look perfect together.”

Yes, you could very well see. Akemi was your friend and you could attest to the fact that she was definitely a person you could lean on because she was just as Satoru's mother described. Kind, caring, and always rational. She was the opposite of what your ex-mother-in-law believed you had become. To her, you were a spiteful person who couldn’t care less about Satoru if not for the son that forever connected you to him. You couldn’t blame her for thinking that way even if they were far from the truth. She liked Akemi because she was a genuine person who always had good intentions, especially to those who required deep sympathy. Her actions were always driven by kindness and her words were always truthful.

But when her eyes met yours after she pulled away from your ex-husband, why did she look away?

When you asked her this morning and she said that she would be going out with her cousins today, why did she lie?

[herofics]

hey, I hope you're doing well! I was wondering if you could do a suicidal female s/o texting their boyfriend goodbye and having him rush home to save them just in time? if it's not too much to ask, one for aizawa and one for kirishima would be incredible, but otherwise just one for aizawa would be great

I did both of the guys and in Kiri's case I'd say they're in their twenties and living together. And sorry this took forever.

Warnings: Themes of depression and suicide and dissociation I guess

~Kirishima Eijirou~

You didn’t know what the hell you were supposed to do anymore. Everything felt like it was falling apart and all the control you had ever had over anything, was slipping through your fingers. You couldn’t deal with this, and you weren’t sure you even wanted to anymore.

You had been pretty much just walking back and forth the whole day. You hadn’t eaten anything, and you hadn’t slept well for weeks. It was all getting to be way too much for you, so you decided you didn’t want this anymore, this shit, this life.

You sent Kirishima a message with only three words: “I’m sorry, goodbye”

Kirishima was working late at his and Bakugou’s agency, but this was the last night he would be doing so this week, since he had arranged himself some time off.

“I’m gonna go now, (Name) is waiting for me at home” Kirishima waved at Bakugou, who was still stuck behind a mountain of paperwork.

“Yeah, just fuck off and leave me here with this shit” Bakugou growled.

Kirishima felt bad for leaving him, but not bad enough to stay and help, he wanted to get back home to you.

“You’ll get it done, you always do” Kirishima encouraged.

“Yeah, yeah, just go home” Bakugou groaned.

Kirishima smiled and basically bounced down the stairs of the agency. He decided to finally check his phone, since he had been kind of neglecting it the whole day, not on purpose of course, he had just been very busy.

He had a message from you, it just said: “I’m sorry, goodbye”

“Huh?” he said out loud.

Kirishima didn’t understand, or maybe his brain just didn’t accept the words on the screen, but before he knew it, he was running. Your shared apartment was a few kilometers away from the agency, and Kirishima didn’t stop running before he was standing in front of the door. His hands were trembling so badly he couldn’t get the keys in the lock, so he just opted for kicking down the door.

“(Name)! (Name)!” he shouted.

You had filled the tub with warm water and gotten out the sharpest razor blade you could find. You were just going to step into the tub when you heard someone bust down the front door. You could hear Kirishima yelling your name.

A tremendous amount of guilt washed over you, as you threw the razor into the tub like it was burning your hand. Your legs gave out from under you and you dropped to your knees on the floor.

Kirishima went to try the bathroom door, when he heard a thud inside.

“(Name)? Let me in” he said.

Kirishima tried to remain as calm as he could, but he was definitely having a hard time with that. He could hear you sobbing in the bathroom, but you unlocked the door anyway. You collapsed into his arms as he opened it and clung onto his hoodie like your life depended on it.

“It’s okay, I’m here” Kirishima sniffled as he embraced you.

You and Kirishima sat in the doorway, him holding you in his arms. He was shaking, almost as much as you were and breathing raggedly from the shock and all the running he had just done.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry Eiji…” you kept sobbing.

Kirishima just kept holding you close. How hadn’t he seen this coming? Why hadn’t he noticed? He knew you hadn’t been doing well but he couldn’t have imagined you would ever resort to anything so drastic, something so… final. He never wanted to let go of you again.

~Aizawa Shouta~

Aizawa’s phone rang in the middle of gym class, but as he was busy with looking after his students, he didn’t answer and turned the sound off.

You had been on sick leave for a while now, for various reasons, but today everything was especially bad. You felt like a stranger in your own body, your hands didn’t look or feel like your own and you hadn’t spoken a word all day, because your voice didn’t sound like your own either. Shouta had been gone in the morning when you had woken up, it was the start of a new school year after all and he had to go put some kids in their place. You just really hoped he would answer the phone, because you really needed him right now.

You could feel yourself getting worse as the hours went by, and by the time it hit two in the afternoon, you were sitting on the living room couch, staring at your hands.

“Whose hands are these?” you could hear someone ask, and even though you could feel your mouth move, you couldn’t recognize the voice that came out.

Your head was spinning and you couldn’t think straight. You grabbed your phone off the coffee table and wobbled into the bedroom, and started rummaging through the various medications you kept in your nightstand. You just wanted it to stop, you just wanted it all to stop.

When you found the medication you were looking for, you opened the bottle and poured the contents on your hand. They were such small pills, harmless in small doses, beneficial even, but with the amount you were about to take, they were anything but harmless. You downed the whole handful, and washed them down with some water. When you laid down, you placed your phone next to your face and dialed Shouta.

He had just let out the last class of the day, and had picked up his phone just in time to see you calling.

“Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t pick up earlier, but I’ve been busy with the new class and-”

“Shouta...” you sobbed into the phone.

“I’m coming” he said without hesitation.

He had had a pit in his stomach the whole day, ever since he left you in the morning, he had forced himself to ignore it the whole time, but now he regretted it. Luckily though, your house wasn’t very far from UA and he got there quite quickly.

He dashed straight up the stairs and into the bedroom. You were laying there, crying on the bed.

He sighed in relief, because you didn’t seem to be hurt, but he quickly noticed the empty pill bottle on the floor next to the bed.

“No” he whispered.

He quickly knelt down beside the bed and grabbed the empty medication bottle from the floor.

“How much did you take? How many were in here?” he asked frantically, waving the bottle in your face.

You had a hard time keeping your eyes open. When Shouta talked, it sounded like the voice was coming from somewhere very far away. You managed to lift your hand and put it on his cheek. You brushed his cheek with your thumb before you couldn’t hold your hand up anymore. Your eyelids felt so very heavy and you couldn’t fight the darkness anymore, so you gave in. You lost consciousness.

As your hand went limp, Aizawa took a deep breath. He was a pro-hero, he was supposed to be able to keep calm in any kind of situation. He grabbed his phone and dialed the emergency number, telling them what you had taken and that you had fallen unconscious.

When you woke up, your head was pounding and you felt like you were about to throw up. You weren’t sure where you were, but you were pretty sure you were laying on a bed. You had a hard time getting your eyes open but when you did, you noticed the room you were in was only dimly lit.

You looked around a bit and noticed Shouta was sitting on a chair next to your bed, just staring at you. He looked so relieved, but also like he wanted to punch the nearest wall, his expression quickly changed to a more gentle and worried one though.

“You’re awake” he said and grabbed your hand, bringing it to his face and pressing his forehead to your hand.

“I-I’m sorry” you said and looked down, you couldn’t look at him, you felt too ashamed.

Your tears were falling on the covers and you were looking at your other hand. What had you done? Why had you done it? You could only really give a satisfactory answer to the first question.

“What were you thinking?” Aizawa asked as he lifted his head, but didn’t let go of your hand.

“I don’t think I was, not really” you said, still not looking at him.

“Hey, look at me” he said and grabbed your chin gently, trying to turn your head towards him.

You turned your head, and he could just feel his heart break. You looked so hurt and guilt ridden, but above that, you looked tired. How hadn’t he noticed the look in your eyes before now? Your eyes had darkened and it looked like there was no light in them anymore. You looked so… hopeless.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see this coming, I’m sorry I don’t know how to help you” Aizawa said with tears brimming in his eyes.

“You have to know that this isn’t your fault or responsibility, it’s mine and I’m so sorry to have burdened you with this” you said, wiping away his tears with the sleeve of your shirt. “I love you Shouta”

“I love you too” Aizawa said and kissed your hand. He swore in his head that he would do everything he possibly could for this to never happen again.

[yourwitchmama]

Crystal healing works!

I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been pretty depressed for months and months now. I started crystal healing again (I basically chose specific crystals to sleep with) and my math grade went up a full letter grade, I deep cleaned the kitchen, I can do more readings, I’m not taking depression naps, I’m brushing my teeth and hair, and I’m starting to want to exercise again. I was trying everything else including coping skills, but for some reason, crystals have saved me. After the first night of rolling around on my crystals (that’s why I recommend putting one under your pillow or sleeping with crystal bracelets/malas) I woke up feeling different. I’ve also been doing a 7 day uncrossing spell with my chime candles, sage, black destroyer oil, palo santo, dragons blood, frankincense and myrrh, protection roll on perfume, and I air out my entire apartment every night even if it’s cold. I feel like I wouldn’t be able to do that if I didn’t start sleeping with my crystals again. I haven’t charged them, I haven’t even placed them in a crystal grid. I just grab them off my altar and place them on my selenite slab for cleansing when I’m done. I remember about five or six years ago, I was having a really intense mental breakdown that lasted over 3 years, and crystal healing was introduced by my sister. I was in IOP, on medication (I still am, but less), and I was panicking and dissociating to the point of my surroundings being warped. I didn’t feel like I was in my body, and I felt like the floor was always moving so I never felt still. I had extreme ptsd and trauma, and I was constantly triggered. My sister was in a massage school at the time, and she learned reiki, pranic healing, crystal healing, and different energy healing techniques. She wasn’t a believer but it was mandatory to graduate, so she went along with it (it’s a hippie school) and she’s a full blown healer now. She’s a level 2 (out of 3) reiki healer. She got me three crystals for my birthday, along with calming spray and calming pranic healing bath salt. She placed the crystals on my body, specifically working on my third eye since my brain was malfunctioning pretty intensely. I felt the crystal vibrate. I wasn’t scared, but I was very surprised. She also did a lot of energy healing on me. I had to be watched because I would never want to be alone. I couldn’t sleep far away from my family, and I actually slept in my moms bed for like a year because I couldn’t function (I was 17, but I don’t think it’s weird because I was having a really hard time and my dad never slept in the bed) For the first time in weeks at that point back then, I felt calm. I didn’t believe it, I just saw it as a calming down tool. I started getting into Buddhism, and I started meditating, but this was different. I used those crystals every single day. I think I lost them, because I moved 4 times that year (we moved across the country) but I am really thankful she introduced that to me. Of course, I don’t recommend using crystals in place of treatment, but I am saying that they really do help. Maybe it doesn’t work for some people, but that day when I calmed down when nothing, not even medication and everyday therapy did, I became a believer. Anyway, if you got this far, thanks for listening to my story! Let me know if you’ve had any experiences with crystals you want to share 🥰

[aftgficrec]

i know this has been asked before because i’ve read through what feels like all of them, but any more/new fics exploring Neil’s PTSD? honestly i’m just a sucker for Neil angst and subsequent comfort (especially from andrew, kevin, or matt)

love you guys and all your hard work! virtual love all around <3

Here are some of the more recent fics we found where Neil deals with mental health issues, as well as some older fics we haven’t rec’ed before.  Take care! -S

Long fics where Neil tries to cope with ptsd/depression here

Neil has flashbacks here

Neil has sleep paralysis/ptsd here

Andrew supports Neil through a panic attack here

‘I'm Not Okay (I Promise)’, ‘It’s not living (If it’s not with you)’, ‘Phantom Pains’ and ‘Beyond close doors’ here

‘and more than a few bleed into you’, ‘and when i'm a little unsteady (stay a while with me)’ and ‘this voice inside has been eating at me’ here

‘Unsteady’ here

‘stifle my choice and the air in my lungs’ here

soft spots make easy targets by Willow_bird [Rated M, 3777 words, complete, 2021]

The few hours Neil was able to sleep weren’t enough to counteract the hungry, gnawing pit of terror that had been replaced in his chest by the nightmares. When he woke it was to an ache under his skin and the press of knives behind his knees, pushing him to run. A year ago, he would have. Most days, if he woke up with that sort of itch under his skin he would at least cram his feet into his shoes and take a run around campus (or around town) until he’d either worn himself down or outrun the impulse to flee. 

But today was Sunday, and even on weekends spent on campus, Sundays were days where Neil did not have to deal with anyone - not even Andrew - if he didn’t want to. 

On a day that Neil should be able to hang back and recuperate, things go from bad to worse when a particular freshman gets involved.

tw: nightmares, tw: violence, tw: dissociation

Dare You to Hurt Me by jjmash [Rated M, 3351 words, complete, 2021]

Neil panics. Neil runs. Neil comes back.

tw: panic attacks, tw: self harm

My Best Friend by lupinseclipse [Not Rated, 2842 words, complete, 2021]

It was a bad day for Neil. So bad. And Andrew and the monsters are away. Only the upperclassmen were in the Fox Tower.

But that's okay.

Because the upperclassmen includes Matt.

And Matt knows Neil.

tw: panic attacks

Dead Yet by demesh [Rated G, 5950 words, complete, 2021]

Neil has a problem. Instead of dealing with it, he does everything in his power to avoid thinking about it — which really consists of a lot of running, a lot of practicing, and an unhelpful case of insomnia.

The exhaustion does wonders to dull his anxieties. That is, until everything comes crashing down in his face.

tw: anxiety

You Try Until You Can't by AliceTabitha [Rated T, 3129 words, complete, 2018]

Neil knew before he opened his eyes that this wasn’t going to be a good day.

Neil Josten has survived everything thrown at him, and he has countless scars to prove it. After all that, it's not unusual for his days to turn sour, but at least he's got Andrew and his team to help pull him back together in the end. With extra support and advice from Wymack, maybe things might somehow end up alright. For today, he just needs to keep surviving.

tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced violence

Drowning by justdk [Rated T, 2138 words, complete, 2017]

The Foxes' pool party almost ends in murder.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: drowning, tw: panic attacks, tw: dissociation

neil having a panic attack in front of the foxes prompt fill by @honoraryfox [tumblr, 2020]

Neil awoke with the image of a burning car in his mind. Dark smoke still stained his view, billowing up to the ceiling of his room. He rubbed his eyes, clearing away the pictures still surfacing of his dream, and he reminded himself how to breathe again.

tw: panic attacks

Andreil #’s 3 and 4 prompt fill by @play-exy-be-sexy [tumblr, 2020]

“How long has it been since you slept?”

[albino-whumpee]

I’ve been having the weirdest nightmares this week, but yesterday’s tops as the weirdest.

CW// noncon body mods, captivity, sadistic Whumper, creepy whumper, mention of dissociation, escape attempt,

Basically, a family of four is kept captive by a group of thieves who decide to invade their house and stay for a while to torture them. They’re heavily sadistic with the mother and the eldest daughter, which causes them to lose full parts of their bodies. The youngest is dissociating half the time and the father is being brutally battered. Somehow though, the man gives his life so the other three can escape and call the police in which they succeed. They’re seriously traumatized and have wounds that won’t heal. Regardless,they pull through.

So when the daughters are in high school, the oldest notices one of her teachers is observing her and following her a lot. Despite her welcoming smile, there’s something off about her.

The stalking gets more and more serious, until the girl just completely snaps at the woman and she is left alone for a while. But after just a few days, when the older daughter goes to something like a carpenter workshop and pick up the materials, the woman looks even more unhinged than before and is insistent to make the girl wait inside the room, next to a wood saw that’s rearing in her hand.

Obviously the girl runs for her life while the teacher chases after her slicing through people. The girl manages to call the police and her mother and they corner the woman so she drops the saw and can get arrested.

The girl notices her smile when she’s asked the reason about her obsession with the older daughter and just shivers at her answer.

The woman was obsessed with them since their case was brought up in the news and knowing she would be the kid’s teacher was a joyful moment. She had the creepy curiosity of knowing what was it like to be tortured. But then she discovered she was more interested in how, how did it feel to torture someone who had gone through so much. What did it feel like to break someone so much they would be beyond recovery?

She said that with such a gleeful smile I just woke up and stayed there a second staring at the ceiling like, wtf did I just dreamt about.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 19: Prinxiety/Loceit (pt 3)

Part 1

Part 2 

Part 3 is here, with a little added something thrown in! Hope you enjoy!

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 19 - Everyone is born with a compass on their wrist, the needle of the compass points towards your soulmate. 

Trigger/content warnings!! Dissociation, PTSD, talk of conversion therapy and aftereffects/internalized homophobia, food mentions, nausea, anxiety/panic attack, unintentionally skipping meals, emetophobia/vomiting, pulling hair (does that count as self harm?).

Word count: 5k 

He barely remembered the hospital. It was all just a blur of doctors and police officers and more sleep than he’d gotten in weeks. After the first night of twitching in the dark confines of his hospital room and waking up screaming from nightmares the few brief seconds his consciousness faded, he was given sleeping pills, and the rest of the visit was quickly forgotten. The clearest part of the two week stay was near the end, when he was deemed physically well enough to give a statement to his social worker and a policeman, describing his ‘therapy’ and his life at the foster home, which quickly dissolved into a panic attack. They had enough though, and he was left with a sick satisfaction that they weren’t getting away with what they’d done to him. 

They’d lied to him. They had told him the system agreed with what they were doing, allowing it, condoning it. At first, he’d refused to believe them, because that made no sense. But they took his only form of contact, didn’t allow him to leave the house except for therapy, and his eventual addition of medication far too strong for him made him paranoid. Maybe he didn’t believe them as much as he was just trying to survive. He still didn’t know how they’d managed to keep up the charade when they were being checked on bi-weekly; he hadn’t even known when said visits were happening. 

“They’ll be spending some time in prison for child abuse. Not nearly enough, but still,” A social worker said quietly as he drove him back to his old group home. Virgil stared numbly out the window. “The kids were taken from them for the time being. They were deemed unfit parents. Foster care until they can find either some relatives or the parents are allowed them back.”

He didn’t react, although his heart nearly stopped in his chest. The parents hadn’t been great, but the kids had been happy enough. And now they were forced into a shoddy system… because of him. Virgil blinked rapidly to stop the tears that threatened to flow.

“You alright, Virge?” 

He finally turned from the blurry mass of green trees out the car window, turning blankly to the man driving. The worker glanced from the road to meet his eyes, sighing. 

No, he wasn’t alright. But he’d never say otherwise. Volunteering information about himself was how he’d gotten himself into this situation in the first place. He wasn’t about to do it again. 

----------

That had been almost a month ago, and he was still to break out of his selective mutism. It wasn’t as if he was choosing not to speak; it wasn’t stubbornness. He felt as if his brain and his mouth were disconnected, like his thoughts were less coherent and more just abstract emotion, and he couldn’t turn them into words. Any question that couldn’t be answered by a simple nod or head shake was met with a blank stare, a far off gaze, that was unnerving to anyone. They’d tried to put him back into therapy, but the moment it was mentioned, Virgil spiralled into the worst panic attack he could ever remember having. 

He’d gotten his old room back, with two new kids as his roommates. He quickly built up the same reputation as before: this room is mine unless you’re sleeping. No kid wanted to be near him when he was awake, staring at nothing, his only movements being his occasional blinking. Frankly, the younger ones were scared of him. 

And he didn’t care. 

Some days he fell so deep into dissociating that he didn’t even react when he was called for dinner. The world around him dissolved, blurry and unfocused and just quiet, retreating into his own mind where he could breathe. Reality was too much. It was just… too much. One of his doctors had said it might be a side effect as they eased him off his criminally high dose of antipsychotics they’d hidden in his drinks, but that was an afterthought. He was warm, he was full (when he was aware enough to eat), and so he faded into his head. He’d cope with his trauma another day. 

“You haven’t eaten all day, honey,” A soft voice said and he blinked, looking up from his bed sheets at the worker. She was one of his favorites; gentle, quiet, respecting his boundaries. In her hands was a plate with dinner on it.

He gave an almost imperceptible nod, barely more than a single bob, and she sat across from him on the bed, placing the plate in front of him. With heavy hands, he lifted a cold green bean to his mouth. It was gross, but the plate was empty in minutes. Apparently it had been a whole day. 

“Virgil, I want to talk to you,” She said. Now full, his brain would let him stay present for a little while until dissociation took over again. He pushed himself back against the wall and brought his knees to his chest, watching her movements. 

“It’s not anything bad, I promise. I’ve been talking with some other workers, some connections I have across the state.”

He didn’t like where this was going. 

“One of them suggested a couple that’s fostered for over a decade. They have a fantastic record, so I got into contact with them-”

“No.” The first thing he’d said in weeks, his voice scratchy from disuse. For once, the mess in his brain came together to form the single word, an immediate rejection. He pushed himself farther away from her, shaking his head violently. “No, no, no.”

“Virgil, breathe,” She reached out a hand and Virgil flinched so hard his head hit the wall. The hand retreated. “You don’t have to go with them if you’re uncomfortable, hun. Please just trust me, though, they’d never do anything that they did.”

He glared at her, trying to read her expression in the dark room. Silence stretched between them as Virgil’s thoughts drifted back to their state of quietude, leaving him unable to form words, beginning to drift away from reality. His eyelids flickered as focusing became harder, his mind’s eye suddenly alight with the blinding white lights of the therapy room. 

“Will you meet them at least, Virgil? Just for a few minutes? And if you still say no after, I’ll never bring them up again.”

He found himself nodding without properly meaning it. He just wanted her to leave… he just wanted to be alone. So he could drift away, without having to fear anyone hurting him anymore. 

She left, taking the empty plate with her. 

----------

Just because he knew today he was meeting his potential (not gonna happen) foster parents, it didn’t mean he was allowed to be present for the rest of the day. His favorite worker had come back again, motivating him to get ready and dressed, since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to find the energy to even just put on a sweater, much less get himself completely ready. 

Looking in the mirror hurt. His hair was starting to grow back, just barely long enough to run his fingers through, never mind getting anywhere long enough to cover his eyes like it used to. The bags under his eyes were darker than he could remember them ever being and his hands shook as he brushed his teeth. Biting down on the bristles, he grabbed a towel and threw it over the mirror, feeling a slight tinge of relief when he was no longer forced to look at himself. The social worker watched from the doorway, silently. 

He was tempted to go to sleep when he was done, completely exhausted from the little bit of work. But she brought him breakfast and his stomach growled in agreement, so he ate enough of the oatmeal to satiate his hunger, and not a bite more. A nervous nausea was already swirling in his gut and he didn’t need to add to it.

“Would you like to be left alone?” She asked, taking the empty bowl. 

Virgil nodded, already feeling the heaviness and emptiness that came with dissociation starting to creep through his limbs.

“I’ll come let you know when they’re here, okay?” He had no recollection of her leaving the room, but the next time he drifted back to the present, she was gone. 

He took a nap around noon, too tired and overwhelmed to stay awake for any longer. Plus, with new rushes of anxiety flooding his system every couple seconds, he was ready to not be conscious for a hot minute. He tried to convince himself that it would be okay, he’d struggle through an awkward meeting where the foster parents would eventually give up on him and leave, and he could spend his remaining year and a month in the system. Hopefully in that year he could figure enough out to survive when he was alone. 

A joyous child screeching downstairs woke him up three hours later, jerking him awake with a pounding heart. 

It wasn’t an hour later when there was a soft knock at his door and he threw himself into the corner, pulling his blanket up to his chest. No, no, no, he wasn’t ready- The door opened painfully slowly, spilling the light from the hallway into his pitch black room. 

“Virgil? I’m here with one of the foster parents, can I come in?”

She poked her head into the room and squinted to meet his eyes in the darkness, eventually finding his hunched form on his bed. Wordlessly, she opened the door all the way and walked up to him, flicking on the bedside lamp. A pleasantly soft light filled the room, illuminating the man standing at the door. Virgil began to shake. 

He wasn’t overly tall, probably just a head or so taller than Virgil, dressed in a plain yellow button up and black jeans. At first, he didn’t seem too intimidating, but neither had the other family at first glance. When he walked into the room, just so he was less of a silhouette, Virgil eyes were drawn to the large burn scar covering the left side of his face, just a shade darker than the right, but the skin mottled and textured. 

“Virgil, this is Janus Oakmen. His husband was unable to join him today, but-”

Husband? Virgil’s breath hitched. His husband, his husband, he’s gay, gay gay gay- His anxiety skyrocketed, and he couldn’t help the electric-like impulses that ran up his spine and out his fingers. He clenched his fist to hide the remaining twitches. 

She seemed to stumble over her words, trying to hide her shock. To her luck, the man interrupted, smiling softly down at Virgil.

“I’d like to speak to Virgil alone, if he’s alright with that.”

“I’ll be waiting just outside the door,” She said hurriedly, rushing out and closing the door behind her. And they were alone.

Janus looked at him for barely a second before taking a seat on the bottom bunk on the other side of the small room, folding his hands on his lap.

“Technically, I asked if you were okay with it, but…” He gestured weakly to the door. “Oh, well. I was told you don’t talk, Virgil.”

He stared in response, wrapping his fists up in the blanket. The man gave a breathy chuckle, but there was no animosity behind it.

“That’s okay. Just wanted to double check. Is it okay with you if I just talk, then?”

No adult had ever asked Virgil for permission for anything twice in under a minute. His social workers kind of just did what they had to, and he’d never been in a home where that kind of thing was the norm. It was more ‘the kids ask for everything, and the parents get what they want, no questions asked’. Needless to say, he was taken aback. 

He nodded weakly, realizing the man was waiting for a response. 

“Fabulous. Ignoring all the boring details you wouldn’t care about, my name is Janus. Like, from mythology, not a PTA mom. I’m thirty-five, and my husband Logan and I have been fostering since we were twenty-two, so we know what we’re doing. We love it.”

Virgil slowly let his legs unfurl, stretching them out in front of him under the blanket.

“We actually weren’t intending to foster this year, since Logan is looking for a new job. His current one just made it necessary for him to travel more than he would like to, so we wanted to press pause until he was happy at a new one. And then we got a call from good ole Bev out there.” He waved at the door again, cracking a smile. “She told us a little bit of your story, and Logan and I instantly said yes. If you’ll have us, that is.”

The vague idea of “why?” crossed Virgil’s mind, and it must have translated to his face, because Janus continued. 

“When I was fifteen, I came out to my parents as gay. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but they weren’t such big fans, and they put me in conversion therapy.”

His heart stopped. Another round of shocks through his arms. 

“We can talk about that more another day, if you want. I know that’s a tough topic for you. Needless to say, it didn’t work. Because it doesn’t work,” He shrugged, an annoyed tone finding its way into his words, “I understand what you’re going through, to an extent. If anyone can help you, it’s us. I’ve been there. And I promise, we’re fiercely protective. We’d never let anything bad happen to you.”

He stopped, leaning forward on his hands. Virgil realized he probably couldn’t see him that well except for his outline, due to him being pressed into the darkest corner of the room. Despite every cell in his body screaming that it was a trick, he scooted forward into the light of the lamp, still shaking. 

“There you are. Hello, Virgil.”

Virgil raised a trembling hand in a half hearted greeting. 

“I know this is a big, terrifying thing to ask of you. And I’ll understand if you say no. But if you feel safe, we’d love to have you for however long you’re comfortable with. Would you like to think it over?”

He nodded immediately. It wasn’t the hard ‘no’ he had expected himself to feel, and that was more unsettling than it should have been. 

“Okay. You do that. Take however long you need,” Janus said as he stood up, straightening his shirt, “It’s been great to meet you, Virgil.”

And he was gone. The social worker came back a short while later, but Virgil was completely gone by the time she did. He didn’t respond to her dinner calls, didn’t eat when the meal was placed in front of him, safely retreated into the silent part of his mind where he was safe from panic attacks and hard choices.

--- 

He said yes. Of course he did. He was far too intrigued by the man he’d met to refuse. He was scared shitless, that was a given; the first week after meeting Janus, he’d refused to leave his bed, refused to eat or shower or leave his huddle against the wall until the caretaker was basically pleading with him. Even then, it was a struggle to not throw up from sheer terror. 

But his social worker must have seen the way he was giving in, yearning for a grasp of hope in equal parts as his fear, because she set about to convince him. Promised more thorough checks once a week, daily phone calls to keep in touch, and an immediate pick up the moment he was unsure. Bit by bit his resolve was broken, until he finally agreed to give it a try, rushing from her presence moments later to hurl his dinner into the toilet. Hopefully his nerves would relax over time. 

The day came when he was to leave the group home, and he spent none of it in the present. He was so dissociated, so deeply embedded within his own mind, that he wasn’t even able to pack his belongings. His social worker was kind enough to do it for him (though the task itself took less than half an hour- he didn’t own that much) and he didn’t even notice she was in the room, talking, until his black garbage bag was placed on the bed in front of him. 

“ -unresponsive like this all day. We’re not sure what to do.”

“No doubt a response to his overwhelming fear of being placed in a new home after the disaster of his previous one. May I speak to him alone?”

“Of course.”

“Want me to leave too, Lo?”

“No, Janus, you can stay. It may be nice to have your expertise in the subject lest it become pertinent.”

There was some shuffling at the very corners of his consciousness, the light from the hallways lighting up the divots of his rumpled clothing bag, and one of the people were gone. His bedside lamp was flicked on.

“Thank you, Janus.” 

A weight on the bed was the first thing to really snap Virgil back to the presence, for the first time noticing the two men before him. The one standing, he recognized as Janus. The other sitting in front of him, though, he didn’t know. Virgil blinked rapidly, slowly pushing himself further back into his bed frame, despite how it dug into his shoulders. 

“Hello, Virgil. My name is Logan. I take it you’ve met my husband?”

Janus shot him a soft smirk, copying Virgil’s little wave from when they’d first interracted. He barely restrained a rush of twitches, playing it off as a shuffle to rearrange his blanket. 

“Do you think you could move forward just enough to place your feet on the ground? You don’t have to stand, just to begin the process of grounding?”

Virgil didn’t trust this guy for anything. He didn’t know his intentions, knew nothing about him, and his repressed mental state wasn’t making his cognitive reasoning any better. If Logan could help him ground, maybe it would be easier to figure out if they were trustworthy. Odd, that for this to work, he had to trust them enough to ground around them.

He scooted forward, letting his feet flutter off the bed and rest on the floor.

“Well done, Virgil. Press them to the floor firmly. Janus, do you have- ah, wonderful.”

Virgil looked up, nearly throwing himself back as Janus reached out a hand to him. There was something clutched in his fingers, but all the youngest could suddenly think was electrode electrode it’s going to hurt they’re going to hurt you don’t let it touch you don’tletittouchyou DON’T!

“It’s just gum, Virge, it’s okay.”

Oh. His hand paused as he reached out for the offering, a new thought coming to mind. Should he trust food from strangers? What if they’d drugged it, like his old foster home? He bit his lip, slowly retreating back into himself. 

The man seemed to see his hesitation, popping the piece into his mouth and offering one right from the package.

“I didn’t mess with it, I swear.” 

He took the gum, recoiling at the harsh taste almost instantly.

“Yeah, it doesn’t taste great. But I chewed like a pack of this a day when dissociation was a bitch. Snaps you back to the present like-”

“Language, Janus.”

“I’m sure he’s heard worse.”

“That doesn’t mean we should encourage it.”

Virgil couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. He hadn’t seen just casual bickering in a long time.

“We brought one more bribe-”

“It is not a bribe-”

He outright snorted at Logan’s aghast tone, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise. Janus looked utterly pleased with himself, slowly handing over a bundle he’d had wrapped under his arm. 

“Again, to help with grounding. And it’s a bit of a drive to our place, so maybe you can get some sleep in the car.”

It was a deep purple blanket, almost impossibly soft to the touch. Virgil couldn’t help run his fingers over the plush material, fighting the urge to just smash his face into it. Keeping an eye on the two, Virgil unfolded it and wrapped it tightly around himself, settling to just let his cheek rub against where it was draped over his shoulder.

It took another twenty minutes for him to feel able to walk without stumbling, but if he left the group home in a fuzzy blanket and starting to feel safer than he had in months, that was his to admit. And he wouldn’t… not yet.

-----------

Virgil stared down at the piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand, re-reading his shitty handwriting for the millionth time. He knew it was proper grammar, and nothing was spelled wrong, and it was clear and concise, but a part of him was still nervous about the idea of giving it to Janus. He was still hesitant to speak, and his new foster family was more than accommodating, giving him a small white board to write on, and even teaching him the most basic sign language for simple questions (courtesy of Logan). One day, he hoped he’d get his confidence back enough to speak, but right now, he felt no rush. 

Being surrounded with these new people, even for the three short weeks he’d been there, had already been enough to minimize his dissociating spells. Logan didn’t have to leave for another work trip for another week, and Janus worked from home anyways, so he was getting way more love and affection than he was ever used to. He hadn’t quite given in to Janus’ offered hugs, or any casual touch at all really, but he was getting used to one of the two just sitting with him for hours, covering him with weighted and fuzzy blankets, and gently distracting him with puzzles or that god-awful gum or just repeating where he was, and that he was safe. Was this what being loved was supposed to feel like?

So he trudged down the steps, hearing the shower running as he walked past the master bedroom, and slowly approached Janus at the dining room table. The man turned to greet him, giving him that soft smirk.

“Morning, kid. Happy birthday.”

Virgil smiled shyly, remembering the sign for thank you after a moment, and dropped the note onto the table next to Janus’ mug. He took a seat across from him, hiding his shaking hands in his lap, and watched with bated breath as he took the slip of paper and read it.

“‘How long did it take you to feel okay with Logan after CT?’ As in, feel okay dating a man?”

Virgil nodded and then, just for practice, signed yes. 

“The short answer? Probably two years, and I was still hesitant going into the relationship. It took us a longer time to get to the comfort level we’re at now. You need to go at your pace, Virgil. You shouldn’t force anything.” 

And then, as he tended to do when no one was there to fill the silence, he began to rant. This was also something Virgil was surprised he had come to enjoy, pulling up his feet so he could sit cross legged on the chair and setting his chin overtop his folded arms on the table. 

“I think it’s ridiculous that our basic human rights are still up for debate,” Janus sighed, taking a long sip of his tea, “Soulmarks are more than enough proof that we have no control over who we love- not that we should need that kind of proof to be validated. But people are afraid of what they don’t know, so they portray us as monsters who need to be fixed.” He’d begun rubbing absentmindedly at his wrist and Virgil’s eyes tracked the movement, noticing for the first time the small compass that was just a couple shades darker than the man’s skin. It almost blended in, and he probably never would have noticed it, if the small needle in the center weren’t slowly rotating towards the stairs. 

Logan entered the dining room from that direction, greeting his husband with a small kiss on the head and his foster child with a relaxed smile. He must have noticed Virgil’s occasional glance at the other’s wrist, wordlessly flipping over his own arm. His matching compass was pulling towards Janus’, an ever present symbol that they were meant to be together. Then, he patted his husband’s shoulder, going to get the coffee his husband always made for him. 

“You’re not broken, Virgil,” Janus murmured. Virgil’s head shot up, surprised at his bluntness, “You’re not. And if anyone tells you differently, they’ll have to deal with me,” He said firmly as he took a long sip.

“No threatening, Janus!”

Virgil snorted into his fist, grinning as Janus winked at him and said, “Sorry, Logan,” into his mug.

“Incorrigible.” Logan sighed as he exited the kitchen with his coffee, dropping into the seat between the two. “And happy birthday, Virgil. Would you like to choose what we have for breakfast, or would you like us to decide?”

That was something they’d learned about him quickly; he had awful choice paralysis. Choosing between two choices was already anxiety inducing, but a variety of things, like having to narrow it down to one food item? Lethal. Virgil quickly pointed to Logan, who chuckled. 

“French toast, then?”

Virgil nodded.

“I’ll get started on that in a moment. Janus, do you have his gift?”

“It’s in the living room, let me go get it.”

And that got his heart racing. ‘Gifts’ weren’t good things. They were leverage, blackmail, with a promise of a ‘returned favor’ in the near future. Virgil didn’t like things held against him like that. What if they gave him a present, and then demanded he pay them back for it the moment things weren’t peachy? Who was he kidding, he was in the honeymoon phase of this new foster family. It would take a month, like it did with the others, and then they’d find something about him that they hated and they’d force him to change it and he wouldn’t be able to refuse because they gave him food and shelter and above all, a gift on his birthday, and he would owe them a debt and he was stuck and-

“Virgil? What are five orange things you can see?”

His head popped up- when had he grabbed his hair like that?- and he noticed how heavily he was breathing. His foster parents were looking at him in concern, not pity, but legitimate concern for his well being (wack), Janus holding his hands behind his back. It was Logan that had spoken.

“Five orange things you can see, Virgil. You can just point.”

Don’t disappoint them more, his mind screamed, so he pointed at the far wall, near the entryway.

“The bridge on the calendar picture, very good. What else?”

Point through the pass through window into the kitchen.

“The sponge, well done. Three more.”

In front of Janus’ empty seat.

“The letters on the mug-”

Quick point to the book shelf in the living room.

“-and the book on my shelf. Last one?”

It took Virgil a longer moment before he found a cup of pens on the small coffee table behind the sofa, gesturing to the orange capped pen amongst the others. 

“Wonderful. Are you feeling a bit better now?”

He didn’t respond, choosing to track Janus’ movements as he sat back into his chair, adjusting his hands so they were on his lap, most likely holding the gift he was hiding. Logan leaned against the couch as his husband spoke.

“Kid, I need you to understand something, alright? You don’t owe us anything. We want to give you a gift because it’s your birthday, and we want to celebrate you. This isn’t some favor that you have to return.”

How Janus understood Virgil’s distress, the younger could only guess. But his words of reassurance were enough to get Virgil to accept the wrapped package as he presented it with minimal shaking, for once demanding his brain relax. Neither of the men mentioned how delicately he unwrapped it, carefully tugging at the tape as to not rip the paper. Why risk it?

His mouth gaped when he saw the present for the first time, holding the box in a white knuckled grip.

“We were told yours was taken from you and never returned, and figured that you needed a new one,” Logan said. 

It was the first new thing Virgil had ever gotten. His clothes were from thrift stores or hand downs, his school supplies consisted of a found pencil and a ripped binder from the group home’s storage, forget ever having his own computer or video games or…

“This is a phone!”

“That it is.” Janus was smiling, taking a sip of his now lukewarm tea.

“I can’t- You can’t just- I don’t-” 

“We can, and we did. You’re seventeen, you kind of need a phone just for everyday life. And unless you give us a reason not to trust you with it, we have no worries.”

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t- 

Janus slid the tissue box across the table, but Virgil elected to ignore it, refusing to take his eyes off the box in his hands. 

“Thank you,” he barely choked out, “Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome, Virgil,” Logan responded for the both of them, returning back to the kitchen nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just given Virgil more than he’d ever gotten in his entire life combined. “I’m going to start on breakfast.”

“I can help you set it up. Then you can download some music… maybe contact the soulmate of yours again.” Janus switched chairs so he was next to Virgil, careful not to touch him, and Virgil couldn’t help grinning blindingly up at him.

It would only be after breakfast that Virgil would realize that he’d spoken. It would be a longer journey until he’d be able to talk again effortlessly, but he was a step closer. 

Part 4 HERE!

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